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CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Charlotte nearly spit out her wine and asked, “Did you just say you need me to get you a life—or a wife? That’s a rapid progression from a guy who felt it necessary to tell me within nanoseconds of meeting you that you had no interest in relationships or marriage.” She stood, looking incredulous, realizing now the remark had stung, even if she wasn’t interested either. “You understand I’m a wedding planner, not a human trafficker, right?”
Bastien realized his request had come off a bit abrupt. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I’m not interested in sex.”
“Oh, that will make some woman happy! A lifetime with a husband who doesn’t want to touch her,” Charlotte quipped back. “Geez, Bastien, what’s going on?”
Bastien furrowed his brow. “My mother has filed for full legal custody of Ivy.”
Charlotte sank to the sofa and rested her hand gently on Bastien’s shoulder. “Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry. Can she do that?”
“She can and will, whether or not it’s best for Ivy.”
Nobody else would have understood what he meant, but she had witnessed his mother in action. “Is this related to your conversation with your mother at the cemetery?” She felt guilty for eavesdropping, but it’s hard to walk away from something like that without paying it some attention. She knew next to nothing about the man and little girl who had waltzed into her life, and it was impossible to turn away from the shock of his own mother betraying him and her dead daughter at her funeral. She’d never even imagined such a thing. She had to hear how it played out. Besides, she had quickly become attached to Ivy and wanted to help her and Bastien.
“How do you know about that?”
“I went looking for you at the funeral and overheard.”
He reached for the back of the chair and gently pulled it toward him. His body sunk into the seat as though gut-punched, but not yet defeated. “Then you heard she’s dead serious about fighting me for custody.”
Charlotte’s mind reeled at the thought. She couldn’t fathom that a mother—any mother—would be so cold, especially now, when so much had been lost. Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “She would do that?”
“The papers were waiting when I got to New York.”
Her brow furrowed. She leaned forward and pressed her fingertips together as if forming a bridge. “And you think getting a wife will stop her?” Her voice rose in disbelief as she tried to comprehend his logic. “Wouldn’t lawyers of your own be a better weapon for the fight than a fake bride? It’s like bringing a cake knife to a gang war.”
Bastien smiled at the visual of a cake knife offered by a wedding planner. “Answering my mother’s opening salvo with my team of lawyers would be throwing down the gauntlet and putting Ivy smack in the middle of a long, dirty court battle. It increases the risk my mother could get temporary custody, and Ivy could be eight or nine by the time it all got resolved. We’d make all the lawyers incredibly rich at the expense of Ivy’s emotional and physical well-being.” He leaned forward in the chair. “I wouldn’t do that to Ivy except as the last resort. The best weapon is to take the wind out of my mother’s sails by proving to her Ivy is better off with me.”
Charlotte had also overheard Annette’s accusation that Bastien was a playboy, but while deeply interested in his side of that story as a true Southerner, she didn’t dare bring it up. She was relieved that Bastien did.
“My mother is convinced I’m a workaholic playboy incapable of caring for a child.”
“Are you? A workaholic playboy, I mean. I know you’re not incapable. I’ve seen you with Ivy.”
“Workaholic maybe before. Playboy, never. I built a large and successful company with the most wonderful and loyal employees and clients who value our ethics above all. It’s not theWolves of Wall Street, for heaven’s sake. But I worry my mother’s self-serving accusations could be an easy sell to a judge and social workers with the papers and TV full of stories of soul-crushing, morally bankrupt financial Svengalis.”
Charlotte felt herself growing closer and closer to Bastien. At the same time, he explained that he had not had time for long-term romantic relationships and that his most important friendships were with people who worked for him, whom he had mentored and developed. Bastien assured her there were no stories of orgies or other debauchery. Still, the truth of being holed up in conference rooms for weeks at a time, itineraries like flying from New York to Shanghai to Zurich to Dallas in three days, and the 90-hour work weeks might be just as damning. He would be described as someone who puts work above all else and isn’t available. Charlotte could see Bastien was someone who put others first and took his responsibilities seriously. She could see how a court would not give him credit for developing a team of people who could operate largely without him, as they were doing now. It would be much easier for people to stereotype him as another greedy fund manager who probably did something wrong to achieve success, not the hard-working investor in people and ideas he was.
While she never knew Chloe, she understood why the dying mother would choose Bastien to raise her spirited and darling little girl. He would be her first choice, too.
“Bastien, this is awful, but is a wife the answer?”
“I don’t want a wife, but it would seem I need one. And I’ve already told my mother I’m getting married.”
He pointed to an armchair opposite him, and she settled into it, folding her hands in her lap, ready to be educated on how a man who was adamant against getting married was now trying to find a wife.
He grabbed the bottle of red wine Charlotte had put on the counter earlier, pulled the cork with a loud pop, and filled his glass until it was almost overflowing. He offered her a top-off, but she shook her head and covered her glass with her palm. “I’m good. Thank you.”
“I wish I were.” He drank deeply and sighed. “I don’t know what happened, but I was talking with my mother, and she pointed out all the reasons I’m unfit to care for Ivy.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “She might be right.”
Charlotte reached out and placed her warm, soft hand atop his. “I know this is a lot. But I’m sure it’s just like any other new parent experience. Just with an extra wrinkle.”
He laughed, the sound thin and raggedy. “Most parents don’t give birth alone to a forty-pound bundle of energy and sass that can talk. A five-year-old, no less.”
She tried to think of the positives. A wry smile crept across her face. “At least you don’t have to worry about midnight feedings and diaper changes.”
“I suppose that’s true. Anyway, my mother pointed out everything that made me unsuitable, and then she started talking about how Ivy would need advice about boyfriends and women's things.”
