"I miss it, too."

  Having to say such a thing to a woman other than his wife still left a bad taste in Philippe's mouth, and the sound of Greta's laugh made him want to punch something hard.

  "Allez, bises." Greta kept her tone sweet, but as soon as the call ended, she flew into a rage and threw anything and everything within reach. Over an hour had passed before she finally stopped seeing red, and it was only because someone was knocking on her hotel room door.

  "Good morning, Ms. Leroy." Winston, the hotel's day manager, was careful to keep his tone pleasant. "I received a call from the other guests, and I would just like to ask if everything's alright?"

  Greta smiled dazzlingly. "Oh, yes, absolutely."

  Being a head taller than his guest, Winston had no trouble seeing the state of her room over her shoulder, and what he saw was absolutely not alright. But since she had paid for her room in advance and her credit card would cover such incidentals, Winston simply smiled back and said, "I'm delighted to hear that, and I do apologize for the bother. If there's anything I may help you with—-"

  "Oh, actually, yes. Would you be a dear and book me a limousine to Foxtown?" Thanks to the company's group chat, she had found out earlier that Philippe's wife had been discharged, and the newlyweds were now booked in Foxtown's fucking honeymoon suite.

  After giving Winston the details for her booking, Greta made sure to softly close the door behind her before getting rid of the fake smile on her face.

  Merde!

  It had taken her five long years of stoking Philippe's anger at his father to finally get him in her bed - five long years, dammit! - and no way would she let some overweight Texan hick ruin her plans just like that.

  Walking back to her room, Greta belatedly noticed her phone on the floor, and her lips slowly formed a sneering smile. She bent down to retrieve it, whose screen showed a third-party app still running in the background.

  In her anger earlier, she had forgotten that she still had a hidden ace up her sleeve. Recording people's phone calls had always proved handy in the past, and this time wouldn't be any different.

  PHILIPPE CLOSED THE door to the study and walked back into the suite's living room. "Sorry about that—-"

  "Welcome back," his wife chirped. "Your mother's come to visit—-"

  Philippe stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his mother seated next to his wife. Something was definitely up, if the expression on Sandra's face was anything to go by.

  "Bonjour." Sandra's pleasant tone was belied by the unsmiling look in her eyes, which were the same jade-green shade as her son's.

  "—-and we need you to settle our argument."

  Philippe raised a brow. "That serious?"

  "More like...you're the only one who can decide who's right."

  "Je vois." Philippe took the armchair and reached for his wife so she could sit on his lap. "Tell me more then."

  "We overheard you talking on the phone," Charlee-Mae said sheepishly. "I thought I heard you say 'I miss it, too', but Maman says what you actually said was 'I miss him, too'."

  Merde.

  Now he knew why his mother had been looking at him like he was more the devil than her flesh and blood.

  "Well, mon fils?" Sandra's tone was still pleasant, while her gaze remained the opposite. "Which of us is correct?"

  Philippe glanced up at his wife. "I'm afraid Maman wins this argument, ma moitié."

  Charlee-Mae was shocked. "So you really did say 'him'? You're gay?"

  Philippe nearly choked. "Ah, no."

  "But I just don't see you as the type to miss a male friend—-"

  "I was talking to Greta about Pierre."

  Charlee-Mae's heart went out to Philippe, and she touched his cheek in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Philippe." She looked at his mother. "And you, too, Maman. I also have - had - an older brother, and I still miss him, every day. It hurts to think about him at times, but I force myself to, because I don't want to forget a thing about him."

  Sandra was caught off guard by the wave of emotion that rose inside of her at Charlee-Mae's words. She, too, had avoided thinking of her older son because it hurt to remember he was no longer with them, but she realized now that Charlee-Mae was right. Having memories of Pierre, albeit painful, was better than forgetting him completely.

  She glanced at Philippe, and the shuttered expression on his handsome face made her heart ache. "It is true, what your wife said, n'est ce pas? We should always do our best to remember."

  "Oui."

  "Maybe, on Pierre's birthday, we can have dinner as a family, and we can tell Cha-Cha about your brother."

  "That would be wonderful," Charlee-Mae agreed right away. "And maybe...we can ask his wife - Greta - to join us? Or would it be too hard for her?"

  Sandra managed a smile but could not make herself reply. It was not her style to talk badly of another woman's name, even if it was warranted, but neither was she capable of pretending any kind of fondness for her other daughter-in-law.

  Philippe could feel his body turning rigid as Charlee-Mae looked at him expectantly. Hearing his wife utter the other woman's name still didn't feel right, and it was only fortuitous timing that a knock came at the door to keep him from replying.

  "I'll get that!" Sandra was already walking towards the door as she spoke.

  Philippe raised a brow when he heard the person outside the door mention having something for his wife. "Are you expecting something?"

  Charlee-Mae was confused. "No, I'm not...oh."

  Philippe's mother was now busy telling a pair of hotel attendants where to place what looked like an endless parade of elaborate Valentine bouquets, some of which included heart-shaped balloons, stuffed animals, and what looked like expensive chocolate.

  One of the bouquets came with a massive card that said 'I love you, Cha-Cha! Will you be my date on Valentine's?', and everything instantly made sense.

  "These are all so gorgeous, Cha-Cha." The attendants had left, and Sandra was now counting the bouquets that had been delivered. One...two...twenty...thirty...forty...

  "Oh my!" Sandra looked at her daughter-in-law admiringly. "Fifty-six in all, and you've only been here for two hours." She glanced back at the bouquets, which all had lovely-looking cards that could only contain the most interesting messages.

  The curiosity on her mother-in-law's face was more than evident, and Charlee-Mae said with a laugh, "You can read them if you want, Maman."

  "Well, if you insist..."

  Charlee-Mae couldn't help grinning. She hadn't actually insisted, but it was fun all the same to watch the older woman hurrying towards the bouquets and excitedly opening the sealed cards one by one. Sandra showed Charlee-Mae a card that had two girls on the cover. "This one is asking you to be her Galentine's date."

  "Oh, I think that's possible—-" Charlee-Mae saw Philippe look at her sharply. "I can't?"

  "What the hell is a Galentine's date?"

  "It's for two gals," she explained with a laugh. "So there's no need to be jealous, mon bébé."

  "I was not jealous," Philippe denied even as the tension visibly eased from the rigid set of his broad shoulders.

  "You might be with this one," his own mother told him cheerfully as she held out another card. "This man says your wife is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen in his life, and he would be absolutely honored to have her as his Valentine's."

  "Aww, bless that man, whoever he is—-"

  His wife suddenly burst to her feet, and Philippe scowled. If she thought he would let her keep that fucking card just because a fan had sent it to her—-

  "I think I just saw my favorite plant," Charlee-Mae exclaimed.

  "A plant?" Sandra's curiosity was piqued. "Not flowers?"

  "Oui, Maman. Come see."

  Philippe's lip curled as both women oohed and aahed over what only seemed like a bunch of leaves to him. How the fuck could his wife like—-

  "Oh my." Sandra's attention was caught by an intricately cut card peeking out from another bouquet. "This is so pretty, and oh, look, ma fille..." She showed the card to her daughter-in-law. "He even wrote you a poem!"

  Charlee-Mae was touched. "Bless him!"

  Sandra suddenly spied a small card buried in Cha-Cha's favorite plant and fished it out. "This one says...Aishiteiru?"

  "Aww!"

  If his wife was going to bless another man one more time—-

  "Bless that dear, dear man."

  Sandra happened to glance at her son at that moment, and a laugh escaped her when she saw him gnashing his teeth upon hearing his wife describe another man as 'dear'. "Are you alright, mon fils?"

  The question startled Charlee-Mae into looking at her husband. "Is something wrong?"

  "Tout va bien." Everything's fine. "I am just watching my wife enjoy other men's packages—-"

  Sandra choked back a laugh.

  "And it is making me think my own package may also be enjoyed by other women—-" Philippe had not yet finished speaking when Charlee-Mae suddenly dropped the bouquet she was holding like it had turned into a hot potato that could burn her hands.

  "You are very mistaken, mon bébé," Charlee-Mae declared earnestly. "I'm only looking at their, err, packages because I think it's so silly!"

  "Ah bon?" Is that so?

  His wife nodded vehemently. "It is silly, that they could even think their packages could tempt me away from yours!"

  "It seemed exactly the case earlier," he drawled.

  "And I also told you earlier—-"

  His wife's tone was so convincingly pious, Philippe had to swiftly press his lips together in an effort to suppress his smile.

  "You are mistaken. And to prove this, mon bébé-—"

  Philippe shifted in his seat. Even though he knew his wife was deliberately using all of these French endearments to sweet-talk her way out of trouble, her horrible accent was still the turn-on it always was, and he was now more aroused than jealous.

  Charlee-Mae gestured to the bouquets that had now taken over their suite. "I’ll leave it to you to deal with all of these as you wish."

  "Gladly."

  Her husband answered so promptly that it left her blinking, and she could only gape as Philippe began taking out all of the cards and tearing them into pieces before throwing everything into the trash bin.

  Once done, her husband turned to her, saying generously, "You are free to enjoy everything now, mon coeur. Just imagine that they are all from me."

  The words made Sandra and Charlee-Mae laugh, and seeing the two most important women in his life having fun together had Philippe realizing a grim truth. This was how he wanted his future to look like, but there was still a chance he could lose his wife, if he continued to lie to her about how their marriage had begun.

  It was sometime after lunch when Sandra excused herself to have a little nap, and as soon as Charlee-Mae found herself alone with her husband—-

  He raised a brow at her. "Any thoughts on what we shall do with ourselves?"

  "Mm..."

  "Would you like to play chess?" he deadpanned.

  "I'd rather play with you, monsieur."

  Philippe snatched her into his arms without another word, and Charlee-Mae's giggle was quickly stifled as his mouth took hers in a blatantly hungry kiss that had her instantly wet and writhing in his arms.

  Clothes were removed in a hurry, and they didn't make it in the bedroom. Charlee-Mae, her body already crying out for her husband's possession, bent over the back of the couch and begged without shame. "Please, mon homme!"

  He had meant to take his time making love to her, but as always, his wife's terrible accent proved irresistible, and Philippe grabbed her hips from behind before shoving his cock into her pussy in one forceful thrust.

  "Philippe!"

  Hearing his wife cry his name out had Philippe involuntarily tightening his grip on her hips as he pounded into her harder and faster. He could feel her pussy already tightening with each thrust of his cock, and the sensation made his entire body clench and ache at the same time. He tried to make it last, but when he heard his wife pant out in French—-

  "Je t'aime, mon Dieu, je t'aime—-"

  A shudder rocked his powerful frame, and he heard Charlee-Mae gasp just as both of them started to cum. It was a feeling like no other, a feeling he knew he could never experience with anyone else, and as his wife's body continued to tremble under him, her pussy doing its best to take in all of his cum—-

  "I love you, Mrs. DeRose."

  Charlee-Mae burst into tears, which had her husband laughing softly even as he gently lifted her off her feet. With their bodies still intimately joined, he carried her to their bedroom, but instead of going straight to bed, Philippe positioned them in front of the full-length mirror in the en-suite.

  Oh my Lord!

  It almost felt sinful to stare at how her pussy had swallowed the entire length of his cock, with her legs splayed so widely open in front of the mirror.

  "Ready for Round 2, mon ceour?"

  Charlee-Mae couldn't answer, with her husband already using his strength to have her bouncing up and down his engorged cock, and oh God, oh Lord, oh Jesus, this feeling of being repeatedly impaled by Philippe's enormous member was just too, too much—-

  She came with a cry, and she came even harder when she felt Philippe's mouth latch to the side of her neck and suck hungrily as he exploded inside of her.

  Charlee-Mae had always imagined that once she became a married woman, she would want to have sex endlessly because she had over three decades to make up for. Philippe, however, taught her otherwise, and by the end of "Round 4", she was forced to beg for respite and was already asleep even before her head had hit the pillow.

  It was a few minutes past seven in the evening when Charlee-Mae woke, and on the bedside table was a little package (the word had Charlee-Mae snickering), along with another handwritten note from her husband.

  Call me when you wake. Je t'aime.

  ~ P

  Charlee-Mae's face broke into a smile. She was right, after all. Philippe had just been a little reserved the first time, not wanting to make her feel pressured into expressing her own feelings. But because he now knew how much she loved him, this in turn allowed her husband to finally say those three little words.

  The package contained what turned out to be her replacement phone, and she was surprised but pleased to see all of her data restored as well. All of the names in her contact list, the photos and videos she had taken - everything was there...and then some.

  Her lips curved as she found Philippe's name listed as 'Mon Mari', which of course translated to 'my husband'. She was about to hit Call when a new email came in, and her brows shot up when she saw that it was from the sister-in-law she had yet to meet.

  The email only contained an attachment, an audio file that she did not hesitate to play.

  'Bonjour, Greta.'

  She had no trouble recognizing her husband's voice, which she privately considered was the most beautiful voice in the world.

  'Bonjour, mon chéri.'

  By the time the recording ended, Charlee-Mae was pale and unsmiling, and her fingers shook as she made a call...to Charlotte.

  Chapter Ten

  Greta could not believe when an hour had already passed, and she had yet to hear from Philippe's American wife. Was it possible that the other woman was so desperate to stay with the French billionaire, she would rather turn a blind eye to the fact that Philippe was having an affair with his own sister-in-law?

  The thought made Greta furious and disgusted, and with her temper once again getting the best of her, Greta's plans for making a splashy grand entrance in tomorrow's launch were all but forgotten.

  She had tried to play nice, but it was now time to unsheathe her claws and teach the other woman her place.

  The drive up to Foxtown took over an hour, and since the establishment also operated as a Regency-themed park, there were horse-drawn carriages waiting alongside expensive sports cars and chauffeur-driven limousines like the one she was in. A valet came up to open her door, and Greta took her time as she stepped out of the backseat, wanting to make sure that the people around her were able to have an eyeful of her long bare legs - Merde!

  Greta's teeth started to chatter as soon as she was out, and her cheeks turned red with rage at the way some of the guests were silently laughing at her sparkling silver gown with thigh-high side-splits. Why the hell had no one told her that the stupid weather in Foxtown was a lot colder than the rest of Jackson Hole?

  Greta was used to having people fawn all over her wherever she went, but with the exception of hotel employees warmly welcoming her to Foxtown, the only ones who cared to look their way were people interested in her choice of outfit.

  Foxtown's circular lobby was more palatial than she expected, and Greta was grudgingly impressed at how tastefully decorated the whole place was. A small crowd seemed to have gathered just outside one of the hotel's in-house boutiques, with both men and women clearly excited as they asked for selfies with whoever local celebrity—-Merde!

  Greta's jaw dropped as the small crowd gradually dispersed, and she found herself face to face with Philippe's American wife. Were locals here so desperate to rub elbows with someone famous they had settled for a former local beauty queen? That woman was not even from Wyoming, for God's sake!

  So this was the infamous Greta, Charlee-Mae mused. The other woman was stunningly beautiful. Long, silky black hair. Olive skin. About a half foot taller than her, but likely several kilos lighter as well. She also had an air of icy sophistication about her, icy being the operative word since Greta was severely underdressed for Foxtown's sub-zero temps.

  Philippe's sister-in-law suddenly stalked forward, and Charlee-Mae saw the other woman sneer as Charlee-Mae was forced to crane her neck all the way up to meet her gaze.

  Greta struggled to give her ridiculously oversexed rival a frosty smile even as she was feeling frosty herself. "Bonjour."

  Charlee-Mae smiled back. "Bonjour."

 

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