11 Rent me softly

I would’ve gone to Chen’s place, but she left for her country for the summer. Good thing Matéo let me stay at his place for tonight while I figure out what’s next.

“Sorry you had to witness that shitshow,” I say, barely able to hide the weight of the day pressing down on me.

“It’s okay,” Matéo reassures me, his warm eyes glancing briefly toward me before returning to the road. “I’m glad I was there. You don’t need to explain anything right now.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, a knot forming in my throat. It’s rare for anyone to stand up for me like he did, and it means more than I can say. The rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence, with the soft hum of the radio filling the spaces between us, a gentle melody keeping my racing thoughts at bay.

We step back into Matéo’s home just as my mind starts to spiral. The usual buzz of Eric and Benny’s laughter fills the living room, but it dies instantly when they see my tear-streaked face.

“What the fuck, Matéo?” Benny snaps, no trace of his usual clowning. “What did you do?”

“No Benny, he didn’t do anything. This isn’t on him. I swear.”

Matéo dismiss their concern with a firm nod, and places a gentle hand on the small of my back and leads me to his room. “Take your time,” he says quietly as he closes the door softly, giving me the space I desperately need. The click of the latch a welcome barrier between me and the rest of the world.

I take a quick shower, letting scalding water cascade over my skin, hoping it will wash away the pain of the day along with my tears. It feels surreal, thinking back to just hours ago when I was showering for a very different reason—with anticipation, not devastation. Now, the adrenaline and anger have drained every ounce of energy from my body, leaving me hollow.

Once out, I collapse onto Matéo’s bed, wrapping myself in his comforter. His scent—sandalwood and something uniquely him—clings to the sheets, offering a quiet comfort. Before I know it, exhaustion pulls me into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It is already dark outside when I wake up, the faint smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce drawing me out of my groggy haze. I stumbled into the kitchen led by my nose and find Matéo pulling a golden-brown pizza from the oven, steam rising in tempting spirals.

“Yumm.. smells amazing!” My mouth waters at the sight and my stomach growling audibly. “Perfect timing,” Matéo says with a warm smile, handing me a plate. “My store-bought culinary magic is ready. Help yourself.”

“Oh yes, I’m starving!”.

Matéo carries the remaining pizza to the living room and settles on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. “What do you want to watch?” he asks, flipping through options with the remote.

“Anything,” I reply casually, tucking my legs beneath me. “I barely have time to watch TV these days. And I don’t have cable.”

“Alright, let’s find something engaging. Ah, here’s a detective series I’ve been hooked on lately. Ever seen it?”

The screen lights up with the dark, intriguing world of mystery and crime-solving. It doesn’t take long for me to get absorbed. The storyline pulls me in as I munch on another slice of pizza, the cheese stretching between my mouth and the crust.

Halfway through the second episode, nestled into the couch and feeling the warmth of Matéo beside me, I find myself relaxing more than I have in days. The tension that’s gripped me for so long begins to ease.

As the night wears on, an idea takes root, sprouting from some place of desperate need for escape. “Matéo, is that deal still on the table?” I ask. “The one about the event at the resort?”

“Well, I mean, yes of course,” he says, eyebrows lifting in surprise, “If you want to.”

“After today’s shitshow, I think Benny’s right. I need a break… and I gotta finish this series.” I smile, gesturing toward the TV, trying to inject some lightness into my decision.

He studies me for a moment, then nods slowly. “Only if you’re sure,” he says quietly. “And it has to be on your terms.”

“Perfect!” I agree, feeling a spark of anticipation at the thought of escaping the city and my problems—even only for a few days.

“My brother would flip if he knew you actually went along with his ridiculous idea.”

A twinge of worry stirs in me. “I hope he didn’t get the wrong impression today. I hope he didn’t think you were the reason I…” My voice trails off, the words sticking in my throat.

Matéo shakes his head, cutting off my concern. “Nah, don’t worry about it. We spoke, and Benny knows me better than that.”

He pulls a brand-new phone from his pocket and hands it to me. “Here.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, rude. My phone’s a relic, not a crime.”

“So you can video-call Benny. He needs to see you’re okay after today,” he explains, his lips quirking upward. “Plus, your phone is the ancestor of every phone, it belongs in a museum, Rory.”

Mateo walks me through the ins and outs of the sleek, intimidatingly high-tech phone, making me feel a bit like a caveman in the modern world. As he patiently explains, Benny’s face pops up on the screen, his wide grin and enthusiasm unmistakable.

Benny wastes no time pulling Eric into the call, their faces crowding the screen. They launch into a playful tirade about how it was high time I upgraded my phone.

“You can’t even imagine how many missed opportunities there were! We could’ve sent you pictures of potential guys for you,” Benny teases, clearly enjoying the moment. They both express their relief at seeing me look so much better now, hinting they prefer the glowing version of me over the earlier mess. With a knowing wink, they suggest Mateo should keep me looking that way instead of, well, sad.

Mateo rolls his eyes though a hint of a smile betrays his annoyance. “I can hear you guys, you know,” he groans, not quite managing to hide his amusement.

Taking the moment into my own hands, I tell them that I’ve decided to join them at the event. The news sends Benny and Eric into a frenzy of glee, but they quickly turn serious, asking if I agreed under any pressure from Mateo or out of pity.

“Seriously, I can hear you,” Mateo chimes in again, half-serious, half-amused.

Benny and Eric immediately dive into planning mode, excitedly discussing a makeover and shopping for the perfect outfit for the event.

“Whatever you plan, it’s only happening if Rory’s comfortable with it,” Matéo interrupts.

I raise a hand to stop the avalanche of ideas. “Guys, relax. I take my job seriously. If I’m going as arm candy, make me look the part.”

Benny’s face lights up. “Oh, darling, we’ll make you look like a snack,” he declares dramatically.

“Correction: she’s arm candy, not a snack. Otherwise, Matéo won’t be able to keep his hands off her, and then she’ll be too busy fending him off to charm those stuffy architects or make Alyssa jealous.” adds Eric.

Matéo leans into the camera frame, half annoyed. “Guys, please,” he groans. “Can we maybe not plan my date’s outfit like she’s a new product launch? Rory isn’t coming as ‘arm candy.’ She’s coming as herself- and not just for show.”

“Hey, calm down, baby brother. We just want to make sure Rory looks her best. We all know she’s naturally stunning.”

Eric chimes in with a grin, “This will be so exciting! I’ve been dying to give you a makeover, Rory. You’ve been way too easy on yourself,” he teases. “That’s what pretty people do, right? They just stroll around looking fabulous in their morning hair all day because they can totally get away with it.”

Benny suddenly gasps, slapping his hand to his forehead in a dramatic fashion. “Oh, no, I completely forgot!” he exclaims, shaking his head at his oversight.

Éric leans in, intrigued. “What did you forget now, darling?”

“We agreed to sleep at the papie and mamie’s place on our way to the resort, remember?” Benny’s eyes widen as realization hits.

“Papie and Mamie?” I repeat. “That’s adorable! You six foot giants, pushing 40s, still call your grandparents that?”

Benny grins, unbothered by my teasing. “What can I say? We’re lovable family men. Papie and Mamie wouldn’t have it any other way.”

How ridiculously adorable is this—I mean, these big and tall, successful men, who could intimidate most people with a single look, are still ‘Papie’ and ‘Mamie’s’ grandsons.

“Err… that sounds lovely, but lying to friends is one thing. Lying to your entire family about our relationship is something else,” I say, my smile faltering. The idea of misleading Matéo’s family gnaws at me, making me uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Eric waves his hand dismissively, trying to ease my worries. “Oh, darling, we don’t have to go into any elaborate stories. We’ll just say we’re friends, which isn’t entirely a lie.”

Benny nods in agreement, then his expression sobers as he remembers another crucial detail. “One thing about Mamie…” he adds, lowering his voice as if even saying her name might summon her.

The room goes quiet. Even Éric looks uncharacteristically solemn. Benny clears his throat. “Well, our mom is a saint. She likes everyone. But Mamie? She’s… tougher. Alyssa didn’t survive a night with her. But you’re different, Rory. You’ve tamed Serendipity’s toughest customers. You’ll be fine… probably.”

Matéo finally speaks up, “She sees right through nonsense. And not one that is shy to say her opinions. But don’t worry about her, okay?”

Benny smirks, his voice shifting to a sing-song tone. “Sure, Rory. You’ll be fine… Byeee!” With that, he ends the call abruptly, leaving a mix of dread and amusement hanging in the air.

“It will be fine. Who knows Mamie might end up being your biggest fan.” Matéo tries to assure me, reading the panic creeping up on my face.

Matéo hands me another box, and I cackle at the sheer absurdity. Christmas never looked like this—my childhood gifts were socks, not… this. “No freaking way,” I gasp, eyes popping as I rip the packaging. “You didn’t.”

He chuckles, all smug charm. “Why not?”

“I should probably be offended, or at least fake some shame, but this?” I inspect the box, grinning. “Seven vibration modes, twelve speeds? Matéo, you’re my hero.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says with a grin, waving off my thanks.

I lean back, feigning thoughtfulness. “So, this is what having a sugar daddy feels like? Fancy gifts and a ‘just enjoy it’ attitude?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “More or less, yes.”

“You noticed, didn’t you? During the circus at my place today. My little collection of battery-powered emotional support. The one Karine dumped it for everyone to see. They probably think I’m a maniac or something. But who the fuck care about what they think.” I say while checking the modes on my new toy.

“It’s like a lullaby with batteries. When life piles on—and it always does, I just need something to cut the static. It helps me sleep, clears my head, puts me in a better, lighter mood.” I pause, realizing I’ve just shared more than I typically would and straight into TMI territory. Mateo can see the slight horror on my face his understanding silence making me feel less self-conscious about oversharing.

“So, Mateo, about the deal… what exactly are the terms and conditions?…” My voice trails off, hinting at the personal complexities such arrangements might entail.

“Rory, as I said, it will be on your terms. Everything. I’m just happy to have you come along.”

If I’m being honest, I don’t think I would mind if the deal came with a clause on intimacy because his touch is becoming something close to addictive. The respect he shows for my boundaries, combined with the undeniable attraction simmering between us, is intoxicating.

I climb into his lap and press my lips to his. “Thanks for today” I whisper against his lips, tasting restraint and sweetness. I can tell he’s holding back a bit, being the gentleman that he is. My tongue swipe his bottom lips before I gently nibble on it, and he kisses me back, slow and sweet, melting me.

My nipples pearling under my shirt, Matéo catch my hands just on time before I yank it over my head. “Not tonight, Rory,” he murmurs. “Not after everything you’ve been through today.”

I flop back with a groan, caught somewhere between frustrated and swooned. Most guys would have just rolled with it, but not Saint Matéo. I’m not used to this—being turned down and treasured in the same breath. Naturally, my body picks this exact moment to misfire in true Rory fashion—by getting embarrassingly, inconveniently wet.

He clocks my disappointment. He notices everything—my vulnerability, my exhaustion, and with a tenderness that makes my chest ache, he scoops me into his arms.

“Let’s just rest tonight,” he says, his voice steady, grounding me. “We’ll head to my grandparents’ first thing in the morning.”

He lifts me up with a care that feels like a warm blanket being wrapped around me. The world kind of tilts pleasantly as he carries me to the bedroom, away from everything else.

“You can have the bed,” he says as he sets me down gently on the soft duvet. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s your home, your bed, Matéo. You’re not sleeping on the couch in your own home.” His eyes search mine, looking for a sign of what I really need. “Stay,” I say, softer. “Promise—no funny business.” A truce. An agreement to keep the mess outside the blanket border.

“Alright,” he agrees quietly. Without another word, he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing broad shoulders that make me catch my breath. I bite my lip, wondering how on earth supposed to stick to my promise with him looking like that.

Lying next to him feels like high school all over again—awkward, hormonal, and charged with that dangerous blend of want and self-control. I turn to look at him, our hands finding each other’s as we stare up at the ceiling. “Matéo,” I start, my voice breaking the silence.

“Yes?” He squeezes my hand gently, encouraging me to continue.

I let out a nervous chuckle, tracing patterns on the back of his hand with my thumb, trying to muster the courage for what I’m about to propose. “Since you’ve been such a saint today…” My voice trails off, and I rush through the rest before I lose my nerve, “You’ve earned yourself a Free-Use Friday pass,” I blurt before my brain can stage an intervention. He turns his head to look at me, his brow furrowing adorably. “What’s that?”

My cheeks flame as I explain, “It means tomorrow, on Friday, you get… um, unlimited access. Anytime, anywhere, how ever.” The words come out in a breathless tumble, and I immediately want to disappear under the covers. I’ve never made an offer like this to anyone, but then again, no one has ever made me want to.

I yank the blanket over my head. “Goodnight, Matéo.” If I stay in the open air one more second, I will spontaneously combust from sheer mortification.

He doesn’t let me off that easily, though. With a soft laugh, he shifts closer, wrapping an arm around me and pressing a feather-light kiss to my shoulder. “Rory, you’re a dream,” he murmurs, his voice warm and teasing against my ear.

Yeah, a nightmare’s technically a dream too, I think wryly, though my heart flutters despite the sarcasm. I wriggle a bit, settling into his embrace, the earlier awkwardness dissolving into a quiet, shared peace as we drift off.

12 Meet the Morins

Waking up in matéo’s bed still feels like a bit of an adventure—part exciting, part oh no, now what? And yeah, last night’s impromptu Free-use Friday pass probably had something to do with that.

I shove the covers off and blink at a breakfast spread straight out of Gourmet Living With A Boyfriend Material™—fresh croissants, fruit carved into little sculptures, Greek yogurt, and steaming coffee.

“This isn’t what I had in mind when I gave him that pass,” I mutter, snatching a croissant anyway.

Honestly, if this is how he plans to use that pass, I might have to rewrite the terms. I expected something a little more… adult film festival, not boyfriend of the year.

Not that I’m complaining.

Still swallowed up in one of Matéo’s shirts, I shuffle toward the kitchen like a sleep-deprived raccoon. There he is, Mr. Early Bird himself, pretending he’s starring in some gourmet cooking show. I tiptoe behind him, wrap my arms around his waist, and rest my head between his shoulder blades.

“Morning, Early Bird,” I purr. Except it comes out more sleepy-koala than sultry vixen.

He stiffens slightly, and I bury my face deeper, taking in the scent of his cologne mixed with something… different.

My hands wander downward, confident in my sleepy haze.

Is it just me, or does this feel… smaller?.

“Bonjour,” he greets me with a wrong voice.

Wait, something feels… off. My brow furrows.

It takes a moment, one mortifying moment to realize the back I’ve been nuzzling isn’t Matéo’s.

I freeze. Then slowly—slowly—look up.

Oh. My. God.

My hands dart away like they’ve touched a live wire. My face probably turning all shades of crimson as I stumble backward, my cheeks are burning. Standing there in Matéo’s shirt, bedhead and all, looking like I just rolled out of his bed—because I did—is mortifying enough. But groping a stranger?

Matéo appears in the doorway, his expression somewhere between startled and amused. “Rory,” he says, way too calm, “I’d like you to meet my dad. Philippe.”

His dad?!

Someone go ahead and toss me into St. Lawrence river. I’m done.

“Your… dad?” I squeak, an octave too high.

“Nice to meet you, Rory,” Philippe says with a twinkle. “Well, this is certainly one way to meet the family.”

I’m a second away from collapse from sheer embarrassment when another, softer and slightly amused voice cuts in “Oh, Phillipe, stop it. Don’t mind him, honey. I’m Claire, the mom.”

Of course she is.

She steps forward with a warm smile and gives Matéo a pointed look. “Matéo, you should’ve told her we were stopping by. Look at the poor girl!”

Matéo grins, pulling me to his side, preventing me from bolting. “Rory, meet my parents. They decided to visit, unannounced. So, surprise,” he says casually.

His parents?! There’s no coming back from this. None.

“I—oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I stammer, burying my burning face in Matéo’s chest. “I thought he was—” I cut myself off before I say something I’ll regret until the day I die.

Philippe waves it off, chuckling. “No harm done. Happens all the time,” he says with a wink.

Claire smacks his arm. “Stop teasing. She’s mortified.”

Matéo squeezes my shoulder, “you okay there, Rory?”

“Sure,” I mutter into his shirt. “You know, if we redefine okay to mean wishing for instant death.”

Claire smiles gently. “Don’t worry about us dropping in. We’re actually just here to pick up the dog,” she says, nodding at the dog’s empty bed. “He’ll be staying with us meanwhile.”

Philippe raises a brow. “Is that what we’re calling it, Claire?” He grins at me. “She packed in five minutes after Benny told her Matéo had a girl over.”

Claire gasps. “Philippe!”

“What? It’s true. I barely got my shoes on.”

Matéo rolls his eyes. “Benny didn’t spare any details, I’m guessing?”

Claire gives an innocent shrug, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, you know your brother.”

Claire, sensing my discomfort, places a reassuring hand on my arm. “Don’t worry, Rory. It’s just… been awhile since we last heard about Matéo’s… let’s say, love life.”

Matéo groans, his head falling back. “Mom, can we not?”

“And honestly, I’m glad we came,” she adds, ignoring her exasperated son. “You’re even lovelier in person than Benny described. I can see why he’s so excited about you two.”

So glad everyone’s in the loop except the two people actually in this…whatever it is.

Benny and Éric, must have decided to take the reins and lay the groundwork of our so-called relationship as some kind of prelude to our deal. A pre-emptive PR campaign, conveniently glossing over the little fact that we’re technically on a… temporary arrangement.

I thought we agreed on introducing me as a friend last night. Damn them.

I feel Matéo’s hand slide into mine under the table. “Benny…” I mutter.

“Went overboard,” he confirms. “Shocker.”

“And for the record,” Philippe adds, clearly not done teasing,“the whole mix-up earlier? It made quite the first impression.”

I groan. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Nope, not in a million years!” Father and son chorus without missing a beat.

I elbow Matéo lightly for not helping.

“I promise, Rory,” Claire says, giving me a wink. “We’re not always this nosy.”

Phillipe scoff. “Nah, we are this nosy. It’s a family trait. You’ll get used to it.”

A knock on the doorframe interrupts followed by a new face popping in.

Oh, hello, new face.

“Matéo, I’ve gathered the last bits for the resort landscaping,” the tall, scruffy, very Quebec lumberjack chic guy pauses mid-sentence, taking us in. “Well, well.”

“Rory, this is Jérôme,” Matéo says. “Our landscape artist.”

Jérôme bows, theatrical as hell. “Nice to meet you. I thought you were imaginary. ‘Keep the noise down, she’s sleeping,’” he air-quotes with a smirk.

“Very real,” I say, “unfortunately for everyone this morning.”

“Well, I guess I’m not the only one who’s nosy this morning. The Morins are here too. Morning Phil, Claire.” He teases with a mischevious grin almost a felony.

I raise an eyebrow and shoot back with a smirk, “Come on, guys.”

“No, you don’t get it. Matéo? He’s always the first on site, last to leave, unlike any other architect we’ve ever worked with. We’ve actually been looking forward to the day he’d… um, how do I put this… have a personal life.”

“Jérôme,” Matéo sighs. “Go finish your plans.”

Jérôme raises his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Hey, I’m just saying. It’s a rare sight, that’s all. That’s why we’re all here.”

Matéo rolls his eyes. “You’re here to get some tools, now get going.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Jérôme throw a salute, “Later, lovebirds.” He adds.

“Well, Claire, we’d better get going too, now that you’ve seen her,” Philippe teases his wife with a knowing smile.

Claire’s eyes twinkle with that unmistakable motherly affection, her gaze lingering on Matéo and me. “Yes, of course,” she replies warmly. “He’s been all about work for far too long. It’s nice to see him… take a moment.” She shoots Matéo a soft smile, one that speaks volumes without saying much at all.

Matéo huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t argue, busy helping his dad with the dog.

“Nancy, huh? Quite the name for a dog, but I like it,” Philippe says with a grin, scratching the dog behind the ears before heading toward the door.

Claire turns to me, her eyes warm. “I’m happy to see you here, Rory. See you again very soon,” she adds.

I smile, still mortified. “Nice to meet you, too. I wish I’d made a slightly less memorable first impression, but here we are.”

Claire waves it off with a laugh. “Ah, don’t worry about it, honey.” Her smile makes me feel just a little bit more at ease.

Philippe throws in one last jab. “Benny and Éric are gonna love this story.”

“Oh god,” I groan. “Do they have to know?”

I can hear them chuckling at my rhetoric question as they step outside.

“What have I gotten myself into?” I mutter to myself, feeling the weight of the Morin family’s curiosity and Benny’s inevitable teasing hanging over me like a cloud.

13 Miss Criminal Mastermind

I slip back into Matéo’s room and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Yikes. I look like I’ve been through a hurricane—mentally, physically, spiritually. I need a reset, or at least the illusion that I’m fine. Fake it till you make it, right??

I dig through my suitcase, which looks like it was packed by a drunk raccoon, and finally pull out an off-shoulder knit top and a satin slip skirt. Nothing fancy, but comfortable, and the swish of the fabric against my legs makes me feel slightly less like a disaster. I run a brush through my hair, managing something resembling those ‘effortless waves’ influencers claim they ‘woke up like that.’ Lies, all of it.

A quick swipe of mascara hides the evidence of my crying marathon, and a hint of lip tint brings some colour back to my face. Final mirror check. Not bad. I may feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, but at least I don’t have to look like it. Baby steps.

My phone pings, pulling me back to reality. It’s from my banking app. Weird. I freeze when I open it. A chunk of deposit. Sitting in my account, staring back like a binding contract. The exact amount I casually threw out last night when Matéo and I hashed out the terms of our… arrangement.

The deal is simple, I accompany him to the event as his plus one, and the money he just transferred is supposed to untangle at least some of the chaos in my life.

So, there’s no backing out now, huh? Technically, I could still walk away. I should, maybe. But part of me doesn’t want to.

Could I have asked for more? Absolutely. Matéo’s lifestyle suggests he wouldn’t have blinked. But this is more than enough. Enough to cover Mom’s funeral, chip away at the most urgent debts, and maybe breathe a little easier. The rest, I can manage with my three jobs. No big deal, right?

Right.

I step out of the room, and there he is—Matéo, standing by the window on his phone. He looks ridiculously good in his jeans and rolled-up shirt, the sleeves hugging his forearms in that I-build-skyscrapers-and-break-hearts kind of way. He hangs up as soon as he sees me, like I’m more important than whoever was on the other end of that call. It’s a small gesture, but it hits me harder than it should.

Now what?

He looks at me for just a second too long, his eyes tracing over me in that way that makes my heart stumble. Is it the morning light giving him a clearer vision of the hot mess standing in front of him? Or maybe he’s finally seeing me for what I am—a complication. Whatever it is, it’s too late for regrets now.

“Like what you see, monsieur Morin?” I tease, trying to act like his gaze isn’t making my knees go weak. My voice is light, but inside, I’m a swirl of nerves.

“Damn right I do,” he says, striding over, eyes glued to mine.

Uh oh… How do we humans breathe again?

His arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, making it hard to think straight. His presence is both comforting and unnerving like a storm you want to chase but know you shouldn’t.

He leans in, his breath brushing against my ear. “I left a breakfast tray for you in the room,” he murmurs.

I lean back into him, letting myself savour the moment longer than I should. “I saw that,” I say, trying not to flirt too hard. “You know that pass meant hotter thrills, not patisserie seduction, right?”

“You wanted something other than croissants, hmm?” he whispers, low and teasing.

“Let’s just say my expectations weren’t exactly continental breakfast,” I smirk, tilting my head to meet his eyes. “But croissants do make a strong case.”

Our gazes lock, then drop to each other’s lips. A beat too long. Matéo’s hand tightens slightly at my waist before he steps back, like he knows if he holds on any longer, things might go somewhere neither of us is quite ready for. Or maybe just somewhere we shouldn’t go right now.

“I’ve got something to finish at the office,” he says. “But I want to take you out tonight. A proper date. I can’t spend a week with you and introduce you to my family without at least taking you out first, can I?”

There’s no room for refusal in his tone, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to refuse. Not when he looks at me like that.

“Yeah, about that…” I hesitate, biting my lip. “I saw the bank transfer…”

“Yes, it’s done,” he replies smoothly, like it’s just another Tuesday. “But I want you to use the card on the table for whatever you need, from now until we get back.”

“Umm… mais non, merci. I don’t need that,” I protest, hands already half in the air like I’m fending off a Gucci ghost.

He grabs his jacket, unfazed. “It’s non-negotiable.” A glance, a shrug. “I’d love to stay longer, but I’m running late.”

I glance at the sleek black card on the table, daring me to pick it up. “You realize you don’t actually know me, right?” I call after him, half-joking, half-dead serious. “I could rob you blind, clean you out, and leave a thank-you note on the fridge. You sure this is a good investment, Monsieur Morin?”

He pauses in his steps and gives me a look that’s more amused than worried. “Uh-huh. Is that a threat?”

“I’m serious!” I insist, crossing my arms. “I could be bad news. A con artist. You don’t know what kind of person I am.”

He walks back to me, smiling wider now. “Rory, if you wanted to take advantage of me, you’d have asked for ten times what you did. But you didn’t. And anyway, no real villain gives a heads-up.” He chuckles, clearly not concerned in the slightest.

He leans down, presses a kiss to my forehead, soft and smug. “See you later, Miss Criminal Mastermind.”

---

Soooo… what now? 👀 Tell me what you think should happen next! Thank you for reading and I appreciate any comments!

14 One perfect date

I wrapped up my errands earlier, amazing what a little financial boost can do. Life feels a whole lot easier with some breathing room. Matéo’s transfer didn’t fix my life, but it gave me a lifeline to handle the most urgent fires. The rest of the mess? That’ll have to wait until this trip is over.

My new phone’s blowing up with Marie, Matéo’s assistant, spamming me with restaurant options for tonight’s date; fancy French bistros, trendy sushi bars, Italian trattorias. With so many Michelin stars, my eyes need a nap. I scroll, then ditch her list, texting Matéo my pick.

He finds me waiting at Pierre-Dugua-De Mons terrace, perched on a blanket under the open sky. He looks slightly confused. “Come on, sit,” I say, patting the spot beside me, and giving him my classic you’ll survive look.

The terrace is my secret gem, a tucked-away park on a hill, serving Château Frontenac views without the tourist swarm. The historic hotel stands tall against the skyline, framed by cobblestone streets and the winding St. Lawrence River stretching into the horizon. Hands down, the best place for a summer picnic in Quebec City.

“This wasn’t on Marie’s list of suggestions, was it?” he asks, eyebrow raised as he lowers himself onto the blanket.

“Nope,” I reply, leaning back on my elbows. “I scrolled through her list, but it felt like she was the one taking me out, not you. I’d rather date you than Marie. No offense, Marie.”

“She’s a reservation wizard,” he says, defending his PA. “She knows the best spots and is pretty reliable to find a reservation on a last-minute notice anywhere.”

“Relax, Mr. Fancy Pants,” I say, handing him a bottle of crisp apple cider and a basket of my croissant sandwiches. “Who knows, you might actually enjoy slumming it with me.”

He takes a sip of cider, his shoulders finally relaxing. “This… is perfect,” he admits, tension melting as he glances at the view.

“Good,” I say, grinning. “Now, let’s make this productive. Speed-date style. Rapid-fire questions. Isn’t that what you wanted? To feel more prepared for this whole arrangement?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I do want to take the time to get to know you better, but the speed-date idea isn’t bad. We can start with that,” he replies, leaning in a little closer.

“But first of all, Rory,” he adds, polishing off half his sandwich in one go. “These are incredible. I’d take this over a fancy restaurant any day.”

I nod back, smug as hell.

“I’m more of a homemade guy myself.” He confesses.

“Are you now?” I tease, wondering if he just trying to be relatable.

“Okay, first question,” I say, feeling a little spark of excitement. “What’s your biggest pet peeve? And don’t say something predictable like bad manners.”

He thinks for a moment. “Hmmm… unsolicited sexy pics, definitely. Don’t people have self-respect anymore? And how the hell do they even get my number?”

I nearly choke on my cider, laughing. “Okay, noted. No random sexy pics. Got it.”

He leans in, eyes gleaming. “I said unsolicited, Rory. Yours? Fully welcome.”

“Well, glad we cleared that up.” I roll my eyes, pretending to scoff while secretly wondering what my best angle is. Not that I’m going to send him anything.

…Maybe.

The conversation falls into an easy rhythm after that, our questions bouncing back and forth like a playful game. Neither of us digs too deep. We instinctively know where the lines are, keeping things light, skimming the surface. It’s like we’re both testing the waters, seeing how much we can share without tipping the balance, without crossing into something too real, too soon.

“Alright,” I say, sitting up and brushing crumbs off my lap. “Next question: What’s something I wouldn’t guess about you?”

Matéo leans back, his eyes scanning the horizon as he considers. “I’m a decent painter. Landscapes mostly. It helps me unwind.”

I blink, genuinely surprised. “Really? I did not see that coming.”

He grins. “See? There’s more to me than just spreadsheets and blueprints.” Then he tilts his head, studying me. “What about you? What’s something I wouldn’t expect?”

I hesitate, then shrug. “I can be such a pun queen sometimes.”

He bursts out laughing. “Now that is unexpected. I’ll add that to my growing list of Rory Fun Facts.”

I smirk, “Don’t worry, I’ll punish you with it over time.”

Matéo groans, laughing. “Oh no, I’m doomed.”

“You asked for it,” I tease. “Now you’ll have to deal with me pun-tuating our conversations.”

The humour in his eyes softens as he leans closer, the space between us shrinking. “Alright, serious question now. What’s the most important thing I should know about you?”

I could joke, brush it off, but instead, I meet his gaze. “I hate owing anything to anyone.” I pause, feeling the weight of the question. I could joke, brush it off, but instead, I meet his gaze.

“My dad died before I was old enough to be by myself, so I stayed with his wife, Robbie’s mom. She was a nice person, really, but she had her little demons, and when they hit, she would remind me that I owe my life to her. Every meal, every clothes, even the godamn roof above my head…” My throat tightens.

“I knew she didn’t mean it, she probably didn’t even remember what she said, but it came from somewhere real. Her resentment. I was proof that her husband cheated, and she got stuck with me.”

Matéo reaches for my hand and pulls me closer. “Rory, it’s not your fault.”

“I promised myself I would never let myself in that position again—begging for a little space to exist. So, I’ve worked damn hard for every little thing I have, even if it’s not much. When I push back sometimes… that’s why.”

“I get that. And I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. Ever.” He whispers, pulling my head to his chest.

For a moment, there’s a comfortable pause between us, and I feel myself loosen up. I shoot him a playful look. “Alright, enough about me. Your turn. You seem like a dark green flag all the way, but come on, nobody’s that green. What’s your red flag?”

Matéo laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess that depends. What some people think is a strength, others might see as a flaw.”

I tilt my head, curious. “Like what?”

His eyebrows lift, like he’s surprised I’m asking. “Okay, take my achievements, or my family name. Most people see those as major positives, but you don’t seem phased by any of that. And honestly, I like it.”

I nod, but honestly, his family name doesn’t ring a bell. Am I missing something here?

“An example for my red flag?” he continues, his lips twitching with amusement. “My height.”

I roll my eyes, grinning. “Your height is evergreen, Matéo.”

“Yeah, that’s what people say, until they know me better and realize that everything about me is proportional to my height. You know, literally.” He pauses, giving me a shy smile. “But you… You didn’t even flinch.”

I blink at him, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling up. “Wait, hold on. Are you saying you’re too much man for people to handle?”

Matéo rubs the back of his neck again, that shy chuckle escaping. “I mean, yeah. It’s been… mentioned.”

I can’t hold back anymore. I burst out laughing, covering my mouth. “Well, damn, Matéo. That’s one way to humblebrag.”

He grins, his embarrassment melting into amusement. “You asked for a red flag. Just putting it out there.”

“Enough with the reds and greens,” he says, leaning in. “I’ll figure out your colour myself. Now, tell me, what’s your type? I mean, the kind of guy you usually go for?“.

I shrug, leaning back against the blanket, my eyes on the view instead of him. “You know, someone laid-back, no frills. A hard-working commoner, grounded. Like, I don’t know… someone like Jérôme, for example.”

Matéo stiffens beside me. “Jérôme, huh?” His tone is a little too casual, like he’s trying to hide something under the surface.

I glance at him, catching the tension creeping into his posture. “Like Jérôme,” I clarify, rolling my eyes. “Not necessarily him, per se. Although he’s not hard on the eyes either.” I smirk, teasing just a little, but I can already see I’ve hit a nerve.

He sits up, his easy-going demeanour shifting. His jaw tightens ever so slightly, and I can tell he doesn’t like my answer. At all.

I sit up too, brushing off the crumbs from my skirt, and turn to him, trying to explain. “I meant, guys like him, guys who live in my world. The gritty, working-class, no-nonsense kind of life. They revolve around that same gritty, everyday struggle I’ve been living my whole life. That’s where I come from, that’s what I’m used to.”

Matéo’s eyes lock on mine. “And you think I don’t get that?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge there. A vulnerability he’s trying to hide.

“We’re different worlds, Matéo. Without Benny dragging you to Serendipity, we’d never cross paths. I’m glad he did.” I say, planting a kiss on his shoulder.

A heavy silence grows between us. He stares out at the horizon, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee as if he’s trying to process what I’ve just said. It’s the first time I’ve felt the divide between us, and from the way his jaw tightens. He feels it too.

I rub my arms, the chill from the setting sun creeping in. The sky has turned into a stunning canvas of deep oranges and purples melting into one another. Matéo shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. It’s comically oversized on me, falling halfway down my legs like a kid wearing her dad’s coat, but I’m too cold to care. “Thanks,” I murmur, tugging it tighter around me.

“Ready for another game?” I ask, letting a hint of mischief slip into my tone. I’m trying to ease the tension, to pull us back to the lighter, easier rhythm we had before.

Matéo’s lips curve into a slow grin. “Always,” he replies, leaning into my challenge like it’s a dare.

We pack up the picnic into my jute bag, and Matéo slings it over his shoulder like it’s his to carry. While you girls are busy looking for men in finance, have you seen a man in the construction elite? Six-foot-something, broad-shouldered, and still manly enough to lug a tote like he’s coming straight out of a Vogue photoshoot? It’s unfairly hot, I’m telling you.

I slide my hand into his, I feel the weight between us shift, the invisible divide blurring as we walk hand in hand down the cobblestone streets of Vieux-Québec. The old buildings glow softly in the fading afternoon light, making the moment feel timeless.

We stop in front of a massive stone building, its exterior dim, dramatic, and vaguely ominous.

Matéo squints. “What’s this?”

“Come on!” I tug his hand, smirking. “I know you like mystery and detective shows, so I booked us an escape room!”

“Rory, no way?!” His grin explodes, boyish and bright.

“Yep. But unlike your favorite detective shows, this time, we’re the prey,” I tease, holding the door. “We’ve got to find our way out before we end up on the chopping block.”

He follows, bouncing like a kid. The guide, a gleeful doom-master, lays out the rules and locks us in. Then, with a dramatic thud, the door slams shut, plunging us into near-total darkness.

Matéo’s arms wrap around me from behind. “Thank you,” he whispers, giddy. He lands a kiss on my head and squeezes me tight.

I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “Focus, Romeo. We’ve got puzzles to solve to get out of this creepy-ass room.”

“Fine, fine,” he laughs. “Alright Rory, let’s get out of here alive.”

I find a flashlight and turn it on, revealing cryptic clues and spooky decor.

We make a solid team, Matéo solving puzzles with his annoyingly clever deductions and me… well, mostly just getting in the way and being a delightful distraction.

He’s got this smug, insufferable grin plastered on his face when he solves the last puzzle and the door swings open.

“Under twenty minutes?” he says, pointing the timer on the wall. “They should rename the room after me.”

He dusts off his shoulders, winks at the attendant, and claps his back. “Keep it challenging next time, alright?”

To make matters worse, they take our victory photo and slap it up on the wall of fame, Matéo front and center, flashing a grin that could probably be seen from space. He nods at it like it’s art.

“You think they’ll need an extra wall for when I come back?” he asks, absolutely glowing.

I cross my arms. “Remind me to never let you win at anything ever again.”

He just smirks. “Good luck with that.”

He’s still beaming with victory as we walk out. “Told you I had this,” he says, the smugness dripping from him.

Insufferable.

Gone is the poised Matéo Morin we all know. The man is a terrible winner. Like, really bad. And it’s kind of hilarious. It makes me wonder, if he’s this smug when he wins, what the hell does he turn into when he loses? Should I be worried?

“Yeah, yeah,” I roll my eyes. “Congrats, Sherlock. You and your giant brain saved the day.”

“Admit it, you loved every second.”

“Fine, maybe I did,” I admit, nudging him with my elbow. “And as a reward for your… brilliance,” I say with a mock bow, “I’m taking you to the best gelato bar in town. They only open during the summer, so you’re in for a treat.”

His eyes light up as I lead him to a little hidden gem next door. The line is short, and the air smells like waffle cones and happiness. He stares at the colorful rows of gelato like he’s about to make the biggest decision of his life.

He ends up with a pistachio-raspberry swirl and some tangy passionfruit thing. I go with lavender-honey and blueberry-basil. It’s a weird mishmash of flavors that, weirdly, works, kind of like us.

We sit on an old bench, digging into our frozen prize and laughing about the escape room. Matéo is still soaking up his win, unbearable, but I’d be lying if I don’t find it also adorable.

“You know,” I say, licking the smear of blueberry from my lips, “the night isn’t over yet.”

I lean in. “We’re going to end it with a bang.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.” I toss my half-eaten cone and grab his hand. “Come!”

We walk down the cobblestone street to the Place de Canotiers, the quay is buzzing with people and music. The place is packed, a sea of locals and tourists, all gathered under the night sky. Matéo’s hand tightens around mine as he scans the scene, his brow furrowed slightly, a mix of curiosity and uncertainty on his face.

“What’s going on, Rory?” he asks, his voice pitched over the chatter and music.

“Free entertainment.” I grin. “Just wait.”

We find an open spot on the grass, settling in among the crowd. Matéo sits beside me, his posture still tense, clearly unused to this kind of impromptu chaos. I nudge him gently with my shoulder, shooting him a reassuring smile. “Trust me,” I whisper.

And then—BOOM. A firework splits the night, spilling a cascade of colors over the horizon.

The annual Grand Feux Loto-Québec has begun.

Matéo’s arm slides around my waist, his eyes wide as colors crackle across the sky. The sky erupts in bursts of gold, red, and electric blue, each one brighter and more breathtaking than the last. The lights dance across the water, illuminating the historic buildings and the spellbound faces of the crowd. Like the whole world is on fire, in the best possible way.

In this moment, everything else don’t seem to matter, debts, worries, heartbreak. It’s just us and the sky on fire.

“Pretty awesome, right?” I shout over the crackling fireworks, glancing up at him. He presses a soft kiss to my shoulder and rests his head against mine. His quiet says it all.

The finale lights up the sky like the stars exploded. As the last sparks fall, Matéo’s still holding me close. His quiet contentment is contagious, and I find myself smiling like an idiot.

I know he liked our first date because later that night, back at his place, he eats me like there’s no tomorrow.

And here I was thinking I’d the one who end the night with a bang.

---

P.S. The Grands Feux Loto-Québec is a real summer event in Quebec City. For eight magical nights, the sky explodes with synchronized fireworks set to music. It’s loud, vibrant, and a total scene-stealer, just like Rory’s life right now.

15 Lunch with the Morins

The car ride starts quiet,just engine hum and my thoughts spiraling into increasingly ridiculous worst-case scenarios. I’ve never even met a boyfriend’s parents, let alone grandparents. Hell, I don’t even know my own. I’m flying blind, like I’ve walked into a high-stakes game without knowing the rules.

“Something on your mind?” Matéo glance at me as if he knows. “Don’t worry, okay? Mamie’s gonna love you, I’m sure of it.” Matéo’s hand finds mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Great. I feel so much better now,” I mutter, sinking lower into my seat. Meeting the grandmother of a guy who’s not even really my boyfriend is nerve-wracking enough. Add her reputation for slicing through pretense? Yeah, I’m screwed.

“You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

I look at him, deadpan. “Myself?! You mean the girl who’s been evicted, has a highly questionable arrangement with his grandson, and whose life is one bad sitcom episode after another? That self?”

“Yeah, that one. Mamie’s probably seen worse.”

“Worse than this?” I raise an eyebrow, gesturing at myself. “I very much doubt that.”

“You’re doing better than you think.”

I huff out a breath, not entirely convinced but willing to take his word for it. Watching the trees blur past the window as we drive, I half-wish I’d Googled “how to charm terrifying grandmothers” before we left. That has to be a thing, right?

The rest of the drive passes in easy conversation and stolen glances. Turns out I’m only the second girl Matéo’s ever brought to meet Mamie, with the first being Alyssa, the ex-fiancée.

No pressure, right?

We pull up to Mamie’s place, a pristine Canadian farmhouse with a red metal roof gleaming in the sun, and wrap-around porches with a couple of rocking chairs. Manicured gardens surround the house, with bursts of colourful flowers so perfectly arranged. It’s the kind of house you’d see in one of those overly sentimental homecoming movies where the protagonist finally discovers what ‘family’ really means.

“Wow,” I breathe, taking it all in.

“Yeah,” Matéo murmurs beside me, his voice tinged with something almost like reverence. “My grandparents have lived here since forever.”

I glance at him, then back at the house, feeling a little wave of nerves swell inside of me. This is more than just meeting a guy’s family; this is stepping into his history, his roots. And for a girl who’s never had a stable home, this place feels almost sacred.

I loop my arm through his as we walk up the gravel path. His arm tenses slightly under my grip. It’s weirdly comforting to know he’s nervous too. Not in the same way I am, but still. He’s taking me to meet his family under the weirdest of circumstances, with whatever story Benny and Éric have spun, he has all the reason to be nervous, even just slightly.

Speaking of the devils, Benny and Éric are waving from the porch, their grins already spelling trouble.

Benny’s face lights up with exaggerated glee. “There they are! Our favourite lovebirds!” he calls out.

“Rory, darling!” Éric glides down the steps and pulling me into an over-the-top hug. “You look radiant! So, tell me, how did you two meet again? Was it love at first sight?”

I blink, thrown off by the question. “Um… sort of?”

“Of course it was!” Benny jumps in, winking. “I mean, look at you two. If that isn’t a fairytale romance, I don’t know what is!”

I can feel Matéo stiffen beside me, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Right, fairytale,” I say dryly, trying to keep my voice light despite the overwhelming urge to strangle both of them.

“You guys are enjoying it, aren’t you?” I ask, accusingly.

Benny and Éric nod a little too enthusiastically. Of course they are.

Matéo shoots Benny a look so intense it feels like it could burn through stone. “Just… tone it down, okay?”

As we step inside, Claire is waiting with a welcoming smile that instantly puts me at ease. She pulls me into a warm hug like we’ve known each other for years. “Rory, sweetheart! It’s so wonderful to meet you again,” she gushes, pulling back to look at me with genuine warmth in her eyes.

“Uh, thank you,” I say, a little stunned.

Claire beams at me. “We’ve heard so much about you from Benny and Éric. They’ve told us everything.”

I shoot a glance at Matéo, who looks like he’s trying to figure out when he lost control of this entire situation.

“Everything?” Matéo echoes, his voice filled with quiet dread.

“Yes, everything! How you met and stuff like that, you know how mamie likes details”

I can feel Matéo tense next to me, his eyes darting between his mother, Benny, and Éric, who are grinning like they just won the lottery.

Claire pulls me further into the house, chattering on about how they’ve been looking forward to having me for lunch.

The original plan was simple: pop by for a night, do the family formality thing, then head to the resort. Keep it casual, light, no strings attached. I mean, I’m no saint. I took money to be Matéo’s arm candy, which says a lot about my flexible moral compass. But I have limits, and lying to people’s faces is where I draw the line. Yet here we are, playing pretend in front of his whole family.

Should’ve known Benny and Éric would blow this way out of proportion. I guess “keeping it low-key” just isn’t in their vocabulary. Whatever script we thought we were going to follow has been completely rewritten.

As we make our way into the living room, I hear the sound of footsteps and turn to see Matéo’s grandmother, Mamie, as everyone calls her, coming out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s got this no-nonsense aura about her, with eyes that seem to see straight through you. The kind of grandma who you just know was probably a badass back in the day, and probably still is.

She walks over to us, eyeing Matéo with a fond smile before turning her attention to me. “So, this is the famous Rory I’ve been hearing so much about,” she says, her voice warm but her gaze sharp, assessing.

“Yes, Mamie, this is Rory,” Matéo says, his voice holding just a hint of caution.

Mamie gives me a long, considering look, and then her eyes drop to my stomach. “Tell me, dear, how far along are you?” Her tone is as innocent as can be, like she’s genuinely curious about the weather or something equally harmless.

“Uh… how far along with what, exactly?” I blink, confused.

Her eyebrows lift ever so slightly. “The baby, of course. You look like you’re not far from nursing.”

There’s a split-second pause where everyone simultaneously forgets how to breathe. I consider being offended, but the absolute horror on everyone’s faces, and I lose it. “Oh, Mamie, no.” I manage to say between giggles. “The only baby having fun with these is your grand-baby, Matéo,” I add, doing a little circular motion over my breasts for emphasis.

Philippe, Matéo’s dad, chuckles and shakes his head. “I don’t even want to know about it.”

Matéo clears his throat, stepping in. “Mamie, maybe hold off on planning nurseries. We’re still figuring out dinner.”

Mamie’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh, that rascal Benny!” She looks around at the room of stunned faces and shrugs. “Well, with how Benny and Éric were talking, I figured you two were well on your way to adding to the family.” She is completely unfazed, like she didn’t just throw a grenade into the middle of lunch.

Matéo’s glare sharpens as he turns to Benny. “And what, exactly, have you been telling our family?”

Benny shrugs, looking innocent despite the mischief dancing in his eyes. “Just the basics. Like catching you two under the sheets in the middle of the day.”

“Benny, mon Dieu!” Matéo groans, rubbing his temples.

Mamie waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, hush. You two would make excellent parents.”

I blink, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as the implication settles over me.

Wait a minute.

My eyes dart to Benny and Éric, and the realization hits me like a ton of bricks. This family is banking on Matéo being the one to carry on the next generation.

Oh. My. God.

But Mamie, with all her no-nonsense wisdom, just pats my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, dear. When it’s time, you’ll do just fine.”

I laugh nervously, trying to play along even though my mind is racing. “Well, Mamie, I’ll keep that in mind for… the future.”

Matéo sighs full of frustration. “Benny, you’re a dead man.” He turns to me. “Rory, can I talk to you for a sec?”He gently guides me a few steps away from the peanut gallery, just enough to steal a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice low and tight. “I thought I could keep this light, but clearly, that ship’s on fire.”

“Hey, it’s not a big deal,” I say, trying to ease the tension. “I’m a pro at deflecting awkward comments, remember?”

“No,” he says, eyes locking onto mine. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you need to use that skill around my family.”

“I’m fine, Matéo. And I’m sure your family is lovely. Don’t look now, but I think they’re definitely staring at us from behind the window.”

His brows lift.

“Should we kiss?” I offer with a playful grin, cupping his cheek. “You know, for the optics.”

Matéo turns his back toward the window, shielding me from view. “We don’t need to give them a show, Rory.”

“Then give it to me for real. I did good, didn’t I?” I tease, rising on my toes. He smiles and presses a soft kiss to my forehead, just as Claire pops into the doorframe.

“Okay lovebirds, come on in, lunch is ready” she calls. “We promise we won’t pick on your girlfriend anymore, Matéo.” She says, throwing a wink at me, I’m pretty sure she’s not about to keep that promise.

---

I didn’t grow up with family lunches. We had food, just not company. Dad’s schedule didn’t help. He was gone before I woke up, back when I was already pretending to sleep. On the rare days he was around, the silence was worse than his absence. The air would go stiff whenever I joined their table. Tense. Like I was intruding on something I was never really part of. Eventually, I stopped joining. Made excuses. No one minded.

So sitting here now, surrounded by the Morins and their homemade lemonade and endless small talk, feels borrowed from a life that was never meant to be mine.

Mamie and Claire have clearly been busy, the table covered in an array of dishes that could only be described as a feast; tourtière de lac St. Jean meatpie, homemade pickles, fresh salads, blueberry pie, and a mountain of freshly baked bread that smells so good it makes my stomach growl on cue, totally outing me as the starving outsider.

“Oh my God, this looks so good. Thanks for having me!” I gush, trying to focus on the food instead of how out of place I feel.

Claire, looking as serene as a domestic goddess, beams and piles salad on my plate. “Our pleasure, Rory. This is from Mamie’s garden, just for you.”

I glance at the salad like it’s a math problem I’m failing. ‘Thanks, but I need to try everything,’ I say, mock-serious. “I mean, look at this spread. It would be a crime not to.”

Claire blinks, clearly surprised, and I catch a fleeting shift in her expression. I’d bet my next paycheck Alyssa was one of those girls who survive on kale and air.

“Mom,” Matéo interjects, his tone that special brand of warning you reserve for family. The air gets a little awkward as the ghost of Alyssa past hovers above the gravy boat. Yup, definitely a sore subject.

I wink at Claire. “Don’t worry, I’ll help myself.” I load my fork with some tourtière and grin at Matéo. “I love salad, but look at me, I definitely run on carbs and chaos. That’s why I look this delicious, right, baby?” The words slip out playfully as I nudge him under the table.

And just so you know, I add, leaning in conspiratorially, “I can make five different meals from leftover BBQ chicken. That’s my real culinary flex.”

Phillipe raises an eyebrow, trying to hide his amusement. “Is that so?”

Between bites of tourtière, I catch a snippet of conversation between the Morins that makes me do a double-take. My brain freezes mid-chew. Morin et Fils Depot. As in the Morin et Fils Depot, those massive warehouse stores with the blue signage and half the province’s tool budget.

I’ve wandered those aisles with a Pinterest aspiration and Dollarama budget, never wondering who owns the empire. So Matéo isn’t just “hot architect with good arms”, he’s Hardware Royalty.

And here I am, bragging about leftover chicken like it’s my Linkedin bio. I swear, if a black hole opened up beneath my chair right now, I’d swan-dive in without hesitation.

I nod, doing my best to keep cool. It all clicks into place, Matéo’s earlier comments about his family name being a double-edged sword. Same with Benny. Of course, he co-owns Serendipity and throws themed brunches with minor celebrity energy. But he clearly has something bigger going on. I’ve always suspected there’s a whole other layer to him he downplays.

Matéo’s hand finds mine under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Something in your mind?,” he whispers.

A loud truck rumbles up the driveway, drawing everyone’s attention and sparing me from admitting how wildly out of place I feel at this table.

I glance toward the window just in time to see Jérôme hop out, looking every bit the working-class hero in his worn jeans and flannel. He waves as he heads up the path, and papie Morin’s face lights up like someone just brought him dessert before dinner.

“There’s my guy!′ Papie pushes his chair back, ready to greet Jérôme. “I asked him to pick up some tools I needed.”

The soft tap of Matéo’s fingers drumming against the table pulls my attention back to my fake boyfriend. His mood has shifted just enough for me to feel it. The slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his lips press into a line. A storm cloud gathering, just under the surface.

Jérôme steps inside, his gaze sweeping the room until it lands on me. His grin is easy, warm. “Hey, Rory!” he says. “Very nice to see you again!”

I smile back. “Hi, Jérôme. Small world.”

“Jérôme lives nearby,” Benny interjects, like a helpful narrator. “His family’s worked with ours for generations. He’s practically family.”

I feel Matéo’s glare at Jérôme, though he seems oblivious, or maybe he’s just used to Matéo’s intensity. Either way, he leans in, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “So, Rory, how’s the big boss treating you?”

“Oh, you know, just trying to keep up with him.”

“Well, if you ever need a break from all the high-society stuff, you know where to find me.” He replies with a wink.

That’s when Matéo’s hand shifts to the back of my chair, his fingers brushing my shoulder. It’s subtle, but the message is clear.

“Jérôme,” Matéo says, his voice calm but lethal, “need help with those tools?”

Jérôme raises his hands in mock surrender. “Nope, just stopping by to say hi.”

Matéo doesn’t move his hand from my chair, and I feel the tension crackling between them. Benny the observant leans over and whispers, “What did you do, Rory?”

“What? I didn’t do anything!”

He narrows his eyes at me, skeptical. “Uh-huh. Well, something’s got our little Matty all worked up.”

I glance back at Matéo, who’s now glaring at Jérôme like he’s trying to set him on fire with his mind.

Oh. Oh.

I remember my offhand comment about Jérôme being more my type—hardworking, down-to-earth guys I’d normally date. Crap.

Wait, is he jealous?

“Okay, maybe I might’ve said something,” I admit, wincing. “I mentioned something about the kind of guys I usually go for. And maybe, I mentioned Jérôme’s name as an example.”

Benny’s eyebrows shoot up, and he grins. “Oh, this is going to be fun. But if you’re planning on throwing Matty a bone, I suggest you do it soon. He looks like he’s about two seconds away from throwing Jérôme and those tools out of here.”

And as I glance back at Matéo, who’s still scowling at Jérôme with that deadly calm intensity, I think Benny might be right.

I reach for Matéo’s hand, let my thumb glide over his knuckles like I’m testing how far I can push this little game we’re playing. His fingers twitch slightly, and I feel the heat coil between us.

“Matéo, baby.” I murmur, teasing.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes still simmer as they shift between me and Jérôme like he can’t decide whether to kiss me or hurl the poor guy into the hydrangeas.

“Why don’t you help Jérôme with those tools… so he can be on his way.” I press a kiss to his lips, soft and slow, then wink as I pull back.

His mouth twitches into a reluctant smile as he pulls away. “Alright, sure.”

“Okay. How did you do that?,” Benny says as soon as Matéo left the table, his voice a hushed whisper as if we’re plotting some elaborate heist. “Should I be happy or terrified about the fact you’ve already got him wrapped around your finger?”

Claire, who has been busy fussing over the table, pauses and looks over, a knowing smile on her face. “Something definitely went down between Matéo and Jérôme,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “Rory, my youngest son is… let’s just say he has a bit of a competitive streak. When he cares, he cares hard. He wants to be everything for the people he loves. But if he feels like he’s falling short, or like someone else might do it better…” She trails off with a soft sigh. “Well, let’s just say he can get a little intense.”

“And a lot possessive,” Benny adds with a grin. “Touch his stuff, and you’re done.”

Well, well, well. Mr. Evergreen flag does have red flags after all.

Phillipe shoots Claire a pleading look. “Claire, please, could we maybe not scare her off just yet? And Benny, your brother isn’t that bad.”

Claire raises her hands in mock surrender, glancing at her husband before looking back at me with a small, amused smile. “I’m not trying to scare her off,” she says innocently, though there’s a glint in her eye. “I just think Rory should have a little glimpse of who Matéo really is, if she hasn’t already.”

“So you’re saying aside from being a bad winner, he’s also hardwired to be insufferable if he’s not in control?”.

Claire’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly impressed, and a grin spreads across her face. “Well, look at that, you’ve already cracked the code,” she says, laughter in her voice.

I grin, trying to hide the uncertainty lingering underneath. Because as much as I enjoy their praise, I’m starting to think I’m biting off more than I can chew with this fake relationship.

*Dollarama: our version of dollar store in Quebec City

16 Best cockblock ever

Matéo comes back from helping Jérôme with the tools and Jérôme follows close behind, smiling in that way only someone completely oblivious to the looming danger can manage. He’s got something in his hand—a single gerbera daisy. My heart softens instantly, not realizing the trouble that might come with it.

“Just a little welcome gift before I head out,” Jérôme says, extending the flower. “Found it growing out back. Thought it might brighten your day.”

I barely notice the sudden sub-zero chill that hits the room. “Gerbera daisy! My favorite!” I gush, maybe with a little too much enthusiasm judging by the death glare Matéo’s shooting at Jérôme’s back. “Awww… Thank you, Jérôme! That’s so sweet. Safe drive, okay?”

“Sure thing. Anytime.” Jérôme waves goodbye, totally unaware he nearly became a murder statistic.

The second the door clicks shut, Matéo’s hand finds my elbow, pulling me closer. “Your favorite flower, huh?” he mutters, almost hissing and his gaze fixed on the door as if daring Jérôme to walk back for round two.

I tuck the daisy behind my ear, because I look adorable with it and I damn well know it, then flash him my sweetest, most innocent smile.

“Yup. What’s wrong with that?” I ask, batting my lashes in full theatrical mode.

He’s glowering like I just committed treason. His jaw works like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t want to say. When they finally come out, they’re sharp and clumsy: “Nothing. Just don’t get too cozy with every guy who hands you a flower.”

Every guy who hands me a flower?

The words hit like a slap. My smile freezes, then melts into something cold. “Excuse me?”

The thrill of his jealousy dies instantly, replaced by that familiar burn in my chest, the one I get every time some man assumes I’m easy pickings because I smile and serve drinks and happen to have tits.

“What exactly are you trying to say, Matéo?” My voice is deadly quiet now. “That I’m some bar girl who throws herself at any guy with a flower? That I can’t tell the difference between friendly and flirting?”

His eyes widen, like he’s hearing his words for the first time. “No, that’s not… I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what? Didn’t mean to call me easy?” The hurt is bleeding through my anger now, making my voice shake. “Because that’s sure as hell what it sounded like.”

“Rory, no.” His hand reaches for my face, but I step back. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Then what DID you mean?” I snap. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you think I’m getting ‘cozy’ with men for sport. Like I’m some kind of—”

“Stop.” The word comes out rougher than intended, and I see him flinch at his own tone. He drags a hand through his hair, looking lost. “I…”

“Well, excuse me for being appreciative,” I snap, sharper than intended. “It’s not every day I get flowers, okay?”

“Rory—”

“No, seriously.” I wave the daisy in the air like Exhibit A. “The last time I got flowers was for my mom’s funeral. And those weren’t even for me. So forgive me if I light up when someone’s just… nice.”

Shit. TMI, Rory.

His eyes widen like I’ve slapped him. “Rory, ch…”

I swallow.

“Look, I’m not used to… normal stuff,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Guys being nice without wanting something back? Revolutionary concept. So yeah, maybe I got excited over a stupid daisy, but that doesn’t make me—”

“Stop.” His voice cracks. “And I’m sorry.”

“You’re damn right you are,” I snap, louder than necessary.

“I’m sorry that it bothers me so much watching another man make you smile like that.”

Oh.

We stare at each other across three feet of space that feels like a canyon.

“Alright, you two,” Philippe says, his no-nonsense tone brokering no argument. “Take a breath, that’s enough!.”

The fight goes out of me a little, because Matéo looks genuinely shocked at his reaction, at his words, at the whole damn mess. But that doesn’t make it hurt less.

The dark clouds rolling in and announce through the windows. But Matéo’s already backing toward the door. “I need a minute, and I’ll get the garden tools before it rains,” he mutters, then he’s gone.

And there it is. When things get messy, men run.

Benny and Éric are stunned into silence and take a synchronised step back, clearly not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. It’s not every day that Benny’s baby brother gets called out and put in his place, especially in the middle of one of his signature brooding moods. The look on Matéo’s face is almost comical, like he’s not sure whether he’s more shocked by my yelling or by the fact that his family is witnessing the whole thing.

“Where are you going?” I call after him, my voice sharper than intended.

Philippe shoots me a look. “Best to leave him alone. He’ll come around.”

Like hell.

I grab an umbrella, fumbling with the stupid thing.

“I don’t need one,” Matéo calls from halfway outside.

“Oh, I didn’t know men become waterproof when they’re being idiots,” I fire back, marching past him into the rain, snapping the umbrella open as the first drops begin to fall. The sky opens up, and raindrops start to fall like confetti on this whole ridiculous mess.

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smile, but the frustration lingers. The rain comes down harder, soaking us both despite the umbrella.

“I’m really sorry,” he says finally, and this time, I can tell he means it.

I glance up at him, my annoyance softening as I see the sincerity in his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” I reply, but my tone is gentler now, almost teasing. “But I guess I can forgive you.”

“Really?”

“Don’t push it.”

He exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t make this easy, do you?”

“Never,” I grin, and somehow we’re both lighter as we head back inside.

---

“You two need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold,” Claire greets us with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

The umbrella kept most of the rain off, but it didn’t do much against the cold. I can feel the chill seep through my damp clothes, my nipples hardening and poking through my tight top like they’re trying to signal a distress call. I cross my arms, hoping nobody notices.

Spoiler alert: They notice.

Benny leans over, “Hey, just so you know, Eric and I packed you a suitcase for the resort. It’s upstairs in Matéo’s old room. Maybe something less… eye-catching? I really don’t want to get disowned by my baby brother because we accidentally get an eyeful. Matéo looks ready to murder anyone who glances your way.”

I shoot him a look, trying not to laugh. “Benny, not helping.” My cheeks burning as I head for the stairs, Matéo trailing behind me.

Matéo’s old room has this nostalgic, slightly awkward vibe. It’s like stepping into a time capsule where teenage dreams and memories are suspended in time. The faint scent of aged wood and the sharp musk of old books linger in the air, blending with the rhythmic tapping of rain against the window. It’s cozy, almost disarming, but the charged atmosphere between us is anything but.

I’m not going to lie, the man makes me crazy. The way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes flick to me like he’s torn between scolding me and pinning me against the wall—it’s maddening. And yet, here we are, both stubborn as hell, neither willing to break first.

Fine. If he won’t move, I will.

I know exactly what’ll tip the scales.

I take a deep breath and tug my top over my head, letting my breasts bounce free. His eyes go wide, like he’s witnessing a damn miracle.

Mission accomplished.

I even throw in a little extra bounce, just because I can.

The cool air kisses my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat in his stare. A sharp inhale escapes him. I can literally see his resolve cracking. “Rory…” His voice is strangled. “No.”

I tilt my head, all innocence. “No?”

“The walls are paper-thin.”

I pout, knowing exactly what I’m doing. “I’ll be quiet. Promise.”

His gaze burns into me. “Impossible. Besides, I like it when you’re loud.”

God, he’s making this so difficult.

But I can see it, the way he’s fighting himself. I lean in, bridging the tiny gap between us, and press my lips to his, soft and teasing. I guide his hand to my neck, feeling his grip tighten just the way I like it, the way that makes me weak in the knees.

“Take me, Matéo,” I whisper against his lips, tilting my head to bare my neck as an open invitation.

And just like that, he loses the war.

His lips crash against my throat, kissing, biting, making me gasp at the exquisite mix of pleasure and pain. His other hand tangles in my hair, pulling me closer, deeper, making the room spin. He’s relentless, and the way he’s tugging at my hair, nipping at my skin and nipples, I know he’s losing himself to the same need that’s consuming me.

I cling to him, my own restraint slipping away. We’re both too stubborn to say it out loud, but right now, actions speak louder than words, and his hands and mouth are telling me everything I need to know.

Matéo pins me against the wall with his body, one hand threading through my hair, pulling just enough to make me gasp, while the other settles possessively at my neck, we’re both so lost in the kiss, the air between us is thick with need, and I can barely remember where we are or care if anyone’s around.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting on mine, eyes dark and smoldering with unspoken hunger. The look in his eyes is pure, unfiltered desire, and it makes my pulse race even harder.

I give him a slow, wicked smile, letting my teeth graze over my lower lip, and I see his jaw clench, his control hanging by a thread. His eyes flick down to my mouth, then back up, and the tension in his grip tightens, his fingers tangling deeper in my hair. “Keep testing me, Rory,” he growls with impatience. “See where it gets you.”

I raise a brow and bite my lip, taunting him with a look I know will tip him over—

Then something soft but surprisingly strong whacks Matéo’s shoulder with a solid thwack.

“Maudit garçon! What do you think you’re doing?”

Oh shit. Mamie.

Matéo jerks back like he’s been electrocuted. Mamie’s wielding a broom like a weapon, gaze fixed on his hand at my neck, mouth set in a grim line.

And I’m topless. Perfect.

“Mamie, wait—” he tries to explain, but she’s not having it. With another swift whack, she lands a solid blow to his arm, making him flinch.

I frantically search for something to cover myself. My nipples feel like they’re glowing neon, after Matéo’s very thorough “conversation” with them earlier. The aftermath is glaringly obvious; red, wet, and swollen. Great.

“You were not brought up like that, treating a woman this way!” she scolds, her voice a mix of fury and worry as she positions herself between us like a protective barrier.

Matéo winces at the broom’s impact, trying to block the next swing with his arm.

We probably forgot to close the door. It’s hard to remember minor details like privacy when Matéo’s looking at me the way he did. But of course, in the true tragicomedy that is my life, someone has to walk in at precisely that moment, broom in hand, and completely misread the situation.

“Whoa, Mamie, he wasn’t hurting me, I swear!” I jump in, trying to defuse the situation. I’m laughing and panicking all at once, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

But she doesn’t listen. Her gaze snaps to me, her eyes narrowing in suspicion behind her glasses. “Don’t you protect him, ma petite! If he’s being rough with you, I’ll—”

“Mamie, I’m not!” Matéo protests, his hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t— She’s fine! I promise.”

“Really, I’m okay,” I say, trying to calm her down. “Matéo’s never been anything but gentle with me.”

She looks at me, her eyes narrowing, clearly not convinced by my hasty assurance. She reaches out to pull me away from him, her concern radiates off her. “Come, you don’t have to stay with him if he’s mistreating you.”

“Mamie, please,” Matéo groans, looking like he’s about to pull his hair out. “I wasn’t—”

The commotion draws the whole house. Suddenly, the hallway is packed with stunned spectators.

Phillipe steps forward, hands raised like a hostage negotiator. “Mamie, I’m sure there’s an explanation. Let’s all just take a deep breath—”

But the glint in his eyes betrays him. He’s loving this.

Matéo looks like a deer in headlights, hair tousled, mouth flapping open without producing a single coherent word. “It wasn’t like that! We were just—”

Benny and Éric peek in like it’s the season finale of Love Island: Family Edition.

Mamie, still holding the broom like a sword, cuts Matéo off with a stern look that could probably melt steel. “No excuses, Matéo! You were not raised to treat a woman like that!”

“It’s just a misunderstanding, Mamie. It’s not what it looked like,” I try to jump in, but she turns her fierce glare on me, and I feel my voice shrivel up like a dried leaf.

“Rory, you don’t have to defend him,” she says firmly, her eyes softening just a little as she turns to me. “Stop protecting him, after what happened this afternoon plus this, he needs to learn his lesson!”

I’m about to protest again when Phillipe, looking like he’s on the verge of losing it, steps in. “Matéo, maybe you should just sit down for a second,” he suggests, and there’s a glint of pure, unadulterated amusement in his eyes.

“Dad, please—” Matéo groans, running his hand through his hair, completely exasperated.

Mamie cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Matéo Théodore Morin! There is no reason. NO REASON for a man to put his hand over his lover’s neck or pull her hair like that, ever!” She punctuates her words with a stern glare that makes Matéo visibly shrink.

And then, it dawns on everyone. The room falls into a tense, awkward silence as the realization sinks in. Éric’s eyes go wide, while Benny wheezing. Even Philippe looks like he might explode.

“Oh god,” I whisper.

“This is gold,” Benny wheezes, leaning on Éric for support. “Nothing says romance like getting caught by your grandma mid make out and getting accused of assault.”

“Shut it, Benny!” Matéo snaps, but it’s too late. Mamie’s eyes widen, her mouth forming a small ‘o’ of shock as she looks between us, piecing it all together.

“What were you two doing?” she demands, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Phillipe shakes his head and tries his best to stifle a chuckle. “Son, I don’t think there’s any getting out of this one.” clapping him on the back in mock sympathy. “But, Mamie, I think this one’s on you.”

Matéo’s face turns a shade of crimson I didn’t even know was possible, his eyes shut tight like he’s wishing himself anywhere but here.

Mamie, still holding onto my arm protectively, looks utterly confused. “What do you mean?” She looks genuinely perplexed, like she’s being introduced to the concept of extraterrestrials for the first time.

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh again. “Mamie, really, it’s fine. He wasn’t hurting me.”

But she’s not convinced. “Well, I don’t like it one bit,” she huffs, pulling me towards the hallway with surprising strength for someone her age. “You’re sleeping in the guest room tonight, ma petite. I’ll not have you in that boy’s bed until he’s learned his lesson.”

Matéo lets out a long, suffering groan, his head dropping into his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he mutters.

And as Mamie lectures me about self-respect and keeping boys in line, I glance back at Matéo. He’s looking completely lost, surrounded by his hysterical family. Benny and Éric are wiping tears from their eyes, and his dad just shrugs, giving him a helpless look. Even Claire doesn’t seem to know how to save the situation. She gave me a quick look and shrugged, but I could see the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Sorry… but also, not sorry. This is hilarious.” I mouth at Matéo, and he just shakes his head, the hint of a smile finally breaking through his mortification.

“You’re so dead,” I whisper between giggles.

Matéo groans. “I know.”

Mamie’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “And you, young man, will think about what you’ve done and apologize to Rory first thing in the morning!”

I wink at Matéo, knowing I’ll never let him live this down. “You better think about it real hard, young man.” I tease as Mamie drags me down the hall like a grounded teenager.

Best. Cockblock. Ever.

17 The Alyssa effect

The kitchen smells like freshly brewed coffee and something buttery and sweet, the kind of aroma that hits you right in the soul. My stomach grumbles loud enough to announce my presence, but nobody seems to notice. Except Mamie, of course, sitting at the head of the table with that knowing twinkle setting off my internal alarms.

“Morning. This smells incredible!”

“Good morning, dear,” she says, her voice warm but carrying that distinct edge of authority. “Come sit. We’re just about to start breakfast.”

I scan the table. Benny and Éric are already at the table.

Claire beams at me as she places a stack of golden pancakes in the center of the table. “Good morning, Rory. I hope you slept well. Matéo is with his father and papie outside. They’ll be back shortly.”

Mamie placed her hand on mine and squeeze it gently, she narrows her eyes ever so slightly and adds, “Rory, dear, if Matéo is ever rough with you, emotionally or otherwise, you come straight to me, alright ma chère?”

I force a smile, trying to break the tension. “I promise, Mamie. I’ll never let Matéo step out of line. And, of course, if he’s being too annoying, you’ll be the first to know.”

Mamie continues. “You know, I’m from a different time. A conservative woman.”

“Conservative?” I blurt out, completely lost. I glance at Benny and Éric, two men who are anything but the traditional idea of “conservative,” and Mamie seems to love them. What the hell does she mean?

“Yes,” she says, lifting her chin. “Conservative, like Beyoncé.” She waves her hand dismissively, as though this is an obvious explanation.

Pardon?

Mamie frowns for a moment, then laughs along with the rest of the table. “What I mean, dear, is that when a man likes a woman, he should put a ring on her finger, not laying his hands on her.” Her gaze flicks pointedly to my bare hands, and suddenly, the meaning behind her earlier comment clicks into place.

As if reading my mind about Benny and Éric, Mamie adds with a hint of pride, “Look at these two. At least they did things the right way—Benny made it official right off the bat.”

Benny and Éric, sensing an opportunity, lift their hands in unison, flashing their rings with smug grins. “Uh-huh!” they chorus, clearly basking in Mamie’s approval.

“Oh,” I mutter, heat flooding my face. “Right, of course. But Matéo and I… we’re not quite there yet. It’s… early.” I stumble over the words, awkward and unconvincing, as I silently pray for the conversation to shift.

Claire steps in with a smile. “Sweetheart, I know my son. He’s a good man, but he’s not always the most thoughtful about these things.” She disappears into a nearby cabinet and returns with a small jewelry box, which she opens to reveal a collection of stunning rings. “These are mine, but I want you to choose one. Just as a gesture.”

My heart stumbles over itself. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” I stammer, shaking my head. “They’re beautiful, but… for me, a ring is something that has to be earned. If Matéo hasn’t thought about a ring yet, it just means we’re not there. Not yet.”

Benny leans in, whispering dramatically, “Just for saying that, you deserve half the box.”

Mamie nods thoughtfully, folding her hands. “You know,” she says, her tone softening, “after hearing all the stories from Benny and seeing how you handle my grandson, I have to say, you’re doing a damn good job, emotionally.”

“And physically,” Éric throws in, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I roll my eyes, feeling the heat creep back up my neck. “We’re just… figuring things out….” I mumble, though the warm buzz of acceptance is impossible to ignore. “But thank you. Really.”

There’s a beat of quiet as Mamie studies me, her gaze more thoughtful than before. “You’re a good girl, Rory,” she says finally. “My grandson is lucky to have you.”

The warmth in her words touches me, but guilt is creeping up, tying and invisible knot in my gut. If only they knew this whole thing was a charade, is just… Transactional.

“Uh-huh! I told you!” Benny exclaims. “Didn’t I say she was perfect for him?”

I try not to roll my eyes because this is the same guy who orchestrated the whole ‘Pretty Woman’ deal. “And who was it that came up with this brilliant plan?” I tease, raising an eyebrow at Benny.

Benny waves a hand, unconcerned. “Details, details. We knew you two were a match made in… well, somewhere.”

Éric leans back in his chair, nodding sagely. “Just gave you a nudge. A love nudge.”

“Right,” I say dryly, though the warmth in my chest lingers. As much as I want to deny it, it’s getting harder to pretend this arrangement is just that—an arrangement. Especially with everyone here treating me like I already belong.

The conversation moves on, but then the universe wants to test how well I can handle awkward situations, so mamie brings up the one person I’d been hoping to avoid.

“You are a complete opposite of Alyssa, she was always such a demanding girl,” she says, shaking her head.

Here we go.

The table falls silent. I feel the air shift as everyone’s expressions darken.

“Matéo and Alyssa were so alike,” Mamie says thoughtfully. “Both brilliant, both driven. We all thought they were perfect for each other.”

“Alyssa would say ‘We’re building an empire together,’ on our family dinner.” Claire recalls. “And she meant it. Their success was her love language.”

“I must admit, Matéo’s career was advancing rapidly with her by his side. She’d plan these amazing business trips, networking events, investment opportunities. Quality time meant productive time,” she adds gently.

“She never minded when he worked late,” Mamie continues, “because she was working late too. As long as they were both succeeding, the relationship was succeeding. That was enough for her.”

Claire’s voice softens. “But we could see it wouldn’t be enough for him. We knew he needed connection, not just collaboration. He was just too busy to realize it himself. He thought she was understanding of his busy schedule, but it was them growing apart.”

Oh. So he didn’t even know what he was missing until it was gone.

He thought her independence was perfect – no complaints about late nights, no demands for attention. But what felt like understanding was actually… distance. God. They were both giving each other what they thought the other wanted, but neither was getting what they actually needed.

Well, that was… tragic.

I stay quiet, listening as the pieces start to click into place. I’m starting to get the full picture of who Alyssa was—ambitious, successful, a female version of Matéo, but with a twist of something darker. Wickedly smart and driven. No wonder they got along at first. It’s like she was the personification of Matéo’s potential if he’d taken the wrong path.

I slowly get the picture, she’s the reason he’s so… intense about attention. And she left him for Guillaume because… he’s more successful?

No wonder he gets weird about other men’s attention. Alyssa probably made him feel like he was never enough, like she was always looking for something better.

And here I am, taking his money for my company.

Am I just Alyssa with better jokes?

But at least I actually want to be around him. Still. The parallel is uncomfortable as hell.

The realization sits heavy in my chest. If they only knew. I’m no saint swooping in to save Matéo from his tragic past. I took this deal to be his arm candy for the money. That truth blinks at me like a neon sign, loud and damning: Not any better than Alyssa.

I shift uncomfortably, catching Benny’s gaze. His expression is so earnest, so hopeful, like he is genuinely rooting for me and his little brother. My stomach twists with guilt. I shoot him a look, one that silently says, I’m not that girl, pal. He knows this, he helped orchestrate this whole charade—but the hope in his eyes lingers.

I’m about ti spiral into guilt if Matéo and his dad didn’t walk in just in time. His presence shifts the air, pulling me like a magnet. Part of me wants to launch myself at him, anything to escape this awkward family therapy session, but Mamie’s hand clamps down on mine.

Right. Mystery. Play hard to get.

“Ma petite…,” she says. “remember, a girl must keep some mystery.” Her eyes narrow, darting briefly to Matéo before returning to me. “And don’t forget, Matéo still owes you an apology for last night’s… behavior.” The way she says it, like she’s cataloging his every move for future judgment, makes me want to laugh and squirm at the same time. Clearly still holding onto the neck-holding incident like it’s a court exhibit.

“Mamie, no one has ever cared about my consent more than Matéo.” I say, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “He’d never do anything to hurt me. I know that for sure.” I feel his eyes on me, a soft warmth behind that guarded expression.

Matéo’s gaze shifts to the ring box still sitting in front of me like a giant question mark. Phillipe chimes in, “Well, son, if you don’t want half the men around here giving Rory flowers, putting a ring on her finger might help them steer clear.” The implication hangs in the air, his dad’s eyes twinkling with mischief.

I can’t help the snort that escapes me. “I don’t need a collar to show I’m not a stray,” I say, the words coming out with a bit more bite than I intended.

Matéo’s eyes lock with mine, a glimmer of something, maybe understanding, maybe frustration. Whatever it is, it’s intense.

Matéo leans casually against the counter. “Good morning, chérie.” He takes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, “Rory, you don’t owe it to anyone to make it obvious you’re with me. But if you ever decide you want a ring…”, he trails off, his gaze still fixed on me, like he’s trying to communicate something deeper than words. And damn if my heart doesn’t do a little flip at the promise hidden in his tone.

I reach up to his chin, the tips of my fingers grazing the rough stubble. I’m barely reaching him on my toes, easily a foot shorter, but I manage to plant a soft kiss on his lips. He smirks, leaning down just enough to meet me halfway. But then he leans in, his breath warm against my ear as he whispers, “Please don’t do that… the extra touch and little scratch.”

I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he’s on about, until he suddenly settles me against him, his strong arms wrapping around my waist as he pulls me close. My back presses into his chest, and that’s when I feel it—his unmistakable reaction, pressing against me. Heat rushes to my cheeks as realization dawns.

“Um… baby brother,” Benny starts, his tone dripping with playful skepticism, “You almost went full Hulk just because Jérôme gave her a flower, and now you’re saying you don’t need her to make it obvious she’s with you? Uh huh… sure.” He waves a hand in our direction.

Matéo groans, burying his face in the crook of my neck like he can hide from Benny’s teasing. His breath is warm against my skin, and despite myself, I laugh, because Benny isn’t wrong.

Matéo lifts his head, shooting Benny a withering glare before pressing a quick, soft kiss to my lips. “Alright, chérie,” he says, pulling back. “I’ll get everything ready. We’ll leave as soon as you’re set.” His tone is casual, but the anticipation in his eyes betrays him.

Claire’s voice pulls me back to the moment. “It’s such a pity you have to leave so soon,” she says. “I would’ve loved to have you both around a little longer.” She turns to me, her gaze hopeful. “And please, you must visit us in Quebec City once the event is over. We’d love to have you over.”

Her invitation feels genuine, and something about it tugs at my heartstrings becayse this whole pretending thing with Matéo might just be temporary, but the way his family is opening up to me, making me feel included? That part is real.

“Would love to, Claire,” I reply with a wink, trying to keep things light. “If I survive this trip, that is.”

I force a smile, trying to ignore the little pang in my chest. I know what this is. This is the part where the lines between what’s real and what’s pretend start to blur. But I know better. The deal is done when the event does. And probably, so is whatever this is between Matéo and me.

I feel Matéo’s eyes on me, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in my head. Maybe he’s wondering the same thing—what happens when the clock strikes midnight on this twisted version of a fairy tale.

18 Auberge Mont Blanc

The scenery shifts as we leave town behind, the open road unfolding into rolling hills and winding mountain passes. As we climb higher into the Mont Blanc mountains of Gaspésie, the air turns crisp, laced with the scent of pine and earth. The kind of clean air that makes you feel like you should be more outdoorsy than you actually are. The landscape grows wilder and the road narrows, curving through steep cliffs and jagged slopes, the sheer drop-offs both breathtaking and unforgiving.

The trees break occasionally, revealing glimpses of deep valleys and glacial lakes, sparkling under the afternoon sun. Through the panoramic window, the view stretches endlessly, sharp peaks cutting into the sky, clouds rolling over the ridges like they’re in no hurry to be anywhere.

I shift in my seat, watching the way the evergreens blur past, half expecting to see some wild animal darting between them. It’s beautiful out here. Big, quiet, and a little dangerous. The kind of place that makes you feel like you could disappear into it and never be found.

For a while, I lose myself in the view, letting the weight of everything else slip away. But the silence between us grows heavy, and my curiosity starts to itch.

“So… what’s the plan?” I ask, trying for casual but failing miserably. “Am I supposed to charm every man at the resort into falling for me? Or should I focus on making Alyssa regret ever letting you go?” I flash him a grin, hoping to lighten the mood. “Because I’m game for either.”

His lips twitch into an exasperated smirk as he gives me a quick side-eye. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Benny and Éric. You’re starting to sound like them.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be a team player here.”

“First, I prefer to call it auberge, a resort sounds pretentious. Second, the only plan is for you to just be yourself and enjoy the week. You have no obligation to do anything for me, you don’t owe me anything, Rory. I’m just grateful you agree to this at all.” he says with a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing gently across my knuckles.

I raise an eyebrow, leaning back in my seat. “No briefing? No game plan?”

Matéo shakes his head, both amused and exasperated. “You really want a briefing?”

“Of course,” I reply, grinning as I cross my arms. “I’m going blind here. For example, what do I say when someone asks why I’m with you.”

He sighs. “Alright, if you insist. What will you say if someone asks why you’re with me?”

“That’s easy,” I shoot back, smirking. “The sex. Obviously.”

He groans, head falling back against the headrest. Then slides me a sneaky sideways look. “It’s that good, huh?”

My cheeks flush instantly. Damn him. “I—uh, what?” I stammer, flustered. The blush on my face tells him everything he needs to know, and from the look on his face, he knows he’s got me right where he wants me.

“You didn’t exactly deny it, chérie.“he says, his voice dripping with smug amusement,

I swat at his arm, glaring at him. “Don’t get cocky.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I realize the unintended innuendo in my words. Great. I’ve just dug myself deeper into this hole, and the grin on Matéo’s face says he knows it too.

He leans closer, his eyes gleaming with that infuriating confidence. “Don’t worry, chérie. I’ll try to keep my… cockiness in check.”

Oh God. Why does he always have the last word?

---

As cliché as this might sound but my eyes literally widen, taking in the stunning view as we pull up to the entrance of the auberge.

Holy Guacamole.

Hundreds of gerbera daisies in every stage of blooms line the entrance on both side like they’re leading us into some enchanted land.

Jérôme is already waiting, looking proud and a little too casual for someone who’s been part of making my day. “So, what do you think about the arrangement?” he asks, grinning with pride while opening my door.

“I love it!” I gush, still taking it all in. “It’s perfect. Seriously, these daisies… wow!” I’m definitely a slow learner because I did not learn anything from when Matéo went full caveman because Jérôme handed me a single daisy, but I just can’t get past these daisies.

Jérôme’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Do you have any idea how tricky it is to find hundreds of gerbera daisies mid-bloom this time of year? Overnight?”

I blink, catching the subtle edge in his voice. “ I have no idea but I guess it wasn’t easy?”, My voice lilts with uncertainty. “But wait, why does that sound like it’s my fault?” I narrow my eyes at him.

He raises a knowing eyebrow. “Well, you were pretty vocal about loving them yesterday. Someone might’ve overheard.”

My gaze shifts to Matéo, who is doing his absolute best impression of a man who is completely unaware of this conversation. His casual lean against the car, the way his jaw tightens ever so slightly—it’s all too suspicious.

“You’re not serious,” I say, turning back to Jérôme.

Jérôme lowers his voice, pulling me aside like we’re about to discuss state secrets. “Look, Matéo’s like a brother to me. And trust me, with seven of my own, I don’t say that lightly. He’s in the top three, so it’s kind of a big deal.”

I snort at that, trying not to burst into laughter. “Top three, huh? and what does that have to do with me?”, I wasn’t sure where he was going with that.

Jérôme leans in closer. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but… it’s clearly you got him under your spell. When that happens? your wish is literally his command, even the unspoken ones. The man makes things happen, whatever it takes to earn you a smile.” His voice drops. “I’ve seen this before. Use that info wisely, Rory,” he adds with a wink before heading off.

The weight of Jérôme’s words hits me, and I glance back at Matéo, he’s leaning casually against the car, clearly trying to play it cool, but I can feel his attention on me. Oh no, his jaw. His dead giveaway. His top-three-favorite-brother status didn’t come with instructions on how to take it easy when me and Jérôme exchanged words.

It’s almost endearing, in a brooding, emotionally-complicated way. And God, do I have a type.

I walk straight up to Matéo and wrap his hand around my hips, grinning like I’ve just won the lottery. “That’s the most beautiful entrance I’ve ever seen,” I say, and I mean it.

“Well, we have the best landscaping team in town.” he mutters, but I catch the faint edge of jealousy in his voice. Oh, this is too good to let go.

I can’t resist. “So… it’s Jérôme I owe for all this gorgeous scenery, huh?” I tease, knowing full well where this is headed. Boy, do I like to look for trouble.

His jaw clenches, right on schedule. I can feel the Hulk creeping up behind his calm exterior. But this time, I’m ready for it. “But he was just making sure your vision came to life.”

I lean up and kiss him full on, not holding back. “I love it, Maté0.” I murmur against his lips, letting him know I see the effort. All of it.

Matéo’s eyes soften for a split second. “This is my apology for yesterday.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, smiling. “Apology accepted,” I whisper, teasing my lips near his again.

“Rory, everyone is watching,” he says, warning and teasing me before I get too carried away.

I step back, putting on my best ‘apologetic’ face, but before I pull away completely, I can’t resist—my fingers graze Matéo’s chin, scratching that spot that I know drives him absolutely wild. The second my fingers make contact, he groans, low and deep, a sound that shoots straight to my core.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters, his eyes dark with a mix of amusement and warning.

Benny and Éric arrive on the scene right on time, their eyes wide as they take in the breathtaking entrance. Benny shakes his head with exaggerated disbelief. “Oh my gosh, you teens,” he teases, gesturing at Matéo and me, “Can you at least take a moment to appreciate the view? This is amazingghh!”

Benny gives Matéo a side-eye, “But I don’t remember this in the plan, boss?”

“It was an impromptu improvisation,” he replies, clearly pleased with the result but trying to play it cool.

Éric nods. “Good call, Matéo. Really pulls everything together. Almost makes you forget that the two of you get all handsy in the background.” He winks, then turns to Benny, who’s nodding in agreement.

Heat rushes to my face, and I step back, fully ready to play it cool while Matéo doesn’t give a damn about our audience. He doesn’t even blink before he’s pulling me right back into his chest like, Nah, we’re doing this. His arm wraps around my shoulder casually, while he leans his chin on me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And I’m just here, smushed against this man’s very solid chest, half mortified and half really into it. As if that wasn’t enough, Matéo pulls me even closer, his other arm around my belly.

Just as we’re all still standing there, soaking in the sight of the awesome landscape with the dramatic background of the majestic Mont Blanc, there’s a faint click behind us. At first, no one really notices, we’re all lost in the flowers and fresh air, but then, the unmistakable sound of a car door closing makes everyone snap to attention.

I turn around, and stepping out of a sleek, black Escalade is a tall, impossibly blonde, with legs that go on for days, and dressed in something that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe combined. She’s all sharp angles, thin as a toothpick, and smells like money. Even from a distance, you can feel her boss bitch energy rolling off in waves like some kind of corporate goddess descending from on high.

She must be Alyssa.

I glance up at Matéo, half expecting some reaction, but he’s stone-faced, unreadable. Meanwhile, my insides are doing somersaults, because this is who I’m up against?

---

Matéo doesn’t miss a beat when he sees Alyssa and Guillaume all perfectly composed like this isn’t the most awkward reunion in history. He gives me one last squeeze, a soft kiss on the temple before he strides off to play host. The message is clear: We’ve got this

Fine. Two can play that game. I summon my brightest, most clueless smile, the one that says, History? Betrayal? Nope, not a clue. Just here to look pretty.

Benny leans in just enough for me to hear him mutter, “Well, the witch has arrived on her modern broom.”

I bite back a laugh, but Éric doesn’t bother. He groans loudly, tossing in an eye roll for dramatic effect. It’s so over-the-top that Alyssa actually glances his way, her expression tightening for half a second before smoothing into something polished and nonchalant.

Alyssa obviously didn’t expect to see someone in Mateo’s arm, well, bonjour to you, Witch! But she’s not the only one who was surprised. It seems back-stabbing friend, Guillaume also didn’t expect the view. His eyes rake over me, lingering a beat too long, like he’s recalibrating some old mental image he had of Matéo’s type in women. I know that look—the same one my half-brother used to throw my way and the same one I get from drunk clients at Serendipity. The kind that makes your skin crawl, like they’re sizing you up for more than just conversation. Gross.

I grip Matéo’s hand tighter and pull myself closer to him, flashing Guillaume my best, back off smile, and Matéo instinctively pulls me closer, his hand settling on my waist like it’s second nature. I guess *don’t even try it* vibes are even more effective when paired with actual physical proximity.

“Rory, this is Alyssa and Guillaume,” he says. And as I’m standing there, tucked securely against him, I can feel the shift—he’s subtly marking his territory, but in the most elegant, let’s-keep-this-friendly way.

Alyssa, meanwhile, still looks a little thrown. Her gaze bounces between me and Matéo, but she recovers quickly, all polished and poised. Still, I don’t miss the hint of surprise. She wasn’t expecting me, and definitely not me looking the way I do.

Then Benny steps in, nodding coolly. “Alyssa, Guillaume,” he says, his voice carrying that relaxed charm, though there’s an underlying edge to it. Éric follows suit with his usual smirk, “Good to see you both.”

The next arrival cut short what could be a potential awkward moment between all of us. As the invitees begin to arrive, along with representatives from the Ministry of Tourism and the Ministry of Environment, the atmosphere feels exclusive and kind of intimidating, but I’ve handled worse. Speaking of feeling like a fish out of water.

Oh, you thought you needed a cute little “how to be the arm candy” briefing? Rory, please. The real challenge is navigating this crowd of industry giants. I want to facepalm myself so hard.

As we glide through the crowd, Matéo’s hand stays comfortably warm in mine, his grip solid enough to send a quiet message without needing a neon sign. He’s not throwing labels around or making a big deal out of introducing me as anything more than “Rory,” which is honestly a relief. The way his arm instinctively tightens around my waist every time someone stares a little too long, or how he pulls me just that much closer when Guillaume or any other man happens to glance my way. It’s subtle but there—his quiet little flex.

As the last guests arrives, Matéo clears his throat and welcomes the crowd with the kind of effortless calm that seems to come naturally to him.

The elegant lobby of the auberge de Mont Blanc— the auberge in the forest, as Mateo would call it, buzzes with a mix of excitement and curiosity. Some of the architects exchange murmurs of approval as they glance around the sleek, modern design of the resort’s interior—a stark contrast to the natural beauty of the surrounding landscape.

Okay, what the actual hell? This is what Matéo calls a “little mountain retreat”? I was expecting rustic charm, maybe some decent views. Not a place that makes five-star hotels look like budget motels.

Maybe that’s just me. Maybe for fancy people like them, this is just Tuesday-level normalcy. But as I glance around, I notice I’m not the only one internally gasping, there are murmurs of appreciation floating through the crowd of invitees. Sure, these people are used to five-star getaways and jet-setting to places where the pillows are fluffier than my wildest hopes. But this? Perched on top of a mountain, surrounded by untamed wilderness, yet still with all the comforts anyone could ever dream of? It’s definitely another level.

I’ve got to remind myself that I’m not exactly the queen of fancy vacations. My idea of “getting away” is usually a walk around the block with a decent murder mystery podcast, or hiding in the bathroom at Serendipity when the crowds get too rowdy. So, who am I to judge what’s luxurious? Frankly, even my wildest dreams aren’t usually this bougie.

I mean, no internet, no TV, no alarms policy? Normally if I’m in a place like that, it’s not for a trendy detox but because I just can’t afford the facilities. But here? Being disconnected on purpose is some kind of luxury worth bragging about.

The view? Oh, the view is nothing short of breathtaking. The lodge is perched hundreds of meters above sea level, and I swear, sometimes you can see patches of fluffy clouds hanging out below us. Surrounding the place are untouched wilderness miles, and by ‘untouched,’ I mean the kind of place where Wi-Fi bars go to die, all spread out beneath the lodge’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

And because my brain is wired to always take the scenic route, all I can think about is Matéo bending me over in front of those floor-to-ceiling windows, wilderness stretched out below us. I’m definitely blushing just thinking about it.

Matéo suddenly sneaks up behind me and whispers, “So, how do you like it?”

I suspect he’s got some telepathic link to my spicy thoughts. His voice pulls me back from my little fantasy land, and I try not to let on how much my heart is swelling with pride for him.

I almost kiss him, almost, but stop myself just in time, remembering we’ve got an audience. Matéo doesn’t give a damn about our audience. His arms wrap around me like he’s staking a claim, and his confidence is doing things to me.

“I’m glad you like it,” he murmurs, brushing a stray hair from my cheek with that addictive gentle touch of his. “Someone will show you our room while I take care of the guests.” A quick peck on my forehead, and he steps back, leaving me slightly breathless.

This place, this view, this man. Yeah, I think I’m going to like it here.

19 Calling Chen

The bellboy leads me to the penthouse, because of course we got the penthouse. The lodge has already blown away any expectations I had, I can’t imagine what the top floor has in store.

He guides me through the grand lobby, where modern industrial lights hang elegantly from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the rustic stone wall at the center. The blend of sleek metal and raw wood creates a vibe that’s both glamorous and grounded. We weave through plush seating areas and polished wood floors, finally stopping at a private elevator tucked discreetly behind a marble archway, clearly reserved for the Very Important (and Very Loaded).

I’m still trying to wrap my head around the whole modern rustic vibe when the elevator arrives at our floor. The polite young man steps forward, holding the door open as I step into what feels like another dimension. My heels echo against the floor as he reels in my suitcase, navigating it smoothly over the polished tiles. The place is massive, with polished wood floors that nail the sweet spot between “mountain lodge chic” and “I make six figures just breathing.” But it’s the windows that really steal the show—a whole wall of them, floor to ceiling, flooding the room with sunlight that filters through the towering pines. The warm glow contrasts with the snow-dusted mountains on the horizon.

My fingers trail along the cold, pristine marble counter like it’s some kind of sacred altar. The invisible cooktop is way too sleek for anyone to actually cook on. Note to self: Don’t accidentally burn my ass if things get, you know… spicy, on this counter.

And I’d bet that live-edge walnut dining table stretching out in the dining room, with its rustic centerpiece of dried eucalyptus and hand-blown glass worths more than a year’s earnings from Serendipity, tips included.

The bellboy moves through the living room and flicks on a fireplace in the corner, which crackles to life like we’re in some luxury ad. I can already feel myself mentally diving into the plush-looking sectional in the corner. Each detail in this place feels designed to overwhelm and welcome, all at once.

My gaze catches on the staircase winding up to a loft, where a king-sized bed draped in fluffy white blankets waits under a soft glow of recessed lighting. The linens look so pristine and the bed looks like it’s made of actual clouds. It’s so soft, my broke ass feels almost guilty to even sit on it. “We’re definitely not roughing it here tonight.” I mumble.

“I’ll leave your suitcase in the closet, Mademoisselle Malo,” the bellboy’s voice cuts through my daze.

“Uh… sure, thanks. Wait—how do you know my last name?” I don’t even remember the last time anyone called me that.

“Monsieur Bénoit Morin gave us a thorough briefing about the event’s esteemed guests.” His professionalism suggests he could moonlight as a spy.

I look at him, then back at the view. “Ah, Benny. But please, you can call me Rory” I say, trying to downplay the fact that I’m still digesting how absolutely insane this penthouse is.

I press my hands against the window, taking in the panoramic view below us. He nods politely before adding, “The penthouse has its own Wi-Fi connection. You can easily connect, no password needed.”

“I thought Wi-Fi was only in the common areas?”

“For most guests, yes,” he replies smoothly. “But Monsieur Matéo Morin requested a private connection for work purposes.”

Of course Matéo would thinks about work while being surrounded by this view. Meanwhile, my brain is stuck on the fact that, as if our worlds weren’t different enough already, he’s thinking about work emails… and I’m thinking about not burning my ass on a marble counter if we ever get adventurous up here.

The door clicks softly as the bellboy slips out, leaving me alone in the room. I grab my phone and hit record, leaving a voice message for my best friend, Chen.

“Chen, as much as I’m happy you’re visiting your family in Singapore, the thirteen-hour time difference is really cramping our live chats, and you wouldn’t believe what’s happened in the past few days—”

Not long after I send the message, my phone rings. Chen’s name flashes on the screen. Speak of the devil.

“Rory! How are you?” Chen’s voice comes through, full of energy despite the time.

“Chen! Wait… weren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

“Yeah, well, jetlag sucks, and sleep is for the weak. So, how are you?”

“How are your parents? And your brother’s wedding?” I stall a little. Honestly, where do I even start with my update?

“Fine and fine. Now spill!” she demands.

I laugh nervously. “Umm… what’s the last update I gave you again?”

“Something about ‘Whiskey Neat’ turning out to be the dog owner for that dog-walking gig I set you up with,” she says with a hint of amusement.

“Oh… yeah, a lot has happened since then,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Do tell!” The excitement crackles through her voice.

“I don’t even know where to start. It’s… not your typical ‘tell me about your week’ kind of story, Chen. You might need to sit your Asian ass down,” I warn, trying to set the stage.

“Rory, stop stereotyping my ‘Asian ass’ and just spill, bitch!” she snaps playfully, making me laugh.

“Okay, okay! Just don’t choke on your boba. But… I.. ummm… how do I say this… I… kinda slept with him.” I brace myself, waiting for her reaction.

There’s an audible choke on the other end.

“Shit, I did choke on my boba! But, RORY! People don’t kinda sleep with others, and When I said a beast needs a handler, I meant the dog. THE DOG! Not the owner!”

I grin. “Well, you didn’t exactly specify which beast needed handling and how, did you? So, really, not my fault.”

“I met him at the vet, Rory! He’s like a freaking Viking giant! How did you not get tossed around like a ragdoll?!”

“Well…” I drag it out, smirking. “That’s not even the best part.”

Chen groans, clearly in for the ride now. “Ughhh… Rory!”

She sighs before adding, “So… does he match your freak?”

I gasp, feigning offense. “Excuse me?! I’m not a freak! Although, his grandma did catch us making out a little too intensely for her Victorian sensibilities. She literally beat him with a broom.”

The sound of Chen snort-laughing is pure gold. “Wait—what? You got caught by his grandma? Oh, Rory, how do you even manage this? But then again, with you, why do I even bother asking.”

“What can I say? You get carried away. And how do you explain to someone born in the 1600s that you enjoy a little hair pull and a gentle choke?”

“Rory! TMI! I can’t even process that and I was born in the ’90s!” Chen’s half-laughing, half-horrified reaction is exactly what I expected.

The boba choking starts again, and I burst out laughing, knowing I’ve reeled her in just enough to drop the real bombshell. I pause, because, let’s face it, I’m about to drop some serious chaos on Chen. “Anyway. I met Robie and Karine the Karen the other day at home.”

“Oh merde! What did they do this time?” Her tone has already shifted to DEFCON 1, ready to launch a verbal nuke.

“They kicked me out of the house, literally threw my things out to the street.” I say, deadpan.

I swear, I hear Chen’s blood pressure hit the roof. “Those bastards! After all you did for his mother?! Rory, I would have—”

“Yeah, it was a total shitshow.” I cut her off, before she starts plotting Robie’s murder. “But let’s save the rest of that disaster for another day.”

“Oh gawd, I’m so sorry, Rory. I should’ve been there for you. Where the hell are you staying now? I should’ve left you my keys.”

I bite my lip. “Well… about that… You might want to put down your boba before I explain.”

“Aurora-Claire Malo,” she says in her mom voice, “what. did. you. do?! Why do I get the feeling I need whiskey instead of boba to handle this?”

I wince a little. “Ummm… because Whiskey Neat is involved?”

The line goes dead silent.

“Okay, so first off—before you go full protective-mom on me—it was Benny and Eric’s idea.”

“Benny and Eric? You mean, like, THE Benny and Eric from Serendipity?” I bet she’s squinting while her brain trying to process this mess.

“Yep. Benny’s actually Whiskey Neat’s big brother.”

“Benny WHAT now?”

“Yeah… and they kinda… caught us under the sheets. Like in the literal way.”

“Benny caught you under what now?!” Chen is screeching, like, in full-volume I’m-about-to-fly-out-there mode.

“Chen, listen!”

I hear her take a slurpy sip of her boba. Her coping mechanism is kicking in.

“Oh, my ears are wide open. But pardon my heart, because it’s having a real hard time processing these obscure life details of yours—OF A FEW DAYS. A FUCKING FEW DAYS!.”

“Whoa, whoa. Breathe. Go sip your boba. Calm down. It’s not even the big news.”

She takes another aggressive slurp. “It’s not even the big news?!… Dear lord, what did you do now?”.

“So, have you seen Pretty Woman?”

“Yeaah, aand?” she braces herself for what I’m about to say.

“Well, I’m having a similar arrangement with Whiskey Neat—being a paid fake-date to his event. Totally Benny’s idea. Be mad at him, not me.”

Chen’s boba must’ve gone down the wrong pipe, because there’s a spluttering sound, followed by, “Oh no. No, no, no. Rory, come on! I know you’re hitting rock bottom, but seriously? Why didn’t you just take my parents’ offer to help you?!”

I sigh. “Yeah, they offered, but I was too busy being my stubborn, prideful self. You know, clinging to my independence like it’s all I’ve got left.”

Chen scoffs, but I can hear the concern layered beneath her sass. “Rory, it is all you’ve got left. Well, that and your snark. So, what’s your excuse now?”

““Well, it’s not just about money.” I try to downplay it.

“Really, though?” she deadpans.

“Fine. Money and desperation did play starring roles. I was insulted when Benny first brought it up, even Whiskey Neat agreed it was a dumb idea. But after everything that happened in my sucky life—the death of you-know-who, the Robie drama—I was just tired of everything, you know.” My voice cracks a little, and I hate that it still gets to me.

“You know what, Rory, I’m tired of that piece of shit, I’m calling my grandma. She’ll send an ancient Asian curse his way so fast, Robie will be pissing his pants in no time. You don’t mess with my girl like that.”

“Whoa, whoa. No need to summon the grandma powers just yet,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“Long story short, I’m now spending a week for the event with Whiskey Neat at his mountain resort. I take it as a short getaway from life. Oh, and FYI, his ex will be there too.”

Chen’s voice drops an octave. “OMG, Rory, how is your rock bottom reading like a Hallmark Valentine movie?”

“I know, right?!”

“But seriously, is he treating you well? Respectful and all, even with the hair-pulling and whatever?”

“Chen! Stop being such a prude. And yes, he’s treating me more than well. Consent is king for him. He’s not the kind of guy who says, ‘We’ll stop if it hurts you,’ and then keeps going anyway.”

Chen pauses, recalibrating. “Now that I think about it, you are pretty badass. You’ve survived your family, Robie, and Serendipity. Maybe I should worry more about him.”

I laugh. “He’s a nice guy, honestly.”

Chen whistles. “Alright then, spill. What’s the arrangement? No kissing on the mouth?”

“He literally told me to just be myself.”

Chen lets out a low whistle. “Be yourself? Girl, he doesn’t know you well, does he?”

“Hey! Whose side are you on?”

“I’m just saying… this all sounds too good to be true. I mean, what’s the catch? I know you can handle it, but still, you should know what you’re dealing with.”

I let out a deep breath. “Yeah, I thought the same thing. But after everything I’ve been through, don’t I deserve at least one moment that won’t bite me in the ass? Even though… I wouldn’t really mind if he did.”

“Rory! TMI!”

We both laugh, and I feel a little lighter.

“Okay, Rory, listen. First rule of fake dating: don’t catch feelings. I repeat, girl, DO NOT.”

“Says the girl who fell for her barista after one conversation,” I scoff, downplaying how right she is, and how late this warning comes.

“Hey! Marcus makes excellent coffee. That’s a reasonable reason to fall in love with someone.”

“Chen, this is a business arrangement. Oh shit, that sounds corporate, doesn’t it?”

“No, Rory, it sounds like an escort joined a union.” I can sense Chen’s disagreement in her tone, and I can’t blame her.

“I’m just going to smile, look pretty, and let his ex wonder how he upgraded so dramatically. Okay? ”

“Oh god, you’re actually excited about this, aren’t you?”

“Chen, I’m staying in a penthouse that costs more than my annual salary. I’m going to milk this for all it’s worth.”

“And what happens when midnight strikes, Cinderory?”

“Umm, Chen, focus! Wrong movie, it’s more Pretty Woman vibes,” I complain. “And after midnight strikes, I’ll be back to my reality. Only this time, with the payment from this gig, I can probably work fewer shifts, which means I’ll have time to take you for coffee and spill all the tea, photos included as evidence.”

Chen sighs, she always does this before dropping heartfelt sarcasm. “Rory, I love you, and you’re my best friend, you adventurous girl with slightly bent morals. As much as I find this whole arrangement sus, as long as you’re safe and happy, I guess all I can say is enjoy, girl. But I demand daily updates with pics!”

“Aye aye, captain!” I agree. Talking to her is the one thing that keeps me sane in this fairy tale. “Would you have told me any different if you’d been there from the beginning?”

“I’d just tell Matéo that he had to take me too, because we’re a combo deal. That way, I could be your wingman through all this Pretty Woman spin-off to make sure you’re okay. And I really want to see that ex.”

“That’s my girl!” I’m glad I’m not the only one with lopsided logic. “I’ll keep you updated, and please go slow on the boba. I don’t want you coming back looking like one.”

Chen giggles. “Same goes for you with the hair-tugging, babe. Don’t want your head ending up looking like my boba—round, shiny, and hairless.”

Click.

20 The soirée

I had only meant to test the fluffiness of the bed after getting off the phone with Chen, but this thing swallowed me whole and sleep snuck up on me like a cozy ninja. I didn’t even get the chance to appreciate the insane softness before I was out cold. The bed, the quiet, the warmth, so yeah, I didn’t stand a chance.

What felt like a blink must’ve been two whole hours, which—fun fact—is my first time napping in forever. So in my defence, I guess I don’t have the hang of it yet.

Shit, what time is it?

I leap out of bed, and Benny’s voice immediately blasts in my head, “Rory, don’t you dare show up to dinner in your ‘cute but casual’ mode!”

I glance down at my reflection, sheesh, bed hair that’s doing its own wild thing, a rumpled shirt, and, yup, dried drool on my cheek. Fantastic. I mutter, staring at myself in the mirror like a sleepy potato. A panicking sleepy potato.

After the world’s fastest shower, I pull out the dresses Benny and Eric lovingly (or evilly?) picked out for me. The one that’s supposed to make jaws drop or whatever.

Dress number one: a little black number with a neckline so deep, I’d have to avoid any sudden movements. Dress number two: a bandeau sweetheart cut in dark burgundy that looks like it will spill its contents as soon as I let out a small chuckle.

“They really expect me to wear any of these?” I mumble to myself, staring at the options.

It’s couture alright, but for crying out loud, Benny!

These dresses are screaming, “Suck it, Alyssa,” but also subtly inviting Guillaume to… well… let’s not go there. And did anyone consider the DD-size effect here? I grumble. The eternal battle with these boobs: everything runs the risk of looking… well… let’s just say, “risqué.”

I prop the dress on me in front of the mirror, adjusting the fabric of the dress that’s currently trying (and failing) to behave. Nope, not going to take the risk of nipslip-gate tonight. I have enough eyes on me just being Matéo’s plus one.

I stand in front of the mirror, eyeing dress number two—the bandeau with the sweetheart cut that’s clearly flirting with disaster. I don’t even need to try it on to know it’s a no-go. I wonder how Matéo would react seeing me in this-would he be impressed? Distracted? Or would he insist I change into something with a little more, uh, structural integrity?

I will try to forgive Benny and Éric for their fashion choices. I mean, they’ve never had the battle between boobs and gravity. I doubt they ever need to question the trustworthiness of a strapless top to keep their manboobs from spilling.

I pull out my own trusty navy asymmetrical dress, instead. It’s not the “Suck It, Alyssa” level of daring, but it hugs my curves just right, and I know that cinch at the waist is a total showstopper. I slip it on, tightening the waist like a pro and giving myself a little spin in front of the mirror. Not bad, Rory. Not bad at all. I might have picked up a few pounds since the last time I put this dress on, and it only amplified the way my curves fill out this dress. Pounds for the win.

With literally no time left, I let my hair down and thankfully, it’s cooperating today, then I opt to go for a natural makeup look. Minimal effort, maximum effect. Well, at least in my head it is. Benny and Eric are going to kill me for not going all out, but I’m already pushing it with the thirty-minute warning here. This’ll have to do.

A knock on the door almost makes me trip in my heels. “Rory, are you ready?” Matéo’s voice cut through the last-minute panic as he stepped into the room, all cool and composed, adjusting his cufflinks like he wasn’t about to steal the show himself. The second his eyes land on me, though? Boom. They widen like he’s been caught off guard, and I swear, for just a split second, he forgets how to breathe.

“Yes, I am,” I said, feeling my nerves creep in. “Unless you think I should change into one of Benny and Eric’s masterpieces?” I motion toward the dresses laid out on the bed, still unsure.

His gaze darts over to the dresses, and then snaps back to me, locking onto my eyes like I’m the only person in the world. “You… you’re gorgeous,” he breathes, and for once, Mr. Smooth is totally at a loss for words. His eyes dart back to the bed. “Nope, you’re not wearing any of that,” he says with a finality that makes me laugh.

Meanwhile, I’m completely distracted by how good he looks in that suit. I can’t stop staring at him. Except the tie. “You’d look better without this,” I say, tugging at his tie and yanking it loose. He raises an eyebrow but lets me undo it anyway.

I catch his eyes on me again, and I can’t help myself. “You sure with this dress I have on, Matéo? Don’t you think this dress would look better…” I pause for dramatic effect, “…pooling around my ankles?” I give him a wicked smile, fully aware of the effect my teasing has on him.

Mateo steps closer. His hand reaches up, brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, and oh my God, his touch is soft, almost too soft. He doesn’t need to say anything. His fingers tracing my jaw are doing the talking.

“Careful, chérie, or we’ll never make it to dinner.”, he finally says, thick with a promise I’m not sure I’m ready for. His eyes drop to my lips, just for a second, but long enough for me to notice. He flashes one of those half-smiles that are equal parts frustration and enjoyment. Oh no. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and worse, he knows that I know it too.

Is it just me, or is it suddenly hotter in here?

He steps back slowly, just a little, like he knows exactly how much space to give me without losing the upper hand. It’s infuriating and intoxicating at the same time. “Are you ready?” he extends his arm, still wearing that damn smirk.

After the formal opening of the event and some announcements, the dinner begins with everyone finding their seating, the room is alive with soft chatter. The clink of cutlery and the hum of conversations fills the air as the delicious courses made their way around the table.

I take a sip of wine, savoring it before squeezing Matéo’s hand and flashing him a grin. He leans in close. “Having a good time?”

“Mm-hmm,” I murmur. “I’m having a very good time, baby. And this wine is the perfect pairing for the seared scallops. Seafood is my favorite.”

“Duly noted. Seafood is my favorite too, especially… raw oyster.” He looks right into my eyes, his gaze holding that mix of amusement and mischievous.

Seriously, Sir? Dropping cheeky innuendo in this formal environment? I love it.

His lips curve into that maddening half-smile, leaning just close enough to send my heart racing, but not quite enough to close the distance.

“So, Rory, right?” Alyssa’s voice breaks in, sharp and perfectly timed.

I blink, pulling back from the moment to face her. “Oh, hi. Yes, I’m Rory.”

“Matéo, you never mention you have such a beautiful girlfriend.”. Guillaume jumps in, his tone just a little too smooth for my liking.

Matéo pulls back as well, resting his arm casually on the back of my chair. “I tend to keep private life separate.

“So, Rory,” Alyssa began, her voice dripping with curiosity, the kind that comes with a sprinkle of passive aggression, “how did you and Matéo… meet?” She arched an eyebrow, leaning in ever so slightly, like she’d just asked the most harmless question in the world. Please.

Matéo looks at me, clearly prepared to dive in and redirect the conversation, but I got this. I smile sweetly, turning my full attention to Alyssa. “Oh, it’s actually a funny story,” I start, casually leaning back in my chair like I hadn’t just dropped the first sentence of what was clearly going to be a non-glamorous tale. Matéo shot me a look—half warning, half amusement. Benny and Eric who sit next to me are bracing themselves for impact.

“It was the night after my stepmom died,” I continue, and just like that, the table goes dead quiet. Even Alyssa’s perfectly rehearsed I’m-totally-interested-but-not-really expression falters. I pause for a moment, adding a touch of dramatic flair as I reach for Matéo’s hand. “I was working at Serendipity, Eric’s awesome bar—totally exhausted, just trying to make ends meet. And then, of course, a less-than-pleasant customer gives me a hard time, you know, the type that makes you wonder why people aren’t banned from going out if they don’t know how to behave in public?”.

A few polite chuckles ripple through the table while Matéo stays quiet, probably wondering where I’m going with this.

“Then, out of nowhere, Matéo swooped in.” I start, my voice a bit softer, more raw than I expected. The memory of that night still stings a little, but there’s something cathartic about sharing it. “He gave that jerk a piece of his mind. Honestly, it was the first decent thing to happen to me in days.” I can feel the eyes of the table on me, but I focus on Matéo, a small smile pulling at my lips.

“I’ve handled worse customers before, but that night? I was still reeling. From everything.” My gaze drops for a moment, as if by looking down, I can hide the vulnerability that’s sneaking up on me. I glance back at Matéo, and his steady gaze eyes hold mine as if we’re the only two people in the room. “I was glad he was there,” I add quietly, the weight of my words hanging between us.

The room seems to fall away, leaving just the two of us, surrounded by the weight of things unsaid. “It felt like, I don’t know… maybe the universe wasn’t completely out to get me. Like it still had a little bit of mercy left for me.”

There. Our tale. Laid bare. No frills, no sparkle. Just the truth, plain and simple. It’s not the glamorous story people expect at a fancy dinner, but it’s ours.

Matéo was probably expecting me to make something up—something more polished for these people. But nah. I don’t roll that way.

Then, to my surprise, someone from the far end of the table pipes up, “That’s… really sweet, actually.”

And suddenly, the “we met on a yacht in Monaco” stories seemed so… dull.

I squeeze Matéo’s hand under the table, giving him a little you’re welcome smile. He, still a bit shell-shocked by my no-filter honesty, just smiles back. But… Alyssa isn’t done.

“So, Rory, what do you actually do, you bartend at Serendipity?” she asks, probably expecting me to squirm. You could tell she had rehearsed her own answer—probably something about charity work and being oh-so-busy while her husband did all the heavy lifting.

“I’ve got three jobs.”, I say casually. I think having more jobs than kids are something rare among these people, even Alyssa’s practiced smile twitches.

I count with my fingers, “I pick up shifts at a kindergarten in the mornings,” I continue, leaning in like I was sharing a secret. “In the evenings, I work at Serendipity—and then in between, I walk dogs.”

“You walk dogs?”

“Yep. Which, funnily enough, was how I met Matéo the second time.” I grin, leaning into the memory. “I answered this ad for a dog-walking gig. Had no idea whose dog it was, just that it needed walking, and I needed money. So, I show up at this ridiculously fancy house, and bam—there he is, my hero from the bar.”

“Funny how things work out, huh?” I glance at Matéo, feeling a warm flutter in my chest that I try not to overthink. And before I can blink, he leans in and plants a gentle peck on my lips. The kind that feels more like a promise than a casual kiss. The kind that earns us a chorus of aww, look at those two! from the table.

Alyssa’s stunned silence hangs in the air for a beat too long, and just when I’m starting to feel a little smug about it, Guillaume cuts in, his tone laced with a familiar edge of sarcasm.

Well, isn’t that adorable? A bar? Of course. How romantic,” he drawls, folding his arms across his chest.

Feeling the shift in the atmosphere, I give a sheepish grin and raise my hand slightly, “Sorry if I was a bit too TMI there, Alyssa… everyone.”

Josephine Gilbert, the representative from the Ministry of Tourism, a middle-aged woman with an elegant demeanor, waves a hand in the air, dismissing any need for apology. “Oh, don’t worry, dear,” she says with a warm smile. “It’s not every day we get to hear Matéo Morin’s sweet side, considering he’s very private. It’s good to see he’s human after all.”, she added with a playful wink.