Chapter 31
CHAPTER 31
SOPHIE
I think someone needs to pinch me because too much is lining up in my favour right now.
Yeah, I’m a bad bitch and can make things happen, but I’ve had such horrible luck in the last year that it feels out of place to be back in my groove now.
Now that we’re wrapping up the workday and getting ready to head home for dinner with my mom, I can’t stop smiling like an idiot. So far, we’ve successfully hired two new subcontractors with the goal of bringing them on full-time if they perform well. Brianna is the more experienced event planner of the two, while Trent is still learning the ropes. But thanks to the meticulous standard operating procedures Will helped me develop, both of them should become productive within the next few weeks—especially with my assistant Maya helping us set up all the necessary documentation.
This means Will and I can focus on scaling my marketing campaigns to start filling in Brianna’s and Trent’s books. Seeing my company thrive like this, seeing the initial reactions from clients when they’re elated at meeting new team members, has me feeling more fulfilled than I have in years.
It’s enough to keep me coasting as I figure out exactly what to make of Will and me. Will and me. Thinking about it still sends me reeling. If you were to tell a past version of me at any point over the last ten years that I’d be dating William Béchard, bringing him home to my kids at the end of every day, moaning his name in unbridled pleasure every night … I would have laughed you out of the city.
Yet what I feel toward him is so powerful, so all-consuming, that I can’t seem to think straight. There’s an airiness, a glow from every molecule of my body lifting me upward—something I’ve never felt, even in the early days with Matt.
Never have I been this cherished. This wanted.
I still can’t believe Will could possibly want me. Only me. I’m the longest relationship he’s ever had, and somehow, he hasn’t gotten bored yet. But by the way he worships my body at night, and the way he looks at me with reverence in the morning light, I have to bring myself to believe it at some point.
Just not yet. It’s much too soon.
So, I keep a part of myself walled away. I’m not going to even think about the three little words my stupid brain wants to speak out loud to him.
Today, I’m only focusing on one thing: making sure my mom doesn’t embarrass me in front of Will.
Which brings me to why I’m here in my kitchen prepping smoked meat sandwiches—my mom’s favourite. Luckily for me, that doesn’t actually involve a ton of work. On top of running my own business and raising three kids, you won’t see me start smoking meat from scratch. So I do what every self-respecting Montréaler would do and buy Schwartz’s Smoked Meat Pouches from Costco instead.
As I’m cutting up a plate of veggies to go along with dinner, Will waltzes into the kitchen from the living room. The girls are cooped up in their blankets watching Inside Out and Julian is napping, so we’re both getting a quiet moment of reprieve. His footsteps approach and anticipation builds in my core, sending waves of anxious excitement through me.
The heat of his chest radiates against my back before we even make contact. Will presses himself against me, his arms wound around me, and I’m enveloped by his clean, intoxicating scent. My hands go still, my eyes close, and I let the cutting knife slip from my grasp.
Will’s stubble tickles my neck, his breath tantalizing me. “Are you sure you don’t need help with dinner?” His voice is low, sultry.
“I’m sure.” My own voice comes out unsteady. Dinner isn’t what I need help with right now. But what I need is out of the question during daylight hours, especially when I have custody of the girls.
The same thought seems to go through his mind, because one hand travels underneath the fabric of my sweater, beginning to softly stroke the sensitive skin at my ribs. He travels higher, cupping my breast, and I let out a breathy sigh.
“If the kids weren’t here right now, do you know what I’d do to you?” he whispers into my ear right before nibbling at the sensitive spot just below.
“What would you do to me?” I’m playing a dangerous game—one I know we can’t see through. But I can’t resist him.
“I’d start by putting my mouth right here.” He rolls my nipple between his thumb and index, and my knees go weak. “Bite and lick until your legs gave out. Then I’d kiss my way down until I could taste you.”
“Oh.” The sound comes out nearly strangled from my throat.
“The truth is,” he continues, expertly stroking and massaging underneath my shirt, “I can’t even feel excited about dinner anymore. Because nothing tastes as good as you do.”
“Fuck,” I whimper.
His hands suddenly stop. I whimper again, this time in frustration, when he pulls away from me. “To be continued,” he teases right before slapping my ass.
I turn to face him and I want to swipe that stupid smug grin off his face. How am I supposed to keep making dinner now?
“You’re a special kind of evil,” I say with a groan.
“Oh, I know.” He winks, about to head back to watch the girls, but stops and turns for one last line. “But believe me when I say I’m going to make it up to you.” Then he’s gone.
Ugh.
I try to get back to dinner, but my body is betraying me. I don’t think Matt ever made me feel this way, even at the very beginning of our relationship when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Even if the idea of him now is more repulsive to me than poutine without real authentic cheese curds, there was a time when I did find him hot and desirable. But he never truly made an effort to elicit that hunger in me or do more than accidentally get me off on the way to getting himself off.
I should have seen that as a sign. But how could I have known better when my past experiences came from high school douchebags and college frat boys?
My train of thought comes to a halt when there’s a rapid knock at my door. Mom.
“Come in!” I call out, hearing the movie pause in the living room. Mom barely steps through the door before Heather and Gwen rush toward her, a whirlwind of hugs and kisses enveloping her, stopping her from even closing the door behind her.
Mom looks stunning tonight; she’s taken the time to curl her silver hair. She returns the hugs to her granddaughters with all her usual vigour.
I wash my hands in the sink and hurry to greet her with a warm hug. “Sweetie, you are glowing,” she whispers in my ear before pulling away. Her eyes drift past me, lighting up with curiosity and delight. “William, it’s been ages.” I turn to see Will standing a few feet behind me, a rare hint of uncertainty in his demeanour.
“Miss Brouillette, it’s such a pleasure to see you again.” He takes a step forward to embrace my mom, who promptly makes a waving gesture.
“ Attend minute, toé. If you’re going to date my daughter and spend time with my grandkids, you’re going to call me Chantal.” She meets his polite embrace and squeezes him a bit more tightly than I expected, despite being so much smaller than him. Will’s cheeks go red.
“ M’man, slack un peu, ” I say. Mom obeys and eases up on the hug. “So, I don’t think any introductions are needed.” I turn my attention to Will. “Will you both be okay while I finish up the smoked meats?”
Alarms blare in Will’s black eyes, sending amusement soaring through me. Payback. “ Bin oui! This will give us time to catch up,” Mom chimes in, grabbing Will around his broad shoulders and pulling him toward the living room as if he weighed no more than Gwen or Heather. “Now, Will, you must tell me all about that job of yours …” They disappear into the living room, Gwen and Heather trailing behind.
I do feel a bit bad for leaving Will alone with my mom, even if they already know each other. After all, this is the first time he’s officially meeting her as an in-law of sorts. But his charisma and people skills will leave him unscathed.
At least, I hope so.
With the backdrop of their conversation and the giggles of my daughters, I finish prepping dinner and setting the table. I steam the smoked meat pouches, toast the rye bread, slather the slices with mustard, and assemble the sandwiches before I call everyone to dinner.
Everyone comes rushing to the table, and Will drops a kiss on my forehead before heading to grab Julian, who has just started fussing. When he gets seated with the rest of us, he keeps Julian seated on his knee, opting to eat his smoked meat sandwich and crudités with one hand.
That is until my mom vetoes custody of Julian with her grandmother rights. As she positions him on her own lap, she lets out a heartful laugh. “You know, seeing how he acts around your kids, it looks like he’s into them more than he’s into you!” she teases. Will laughs at her joke, and I do the same, pretending the comment doesn’t get to me.
Because of course he’s not with me for the kids. What kind of thirty-four-year-old bachelor chooses a relationship because of the kids instead of in spite of them?
At least, that’s what I try to tell myself.
I get a genius idea. So far, apart from spending time working together or going out with Julian and the girls, Will and I haven’t really been on a real date. I look at Mom expectantly. “Actually, Mom, would you mind watching the girls and Julian this weekend?” I turn to look at Will, who’s paying close attention. “Will, wouldn’t it be nice to go see the garden of lights at the botanical garden? Just the two of us?”
“Of course I don’t mind!” Mom squeals. But Will has gone tense.
Shit.
“I don’t think so,” Will says flatly.
My stomach sinks. “Why?”
He pinches his lips together. “I’ve got a thing with my sisters.” Weird. He didn’t tell me about this before.
“Another time, then,” my mom chimes in.
I try to ignore the weird feeling in my stomach and finish the meal, changing the subject. But I can’t quite shake the dread that’s taken root.
One thing at a time. Mom’s here now, so let’s focus on that.
I was able to fend Will off from helping me with dinner, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop him from handling the dishes. This leaves me and Mom to enjoy a post-dinner tea at the table while I breastfeed and the girls run around us, playing house.
Until Mom stirs the pot.
“I’ve got to ask, Will,” she starts, with that tone in her voice that tells me this won’t be good. Mom is nosy, and sometimes in a bad way. “What was it like to part ways with a lifelong friend after what he did to my daughter?”
“Mom!” My face heats up. From the corner of my eye, I see Will freeze. His back is to us, so I don’t see his expression. “You can’t just ask that. Franchement .”
“Why not?”
“It’s fine,” Will replies, resuming his scrubbing. He glances over his shoulder at Mom, his eyes steely and unyielding. “Honestly, I felt guilty. But not for parting ways with him. I felt guilty I’d never seen him for who he truly was. I felt guilty I gave him so much of myself for my entire life when he deserves none of it.”
“ Ouin, mais … he was your best friend,” Mom argues. “Doesn’t that count for something?” I roll my eyes. Mom may be willing to forgive cheaters—she’s done it before—but I have no idea why she struggles so much to see that we’re not all as forgiving as she is.
“With all due respect, Chantal,” Will starts as he grits his teeth, “there are boundaries that are just non-negotiable for me. Break the heart of the woman I love, and you’re out of my life. No questions asked.”
My heart stops in my chest.
The woman I love.
Next to me, my mom is just as speechless as I am. Will turns back around to keep washing his dishes, leaving Mom and me to look at each other in a series of blinks.
Did I hear this right? He just said, the woman I love .
And there I was, doubting his intentions because he happens to have plans with his sisters on the one weekend I ask him out on a date for just the two of us. Shame creeps through me.
Am I really that broken?
I can’t let what Matthew did to me stop me from letting someone else in, for fuck’s sake. I’m a hypocrite if I think about it. It seems like it was just yesterday when I told Avery she wasn’t giving herself permission to just be happy with Logan.
And now I’m doing the same thing.
Mom lets out a small squeal. “ Ah bin, ah bin! You love my daughter, William Béchard?”
Will freezes again. That’s when I realize he may have let those words slip without even noticing.
He turns and leans against the counter, wiping his hands on his jeans. His gaze burns through me. “Of course I love her.”
In that moment, I make the ultimate decision.
I am letting down my walls. This man loves me for crying out loud. And I have to stop lying to myself.
I stand and hurry into Will’s arms, careful not to trip in my haste. Despite my mom’s presence and the fact that we’re far from alone, I let myself melt into his comforting warmth. I inhale his familiar scent, allowing myself to be enveloped in his love.
“I love you,” I whisper against his chest.
And I’ve never meant anything more.