30. Henri
HENRI
R emington’s stepmother slid her arm through mine and turned us toward the door leading out onto a wide patio. “I could use some fresh air, and I bet you could too.”
While I didn’t doubt that, I was sure she wanted to get me somewhere private to question me further. I hoped I could come up with answers she would approve of and that wouldn’t reveal something troublesome for Remington.
She glanced over at me as we walked. “I’ve never seen my stepson look at a man the way he looks at you.” Her tone made me uncertain if that was good or bad.
“Oh, I…”
“He likes you a lot. Maybe more than likes.”
“I’m not sure he?—”
“I am. I may not have raised him from birth, but I was there through his teenage years, through him coming into adulthood, and the way he reacts to you… It’s different than he’s been with anyone else.”
“I like him a lot too.” I didn’t want her to think I wasn’t pleased by what she’d said, but I was sure she was reading too much into it.
“I can tell, and I want you to know that while Remy is strong, brave, determined, and a good leader, he’s also vulnerable. I will not see him hurt.”
“No, ma’am.”
She studied me carefully. “How did you really meet?”
“That’s between me and Remington.” She might compel me to confess a lot but not that.
“What do you want from him?”
I wanted to tell her I wasn’t after his money—that I just wanted to spend time with him—but that was only partly true. “I promise I have no nefarious designs on him or on any of you. In case you don’t know, he did a background check on me.”
“I’m sure he did, and my instincts say you feel as strongly for him as he does for you, but rest assured, if you hurt him or you’re dishonest with him, there will be repercussions you won’t recover from.”
Marjorie Theriot looked like an unassuming 1950s housewife. She appeared to be the consummate hostess for an extravagant engagement party, but Remington was right; she was scary. I had no doubt she would follow through on her threat, and she wouldn’t need the rest of her family to help her do it.
“I’m going to ask you again. What do you want from Remington?”
“His time. I want to go back to the bookstore he took me to. I want to listen to him play the cello. I want…” Did I dare tell yet another person the dream I’d never spoken aloud before?
“I want a fairy tale, but I recognize that’s not likely to happen, so I’ll take the time with him that he can give me. ”
She shook her head. “You’re wrong. You will have all the time you want with my son. I see it now. You’re the one for him.”
“I don’t think?—”
“There’s no need for you to think too much. Just follow your heart.”
I wasn’t going to beg Remington to let me stay longer than the two weeks we’d agreed on, and as much as I wanted him, I didn’t really believe in the idea that there was one perfect person for me.
I would miss him, but I wasn’t going to waste away longing for him to propose to me like some heroine in a Victorian novel, was I?
“I’m not going to hurt him. I promise you that. ”
She held my gaze, and I felt frozen in place.
She really was formidable, and I could almost believe she could see the future, or was that just wishful thinking?
Remington said she’d predicted all the matches in his family, but that didn’t mean she actually had knowledge of the future or that she was infallible.