In truth, most of the things she was asking about, she would have already known if she had not lost her memories, and if it had been anyone else asking these questions, Philippe would have long considered this a waste of time.
But he did not.
Because, truthfully, he could not remember having this much fun—-
"Who's who?"
—-and one of the reasons for this was her wonderfully horrible French accent, which Philippe still found strangely cute...and exquisitely arousing.
Charlee-Mae looked at her husband hopefully. "Did I get it right?" The word she was trying to pronounce was French for 'happy', and it was the name Philippe had chosen for his company's new line of liquor chocolate.
"Désolé, mais non." I'm sorry, but no.
"Then..." Charlee-Mae refused to feel defeated, and so she tried again, saying, "Who's whose?"
Philippe's lips twitched. "It's Heureuse."
"Ah!" Her eyes lit up. "Who wuss?"
"Ah, bien...I am sure you will get it in no time."
She made a face. "In other words, I still suck."
"Oui."
Charlee-Mae stuck her tongue out. "You just—-" She stopped speaking when she saw Philippe's phone, which he had left screen up on the table, start vibrating, and the name Greta pop up on the display.
"Aren't you going to take that?"
"After lunch," he said firmly.
"Oh, so Emily in Paris got that right? French people never work during lunch hours?"
Actually, he had never been the type to have lunch hours, but Philippe decided it was best to simply shrug in response rather than have his wife realize he had no wish to speak to his mistress in her presence.
"I hope it's nothing serious," Charlee-Mae said worriedly.
"Even if it were serious, she should be able to handle it or let someone else take over as VP."
"Uh...wow." Charlee-Mae was more than a little surprised. "That's quite harsh."
"Just as my own father did not give me any special treatment when I started out in the company, neither can I treat my sister-in-law differently from any other employee just because of who she is."
"Your father sounds intimidating."
"He was." Philippe's tone was brief. "He passed away when I was still in college."
Charlee-Mae reached to give his hand a squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Philippe."
"It's fine, ma femme. We were not truly close to begin with."
"And...your mother?"
The chiseled edges of her husband's handsome face softened. "We are quite close."
"I hope she'll like me." Charlee-Mae couldn't help feeling a little nervous at the prospect of meeting her mother-in-law. She usually had a lot of confidence in making people like her, but none of those people happened to be Philippe’s mother.
What if her mother-in-law ended up hating her because she was too American? What if—-
His phone started to ring again, and she then heard Philippe say, “Maman?”
Charlee-Mae froze. Wasn’t that French...for mother?
Chapter Six
Philippe made himself smile as the elevator doors opened and out came his mother with her usual air of L'Air du Temps.
"Maman."
"Philippe." She lifted her cheek for her son's kiss before stepping back to study him. "You appear surprised."
"Was that not your intention?" he asked dryly.
Sandra only smiled. "The woman you have been visiting here is your wife, n'est ce pas?"
"It seems you know everything."
"Oh, not everything," she denied airily. "I'd love to know, for instance, why you chose not to tell me about her."
"I didn't. I planned to," he said briefly, "but she had an accident on her way to Foxtown. It didn't result in any major injuries, but she did suffer a couple of bruised ribs, some gashes, and a scalp wound that required stitching."
"Mon Dieu. Is she okay?" Sandra was genuinely concerned, regardless of her suspicions of the unknown woman her son had married.
"She is doing well, but..." Her son took on a warning tone. "I do not want her upset."
"Are you saying I could upset her?"
"My wife is...unlike any of the women you've been trying your hardest to marry me off to."
Sandra's curiosity had now turned into amazement. She had come here, thinking that there was a very good chance she would meet some gold-digger, but she knew now she was very much mistaken. Her son was not the type to sound fiercely protective of just any woman. Not even towards Greta. As far as Sandra knew, she, as his mother, had that privilege alone...until now.
"You have my word, mon fils. And so—-" Sandra gestured towards the door. "May I finally go in and meet my daughter-in-law?"
Philippe was sorely tempted to say no. His mother had an extremely sharp tongue when it came to people she either disliked or disapproved of, and he could not help feeling on edge at the thought that Charlee-Mae could be classified as both.
Sandra was highly contemptuous of women of leisure, and would she not consider Charlee-Mae as one, if she were to find out that his wife's main job was basically making herself pretty in her YouTube videos?
If Charlee-Mae hadn't lost her memories, she would've been better equipped to handle his mother, and she wouldn't have been hurt if Sandra were to say anything cruel. After all, that Charlee-Mae knew their marriage was no love match.