Mail-Order Groom: A Valentine Romantic Comedy

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

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

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

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

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

Merde!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Philippe raised a brow. "That serious?"

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

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

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

Merde.

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

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

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

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

Philippe nearly choked. "Ah, no."

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

"I was talking to Greta about Pierre."

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

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

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

"Oui."

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

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

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

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