Mail-Order Groom: A Valentine Romantic Comedy

"I'll get that!" Sandra was already walking towards the door as she spoke.

Philippe raised a brow when he heard the person outside the door mention having something for his wife. "Are you expecting something?"

Charlee-Mae was confused. "No, I'm not...oh."

Philippe's mother was now busy telling a pair of hotel attendants where to place what looked like an endless parade of elaborate Valentine bouquets, some of which included heart-shaped balloons, stuffed animals, and what looked like expensive chocolate.

One of the bouquets came with a massive card that said 'I love you, Cha-Cha! Will you be my date on Valentine's?', and everything instantly made sense.

"These are all so gorgeous, Cha-Cha." The attendants had left, and Sandra was now counting the bouquets that had been delivered. One...two...twenty...thirty...forty...

"Oh my!" Sandra looked at her daughter-in-law admiringly. "Fifty-six in all, and you've only been here for two hours." She glanced back at the bouquets, which all had lovely-looking cards that could only contain the most interesting messages.

The curiosity on her mother-in-law's face was more than evident, and Charlee-Mae said with a laugh, "You can read them if you want, Maman."

"Well, if you insist..."

Charlee-Mae couldn't help grinning. She hadn't actually insisted, but it was fun all the same to watch the older woman hurrying towards the bouquets and excitedly opening the sealed cards one by one. Sandra showed Charlee-Mae a card that had two girls on the cover. "This one is asking you to be her Galentine's date."

"Oh, I think that's possible—-" Charlee-Mae saw Philippe look at her sharply. "I can't?"

"What the hell is a Galentine's date?"

"It's for two gals," she explained with a laugh. "So there's no need to be jealous, mon bébé."

"I was not jealous," Philippe denied even as the tension visibly eased from the rigid set of his broad shoulders.

"You might be with this one," his own mother told him cheerfully as she held out another card. "This man says your wife is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen in his life, and he would be absolutely honored to have her as his Valentine's."

"Aww, bless that man, whoever he is—-"

His wife suddenly burst to her feet, and Philippe scowled. If she thought he would let her keep that fucking card just because a fan had sent it to her—-

"I think I just saw my favorite plant," Charlee-Mae exclaimed.

"A plant?" Sandra's curiosity was piqued. "Not flowers?"

"Oui, Maman. Come see."

Philippe's lip curled as both women oohed and aahed over what only seemed like a bunch of leaves to him. How the fuck could his wife like—-

"Oh my." Sandra's attention was caught by an intricately cut card peeking out from another bouquet. "This is so pretty, and oh, look, ma fille..." She showed the card to her daughter-in-law. "He even wrote you a poem!"

Charlee-Mae was touched. "Bless him!"

Sandra suddenly spied a small card buried in Cha-Cha's favorite plant and fished it out. "This one says...Aishiteiru?"

"Aww!"

If his wife was going to bless another man one more time—-

"Bless that dear, dear man."

Sandra happened to glance at her son at that moment, and a laugh escaped her when she saw him gnashing his teeth upon hearing his wife describe another man as 'dear'. "Are you alright, mon fils?"

The question startled Charlee-Mae into looking at her husband. "Is something wrong?"

"Tout va bien." Everything's fine. "I am just watching my wife enjoy other men's packages—-"

Sandra choked back a laugh.

"And it is making me think my own package may also be enjoyed by other women—-" Philippe had not yet finished speaking when Charlee-Mae suddenly dropped the bouquet she was holding like it had turned into a hot potato that could burn her hands.

"You are very mistaken, mon bébé," Charlee-Mae declared earnestly. "I'm only looking at their, err, packages because I think it's so silly!"

"Ah bon?" Is that so?

His wife nodded vehemently. "It is silly, that they could even think their packages could tempt me away from yours!"

"It seemed exactly the case earlier," he drawled.

"And I also told you earlier—-"

His wife's tone was so convincingly pious, Philippe had to swiftly press his lips together in an effort to suppress his smile.

"You are mistaken. And to prove this, mon bébé-—"

Philippe shifted in his seat. Even though he knew his wife was deliberately using all of these French endearments to sweet-talk her way out of trouble, her horrible accent was still the turn-on it always was, and he was now more aroused than jealous.

Charlee-Mae gestured to the bouquets that had now taken over their suite. "I’ll leave it to you to deal with all of these as you wish."

"Gladly."

Her husband answered so promptly that it left her blinking, and she could only gape as Philippe began taking out all of the cards and tearing them into pieces before throwing everything into the trash bin.

Once done, her husband turned to her, saying generously, "You are free to enjoy everything now, mon coeur. Just imagine that they are all from me."