Bayou Beauty (Butterfly Bayou 4)
“I think he likes me and he trusts me. That’s all.” Except the way he’d kissed her the night before felt like something more. It felt like he’d wanted her. “I think I’m convenient for him, and we need to figure out if there can be something more.”
“Did he have another woman on his list?”
“No. He told me he would have found another way if I said no. Which I did the first time he asked.”
Her mom seemed to think about that for a moment. “Do you trust Rene?”
Sylvie nodded. “I do.”
“Then everything is going to work out the way it should,” her mom said as she stood up. “I want you to keep your heart open. You tend to be far too careful when it comes to relationships, and you try to think through things that are better felt with your heart.”
“I’m looking at it like a test run.”
Her mom nodded. “Yes, that’s what I’m worried about. You’re going to test this thing to see if you can break it. It’s what you’ve always done. But know that I’m here for you and Rene. I’m going to view this as an opportunity to see my baby happy.”
There was another knock and then Gertie walked in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but these were delivered.”
Sylvie’s eyes widened at the bouquet of flowers in Gertie’s hands. “Who sent me flowers?”
Gertie stared at her. “I suspect they’re from your fiancé.”
Rene had sent her flowers. A bridal bouquet. Brilliant purple irises. Sylvie took the bouquet in her hands, and a childhood memory washed over her, filling her heart with sweet warmth. “These are from his garden. Do you think he went out this morning and picked these? Surely not. He has people for that, right?”
“Rene has always been sentimental. You think he’s just lonely now?” Her mother looked at the flowers held together by a simple white ribbon. “I’m starting to wonder what was convenient.”
“What do you mean?”
Her mother arched a brow. “You think you’re convenient because you can solve his problem, but what if the problem was a convenient way to get what he wants?”
“Don’t be silly.” It was a sweet gesture and only proved that Rene was thoughtful. Her mother was being overly romantic. “We should go. It’s almost time and I don’t want to be late. He’ll worry if I’m late. Gertie, I’ll be back after noon, but I’d like to leave early. Sera and Hallie are throwing us a small reception at Guidry’s if you would like to come.”
“Oh, I’ll be there,” Gertie vowed.
“I’m going to spend this afternoon with Delphine,” her mother said as they started down the hall. “She’s got to hear this story. And we might work on a love spell.”
Sylvie pointed a finger her mother’s way. “You are not putting a love spell on Rene.”
“Who said I was putting it on Rene? Given those flowers and the generosity of that prenup, I don’t think Rene’s the one who needs it. I’m putting that spell on you, daughter.” Her mother continued down the hall. “Silly girl. Dating her own husband. Test run.”
Sylvie sighed and followed, but she would watch everything her mom gave her to drink or eat.
Not that she believed in love spells. Just to be careful.
* * *
* * *
“Are you sure we don’t have more time? I hate the thought of you getting married in this old building. I always imagined you getting married at our church.” Rene’s mother was dressed in her best suit, the one that always made her look like a Southern Queen Elizabeth, with a little hat on her head.
She’d woken up and been excited about the wedding, humming with an energy he hadn’t seen in her for months. Louis Sylvain had shown up this morning to drive her to city hall so Rene could run the errands he needed to. Louis had commented on how happy his mother looked. It was good for her to have a friend to rely on.
And sometimes Louis had been a second father to him. It felt right to have him here.
“It likely wouldn’t be at Our Redeemer.” Rene fought the urge to pace. They’d walked in not ten minutes ago, and he’d already had to answer too many questions about why he was at the courthouse at ten in the morning. “Sylvie’s family goes to First Methodist.”
They’d been optimistic when they’d named that church. He wasn’t sure there would ever be a second.
His mother clutched her purse, her chin tilting up in that stubborn way that told him she found him slightly annoying. It was an expression she’d employed for as long as he could remember. “First Methodist would be perfectly fine with me. Their choir is better than ours. And they have a lovely sanctuary. Either place is better than here. This is a place people go to pay parking tickets. There aren’t even flowers here.”