Playboy Bachelors. Marie Ferrarella
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know that.”
She dropped her hand to her side. The movement was accompanied by the sound of gold bracelets greeting one another. “I’m a passionate woman, Philippe. I need passion for my art. I use passion,” she insisted.
This was a conversation they’d had before. Several times. “I know that, too, Mother.”
She kissed his cheek, then rubbed away the streak of vivid red from his skin. Any minor disagreement that might have arisen was terminated before it had a chance to form. “Is there a reason for this handiwork you’re having done?”
“Yes,” he replied simply, “the bathroom sink is cracked.”
“Oh.” She looked exceptionally disappointed. “I was hoping that it was being done because you were finally settling down.”
Philippe addressed the phrase in its strictest sense. “I’m the most settled out of the three of us,” he reminded her.
The drama returned as Lily sighed and resumed her restless patrol of the small converted bedroom. “With a woman, Philippe, settling down with a woman.” She retraced her steps and presented herself before him again. “Have you been seeing anyone?”
“Only you when I’m lucky.”
Lily closed her eyes and sighed. “Use that charm on someone else, Philippe. Someone who matters.”
Momentarily surrendering, he rose to his feet. He just wasn’t going to get any work done with his mother here, bombarding him with questions. He might as well enjoy this visit.
“You always matter, Mother. Want some coffee?” he suggested.
She looked as if she was going to say yes, then surprised him by shaking her head.
“I don’t want to take you away from what you’re doing.” She took exactly one step toward the threshold before she continued talking. “Just wanted to invite you to the show and to see if you had any women stashed here.” The expression on her face told him that she hoped he’d do better on her next unexpected visit. “Your father always had women stashed here and there.”
There wasn’t very much he remembered about his parents’ union when it had been official, although his mother had taken his father back for a short time between her second and third husbands. But they hadn’t been married then. “Before you got engaged?”
Lily moved a stray hair from her cheek. “No, after we were married. After gambling and family, women were your father’s primary addiction.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if it had no impact on her whatsoever. Lily might have been a cauldron of emotion, but she was never judgmental.
Philippe blew out a breath. “Not much of a prize,” he commented.
But his mother’s eyes were shining like two bright jewels. “Vigorous, Philippe. He, too, was very vigorous.”
It was going to take him days to get the image she’d planted out of his head, Philippe thought. If he were still at a young and impressionable age, that just might have scarred him for life.
But then, if his mother’s actual lifestyle hadn’t done it while he was growing up, he sincerely doubted that anything at this stage possibly could. Flamboyant, eccentric and completely unorthodox were all terms that were synonymous with the name Lily Moreau and he’d survived his childhood to become a relatively well-adjusted, successful man. If his house was a little empty at times, well, everyone paid some kind of price in life. Being alone was his.
Besides, it was a great deal more preferable than constantly making the wrong choices.
His mother still hovered over him. “I worry about you most of all, Philippe.”
That was the last thing he wanted. For her to worry or, worse, to do something about that worry.
He had only one response for that. “Don’t.”
She sniffed, taking offense. “I may not be Norman Rockwell’s idea of the perfect mother, but I’m still a mother.”
He knew she meant well. Philippe softened. “Norman Rockwell’s been gone for a long time, I don’t think you need to worry about him. And I appreciate the concern, Mother, but I am a grown man. We march to different drummers. You taught me that, remember?”
“Yes, but sometimes the music is the same.” She pressed full lips together, thinking. And then her eyes widened the way they did when she’d been struck by an idea she liked. “Kyle has a sister—”
For a second, the name escaped him. “Kyle?”
“Yes, the reason for the smile on my face. You’re not paying attention, Philippe,” she admonished with a trace of impatience.
His mother’s boyfriend’s sister. Oh God. That was all he needed, to be coupled with a woman old enough to be his mother. That little tidbit would finally send him into therapy.
He put his hands on her shoulders, as if that could somehow push all the wild ideas she had back into her head. “Mother,” his tone was firm, “Don’t worry about it. Now, I do have work to do, so…”
She took her dismissal graciously enough and picked up the purse she’d dropped onto the sofa upon entry. “I’ll let myself out, I know the way.” She hesitated for a second. “You won’t forget about the show?”
“I won’t forget.”
She nodded, taking him at his word. “And see if you can bring someone,” she coaxed, then added with emphasis, “Someone female.”
“I’ll see what I can find on Amazon.com,” he dead-panned.
Lily sighed. “Some things never change.” Raising herself up on her toes, she kissed his cheek again. “But I love you anyway.”
He smiled as she left the room. “Nice to know, Mother.”
Sitting down, within moments Philippe was lost again in the details of the knotty programming problem he’d run up against.
And then he was roused out of its midst again.
“Philippe?”
He closed his eyes, summoning strength. He didn’t often get impatient with his mother, there was no point. But he could get impatient at the loss of an afternoon’s work, especially since he’d sacrificed an afternoon just the other day.
Taking a deep breath, he released it again before saying, “Yes, Mother?”
“You are a sneaky devil.”
The single sentence, hanging in the air without preamble, begged for questions, for an explanation. He pushed away from his desk and rose to his feet, resigned to getting both.
“Why, Mother?”
There was no answer. He was about to follow the sound of his mother’s voice when the need was abruptly vanquished. Lily made a reentrance.
She wasn’t alone.
His mother’s ring-encrusted fingers were delicately wrapped around the small hand of J.D.’s daughter. J.D. was right behind them, bringing up the rear.
Philippe felt like the beach at Normandy on D-day.
“Where have you been hiding these two?” his mother asked with the air of someone who felt she had the right to know everything that transpired in the world of her sons.
“We’re not hiding,” Kelli informed her before he could find his own tongue. “We’re right here.”
J.D. seemed a little overwhelmed by his mother. Welcome to the club, he thought.
“Did we have a date I forgot about?” he asked. The second the word was out of his mouth, he realized his mistake. His colossal mistake.
“Date?” Lily echoed, vibrating with both curiosity and joy.
“I