Page 39 of The Rancher's Amnesia Bride

"Do you really think we're playing a game here?"

"If we weren't, you wouldn't have sent me that email."

Greta could have cried at that point. Finally, dammit! Finally, she was getting somewhere with this fat American idiot that Philippe had been unlucky enough to have as a wife.

"It was to let you know your place, just that. Whatever Philippe has told you is a lie, and you'll soon know this for yourself. Once Sandra has transferred her shares to him, he will—-" Greta was momentarily distracted when the other woman made a show of calling someone on her iPhone. "He will dump you and marry—-"

"Bonjour, mon mari!"

Greta's eyes nearly bulged. Did this woman just call Philippe?

"I am here at the cafe...oui, that one, and oh, I'm also with Gretel—-"

"Greta!"

"I mean, Gretchen—-"

"Greta, you bitch!"

"Can we just call her your sister-in-law? I keep forgetting her name, and yes, please do join us. Salut!"

Greta burst into speech as soon as she saw the other woman ending the call. "What do you plan—-you bitch!" The other woman was making a call! Again!

"Bonjour, Maman!"

Greta was so filled with rage she could barely breathe. Had this bitch really just called Sandra?

"I am so sorry to ask this out of the blue, but do you have time to come down to the lobby, Maman? There's this cafe...oui, that is the one. Your two daughters-in-law are here—-"

Greta's teeth gnashed against each other when the other woman suddenly laughed. Oh, that laugh, that fucking, annoying laugh—-

"You did not hear wrong, Maman. Both of us are indeed here. Me, your favorite daughter-in-law, and then there's your other daughter-in-law who is not your favorite, Grendel—-"

"Pute! Salope! Garce!"

"Oh, wait. Je suis désolée, Maman. I forgot that Grendel happens to be a monster from Beowulf—-"

There was that laugh again, and Greta could no longer help it.

Charlee-Mae gasped as the other woman suddenly snatched her iPhone out of her hand before smashing its screen into pieces with the heel of her boot.

"Hey! I just got that phone—-" And because she just couldn't resist it, she then added, "From Philippe—-"

"You bitch!"

"It takes one to know one, I hear."

"I fucked Philippe every day the first year we came together—-" Greta finally had a chance to laugh when she saw the other woman flinch. "Oui, salope!" Yes, you bitch! "Every day, we would fuck and fuck and—-"

"Qu'est-ce que tu fous là?" What the hell are you doing here?

Greta started to answer, but Philippe had already gone down on one knee and was reaching for his wife's hand like he was about to fucking propose marriage. Putain! Fuck!

Philippe grimly studied his wife's face, which for once perfectly concealed her thoughts. "Mon coeur?" His voice was low and taut, but the words could be heard throughout the cafe, with all the other guests having gone silent as soon as he had walked in.

"Talk to me. Please."

Charlee-Mae had never imagined her husband could look so desperate and haunted.

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