Page 72 of The Carver

Especially his mother.

He said his mother was a classy woman, so instead of wearing something casual, I wore a skirt, tights, and boots with a long-sleeved turtleneck. I wore my nicest jewelry, a collection of rings and a gold bracelet.

Bastien was in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, looking the same as he always did. “Ready?”

I sat in the armchair in his living room, wishing we could stay home for the evening and have a quiet dinner. My confidence had been shot ever since I’d moved out of my house. Once upon a time, I didn’t care what anyone thought of me, and now I didn’t know who I was anymore.

He watched me for a second before he took a seat on the edge of the couch. He didn’t give me a lecture, just let me sit there.

I twisted the diamond stud in my earlobe, spinning it in place. “You’re lucky you don’t have to meet my parents.”

“I’d rather you have parents to meet than have no one.”

My fingers stopped playing with the diamond when what he said hit me hard. For a man of few words, he always knew what to say.

“Would you care if your parents didn’t like me?”

I stared at him.

“If they told you to find a nice guy who wears a suit to work and earns an honest living?”

Someone who hadn’t killed a hundred people. Someone who didn’t tattoo his arms to hide his track marks. Someone who wasn’t out all hours of the night because that’s when the criminals roamed. Someone who didn’t have twenty guns on display in the back of his closet. Bastien was the textbook definition of a bad boy, the guy who would make any mother scream, but I was in this for the long haul. “No.”

That handsome smile spread over his lips, making him so damn attractive. “Alright, then.”

The SUV pulled behind the gate of her beautiful estate, and then Bastien hopped out and took my hand.

I didn’t know a lot about real estate, but her property had to be at least a hundred million euros. She was obviously very wealthy from the empire her husband had run before he died. I wasn’tintimidated by her wealth, not after I’d stepped into Bastien’s world of aristocracy.

The butler greeted us at the door and ushered us into the drawing room, where appetizers were already set out on the coffee table. Music played from the sound system in the ceiling, light jazz that was on so low it was barely there, just in the background.

“Madame Dupont will be with you momentarily.” The butler gave a bow then left the room.

Bastien gave me a glass of wine and poured one for himself.

I looked out the back window and saw the gardens she had in the rear, ivy growing up the walls, sculptures surrounded by carefully manicured flowers.

“Is this where you grew up?” I asked.

“No. My mother sold that place after my father died. Couldn’t live with his ghost.”

I nodded in understanding.

“I like this place better anyway. I bought it for her. It was renovated a few years before she moved in, so it’s practically turnkey. And it’s a quiet neighborhood. Most of the neighbors aren’t even in residence a majority of the time.”

“So they just have these lavish properties because?”

“As an investment. Third or fourth home. A place to impress a mistress.” He took a drink of his wine.

“Did your father have mistresses?”

He didn’t acknowledge the question for a while, like he wanted to make sure his mother wasn’t about to round the corner. “Unfortunately.”

“Did that bother you?”

“If it did, he didn’t seem to care.” He took a couple of the appetizers in one hand and scarfed them down with his big mouth.

He always ate like a bear, and I found something about that so attractive. I guessed it was his manliness, how he needed to eat and eat because he was made of bricks and wrapped in human skin.

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