Page 73 of The Carver

“Hello, dear.”

I turned to see his mother enter the room, wearing a long-sleeved dress and heels, her blond hair done in soft curls, brilliant earrings in her lobes. For a woman who had to be in her sixties or seventies, she carried herself like a woman still in her youth, who could do yoga, go for a jog, who had a distinct vitality.

“Mom.” Bastien quickly wiped the crumbs from his face before he greeted her, kissing her on each cheek. “Love the canapés.”

She chuckled as she patted him on the arm. “You love food.”

“You look nice, as always.”

I watched his interaction with his mother, seeing how gentle, kind, and respectful he was toward her. The last thing I’d expected him to be was a momma’s boy—and I loved it.

Bastien came to me, his arm moving around my waist as he showed me off with pride. Affection was in his eyes as heregarded me, like he wasn’t the least bit nervous about the two of us meeting each other. “Mom, this is Fleur.”

I extended my hand to shake hers. “Lovely to meet you.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t the same warmth she gave to her son. “Delphine. It’s lovely to meet you as well.” She pulled her hand away first and regarded me with a shrewd stare. “When Bastien told me about you, he said how beautiful you were—and he did not exaggerate.”

Bastien smirked as his hand inched closer to my ass, his mother unable to see because she faced me head on. “I didn’t need to.”

“Are you two hungry? I haven’t eaten all day.”

We entered the dining room, a table big enough to host at least fifteen guests, and she took a seat at the head while Bastien sat across from me. The moment our asses touched the cushions, the staff emerged to pour our water and wine and provide our first course, a small salad with grapefruit, prawns, and tarragon sauce.

The initial meeting had passed so I wasn’t as much of a mess, but my heart still palpitated with unease.

Bastien inhaled his salad then sat there and waited for the next course. “How are things, Mom?”

“Same.”

“And Pierre?”

Pierre seemed to be a name of significance based on the way he said it.

“He’s been well,” she said.

Bastien looked at me and addressed the confusion he must have known I felt. “Pierre is her boyfriend.”

“Not my boyfriend,” his mother said quickly. “He’s this gentleman that I’ve been seeing.”

“Then he’s your boyfriend,” Bastien said.

“I’m too old to have a boyfriend, Bastien.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not true, Mom. You’re a very beautiful woman.”

And just like that, Bastien made me fall for him even more.

His mother tried to hide the smile that wanted to creep into her features. She covered it up by taking a drink of her water.

“You should have invited him to join us,” Bastien said.

“I didn’t want to detract from the purpose of this dinner—meeting your girlfriend.”

Bastien did not look like a man who had a girlfriend, but he didn’t reject the label his mother gave. “Then next time.”

“Perhaps,” she said noncommittally.

I noticed she didn’t eat much. She’d said she hadn’t eaten anything today, but she still picked at her salad like she didn’t have an appetite. The next course was a soup, and she only took a couple bites of that too, ignoring the bread in the center of the table. She was as thin as a rail and so petite, it was difficult to picture that she’d given birth to Bastian.

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