Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos Page 0,87

French, pulling back to meet my gaze. “She’s amazing.”

You would think traveling across the continent after not seeing her son in months would reset my mother’s priorities, but the first thing she does after greetings and hugs is carjack Devin to drive her and my pouty sister Zoe to the store. Apparently, she was appalled by the lack of provisions in Genevieve’s pantry, and no amount of debate about the merits of private chefs would convince her otherwise. No, those amateurs could have the week off as far as she was concerned, and Camille and I exchanged amused looks as she fussed about the lack of ingredients for her Cipâte, Tourtière, and Bûche de Noël. Not to mention every other comfort food her host’s (and her son’s) dietician would absolutely forbid. I’d love to see them try to throw down against my mother on this.

While they’re gone, my remaining siblings take over the mansion, running from room to room like explorers, reacting with excitement at each new find. The twins’ shrieking can be heard from a wing away. Camille squeals when she finds the library. Lea pretty much passes out when she discovers anything related to music, which in this house, is everywhere. Genevieve follows behind at a distance, absorbing it all with keen fascination and wonder. My concern over the impending disruption that’s about to descend on her estate fades when I see how much she’s enjoying her full house. Her raw intrigue over my loud, hurricane of a family both warms my heart and breaks it.

And then the twins find the pool.

“On veut aller nager!! S'il-vous-plaît, Oli!” They cry in unison, jumping up and down.

“Il fait froid dehors,” I point out, sighing at their skeptical look. Cold? For L.A. maybe. For natives of northern Quebec, it’s downright tropical.

“What are they saying?” Genevieve asks.

“They want to swim, but Oliver is being a jerk about it. He says it’s too cold,” Camille translates, grinning when I shoot her an annoyed look.

“The pool is heated,” Genevieve says quickly. “They’d be fine. Plus, the hot tub is beautiful in this weather.”

I grunt as Camille tells the twins to go change into their suits and shoves my shoulder as she passes. “You’re going in too, grumpy,” she says to me.

I glare at her, ready to argue when I see the look of pure joy on Genevieve’s face. “Do you think they’d want to use the slide?” she asks, eyes wide and hopeful. “We put it in, but no one ever uses it. We have pool toys too that are so cute and still in the packaging. There’s this dolphin and a turtle and… I mean, if it’s okay with you…” She bites her lip, and my chest aches as I pull her against me and kiss her hair.

“They’d absolutely love that. I’ll go change. Is my stuff still in the pool house?”

After everyone’s ready, Camille and the twins jump into the water, while I help Genevieve with the toys. She looks ten years younger as she struggles to inflate the obnoxious dolphin with a giant grin on her face. Man, I’ve never seen her so happy. Why couldn’t anyone give this to her before now? All she’s ever wanted was to be accepted, to be able to give love. She’s a generous heart with everything to give and no one to give it to.

“Do I just blow like this?” she asks, holding up the folded plastic.

“Yeah, into that little opening there. Here, straighten and stretch it first so the air has somewhere to go.” I show her briefly and let her finish the rest. Her gaze keeps crossing to the pool where the twins are screaming with laughter while jumping in from the sides and sliding down the elaborate rock waterslide.

“If they’re too annoying, let me know. I’ll tone them down,” I say.

She shakes her head, almost horrified. “No, no. Please don’t. I love it.” She finishes her dolphin a little after I finish the turtle, and we toss them into the water for the kids. Then, I take her hand and lead her to the hot tub where she’ll have the perfect view. We adjust to our favorite position, me against the wall with her nestled between my legs, her back to my chest. How many hours have we spent in peaceful serenity like this, but suddenly it feels different. She’s electric, charged from a new energy I’ve never seen before and magnified by our brutal time apart. What seemed like a