Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos Page 0,90

attention remains fixed on one person: my mother. It kills me that my girl can’t enjoy the magic of what just happened, the glowing response of everyone else. No, she’s still listening to that one flicker of doubt that’s been ingrained in her since birth.

After a long pause, my mother turns to face us, her eyes resting on Genevieve.

“This is you?” she asks in heavily-accented English.

Genevieve tenses and swallows. Her grip constricts on the back of the couch. “Yes. It’s me,” she says quietly. She’s braced for critique, ready to fight. I know what she’s thinking, can see it in every subtle movement and expression.

And then…

My mother’s smile grows into a proud grin. She pushes up from the couch and crosses around to pull my stunned girlfriend into her arms. Genevieve stiffens briefly before leaning into the embrace. Maman holds on firmly, tucking her into a wave of love that’s gotten me through years of adversity and tragedy. Tears well in Genevieve’s eyes as she lifts them to me over my mother’s shoulder, and I have to choke back some of my own. This is it, I respond silently. This is your surprise.

“You are so wonderful, Genevieve. I hope you know this,” Maman says quietly. “We are so proud.”

I wake up on Christmas Eve alone in Genevieve’s bed. Strange, she usually waits for me. This is her favorite time of the day, cuddled up and lingering in the morning, and due to the holiday, we both have two blissful days off to enjoy it. After a quick shower, I make my way downstairs, lured by the intoxicating scent of something sweet and the sound of conversation in the kitchen. I stutter to a halt, surprised to find Maman, Camille, and Genevieve working at the island in the kitchen.

“Roll it like this,” Camille translates from my mother to Genevieve who’s studying their movements intently. She looks up to find me hovering in the hall.

“Oliver!” she says brightly. “We’re making crêpes!”

I grin and move into the kitchen. “I see that. They smell amazing.” Her gaze slides to the batch already piled high on the counter, and I catch the longing in her expression. “Hope you’re planning to eat about a hundred,” I say. “Maman makes enough for the entire Trojans team.”

My mother snaps a glare at me, even though she probably only understood half of that. I toss back a wink, and she rolls her eyes.

“You do a terrible job feeding this girl,” she says to me in French. “She’s never had crêpes. Can you imagine?”

I can, and force away my irritation at the thought. “Then I’m glad her first experience will be yours.” I plant a kiss on Maman’s cheek. “Where are the others?”

“Where do you think?” Camille mutters, nodding her head in the direction of the pool area.

“Seriously?” I ask with a laugh. “It’s sixty degrees outside.”

“And we were worried they’d be upset at a Christmas without snow,” she scoffs. “Los Angeles is so awesome,” she adds in English for Genevieve. Gen looks up and smiles.

“I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“I wish I could,” Camille says with a sigh.

“Why can’t you?” I ask, plucking a sliced banana from the pile on the counter.

She gives me a look and rolls her eyes. “Very funny.”

I shrug. “I’m not being funny. You have a year of university left after this one, right? Transfer to a school down here.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t just do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because! I mean… Where would I even stay?”

“We can find—”

“Here,” Genevieve interjects. She blushes when we turn to her. “I mean, I have so much room. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want, even if it’s just for the summer to visit.” She blinks and looks away. “It’d be nice to have someone around.”

Camille stares at her in shock. “Seriously? You’re kidding me right now.”

A shy smile spreads over Genevieve’s face as she shakes her head. “Not at all. I’d love that, actually.”

“Oh my god. Oliver!” Camille shrieks, jumping up and down. She grabs my arms and shakes me. “Did you hear what she just said?” I laugh as our mother looks over, her brows scrunched in confusion and concern. Can’t blame her. Camille doesn’t get excited often. I translate what just happened, and to my surprise, Maman doesn’t immediately shoot down the idea.

“We can discuss it,” she says to Camille who moves in for a spontaneous hug. Not for Maman. Not for me. Genevieve startles a bit at the surprise tackle, and I’m