Breathe (Hollow Ridge #2) - C.L. Matthews Page 0,37

my loafers. After grabbing Francis’s favorite Chateau wine, my mind settles on the fact that I’ll have to be sober for whatever conversation we have.

Chateau is nothing I’d enjoy, that’s for sure. It costs way too much and only tastes good to wine drinkers. To whiskey connoisseurs like myself, it tastes like a flower arrangement crushed into a fucking vat of dirty water. Hard pass. I’d definitely drink, but I have to get the hotel restaurant up and going with Joey. Being hammered on the job isn’t exactly acceptable behavior.

The drive to his mansion isn’t long as he lives only fifteen minutes away from me. I remember when he bought this place, it was before Gray even knew he still existed. He asked me my opinion, and I told him how lush and unnecessary all the space seemed to be. Of course, he argued, then bought it anyway.

As I pull up to his huge drive, I smile at how the sun sets, orange and purple hues mix vibrantly in the west. His house faces east, a perfect view to see the beauty the world has to offer. He’s leaning on the column right outside his door. The smug bastard stands with kindness and a tinge of a tipsy lopsided grin. It’s nice seeing him at peace now when a huge part of his life had been missing. It’s so vastly different than I expected.

“Tobias,” he announces like we didn’t just speak on the phone. I wave the wine at him, seeing his eyes light up. Whether I’m an alcoholic or not, Francis fancies his liquor as well. Even if he appears sophisticated with a bottle while I probably mirror a drunkard.

“Frankie,” I return, using his old name. A chuckle breaks free.

“Haven’t heard that in ages.”

“I’m sure. It’s not posh enough,” I joke, knowing how he converted into the royal behavior. He used to piss all over it in college and high school, but that changed quickly when it was the only option he had.

“Oh, fuck off. Let’s eat, yeah?”

With a slight punch to my shoulder, he leads me inside, and I see how much this place has changed. It’s completely different than the empty place he asked me to check out. It isn’t familiar in the sense it doesn’t remind me of him—or rather who he used to be—or even Gray. It seems stiff and impersonal.

In the kitchen, there’s Gratin Dauphinois and Coq-au-vin, an entire French feast that’s clearly been thought out. If not for my time in France for the expansion of the French restaurant I plan to open in Hawthorn, this meal wouldn’t have crossed my mind. French cuisine isn’t my specialty.

Someone familiar stands at the stove, reaching for the oven below. My eyes trail the body, not realizing it may come off as pervy. Shaking my head to remove my eyes from the person standing there, I get a smack to the back of my head.

“If you don’t stop staring at my daughter, I might have to castrate you,” Francis hisses, his tone both amused and angered.

“Fuck, my bad. I wasn’t trying to look at her like that.” Which I didn’t. It wasn’t her ass I was paying attention to.

“Tobes?” I hear Gray practically squeal after she sets a tray down. “Oh my God!” Her excitement throws me off. I figured she’d hate me along with everyone else. She jumps into my arms, and I barely catch her in time.

“Hey, pretty girl.” She squeezes me, her arms around my neck. I return the love. Like Ace and Jazzy, I spent a lot of time with Gray. Taking care of all three kids as if they were my own became second nature. When everything imploded, she had the shortest stick pulled. She didn’t deserve everyone’s avoidance. They treated her too much like she, too, was fucked like her mom.

“No fucking way.” I hear her voice. Her as in the hot as fuck, off-limits, gorgeous spitfire—my newest sous.

Gray pulls back with a raised eyebrow. My mouth is stuck open at the fact that she’s standing here. In Francis’s house.

“Ma coccinelle,” Francis calls out sweetly with a soft grit. The way he says it, how it rolls off his tongue, and how she blushes in return has my haunches rising. No fucking way. No. No. Nope. This isn’t happening. Not again.

“How?” I accuse, not sure what I’m trying to ask. She heaves in a breath, one that causes her shoulders to stiffen, and offers me a glare that makes her

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