Jonquils for Jax (Blueberry Lane 3 - The Rousseaus #1) - Katy Regnery Page 0,14
as his lungs relaxed. “I’ll teach you.”
She was halfway out the door, but she whipped around to face him, her face brightening, her chin lifting. “You will?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’ll pay you.”
He didn’t like her offering him money. Couldn’t put his finger on why, because she should pay him for his time, but he hated the thought of taking her money. “We’ll discuss that later. Where should we meet?”
“Uhhh…Le Chateau? We have a gym.”
“Of course you do.” He paused. “You live there? With your parents?”
“My mother was just in town for the wedding. She returns to Paris tomorrow.”
He sensed there was more to her explanation and couldn’t deny he was curious, but it was none of his business. “Shouldn’t take more than three lessons to teach you a few important moves. Three o’clock tomorrow work for you, Duchess?”
She smiled at him, and glory Lord, he knew he was in trouble, because when this woman looked happy, she was so fucking stunning that something inside of him wanted to make her happy every minute of every day, just so he could take some credit for that much beauty.
“Tomorrow,” she said, opening the door and stepping through before glancing at him over her shoulder one last time. Her emerald eyes sparkled. His heart leapt. “It’s a date.”
A date.
Merde.
Chapter 4
Jax’s mother, Liliane, kissed her on both cheeks before cupping her daughter’s face and smiling at her. “Come and see me soon, chéri? Avec Madeleine?”
Jax nodded. “Oui, Maman. We’ll come in August or September.”
“Call me when you return to Hollywood. Once you’re settled.”
“I will,” she said, stepping away from her mother’s touch. She had no idea if or when she might return to California, but her mother didn’t want to hear that. Her mother liked having an Oscar-winning Hollywood producer for a daughter.
Liliane looked at the Mediterranean-style mansion behind her daughter and sniffed. “I never liked this place, you know. And the way the previous owners called it Chateau Nouvelle. Tsk. You father thought it was…amusing.”
“You’ve had it officially changed to Le Chateau now.”
Her mother waved a perfectly manicured hand dismissively. “C’est trop tard.” It’s too late.
Jax looked back at the house that she loved so much, that had always felt like home more than any other place on earth.
“I should sell it,” said Liliane, looking up at the house with a frown.
Jax curled her fingers into her palm. “Really? Now?”
“Oui.” Liliane shrugged. “Eventually.”
Carefully controlling her voice to sound sympathetic and cajoling, Jax placed an arm around her mother’s thin shoulders and led her down the grand steps to the town car waiting in the driveway to take her to the airport.
“Such chaos, chère Maman. The expense of realtors and movers. The inconvenience. Dissolving an estate? After all the work you put into Étienne’s wedding? What a nightmare.” She shuddered dramatically for effect, then stopped beside the car as the chauffeur quickly hopped out of the driver’s seat to open the back door for Liliane. “If anything, you deserve a rest.”
Jax’s mother sighed, then nodded as she pulled her daughter into her arms for one final embrace. “You are right. Now is not the time.”
“Oui,” murmured Jax, her sense of reprieve so sharp, it almost made her light-headed. “Au revoir, Maman.”
“Au revoir, chéri.”
In one elegant move that recalled her mother’s one-time profession as a ballerina, Liliane Rousseau slid into the waiting car and the driver shut the door. Jax took a step back, pulling her Tiffany-blue pashmina tighter around her body as she lifted a hand to wave good-bye.
As the car disappeared down the driveway and through the gates of Le Chateau, onto Blueberry Lane, Jax slumped with relief.
“What was that all about?” asked Mad from the top step, a rolling suitcase just behind her.
“She was talking about selling the house. Again.”
“I swear, she knows how much it bothers you,” said Mad, her lips thin, her green eyes angry.
Jax walked up the steps between them. “You’re going too?”
“Mm-hm. Thatcher’s coming home tonight. I thought I’d make him dinner.”
Thatcher was Mad’s longtime boyfriend, whom Mad kept expecting to pop the question, but there was no popping in sight, unless you counted all the times Dr. Thatcher Worthington popped out of town to attend medical conferences.
“Don’t look at me like that,” said Mad. “He works hard.”
“It was Étienne’s wedding, Mad. I think he could have skipped one conference to escort you.”
“He’s one of the leading clinical psychiatrists in the country, Jax. He can’t just—” Mad used air quotes. “—‘skip a conference’ anytime he feels like it.”