He was sure Charles thought he’d found some random woman to play the part of his wife. Charles always had played checkers and not chess. Of course, the other thing Charles didn’t understand was that he wasn’t playing with Sylvie. He was dead serious. “I am. We’ve kept things quiet since she came home.”

Charles shook his head and kept his voice low as Sylvie was greeting Cricket. “You bastard. This isn’t going to work.”

He felt a quiet pride as he watched Sylvie being so gentle with his mother. “I think it’s going to work quite well. Sylvie was always the woman for me. We’ve been close since we were children. You know how it goes. Sometimes you have to spend time away from someone to truly appreciate their value. That’s how it went with me and Sylvie. We were always going to end up here. Your shenanigans simply moved the timetable up.”

A part of him truly did believe that. Another part wondered if he wouldn’t have simply drifted and let time fly by, and he would have woken up and someone else would be Sylvie’s husband.

“I don’t believe it,” Charles said with a shake of his head. “You’re a manipulative bastard, Rene, but I’ll still win in the end. I hope you wrapped her up in a prenup because this marriage isn’t going to last long.”

Charles had crushed the fishing license in his fist, and he moved down the hall, avoiding the three women in his path.

“That boy has problems,” Marcelle said, her eyes trailing after Charles. “He needs a good cleansing.”

“I said a spanking.” His mother stood next to Sylvie as though she was ready to protect her should Charles turn back their way.

“That, too,” Marcelle said under her breath before turning back to Rene. “You’re going to treat my baby right, Rene Darois?”

“Every single day, Mrs. Martine,” he vowed.

Marcelle shook her head, looking at him with a steady gaze. “No. You’re marrying my daughter. You call me what you called me when you were a thin little boy stealing cookies from my kitchen.”

He was not going to cry. It wasn’t what Darois men did. “Momma Marcelle, I promise I’ll take care of Sylvie.”

Sylvie frowned his way, an expression that did nothing to take away from how beautiful that woman was. “You know I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time now. Can we not treat this like some medieval binding of families? Rene, if my momma promised you three goats and a year’s worth of wheat, you’ve been had.”

She always made him smile. He held out his hand, unwilling to keep away from her a second longer. “It was four goats, and I drove a hard bargain for a bushel of the lemons she grows.”

Sylvie’s smile lit up the dreary space, and her hand was warm in his. “I think you’ll find she’ll give us those for free. And to warn you, she’s planning on a good spiritual cleanse of your house. Yeah. I probably won’t be able to stop that.”