“Fine,” I ground out after a moment. “Did I mention how much of a nuisance you are?”

“Not that I recall. You should tell me again.” Then he broke out his stupid Tom Cruise smile.

I tutted in disgust, which only made him laugh.

After a second, he sobered. “You have to see your mother more often. She misses you. You can’t just let her be a grandmother to Dauphine and not be a mother to you.”

“I’m not avoiding her. I’ve just been busy.” That was the truth. I adored my mother, and she’d been wonderful since Arriette had passed. But lately, she was nagging me about moving on romantically, and I was tired of her little comments and constant plans to set me up. So yes, I’d been avoiding her.

“The second part I can attest to. But listen, X. Let her help. She’s got no one to fuss over, let her do what mother’s do best. Let her fuss over you as well as Dauphine.”

I felt like he was going to say more. “What?”

“Just …” He shrugged. “You could use a vacation.”

My hand swept around. “My life is a vacation. Didn’t you hear? Ritzy mansions, mega yachts, fast cars, and faster women. It’s been in all the papers,” I added, a bitter tone entering my voice. The paparazzi had been relentless since Arriette died, trying to misconstrue everything I did. “Apparently I’m still a tragic prince in mourning. And ready to crash and burn.”

“X—”

“They’re not wrong. Look around. This is my mansion. Have you looked in the garage lately? And wait, aren’t we about to leave on my yacht?”

“Well, they are wrong about the fast women. Any woman. That’s what I mean about taking a vacation.” He lowered his voice. “I mean take a vacation from being a dad just for a few days. Even a week. And, I don’t know, maybe go on a date?”

I barked out a laugh. “Jesus. As if it wasn’t bad enough from my mother. And just who the hell would you suppose I’d do that with? Any woman I’ve even had a business meeting with has ended up splashed in the papers. Who would want that? Oh wait, can’t you see I have women waiting in the wings?” I gestured around the large and empty manicured yard. “Far more than I can handle.”

At that moment, Gérard, my ancient, toothless gardener, who I seemed to have inherited with the property came over the rise. I guess he thought I was waving hello because he raised a hand in greeting.

Evan pressed his lips closed in what looked like a bid to bite back another laugh. One of pity, probably. “Your mother said she’s tried to introdu—”

“No.”

“There are services—”

“I don’t need a hooker,” I snapped.

“Not a hooker—”

“Nor an escort.”