[The Sons of Lily Moreau 02] - Taming the Playboy Page 12

  And there was no lasting love hiding to capture him, either.

  Lasting love. Was there such a thing? he wondered as he stood there, watchingVienna pull up to the curb in her vehicle. At this point, he didn’t know.

  “Okay, your chariot awaits, Grandpa,” she announced, swinging her legs out of the driver’s side. Viennacame around the back of the vehicle to help him out of the wheelchair. From what she had seen, he was still a little wobbly on his legs and she didn’t want to risk having him hurt himself.

  Between her and Georges, they managed to successfully lower Amos into the passenger side of the front seat. Georges drew away the wheelchair, locking the wheels so that it wouldn’t suddenly go rolling down the winding path. With that out of the way, he closed Amos’s door.Vienna rounded the front of the vehicle and he looked at her over the roof.

  “I’ll call you,” he repeated. Something in Georges’ voice, a vague distance she hadn’t heard before, planted a seed of doubt in her head. Worse, in her heart. But she told herself she was just imagining things. So she smiled at him and nodded.

  “Until then,” she replied warmly. Secretly hoping that was enough to make him want to keep his word.

  “Don’t you look at your messages?” Georges heard Philippe’s voice in his ear as he answered his cell phone more than a week later. There was suppressed irritation in his brother’s tone, simmering just beneath the surface. Georges was feeling too good to get defensive. Life had been hectic, but progressing rather well these days. As promised, he’d secured the nurse for Amos and it had turned out to be a perfect match. The old man still hadn’t gotten to the point where he could go back to the bakery for anything but a short visit, but he was progressing well.

  Things were progressing well between him andVienna , too, he thought. So well that he caught himself waiting for a mythical shoe to drop.

  Or maybe the bottom to fall out.

  But most of the time, he refused to allow himself to think about it beyond the moment. There was safety in ignorance, he thought. Georges knew what his brother was referring to. Not messages left on his cell phone, but on his computer. Philippe had made his money and a name for himself developing software for large companies. He lived and breathed the computer.

  The same was not true of him. “E-mail is not something I usually have time for,” Georges told him. “I don’t know about you, but I’m still connected to the rest of the world by phone. Now, what is it I was supposed to have read and, I’m guessing, responded to?”

  “Mother’s having a show tomorrow. She wants all of us to be there.” By all, he knew Philippe was referring to not just him and his other brother, but Philippe’s fiancée and Janice’s daughter,Kelli , a five-year-old Lily doted on. Gordon, Janice’s brother, had gotten pulled into the circle, as well, plus assorted cousins. Alain usually brought his date of the moment with him. He, on the other hand, never did.

  He was outside of Blair, taking one of his rare breaks. Georges leaned against the wall, the cell phone to his ear. “You know, when we were kids, all her shows were usually located halfway around the country. We practically had to make appointments to see her. Now she’s here much more than she’s not. Why the change?” he asked.

  Philippe, as always, had all the answers. He laughed softly. “Age.” “Mother doesn’t age,” Georges reminded him. Other people’s mothers aged. Lily Moreau had her portrait hidden somewhere in someone’s attic.It was aging while she did not.

  “She wishes,” Philippe said with a laugh. “No, I’m serious. I think somewhere along the line, it finally hit her that she’d missed out on a lot on the home front, flying around the way she did while we were growing up on her. Probably, in her mind, she’s trying to make up for lost time.”

  Georges had another theory about what could’ve brought about this change in their mother. She’d always been a loving mother in her own way, but she’d never stayed in their lives for such a long stretch of time before. “I think it’s you getting married that probably triggered all this.”

  There was silence on the other end as Philippe considered his words. “Maybe,” he allowed. “At any rate, no matter what brought this on, bottom line is she wants us to show up.”

  Georges hesitated. He was on duty in the evening for the rest of the week. “I can’t unless I find someone to trade hours with—”

  Philippe laughed. Their mother was way ahead of him on that. “The chief of surgery at Blair’s a friend of Mother’s. She’s already made sure you have the evening off.” Typical, Georges thought. She might have seemed like a hurricane blowing into town, but Lily always liked being in control, always liked calling the shots. “Why couldn’t we have had the kind of mother who liked to put on an apron and bake cookies?”

  “Because then she wouldn’t have been Lily Moreau—and for all we know, if she followed that kind of lifestyle, you and Alain might have never been born. She would have stuck by my father through thick and thin.”

  Philippe had a point. In any case, they’d never know. “So, what’s so special about this showing? She just had one a few months ago.”

  “This one’s for Kyle. They’re his paintings.” Kyle, their mother’s so-called latest “companion.” Now that he thought of it, Georges remembered her saying something about Kyle having a great deal of potential. So, she was talking about his ability to paint, not something else. But could he paint well enough for a show? “The boy toy?”

  “One and the same, except I think Mother sees him as something more than that.” Georges suppressed a groan. While “Lily in love” was more like a force of nature, he didn’t exactly relish this particular choice she’d made. “She’s had countless ‘companions’ since Alain’s father died. What makes you think that this guy in short pants is so important to her?”

  There was another pregnant pause on the other end, longer this time, as if Philippe were composing his thoughts. “You haven’t noticed the resemblance?”

  Georges had no idea what he was talking about. “To who?” “To my father.” For a second, Georges was speechless. Until Philippe had said it, there had only been that vague recognition echoing in the recesses of his mind, the kind that haunted people when they saw someone they thought they knew, but weren’t sure.

  “Oh God, you’re right.” Philippe’s father was the only one of their mother’s partners and lovers with whom she ever reunited on an intimate basis. After she divorced his own father, she took Philippe’s back for a while, although they didn’t get married the second time around. But the reunion was short-lived. The final straw came when she discovered that his gambling affliction was worse than ever.

  Despite the turbulent nature of their last breakup, she was inconsolable when she discovered that the man had died, taken by a brain aneurysm that had suddenly ruptured.

  “Do you think that’s why she’s with him?” Georges asked.

  “That’s part of it. The other part is that our eternally young mother wants to remain that way. I think that Kyle is her second chance at being twenty-five again.”

  A thought suddenly pushed its way forward, stealing Georges’ breath away. “You don’t think she’s going to wind up marrying him, do you?”

  “Hard to say. This is Mother we’re talking about, a woman who has never played by any rules known to the ordinary man.”

  Philippe was right. Of all of them, he was the one who knew her best. “What do you think of him?”

  “He’s young.”

  “Other than that,” Georges said impatiently. He got to the heart of the matter. “Do you think that he’s after her money?”

  “Personally, I think he’s as dazzled by her as the rest of the world is. She needs that right now, needs to be the center of someone’s universe.”

  “She could have been that by being more of a mother and less of a celebrity when we were growing up.” “Can’t change the past,” Philippe told him. “Can only work with the present and the future.” He had to get going, and he still didn’t have
the answer he wanted. The least emotional of her three sons, he was still very protective of his part-time mother. “So, are you coming?”

  It sounded as if his showing up was important to Philippe. “Are you asking?”

  “I’m asking.” He owed Philippe more than he could ever possibly repay. “Then I’m coming.” He hesitated for a moment, debating asking, then decided he had nothing to lose. “If I bring someone with me, do you think that’ll cause any ripples?”

  “Are you bringing that woman you’ve been seeing?”

  Georges picked up the inference in his brother’s tone. Defensive instincts kicked in. “I never mentioned a specific woman.”

  “You didn’t have to. Do I think it’ll cause ripples? Probably. But as long as it’s not a tsunami, you’ll survive. Bring her. I think I’d like to meet the woman who finally nailed my brother’s hide to the wall.” Georges anticipated the repercussions. He changed his mind. “Forget it. I’m coming alone.”

  Philippe’s laugh said that he knew better, but for now, he’d play along. “Suit yourself. See you at the gallery tomorrow night.”

  Chapter Twelve Georgessmiled to himself as he closed his cell phone and put it back into his pocket. Good old Philippe. His brother always knew that the fastest way to get him to do something was to tell him not to. That much about their relationship hadn’t changed.

  While the inclination was still fresh, he’d placed a call toVienna and caught her at home instead of the bakery. She was having lunch with her grandfather. He kept the conversation short and asked her if she wanted to come with him to the show at the gallery.

  The words were barely out of his mouth before she eagerly accepted the invitation he’d tendered. It was only after he’d terminated the connection that he began to wonder what he was letting himself in for and why he was doing it in the first place.

  No quick answers came to mind. And those that did he wasn’t up to contemplating.

  Tomorrow night was going to be one hell of an interesting evening.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be all right, Grandpa?” It was the third time in as many minutes that she asked the question. Viennawas dressed in a shimmering electric-blue cocktail dress that flirted with the middle of her thighs. Georges was close to mesmerized by the way the hem moved and swayed along her skin. She’d been ready to leave now for more than ten minutes, yet couldn’t quite get herself to go.

  No premonition kept her from leaving with Georges, who looked so dashing tonight in his black tux. It was just that her grandfather’s color was so pale, she was afraid something would happen to him while she was away.

  “Better question is will Silvia be all right?” Amos replied, summoning a deliberately salacious expression as he eyed the evening private-duty nurse that Georges had sent over from the agency. And then the older man appealed to Georges. “GetVienna off my hands, will you, boy? If I give her half a chance, she will be cutting my food for me.”

  Georges laughed and slipped his arm around her waist, gently urgingVienna toward the door. He handed her the purse that was on the side table. “As long as she doesn’t offer to chew it for you.”

  Amos made a face and shivered.

  “We’ll be back early,”Vienna promised her grandfather just before crossing the threshold. “Then I will be very disappointed in both of you,” Amos declared with feeling. “Besides—” the old man raised and lowered his eyebrows comically “—if you come back too soon, you might be interrupting something.”

  Georges took that as an exit line and closed the door behind them. He led the way to the curb where he’d parked his newly detailed, gleaming red sports car. Vienna’s thoughts were still back in the living room. She frowned slightly. “I hope he’s not too much of a handful for Silvia.”

  “Don’t worry, she knows how to handle herself. She’ll be fine.” Lowering his mouth so that it was next to her ear, he assured her, “He’ll be fine.”

  God, she hoped so. She looked at Georges, wanting desperately to have her mind set at ease. “Is that your professional opinion?” “It is. Get it while it’s hot.” His smile widened as he opened the passenger-side door for her. “Speaking of hot—” his eyes swept over her “—you look sensational in that dress.”

  Color rose to her cheeks. She got into the car. “Thank you.” She would look even more sensational without it, Georges caught himself thinking as he got behind the wheel. He glanced in her direction as he buckled his seat belt. Her belt was secured and her fingers were wrapped around her purse, allowing it to live up to the description: clutch purse. Her knuckles were all but white.

  “He’ll be all right,” he repeated, turning on the ignition. Viennapaused to blow out a breath before answering. “I’m not worried about that.” It was a lie, but not a very big one. She knew she was being overly concerned about her grandfather and overly protective. But hewas her only living relative and she did love the old man dearly. Independent though she was, she just couldn’t picture life without him in it.

  Georges wove his way out of her development. “Then what?” There was no sense in lying about it. Even though she was looking forward to meeting the famous Lily Moreau, she couldn’t help wondering what the woman would think of her. After all, she was sleeping with the woman’s son—or, at least, had slept with him. Even though Lily didn’t know that, it didn’t change anything. She wanted the artist to like her.

  But she couldn’t say any of that to him. It would sound as if she were assuming too much. One step at a time.

  “It’s not every day I get to meet a living legend,” she answered. Shifting in her seat to face him, she asked, “What’s she like?” “Mother?” Living legend. Funny, he had never thought of her in those terms. Even when he occasionally read stories about her, her shows, her three-day parties, he didn’t really associate that person with the woman who, whenever she was in town, would tuck him into bed. “She’s just Mother.” Amused, Georges turned his head for a moment and smiled at her. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t eat people for dinner,” he teased. “Only for breakfast.”

  “Very reassuring,” she said wryly. And then her nervousness resurfaced. “No, really, tell me. What’s she like?” “A little larger than life, I guess. Enthusiastic. About everything,” he added because it was true. He’d never known his mother to take things lightly or not jump into things with both feet. “You know that old classic line from that Bette Davis movie?” He fished for the title. “All About somebody or other—”

  “Alice,”Vienna supplied, then quickly amended, “No, I mean Eve.All About Eve .” She’d heard of it, but she’d never seen it. Was his mother shrewish and selfcentered like the main character was supposed to be?

  “Right,” he said. “Anyway, in the movie Bette Davis says something like, ‘Buckle up, it’s going to be a bumpy night.’” He grinned. “I think Bette Davis knew my mother. With Mother you just never know what to expect.”

  “In other words, expect the unexpected.”

  “You’ve got it.” As he got onto the freeway that eventually led to the gallery, Georges glanced at the woman in the passenger seat. Shedid look nervous, he thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have invited her. Too late now. There was nothing left to do but try to reassure her. “Mother doesn’t care for most women too much, but she’ll love you.”

  “Why?”

  He laughed then and the rich, mellow sound warmed her. “How could she not?” Her breath stopped traveling again. It seemed to be a regular occurrence every time she was around him. Or thought about him.Vienna looked at his profile to see if he was joking, or just turning on the charm that came to him as easily as breathing did for some.

  They came to a red light and he pressed down on the brake. As if sensing that she was studying him, Georges spared her a long glance.

  He seemed serious, she realized. Was he? Or was that just his way of putting her at her ease? In either case, she was appreciative. But she needed more.

  “You won’t leave my side?” she asked
. “Stick to it like glue,” he vowed. “Unless, of course, you want to use the ladies’ room. If I go in with you, there might be a problem.” He grinned again, and her stomach flipped.

  The light changed and he moved his foot back on the accelerator. Just the sound of his voice was reassuring, she thought. “What if I go into the ladies’ room and your mother walks in after me?”

  He never hesitated. “Run.” And then he laughed, making her feel infinitely better. As if she could do anything, face anything. As long as he was there with her. How had he become so important to her so quickly? A few weeks ago, she hadn’t even known he existed. Moreover, she’d been firm in her resolve to leave things like love hidden away on some back shelf, completely out of sight.

  And now…

  And now there it was, she realized, front and center. Love.

  Oh my God—she loved him? The realization—the very thought—had nerves jumping through her again. It took a great deal of effort on her part to bank them all down before they finally reached the gallery.

  The Sunrise Gallery was one very large room that faced the street. It had cathedral ceilings and stark white walls that were repainted on a regular basis. The snow-white walls acted as a dramatic backdrop for the paintings that continually found their way through the front door.

  Right now, the gallery was crammed with patrons, would-be patrons and Lily’s wellwishers. It was a gathering of the famous, the not-so-famous and the wealthy unknowns. Smoking had long since been banned from the city’s buildings but the air was thick with voices.

  When Georges opened the front door for her, the wall of sound hitVienna hard. She was tempted to hang back. “I didn’t realize that there’d be so many people,” she confessed.

  Georges took her hand and crossed the threshold. The door closed behind them, sealing them in. “Neither did I. Looks like Mother went all out spreading the word.”

  Slipping his hand around her waist reassuringly, Georges guided her away from the entrance and toward the displays.