Page 14 of The Rancher Married the Wrong Sister (Billionaires of Evergreen, Texas #13)

GRETA'S CALL WAS ANSWERED on the fourth ring, and since Philippe had always been the type to answer or reject a call by the first ring, the fact that he hadn't now spoke volumes.

" Bonjour , Greta."

This, at least, was normal. Philippe had always been formal over the phone, and this hadn't changed when she became his lover.

Even so, something still felt different, and this worried and angered her.

Any change could only be attributed to his fat American wife, but because she also knew better than to start off with a rant—-

" Bonjour, mon chéri ," Greta cooed. "I've been calling you since last night."

"I'm sorry I missed it."

"And I tried calling you this morning, too."

"I was occupied."

"By something or someone?"

The words were out before she could stop herself, and she was made to pay the price when Philippe answered her in a tone that was distinctly stiff.

"It is unlike you to be snide."

Actually, she had always been snide, but another thing she had known better not to do was to show him this side of hers.

Unlike his older brother, Philippe was not and would never be the type to suffer her bitchiness simply because he enjoyed having her in bed.

It was why, even though she had always found Philippe more attractive, Greta had chosen to set her cap for Pierre.

Not only had the latter been easier to manipulate, but Pierre, being the older and more favored brother, would've meant Greta enjoying a greater share of the DeRose fortune.

Life would have been so much easier if Pierre hadn't drunk himself to an early grave, but since there was no way to change the past—-

"Please don't be mad, darling. I've just been missing you quite a lot."

Philippe was starting to realize that it wouldn't be easy to break things off with Greta. Although he had made it clear from the start that their relationship was merely based on mutual benefits, he also hadn't made the effort to discourage Greta when she started acting more possessive.

"You know I'm not one to be emotional, but I didn’t realize it would be this hard, living with the fact that you're married to someone else."

And now, he was suffering the consequences.

"I know your mother's been to see her, and since I'm sure Sandra loves your new wife just because she's not me.

.." Greta waited for Philippe to tell her that she had nothing to worry about.

But he did not. And her temper, which she would be the first to admit had a much shorter fuse compared to most, began to boil.

"It would be nice," she said sharply, "if you could say something—-" A beeping sound cut her off, and Greta bit back a curse. Merde!

"I'm sorry, Greta, but I have Damian on the other end—-"

"I don't mind being put on hold." Since Damian owned Foxtown, and everything played second fiddle to business for Philippe, it would be pointless to ask him not to answer the call.

"This might take a while, and I wouldn't want you to waste your time waiting."

The coolness of Philippe's tone made Greta quickly change tactics. " Je suis désolée, mon chéri. " If she let their call end on a bad note, she might end up pushing him into his wife's arms. "I do not mean to take so much of your time. Will you call me back tonight at least?"

"I'll do my best."

Greta nearly swore in anger, but she managed to calm herself down and instead made a kissing sound over the phone. "Don't be a stranger, mon chéri, or my pussy will start meowing. It also misses you, you know."

Philippe knew what Greta was expecting, and what was most likely to happen if he failed to say what she wanted to hear. But while he knew words need not translate to action—-

"I miss it, too."

Having to say such a thing to a woman other than his wife still left a bad taste in Philippe's mouth, and the sound of Greta's laugh made him want to punch something hard.

"Allez, bises." Greta kept her tone sweet, but as soon as the call ended, she flew into a rage and threw anything and everything within reach. Over an hour had passed before she finally stopped seeing red, and it was only because someone was knocking on her hotel room door.

"Good morning, Ms. Leroy." Winston, the hotel's day manager, was careful to keep his tone pleasant. "I received a call from the other guests, and I would just like to ask if everything's alright?"

Greta smiled dazzlingly. "Oh, yes, absolutely."

Being a head taller than his guest, Winston had no trouble seeing the state of her room over her shoulder, and what he saw was absolutely not alright.

But since she had paid for her room in advance and her credit card would cover such incidentals, Winston simply smiled back and said, "I'm delighted to hear that, and I do apologize for the bother.

If there's anything I may help you with—-"

"Oh, actually, yes. Would you be a dear and book me a limousine to Foxtown?" Thanks to the company's group chat, she had found out earlier that Philippe's wife had been discharged, and the newlyweds were now booked in Foxtown's fucking honeymoon suite.

After giving Winston the details for her booking, Greta made sure to softly close the door behind her before getting rid of the fake smile on her face.

Merde!

It had taken her five long years of stoking Philippe's anger at his father to finally get him in her bed - five long years, dammit! - and no way would she let some overweight Texan hick ruin her plans just like that.

Walking back to her room, Greta belatedly noticed her phone on the floor, and her lips slowly formed a sneering smile. She bent down to retrieve it, whose screen showed a third-party app still running in the background.

In her anger earlier, she had forgotten that she still had a hidden ace up her sleeve. Recording people's phone calls had always proved handy in the past, and this time wouldn't be any different.

PHILIPPE CLOSED THE door to the study and walked back into the suite's living room. "Sorry about that—-"

"Welcome back," his wife chirped. "Your mother's come to visit—-"

Philippe stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his mother seated next to his wife. Something was definitely up, if the expression on Sandra's face was anything to go by.

" Bonjour ." Sandra's pleasant tone was belied by the unsmiling look in her eyes, which were the same jade-green shade as her son's.

"—-and we need you to settle our argument."

Philippe raised a brow. "That serious?"

"More like... you're the only one who can decide who's right."

"Je vois. " Philippe took the armchair and reached for his wife so she could sit on his lap. "Tell me more then."

"We overheard you talking on the phone," Charlee-Mae said sheepishly. "I thought I heard you say 'I miss it, too', but Maman says what you actually said was 'I miss him, too'. "

Merde .

Now he knew why his mother had been looking at him like he was more the devil than her flesh and blood.

"Well, mon fils ?" Sandra's tone was still pleasant, while her gaze remained the opposite. "Which of us is correct?"

Philippe glanced up at his wife. "I'm afraid Maman wins this argument, ma moitié. "

Charlee-Mae was shocked. "So you really did say 'him'? You're gay?"

Philippe nearly choked. "Ah, no."

"But I just don't see you as the type to miss a male friend—-"

"I was talking to Greta about Pierre."

Charlee-Mae's heart went out to Philippe, and she touched his cheek in sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Philippe." She looked at his mother.

"And you, too, Maman. I also have - had - an older brother, and I still miss him, every day.

It hurts to think about him at times, but I force myself to, because I don't want to forget a thing about him. "

Sandra was caught off guard by the wave of emotion that rose inside of her at Charlee-Mae's words.

She, too, had avoided thinking of her older son because it hurt to remember he was no longer with them, but she realized now that Charlee-Mae was right.

Having memories of Pierre, albeit painful, was better than forgetting him completely.

She glanced at Philippe, and the shuttered expression on his handsome face made her heart ache. "It is true, what your wife said, n'est ce pas? We should always do our best to remember."

"Oui."

"Maybe, on Pierre's birthday, we can have dinner as a family, and we can tell Cha-Cha about your brother."

"That would be wonderful," Charlee-Mae agreed right away. "And maybe...we can ask his wife - Greta - to join us? Or would it be too hard for her?"

Sandra managed a smile but could not make herself reply. It was not her style to talk badly of another woman's name, even if it was warranted, but neither was she capable of pretending any kind of fondness for her other daughter-in-law.

Philippe could feel his body turning rigid as Charlee-Mae looked at him expectantly. Hearing his wife utter the other woman's name still didn't feel right, and it was only fortuitous timing that a knock came at the door to keep him from replying.

"I'll get that!" Sandra was already walking towards the door as she spoke.

Philippe raised a brow when he heard the person outside the door mention having something for his wife. "Are you expecting something?"

Charlee-Mae was confused. "No, I'm not... oh."

Philippe's mother was now busy telling a pair of hotel attendants where to place what looked like an endless parade of elaborate Valentine bouquets, some of which included heart-shaped balloons, stuffed animals, and what looked like expensive chocolate.

One of the bouquets came with a massive card that said 'I love you, Cha-Cha! Will you be my date on Valentine's?', and everything instantly made sense.

"These are all so gorgeous, Cha-Cha." The attendants had left, and Sandra was now counting the bouquets that had been delivered. One...two...twenty...thirty...forty...