13
Gigi
“We think it’s for the best,” Angelique said, taking a sip of her white wine while Marcel nodded his head in agreement.
They had invited us—Beau, me, and the puppies of course—over for supper again.
Not just for supper. To propose another arrangement.
This one even more impossible than the first.
“You want us to move in together even before the show airs?” Beau asked, his face screwed up in the same confusion that matched mine, I was sure.
“We think, in light of what the fans may think and of course, not to mention the rules of the show—no dating between players—that it’s better if we start the show with you two—together. That way there’s no—misconstruing what is going on here,” Marcel said as he smiled over at us from across the table.
“It’s one thing to pretend we’re dating. But to pretend we’re living together? And already? After such a short time?” I said, my voice practically squeaking in my own ears.
Angelique’s head swayed from side to side. “Oui, Geneviève, I know it’s sudden. However, for the sake of the show, we all feel it—well, you in particular—will be portrayed in a more—” she turned to Marcel and set her hand on his arm, “help me out, mon amour.”
Marcel smiled at her and spoke to us, “A more favorable light. And we really don’t want players—umm, how do you young people say it now—‘hooking up’. That is not the kind of thing we want this show to be about.”
“How exactly will it look better to everyone if we move in together after hardly knowing one another for more than a couple of weeks?” Beau asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. His face wore a grim expression that likely mirrored mine.
“Beauregard, it shows a level of—commitment, of course. Not just a here and there, whatever thing. A real, honest commitment,” Angelique said to us.
I was positive Beau’s head was going to pop right off. “You really have got to be kidding?” The sharp, slicing tone of his words matched his hard, cutting jawline.
“It is for the best. We must insist,” Angelique replied firmly, in that manner she had about her where it sounded like you had a choice but really you didn’t.
Beau leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “There’s one bed. How exactly do you suggest we pull that off?”
Marcel answered quickly, “There’s a couch, Beau.”
“Marcel, with all due respect, I’m not sleeping on a couch all season. If Geneviève agrees to this, then we both move in together, but it’ll be in my house,” Beau said, his voice even more stern than before.
His house? Since when did Beau have a house here? That all was news to me. I guess it shouldn’t be surprising. With the kind of money some of the male hockey players made, buying a house probably wasn’t as big of a deal as it was for the rest of the world.
Angelique smiled and grabbed onto Marcel’s arm. “In time, oui. But for right now, with the start of the show, non. Not quite yet.”
“Let the first weeks go by, and then we will make an exception for only the two of you,” Marcel added to what his wife had said.
Beau’s head swung toward me. “What do you think? Can you handle a few weeks of this? My house is big. Six bedrooms, pool, hot tub, all the toys.”
“I guess so? This is all so sudden, I mean, I hadn’t even considered the possibility,” I said, my voice croaking slightly in my dry throat. I needed a drink of water desperately. Maybe with a splash of something stronger added to it.
He nodded, a look of sympathy crossing his face. “You decide. Whatever you want.” His eyes scanned my face and the level of concern and care he was showing me, warmed my heart. Beau would take one for the team, but he was leaving the final decision up to me.
“I can see their point,” I said, speaking as though it was just us at the table. “If they allow us to have a—relationship, then they’d have to let the others. That leaves the door open for hookups, etc. Not saying anyone would take the opportunity but some might, right? Then the show turns from an actual documentary-type of a look inside hockey—to a shoddy, ‘Who’s sleeping with who this week?’”
Beau let out a long sigh as I continued. “That wasn’t the kind of TV show I’d envisioned when I signed up. Did you?”
His head shook slowly from side to side.
“I can move into your apartment. There’s no camera? That’s a plus, right?” I suggested, trying to be helpful.
“Non, Geneviève, Beau will come to you. We need the camera on. When it’s off, he sleeps on the couch,” Angelique, rather matter of fact. The way she made it sound it was no big deal for the world’s best, hottest, most talented hockey player in the world to sleep in my apartment. On my couch. Just another day at the office. Sigh.
Beau spoke up, “Only for a few weeks.” He looked at me and lowered his voice. “My house is nice. I can take you there after this. You could practically have your own wing if you wanted,” he said, his sexy smirk back.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. Seeing his face relax in turn calmed me. “If you’re game, so am I,” I said, completely and utterly unsure of this whole arrangement. It seemed like a domino effect had taken place. And I couldn’t stop it no matter what.