34
Beau
It was after supper, and after more sugar cookies than were possibly healthy.
Geneviève was vegging out on the couch, reading a book. It was odd because I’d never seen her pick up a book that wasn’t a schoolbook before.
But she’d been mighty engrossed in a well-worn paperback for the last hour. The boys were watching a movie they’d watched at least a dozen times, and Jase was sitting in a chair with his laptop, commenting on the movie every so often.
That’s when I asked Noémie if I could talk with her outside.
Geneviève had turned her head to me, but I ignored her. It was her mother I needed to speak with.
Noémie smiled at me from the kitchen as she set her dishtowel down. “Oui, of course, Beauregard,” she said, then I followed her while we both put on our jackets and went outside.
We stopped on the large, wraparound porch and she sat down first on the wooden bench. “What is on your mind? I hope we have not offended you in some way?” she asked as I looked into her eyes. It really was spooky how much Geneviève resembled her.
“No, of course not. Quite the opposite. I’m afraid I’ve offended you,” I said, linking my fingers together as I stared down at my hands briefly.
“However so?” she asked in a soft, caring tone.
“I asked Geneviève to marry me.”
She nodded and gave me a sympathetic look. “I know, I know. The show—and the teams—” she took in a long breath, “Geneviève told me it was all fake. All for the sake of publicity.” She shook her head and went on, “It was a sacrifice you both made. I understand why. No need to explain.”
I closed my mouth then opened it again. Then I huffed. “She didn’t tell you that I asked her for real?”
Noémie’s face changed completely, and she was clearly surprised. “Non, Geneviève said nothing to me,” she said, then a large smile crossed her face. “What did she say?” she asked, her voice full of anticipation as she grabbed onto my arm.
“Uh, she hasn’t exactly answered back. Yet.”
Noémie peered at me and tilted her head in exactly the same way Geneviève often did. Then she burst out laughing—also sounding exactly like Geneviève. Her hand tightened on my arm as she doubled over.
She spoke in French and continued laughing, “Oh, Beauregard, I am sorry! I should not laugh, I know. But your face was so—cute and endearing. Cooper looked at me just like that tonight when he was confused about something.”
“And then to think that Geneviève’s been in love with you for years,” she grabbed onto me with her other hand now, “and I do mean years. That her hero finally proposes, and she doesn’t answer?”
A loud snort exited her nose and she kept laughing. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I will stop now,” she said, wiping under her eyes.
I nodded and spoke back to her in French, “It’s fine, really. I suppose I am confused,” I said, looking off to the side of the porch, “I mean she did seem somewhat—excited—and yet she didn’t actually say the words. You know?”
Her shoulders shook, and she bent over, laughing and snorting, holding her stomach. “I’m so sorry, Beauregard, I’m really, truly sorry. This is just too much like Geneviève.”
When she simmered down, she looked at me and said, “I’m sure if you ask her again—and request an answer, she will say, ‘yes’, this time.”
“I should have asked your permission first. It’s been bothering me. But at the time, I—well, the timing felt right. So, I just, you know, asked,” I said, feeling as though I were a bumbling fool.
“Noémie,” I said, staring right at her, hoping and praying she wouldn’t break out into laughter. Again. “I cannot tell you how much I love your daughter. Because each day I wake up, I love her more than the last. It seems impossible. I always think today will certainly be the most I can love her.”
I gazed out in the yard and looked at the bright, colorful lights leading down the walkway. “And then each and every day I love her more. I see us raising a family together. And growing old together.”
I swallowed over the dry lump in my throat. “I’m thirty-five years old and I just realized a few months ago that I’d never been in love. Not once. Because I didn’t know what loving someone felt like until I met your daughter.
“She challenges me, and pushes me, and—puts up with me. We’re so perfect together, I can’t even believe someone like her exists. It sounds corny, I know. But from that first moment, it’s felt like—she was made for me,” I said, waiting for her to start laughing again.
Nothing.
I took that as a possible good sign and kept talking. “If Geneviève’s father were still here, I would be asking him as well. I want you to know that. So, I’m here tonight to ask for Geneviève’s hand. I promise you I’ll always do everything in my power to protect her and love her. I can’t imagine not spending the rest of my life with her.”