6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Olivier

Hazel is taking a shower, so I turn on the TV to watch the news. Paris erupted in chaos last night, the worst riot since the strike started. An entire building was set on fire—right in the middle of the city. I'm racking my brain to guess the outcome of this strike, but no compromise seems good enough to end it. Only a change of government would work at this point, but our president is way too arrogant for that. Even if the cliché isn't true for every French citizen, it is in this case.

My phone vibrates next to me on the couch, and my mom's face flashes on the screen.

" Salut, Maman ," I say, picking up.

" Mon chéri , how are you?" she asks, not hiding the concern in her voice. "Did you get home safely? It was mayhem last night."

"I'm fine, Maman . Don't worry about me. How about you?"

"Oh, I can't complain. Your father and I stayed in and watched Danse Avec Les Stars ."

I suppress a laugh. Mom's typical Friday night routine. Dad must have been thrilled . The change of pace is good for him, though. After his health scare, he's safer at home in front of the TV.

"Are you working tonight?" she asks.

"Of course, Mom. It's Saturday, the biggest night of the week. But don't worry, I'll be there for your birthday tomorrow." The restaurant closes every week from Sunday to Tuesday, thankfully. "Then, I have a vacation week coming up," I add.

" Ah, oui . For the fall festival! The girls will be thrilled. Don't work too hard though, mon chéri . Vacation is a time to relax too."

I roll my eyes. "I will, Mom."

"Well, anyway," she coos in that scheming tone I don't like. At all. "The party tomorrow is the reason I called. I ran into Justine Gardinet at the store yesterday, and—"

"Mom," I warn, sensing full well where this is going. My mom's only goal in life is to meddle with the lives of her sons and fix us up with girls. Now that she got my younger brother set up and married with two kids, her entire focus is on me. But I'm not interested. After the way my last relationship ended, I'm perfectly happy staying single for a while.

"She's a nice girl. You were in high school together."

A breath hisses through my teeth. "Yes, I remember, Maman ." In particular, I recall the unibrow she sported and the creepy cemetery she built for dead insects—ones that I'm pretty sure she killed.

"Well," she insists with that dramatic tone again. "She would love to reconnect. I'm pretty sure she has a crush on you. Isn't that wonderful?"

I stay quiet.

" Sooo , I invited her over tomorrow."

"You did what?" I scream into the phone. Has she lost her mind ?

"No need to yell, son. You'll thank me later. She's a really sweet girl, and she's available. Having grown up in a military family, she understands the demands of your job, and I'm sure you'll hit it off."

Blood threatens to pulse out of my temples. "No. Absolutely not. Do we need to have that talk again, Maman? The one we had a few weeks ago when I told you I didn't need your help to meet girls?"

"Well, I'd argue you do, since you're still single. I know men stay attractive longer than women, but you're not getting any younger, mon chéri ."

"I'm only twenty-nine, Mom!"

"Exactly. Thirty is right around the corner."

I huff. "It doesn't matter. I'm not ready to date again," I declare.

"Olivier, what Emeline did to you was hurtful, but not every girl is like that, I promise. You will find someone who—"

"Stop it, maman ," I say with a controlled tone, even as my body tenses. I don't need the reminder. "Call her right now and cancel."

"I will do no such thing," she says with finality. "It's my birthday, after all. Don't you want to make me happy? I thought you'd be a little nicer with your mother on her birthday. This is not how I raised you."

Merde . Not the mom guilt. She always gets me with that. I draw a long, steady breath, almost ready to surrender. Then, a loud bang echoes from the bathroom, followed by a string of cursing, and a lightbulb flickers on in my head.

"I met someone," I blurt. "That's why I don't want you to set me up."

"Oh! Really?" Her delight is palpable through the phone. "Well, that changes everything. Why didn't you say something sooner, boy?" she scolds with a reproaching tone. If we were in the same room, I know she would have swatted my hand, just like when I was a kid. "Okay, I'll cancel."

Relief swooshes the air from my lungs. " Merci. "

"All right. I've got to go now, but I'll see you tomorrow. I can't wait to meet this lovely lady. What's her name?"

"What— non, maman. I can't bring her. It's still new. I don't want to scare her off."

"Olivier," she says, channeling her mom voice again. "Are you lying to me?"

I swallow hard. "Of course not. "

She tuts. "You should be ashamed of yourself." Her tone seems more hurt than disappointed, and I hate it.

"I'm not lying, maman ." I swear, I sound just like a teenager. "She's real. She's American, and her name is Hazel."

"Super . Bring her, then. We're not monsters, Olivier. We're your family."

"Maman . . . " I groan.

"Or I can call Justine to confirm for tomorrow."

Crap. She's really not playing around. I release a defeated sigh. "Fine. We'll be there at twelve."

" Parfait. à demain ."

"Bye, maman ."

I fall back against the couch, closing my eyes and trying to make sense of what just happened. Right then, Hazel strides out of the bathroom in a pair of dark-gray yoga pants and a white sweater, a towel tied around her hair.

I guess it's my turn to come clean now.

"It's really crazy out there," she says, her eyes glued to the muted TV as she sits down next to me.

Not as crazy as what I'm about to tell you , I silently say, which doesn't exactly help with my nerves. How do you even bring up something like this? Just spring it on her ?

"How long do you think it'll go on?" she asks, a frown creasing her lips.

I return my focus to the screen. "Honestly, I don't know. The whole thing was long overdue. The country has been boiling over for a while."

"That means I'm going to be stuck here forever," she groans, shaking her head. It's followed by a small laugh, but the desolate look on her face tells me she's only half joking. Well, if she already feels trapped, she's really in for a trip when I announce to her what I just told my mom.

"So, um," I say, shifting on the couch. "When you said you'd do anything to repay my hospitality earlier, did you really mean it?"

She turns toward me. "Absolutely! Shoot."

"Before you agree, hold that thought. You might not be so inclined when you hear what I have to say."

"Oh, gosh, is it creepy? Are you into weird fetishes?" she says, scooting a few inches away, but she's still wearing an amused expression.

At least she doesn't actually think I'm a psycho with weird fetishes, so there's that. She'll only think I' m a complete lunatic.

There's no right way to say this, because nothing about it is right. So I just go with my gut instinct and let the words tumble out. "My mom's birthday is tomorrow, and I told her we were dating."

Her hazel eyes widen, showing off more shades of green and brown than I ever thought possible. Forest green, espresso brown, emerald, honey. I could admire them for hours, but my trance is broken when she swats me just like my mom would. "You did what?"

Darn it. She probably has a boyfriend or a husband. Of course she does. She's stunning, and she's here alone on a work trip, not a vacation.

"I know," I say, shaking my head. "I'm sorry. She wanted to set me up with someone, and it just slipped. It was dumb. You know what? Never mind. I'll call her again and admit that I lied. Frankly, I don't know what's gotten into me. The prospect of yet another arranged date messed with my brain," I say, forcing a chuckle.

I grab my phone, once more feeling like a teenager.

Hazel sighs, her features softening. "I know what it's like to have an overbearing mom with a passion for sticking her nose in your love life," she says with a small laugh. Then, she pauses, looking up at the ceiling. My brain must clearly be going haywire because it seems to me like she's actually considering it.

After a moment, she brings her eyes back to me, and to my utmost surprise, she says, "Okay. I'll do it."

My eyes bulge like two marbles. "Wh-What?"

She gives a firm nod. "I'll be your fake girlfriend for your mom's birthday tomorrow."

I do a double take. "Seriously? You will?"

"I did say I'd do anything to repay your kindness, and while it's not what I had in mind, it matches my skill set—I think. My ex-boyfriends might beg to differ, but you didn't say anything about being a good girlfriend. Anyway, you're the one who offered, so no backsies—I'll do it."

My mouth falls open. I had a feeling this girl was different, but this exceeds all my expectations. Not that I thought I'd ever find myself in need of a fake girlfriend, but hey, there's a first for everything.

"Okay," I stammer, still trying to wrap my head around what just happened. "Thank you, I guess. Forgive me, I don't know the protocol here. "

She laughs hard, and my heart rattles in my chest at the enchanting sound. "You're welcome. So, what do you have planned for today?"

"Work," I say, offering a lopsided smile. "One of the many reasons why I don't have a real girlfriend to accompany me tomorrow. I work from two p.m. to one a.m. four days a week." Not that I would want a girlfriend anyway. Finding love is the last thing I need right now.

"I get it. Cooking is your passion, right? So, I'm guessing it doesn't even feel like work."

"Yes, you're right. Most of the time, at least." I avert my eyes for a second. "Anyway, I'd better hop in the shower and get ready. Make yourself at home, and feel free to cook or order something to eat for tonight. Or, if you want to go out, I can recommend a few places. I could even drive you on my way to work."

"I think I'll stay in, if that's okay," she says, lifting her eyes to me. "I'll fix myself something to eat later. I'll have to do some work on my laptop since I'm stuck here and everything."

That might be a safer option, I realize. Saturday night is always the craziest night of the week. "Right, the university research. "

"Right," she repeats, looking away.

"What are you working on, by the way? I didn't even ask."

"Oh," she says, her eyes fixing on the floor. "Just boring stuff. I wouldn't want to make you late for work. History—especially French history—always takes a while to discuss," she says with a nervous laugh.

"Right." I nod. "Well, I'll go get ready for work, then."

As I brush past her toward the bathroom, I breathe in a subtle mix of warm amber, lemongrass, and cinnamon. My shower gel. She probably used it. Never before has the scent smelled so amazing, attractive, and—dare I say it— sexy to me.

That's when I realize how deep in the merde I am. Fake dating Hazel might not be such a brilliant idea after all.