Mon Coeur

I'M SORRY, RYU.

I know this is unfair to you.

But I'd like a divorce.

The words sounded good in her mind.

Sincere even.

But clear.

And so she took a deep breath and turned to face the full-length mirror in her walk-in closet—-

"Summerine? "

—- only to have Ryu's velvety voice cut into her thoughts, and she ended up jumping back in shock instead.

"Do you need more time to prepare?"

"Uh, n-no. I'm g-good."

She grabbed her purse from the dresser and nearly tripped in her hurry to get to the door. Old habits died hard, and there was still that child in her who feared being sent to her room without dinner. Making her parents late for this party or that was unforgivable in their book, no matter the reason.

Summerine rushed out of her bedroom and barreled straight into her husband's impossibly hard chest.

"Careful."

The feel of his fingers cupping her elbows was more than enough to set her entire body on fire.

"Are you alright?"

Summerine managed a nod, not trusting herself yet to speak.

She had already decided that tonight was the last event she would attend as his wife.

And after that...

"I don't mind waiting if there's something else you need to do."

Summerine shook her head, and his gaze turned thoughtful.

He continued to study her in silence, and Summerine fought against the urge to squirm and turn red under his scrutiny.

You have no reason to feel guilty, she chided herself.

Ryu was a good man.

He was, in fact, the nicest billionaire she had ever met.

Or the nicest criminal.

But even so.

She still wanted out of this marriage.

Because finding out that he had another woman...was how she had also realized she had already fallen in love with him.

"GOOD EVENING, EVERYONE !"

Summerine clapped alongside all the other guests as the stage curtains parted to reveal a curvaceous blonde dressed in a little black dress and stilettos.

Since the woman was also very much pregnant, the outfit should have been a horrible choice. But Charlee-Mae being Charlee-Mae, she easily made it work and emerged instead as a picture of grace, sass, and motherhood at its lushest.

"How y'all doing?"

This, too, was classic Charlee-Mae, and the casual greeting had everyone laughing.

If only I had a fraction of her confidence, Summerine thought wistfully. Then maybe...she would have the courage to stay in her marriage and fight for her husband's love.

"I'm so tempted right now to speak in French, you guys."

Summerine bit back a smile as Charlee-Mae's announcement had most guests groaning...and then groaning anew when the audience cam zoomed in on Philippe de Rose's handsome face, whose expression was that of a man falling in love anew with his wife.

San Antonio's beloved heiress-turned-vlogger blew a kiss upon seeing the look on her husband's oh-so-gorgeous face. "Je t'aime, mon coeur!"

Everyone understood what Charlee-Mae had said, but the way she had pronounced each word, well...

Charity balls were a dime a dozen these days, and it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that having Charlee-Mae as host was one of the major reasons why guests were willing to pay $10,000 each for a dinner seat.

That being said...there was absolutely no denying Charlee-Mae's unique ability to destroy other people's eardrums with her husband's native language. It was, in a word, atrocious... or at least it did so to everyone's ears save for the French wine-making tycoon himself, whose gorgeous features were now stained by a light flush.

The more terrible his wife's accent, the more attracted the French billionaire was, apparently, and wasn't it the sweetest and oddest proof of true love?

Charlee-Mae turned to her audience with the widest of smiles. "I don't care what you all think. My husband loves my French, and so that makes it official. My French is the best, period. And speaking of best..."

A stage assistant handed her a velvet envelope.

"The votes are in, and without further ado...this year's Most Romantic Couple of San Antonio is none other than—-"

Charlee-Mae opened the envelope with a flourish.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ryu Harcourt."