What's Important to Me

Bobby's POV—Post Thanksgiving

"Bobby!"

"Gennie! What's up?"

I'm reading through Atlanta's reports. Danny's trying to catch Javi, who is trying to catch Hal. Chase reports that Charlotte is trying to catch Miami and RMSA is trying to catch Boston. Adam reports that Atlanta is growing so fast they're pretty comfortable assuming they'll keep the bonds enforcement crown. Marcus won't allow anything less.

It's the world's most hilarious round robin and the rankings change weekly. If Ryan is more than ten minutes late with the numbers, men go nuts. It's absolutely insane!

"Your friend I spoke to on the phone. Chenae?"

"Yes?"

"Any chance you could bring her for an interview?"

I consider this. Chenae would flip. A possible job and a chance to see my family live?

Plus, perhaps I can steer her in another direction. I think another member of my family might be more her type.

"I'll need to check with her, Mrs. CJ, and Tank but I think that can be arranged."

"Great. I look forward to meeting her." Click

I dial Chenae. "Hello Chenae."

"Robert." Breathless. Head removed from ass, Chenae is getting there but she'll always be too young for me.

"Got plans for Christmas?" It's silent for a moment. "Let me rephrase. My sister would like to meet you and I would like to invite you, on behalf of my family, to our annual Christmas bash. Interested?"

"Sure! When?"

"December 19-22nd. Everything's on me and I'll put you on a plane back to Lafayette in time to spend Christmas with your family."

"OK. Have you asked Pierre?"

"Nope. You're a grown woman. I need your agreement first."

She laughs. "Right. I keep forgetting I don't have to ask Pierre for permission first."

"Right. So check with Mrs. CJ and Tank and call me back."

"I will." Click.

She calls back an hour later. She's cleared to come. Good.

—oOo—

"Robert! Lester!"

Les snickers behind me but moves in front of me and smoothly intercepts my mother. He gives her the polite air cheek kiss and scans her up and down.

"My dear Mrs. Brown, it is wonderful to see you again. You are looking much too young and beautiful to be Robert's mother. Keep this up and they'll refuse to believe he's legitimate."

I watch my mother twitter in delight over Les's inanity. I catch Jacqueline's eye and we both roll our eyes. Mère's love of Les is known and hilarious.

"Lester, you silly young man. You do not fool me. Your flattery is appreciated though." Mère looks at me, a smile on her face. "So difficult to get my son to compliment his mother."

"That's because I dread sounding like a fool pointing out that which is obvious, Mother. You have yet to age." I kiss her cheeks and give her a tight hug then step back. "Les is right. I'll have to start lying about my age to stay legitimate." I give Chenae a gentle push forward. "Mother, this is Chenae LaPierre, Pierre's little sister. She's a senior at Tulane, majoring in social work, but hoping to transfer into finance." I grin at her. "And she's an AKA."

"Really? And I gather by your introduction Ms. LaPierre speaks French?"

"I do, indeed," Chenae answers smoothly. "I'm a Louisiana native but I never knew anyone who actually spoke French until I met Robert. He inspired me to learn." Chenae's French is excellent, proper but with a soft Louisiana accent to it. "Mrs. Brown, I truly appreciate your kind offer to stay here during the holiday season. I know you're busy—"

"It is my pleasure! I don't think Robert's ever brought a woman home for us to meet." Mère's eyes land on me speculatively.

"I brought Chenae here for Geneviève to meet, mother. Nice try." I turn to Chenae. "Be careful. My mother is sugar and spice."

Mère rolls her eyes and starts chatting with Chenae in French, testing her abilities. Geneviève has joined Jacqueline and they're both rolling their eyes. I leave Mother to Chenae's clutches (or is that the other way around?) and approach my sisters.

"Jack. Gene."

"Bob. Les." We grin. Our quiet protest against Mère and her formality. My arrival with Les and Chenae interrupted the decorating for the annual Christmas bash. The garland has been hung, the decorations are going up, and Mère is directing the trimming of the two Christmas trees. She drags Chenae with her and they discuss lights and ornaments. Mère is thrilled. Someone who wants to practice her French!

"Pops is here, Robert," Jacqueline says quietly. "He's been waiting on you."

I hug them both, pat Geneviève's belly (baby three! I love my nieces!) and head into the living room. My father is seated with Pops in front of the fireplace. At my approach, he turns his head.

"Robert."

"Père." We hug and I turn to Pops. "Pops. You still look like you could take me down."

"Liar. Boy, I'm not your mother. You don't have to blow smoke up my ass," Pops growls. I grin and hug him.

Time has beaten Pops, but not beaten him down. His back might be a little stooped, his hair grey, and he's in support socks and suspenders, but otherwise, Pops hasn't changed much. I do some quick math. Pops is in his early 80s now.

I still think that, if he wanted to, he could beat my ass.

Pops and Père exchange a glance and Père stands. "I suppose I'll check on your mother."

Translation: Pops wants to talk to you about seeing a great-grandson from you before he dies. Good luck, son.

That's cool. Pressure from Pops isn't as bad as pressure from Mère.

"Well?"

Pops is no fool. He knows I know what he wants.

"Still looking."

"Cradle robbing?"

I laugh, drawing eyes to me. I wave and turn back to Pops. "Nope. Actively discouraging. I think she might be right for Chase, though."

Pops peers around me to Chenae. "I want to talk to her then."

I'm smug enough to know I'm Pops' favorite grandchild, but Chase is a very very close second.

"I'll make that happen. Plus, she invested Tank's money for him as a teenager. That's how Tank could afford his share of the business."

Pops nods, impressed. "Smart cookie then."

"Exactly."

Pops taught me, Chase, and my sisters how to invest as soon as we were old enough to understand how a balance sheet worked. 'Work hard all your life and that's how long your money will last. Make your money work hard all your life and it'll last beyond your lifetime.' Our family endured too much for too many years to hold onto that land outside LaGrange and Pops was determined to ensure that every member of our family respected the sacrifice and was prepared to do what was necessary to hold onto that land.

He glances at Lester. "Lester still field testing condoms?"

I laugh. "Trojan really should hire him." Pops barks a laugh and we turn and look for Les. He's standing with my sisters, but at the sound of Pops' laughter he turns and raises a brow. "Nah, Pops. Les is more of a wingman. He's on the same quest."

"Lester?"

"He's in no hurry. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn't, there are plenty of beautiful women in the world to keep him occupied."

"Mature of him," Pops says. "No need to rush."

"Exactly." I smile. "Tank's getting married."

Pops breaks out in a wide grin. "Good. The woman you told me about?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ric?"

"Working through a relationship?" Pops frowns and I think of how to clarify. "He and the women he's interested in have been dancing around each other for years. They finally decided to make a go of it." And they finally got on the same page last night. Man, I'm so fucking happy we got everything settled before we left NYC. It's almost like this weight is completely gone. Les is more … Les than he's been in months and I'm just thrilled that the frustration is gone.

Steph and Ric decided to join Tank and Lula in Carencro and I don't blame Steph. If anyone can soothe the soul, Mrs. CJ can.

"You?"

I shrug. "I'm cautious, Pops. You know that."

"I know." I look back at Père and Mère, who are trying, unsuccessfully, not to watch us. "You want someone like your mother, right?" I nod and he pats my knee. "Good. Now, your mother still does not believe this, forty years later, but the day your father brought her home to meet us, I liked her."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

He nods. "Really. Your mother was an Atlanta society girl and she was clear about it, but I didn't see her using her education and sophistication to put your father down. I saw her using that to build your father up. It's been my privilege to watch my son have a happy marriage with a woman who loves and supports him. I had the same and I want the same for you."

"Right." Mère is my ideal, a woman who always, always, has her husband's back, but she has goals and ambitions of her own. I might tease my mother but I adore and respect her. Both of my grandmothers were just like her, ambitious and demanding, but loving.

He smiles at me. "Your problem is that you want a woman like your mother, but you want one who won't judge you. Well, son, you gotta stop judging them. The women in your mother's sphere, with the sophistication and polish you want, they aren't going to react to a man they perceive as a thug. They want a man who appears to be as polished and sophisticated, as well read and cultured as they are. Don't judge a book by its cover, yes, but haven't you noticed that the books that get picked up are the ones interesting covers to begin with?"

I nod. Point.

"You're an interesting book but you try to hide your cover and wonder why you aren't getting picked up by the women you want. Let who you are shine and see what you get then." He peers at me. "You ashamed of who you are?"

His tone says that I better not be. He won't allow it. The thought makes me smile.

"No."

He sits back, mollified. "Then what's with the braids and the all black uniform, son? You look like a thug."

I check the grin. Thug is as close to an insult as Pops gets. "The all black uniform is company policy. The braids? That's just me."

He frowns; Pops believes in the low fade, a remnant of his Army days. My ill-thought out experiment with dreadlocks pushed him close to the edge. I'm not sure I've ever heard him mutter 'nappy' so much in my life. Gave me a good chuckle until he put a pair of scissors in my hands with a pointed look at my head. "You do it or I will while you're sleeping," he'd threatened. I can see he really wants to do that to my braids right now.

"My problem, Pops, is that Mère has done me a disservice." Pops eyebrows rise. "She's broadcast my business interests and approximate net worth to the mothers of most of the women in Atlanta I might go after. So I'm never quite sure if they like me or my money." Pops nods gravely. "The braids and the RangeMan uniform? A test. If you don't like me when you think I'm just a thug, why the 'about face' when I'm in a tux? I'm the same man. Only thing that's changed is the clothing."

"And you don't do that?" Pops asks gently.

"No," I reply firmly. "I've dated women who looked like runway models and women who had no clue what foundation is." Pops chuckles. "Looks might catch my attention but personality keeps my interest. To use your book analogy, the cover might be interesting, but if the blurb on the back sounds boring, I put the book down. If the first chapter sucks I don't buy it." I smile. "Weren't you the one who taught us that looks fade but brains are forever?"

"Glad to know I got something inside your thick head," he says, laughing.

"Believe me, Pops, you got plenty good old-fashioned wisdom inside my head."

"Good. Don't want my years of lessons and tears to go in vain." Pops is quiet. I relax into the seat and he stares at me. I sit up straight again and he smiles and pats my knee. "OK, I agree. You have a problem. Maxine's been trying to find you a wife and has instead opened you up to fortune hunters."

"Exactly." I sigh and sit back. "Honestly, I trust Mère's opinion and the woman I marry would have to get along with her and my sisters. I'd never not look at a woman just because Mère introduced her. I'm just careful when she does. The women Mère has introduced me to? I'll admit, they're beautiful, charming, and sophisticated. But they've also been somewhat predatory. It's about what I have or what I can do for them.

I want to be loved for who I am, Pops, not my wallet. Not our family connections. Not our standing in the community. What if I choose not to live in Atlanta? That's been a question I ask and you should see the way most of them freeze."

"Hmm …" Pops stares at Mère thoughtfully. "Fine. But, for me, this Christmas, put on your tux and show out. Show these ladies what they're overlooking. Show them how you clean up."

"Flip a finger looking fine?"

"You are my grandson." Pops grins. "I was the slickster in my day."

I laugh. "You're still a slickster now. Are you wearing your tux for this bash?"

"Gotta represent for the over 80s."

I laugh. I sit back and think on Pops' words. There's a subtext here and, finally, I get it.

"How many women did she invite and to what?"

"Son, it's gonna be a crush in this house at every party. I hope you brought both tuxes."

—oOo—

Pops never lied. Our house is big, but tonight's pre-Christmas soiree in support of a local food bank is packed and it's making money. It always does. Seeing hungry children will never be OK for Mère, so she's determined to encourage people to give. She does this fundraiser twice a year and the Christmas one is always the most popular.

I volunteered in food banks as a teenager and I've seen the hungry and homeless; it's not OK to me either, which is why I still volunteer whenever I can. I'm a Red Cross first responder, as is Les. In Trenton, I regularly volunteered free medical care at a homeless shelter, so Hector and Tank's crack about me remembering that not everyone in the world has had my advantages?

I put my money, my time, and my heart where my mouth is. I have to force Ric and Tank to volunteer their time and I've never known Hec to. So, honestly, they can all stuff that quote up their asses. Giving back is more than money, guys, and my issues with Steph have nothing to do with my advantages relative to hers.

I told Mère that, if she kept quiet about it, I would match what was raised tonight. Les whispered that he would also match what was raised. Tank and Ranger sent texts stating that they would also match what was raised and Ranger agreed to allow a corporate match.

I haven't told Mère that yet. I want to see her nearly faint when I write my check. So far, Mère's in the high five figures from what people have given tonight and from the fundraising she's done prior to tonight. This is the last push to get the biggest donations she can.

I don't care about the public relations aspect of this. I don't do it for the applause or the thanks. Never have and I don't want to be harassed by people trying to thank or praise me all night. No, it's about the children and making sure they don't go hungry. It's about making sure those who have fallen on hard times have at least one good hearty meal this holiday season. Atlanta is really freakin' cold this year and the need is outstripping supply. The amount we match should also allow needy families to take food home. I told the food bank director I would be at a local shelter at noon on Christmas Day to feed the homeless. Les rolled his eyes and said he'd come with me, since he dragged me out to a church on Thanksgiving.

On the personal front, I decided to give Pops's advice a try. Les and I went out and got 'pretty' for this event. I got a haircut and Pops has been the happiest man in the house from the moment I came home looking 'respectable' again. He and I hatched a plan: Any woman I'm interested in I'll send to him and let him vet them first. I miss Ric's ability to spot a fortune hunter at a thousand paces, but Pops is good.

So I've stuck close to Mère all night. She's thrilled and so is Père. I'm relieving him of escort duty.

"Lucille, my son Robert. Robert, this is Lucille Hodges and her daughters Alpha and Tamyah." She smiles at me. "Both girls are AKAs and Lucille and I served together on the building restoration fund for the church."

"I heard it was a great success. Congratulations, Mrs. Hodges."

She smiles. "Thank you. Tamyah was in charge of fundraising and Alpha is on the finance committee."

Both women attempt to hide their interest in me and extend their hands for me to shake. I attempt five minutes of conversation with them before Mère's next guests arrive.

Mère's inhales sharply. "Oh no."

"What?" I start scanning.

"That woman brought her friends," my mother moans. "No. No! I refuse to have our home and party be the scene of one of their contretemps. Absolutely not! I'm removing her from my guest lists until she leaves that television show!"

I look down our driveway and see four women approaching. I don't watch a lot of TV, but even I know that two are 'stars' on a popular 'reality' show and one is an old colleague of Père. In the distance I see a TV production crew already on our lawn filming. "I'll handle it." I send Mère inside and Les appears at my side.

"You want the women or the TV crew?"

"I'll take the women," I reply grimly. "I am a host tonight." This isn't the first time they've attempted to gate-crash one of Mère's parties and I won't have it.

Les immediately heads down the driveway to the TV crew while I smile charmingly at the ladies approaching. Ten minutes later, all the women leave after I make it clear that (a) the TV crew will not, under any circumstances, be allowed any further onto the premises; (b) this is a private party and fundraising event and if they don't intend to donate (starting in the four figures, each) they shouldn't enter; and (c) there are Atlanta cops and judges in the room. Any disturbance, any disturbance, and they will find themselves in jail within minutes and, as a host for tonight's event, I will press charges.

They leave with about as much class as they arrived with, ie. shouting about how 'this party ain't shit anyway! Stuck up Oreos!'

Really? You're the one outside screaming to be allowed in and, if that's true, why did you want to come in so desperately?

Les returns. "The TV crew was told that if they aired any footage of what happened or of the ladies talking about it, your parents would sue." He grins. "Federal judges aren't to be toyed with, especially when we'd start with the trespassing charge they already had."

"Thank you, Lester," Mère says, returning to my side. She smiles. "My brave boys, protecting me from camera crews."

"Protecting your party from mischief makers. Well, all except me." Mère laughs as Les ducks back in to enjoy himself. We follow him inside and I nod at Père. He nods back, grimly, still looking out of a window discreetly.

I think the head of the little gate-crash group will find herself blackballed within our circles for a while.

—oOo—

Miracle of all miracles. Chase is staring at Chenae. Chenae is trying to avoid his gaze but every time she catches it, she blushes. I walk up behind Chase.

"Try saying hello."

Chase jumps and nearly spills his wine. He glares at me.

"Thanks a lot."

"Been awhile since Vice, huh?"

"You don't make noise when you move," he whispers back. "It's unreal."

Good to know I still have it. "I brought her here to meet you," I whisper.

He glances back. "Really?"

"I'm a bit too old for her. You?" I smile. "She's just what you need.""

"Why?"

"She's smart, ambitious, serious, and she needs someone to remind her that status isn't everything. You're smart, laid-back, funny, and unconcerned with this pomp and circumstance bullshit. You can ground her. You're Père to her Mère."

"That's scary," he says, rhyming it, but he grins.

I tell Chase a few more facts about Chenae and he's impressed. I thought he might be. He likes 'em smart and ambitious and Chase likes boobs. Chenae's got a decent rack. Tank's gonna kill me, but it's time for his 'baby' to find another object for her affection. Better my cousin than some hood. The worst that could happen is that they become friends and that's good too. Good for her to have someone else in Atlanta, besides me, ready to come to her aid if she needs help.

I decide to add icing to the cake. "Pops adores her."

"Really?" We look. Chenae is back over with Pops, chatting as if they've known each other forever. We watch as she coaxes Pops to eat a fig tart. He hates fig tarts, despises them, but he chews and swallows as if he can't wait to eat another one simply because she pointed it out to him.

"Impressive," Chase murmurs. I agree. "What's the catch?"

"What catch?"

Chase looks at me as if I'm the stupidest man alive. "I've known you all my life. Favors from you come with a catch. What's the deal? She has a raging crush on you?""

"And she's Tank's youngest sister. His baby." Chase looks horrified. "His Mija, so to speak."

"I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole," Chase mutters, gulping his wine. "Banging body and sharp mind does not make up for the six inches and 100 pounds Tank has on me."

"Her name is Chenae. Go introduce yourself, idiot." I walk off, mentally laughing.

Chase has never been able to resist any 'favor' I ask of him. He'll ask Chenae out before the night is over.

—oOo—

Chase's POV

"So, you graduate in May. What's next?" I finally made a move and started talking to her. I had to. Too many men eyeing her. I figured I better step in if I wanted to have a chance.

Surprisingly, she's charmed everyone in our family except my mom. Mom is watching her, covertly. I don't even have to ask. Her eyes are screaming Don't you dare fall for that damn Maxine clone!

My mom and Aunt Max do not get along but Aunt Maxine and Uncle Emmanuel have helped me get where I am. I got the same etiquette, language, and dance training Bobby did, she helped me get into Morehouse when I was waitlisted, and she and Uncle Emmanuel were ready to help me cram for the LSAT when I was trying to decide between the police academy and law school. Aunt Max is a lot of things, but she's all about family and I'm her nephew. Whatever she could do to help me, she would. Mom always saw it as a silent criticism of her skill as a mother, but Dad and Pops were grateful Aunt Max was always willing to include me whenever her kids were doing something.

I could have done without the ballet lessons, though.

"I'm thinking of moving here. Geneviève offered me a job with her office." She smiles. "I'm excited. Plus she said she'll help me get the certifications I'm considering."

"Is that going to be a hard transition? Moving from social work to finance?" Her eyes are gorgeous. Honey brown and sparkling and I'm in love with her dimples. She has legs for days and I'm trying not to imagine those wrapped around my waist. I'm trying to look down the top of her dress. It's a silver lace dress, with a solid silver mini under it. It's cute and alluring at the same time and her breasts …

I gulp my wine and calculate how long it's been since I got laid. Time to pull out my old black book. Is she really related to Tank? Am I feeling brave?

"I don't think so. Finance is about what you know. You would be surprised at how many people work in the industry with no background or experience. That's why credentials are so important."

"So this isn't a bad move for you at all. Good. Got the apartment and car situation settled?"

She sighs. "No. Geneviève said she and Jacqueline would help me. I'm not sure how I'm going to get that straight."

I smile. "Don't worry. Something will happen. After all, you're managing to move from social work to finance. Did you see that happening a few months ago?"

"No. I didn't." She smiles. "You're very upbeat. Are you always this positive?"

I laugh. "I try to be. I really do try." Work Vice long enough and you learn to laugh when you can. I chance another glance down her dress.

"The bra is lace too."

I lift my eyes. She's smiling at me.

"Caught," I murmur, smiling.

"Very."

I'm losing my touch then. "I'm curious. What I see is beautiful."

"Want to see more?" God yes! "Put a ring on it."

She can't mean … "Never?"

"Not once." She smirks. "My brother believes in respect for self. I learned the lesson well."

BOBBY! YOU ASS!

—oOo—

Bobby's POV

Mère's outdone herself this year. The party's heading into its fourth hour with no sign of stopping. Everyone's sipping champagne and eating canapés and having a great time. The five piece jazz band is playing some of my favorites and the dance floor is packed.

I've done a great job avoiding it, trying to circulate, and keep an eye on my sisters and Les. Les is near the punch bowl, collecting 'friends' for Little Les. My RB is amazing. The man is unstoppable! Jacqueline is with her husband, Père, and Uncle Charles in a corner, probably arguing some obscure legal point. Pops is near the fireplace, a smile on his face, watching everything going on. He and his friends are having what looks like a good natured argument.

Pops has vetted four women for me and shook his head no to each one. I'm both disappointed and relieved.

Geneviève?

I walk over to Geneviève, who looks exhausted. Michael, her husband, is chatting with his friends but Gennie looks bored and tired. I slide next to my sister and smile.

"Need anything, sis?" I whisper. I've been trying to keep an eye on her all night. Crowded house, pregnant sister, inattentive husband, it's a recipe for disaster.

She fans herself. "An IV drip from the punch bowl would be spectacular."

I check her. Her skin looks dry and she keeps licking her lips. "You're laughing but I'm not sure that's a joke. You have a headache?" She nods. "Dizzy a lot?" She nods again. "I think you're dehydrated, sis. You need to drink a lot more water." I lead her away and over to a seat secluded from everyone, crouching in front of her to take her pulse.

She moans. "I drink water! I'm drinking water, juice, tea, everything all the time."

"Tea is a diuretic, juice contains sugar, and I hope you've put the sodas down. Seriously, speaking in my medical voice"—I drop an octave and she smiles—"go upstairs and get in the bed. I'm coming up with a liter of water and I want you to drink all of it. Every drop."

Les appears just as I was thinking of him. "Geneviève, you hav to vollow ze doctor's orders!" She laughs. Humor is the quickest way to get Gennie to agree. Michael finally walks his lazy ass over and kneels in concern.

"Everything OK?"

"Gennie is dehydrated. You call it. Staying upstairs with your wife and making sure she downs the two liters I'm about to send up—"

"Two liters?" Gennie moans.

"Yup, two." I turn back to Michael. "Or making a run to the pharmacy for some adult diapers," I whisper.

"I'm not old!" Gennie says, scandalized.

I kiss her cheek. "I know that, but my niece is sitting on your bladder. Time to put false modesty aside. You have to drink the water and I'll bet you've been avoiding it because you didn't want to have an accident?" Her cheeks are flaming red. "Yeah, well, that's why they make these products. You need water. The baby is more important, right?" She nods. "OK then." I look at Michael. "CVS or upstairs?"

"CVS," he replies. I shoot a look at Les, who nods grimly and claps a hand on Michael's shoulder. I help Gennie to her feet and we navigate the back stairs to the bedroom she and Michael are sharing. I run back downstairs and grab a liter of spring water and dart back upstairs to my sister, who is trying her best to unzip her dress.

"You think he's cheating, don't you?" She asks quietly as I unzip her dress and help her out of it carefully, my eyes closed tight.

Yes, I think he's cheating, sis. My frat brothers told me he was a cheat when you two knew each other in undergrad. Chase warned you before you got married that he was a cheat. Michael and Chase attended the 'House at the same time and Chase saw him in action, but …

"I'll think whatever you tell me," I reply. "You want to take a shower? Cool down a little?"

"Yes, I think I will." She heads into the bathroom and I open my eyes the moment I hear the door close. I check and adjust the vents in the room then tip toe next door and check on my nieces. They're fast asleep, their innocent little faces making me smile. If they were awake, they would climb all over me, asking a million questions and wanting to play.

Gennie returns clad in her nightie and I help her climb into the bed and get comfortable, fluffing multiple pillows around her. I close the door and shed my jacket and shoes in order to climb on the bed next to my baby sister, placing a hand over her womb and smiling at the feel of my new niece kicking my hand. She's a very active baby. The 4D sonogram Gennie showed off made me fall in love with her that moment.

"He's not cheating but I think he misses being by himself, Bobby." She sighs and sticks her feet out at me, waving them. I search her suitcase and find a pair of gorgeous wool socks. Gennie's a sock knitting fiend. I toss them to her and she gives me a look. "Really, Bobby?" She tosses them back.

"My bad." I tug the socks onto her feet and retake my place next to her in the bed. As the youngest, we looked out for Gennie the most and, whereas Jack and I fight all the time (mostly because she's a little too bossy), Gennie and I have always gotten along. "OK, tell big brother Bobby all about it. And start drinking that liter."

She rolls her eyes and swigs a good amount of water down. "We got married, had Micheala before our first anniversary, and we haven't been alone since." She sinks back into the pillows with an exhausted sigh.

"And Mère can't babysit because? Doesn't his mother live here in Atlanta?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"Didn't Karyn White sing 'I'm not your Superwoman'?" Gennie pokes me and smiles. I kiss her forehead. "You don't have to do it all yourself, Gennie. OK, so Mère will drill Michaela and Marcelle on their French. She'll do it while making cookies and face painting." Gennie laughs. "She'll take the girls to their ballet lessons and chat with the director of the center while watching them plié and praising every little thing they do. She'll help. You only have to ask. She'll keep the girls overnight and let them watch Ratatouille with the French subtitles."

"Yeah, but you know Mère. She'll tell me to feed them more vegetables and let them play outside and perhaps I should consider working from home …" Gennie closes her eyes and lets off an exhausted sigh. I smile.

"True."

"I love Mère, but I have to prep for a list of things she thinks I ought to do with the girls." She opens one eye. "It's easier for you. You're a boy and Père isn't going to meddle like that."

I laugh quietly. "Touché. Michael's mother?"

"I wouldn't leave any child with that woman, let alone my babies," she says fiercely. "I'd pick them up and they would have learned ten new curse words and ways to call me pretentious. The low-expectations-having bitch! I'll leave my girls with her if I want them to develop a sense of entitlement and learn how to complain their way through life!"

"No, Gennie, don't hold back! Tell me how you really feel about your mother-in-law!" I flop back against the pillow and laugh but sober quickly when she pokes me looking fierce. "Does Michael know that's how you feel about his mother?"

"I hope not." She turns toward me and curls up on my chest. "I try to keep my mouth closed and never say anything derogatory about her around him or the girls. That Michaela's and Marcelle's grandmère, but she's made her contempt of me well known."

"OK. What about a nanny?"

"I checked. I can't swing it right now." She looks over at me. "No, I do not want you to pay for my nanny. If I can't afford it, I can't have one."

"Michael? What's his take on this? How is he trying to help his wife?"

She swallows hard and doesn't say anything for a few minutes. "He's working longer hours."

"Nice try, sis. Now tell me the truth."

Her jaw sets. "He's working longer hours."

"He's salary, so that means nothing. Is he going for a partnership?"

"Yes."

"But he just upped his hours?" She nods. "Is he really fucking his secretary?" Her head whirls around to me in shock. I raise a brow. "I was guessing. Is that really what's going on?"

Her eyes fill with tears. "I don't know." She flops back against the pillows. "He's just never home."

"Want me to investigate?"

The offer is tempting, that's clear, but she finally shakes her head. "No. I'll let you know when I'm ready to take that step."

"Fine. Benefit of the doubt." She gives me a trembling smile. I lean back on the bed and pull her close. "This is why I don't want to get married until I'm good and ready," I tell her quietly. "Not because I can't. If I simply wanted to be married, I could have a few times over by now. No, I wanted to wait because when I marry, I'm in for keeps and I wanted to be prepared for the changes I'd have to make to my life. I'm thinking family dinners and vacations, babies and my legacy. RangeMan would come second to my wife and family."

She gasps playfully. "RangeMan would come second?"

"Yes." I chuckle. "I assumed I wouldn't be ready before 35 and I was right. I turn 35 in January and just lately started thinking about it seriously. So now I'm ready to find the right one and settle down. A man has to be ready for those changes to his life because if he's not, he'll resent what he had to give up."

"And you just knew you would be ready at 35?" she asks, teasing.

"Well, I was never in a hurry. I set target dates and I usually reach them. I had the military, then the business, then just trying to enjoy life. I'm not in a hurry to get married and have babies. I mean, I still talk to Roger, Amaré and Will. You remember?"

"Yeah, your frat brothers." The heat kicks on and I check to see how it's blowing on her. I don't feel anything direct, so I continue.

"Right. They're married with two and three kids and wives and mortgages and car notes and jobs and they're miserable. I mean, they love their wives and kids, but they realize that they won't get their lives back until the mortgage is paid off and the kids are out of the house and out of college. That's what? Twenty years? Maybe more? So they won't get a chance to follow their dreams, do the things they wanted to do until they're fifty or sixty. Meanwhile, I'm emailing them from Thailand, Japan, Turkey, Brazil, Australia, and all over Africa. All the things they want to do I'm doing."

"Yeah, but once they're done raising their kids and they retire, they have the rest of their lives to do that stuff while you're at home raising kids."

"Gennie?"

"Yeah?"

"Who said life was guaranteed?" She belches and I wrinkle my nose. We share a quick laugh before her face sobers. "I wanted to live my life, do all the things I wanted to do." I kiss her forehead. "The saddest shit I see is people Pops' age or even Père's age with a 'bucket list' or a list of regrets, things they wish they'd done when they were young and now that they're running out of time, they want to go for it. Or when people stand up at the wake or the funeral and talk about how such and such always wanted to do this. Nah. No fucking way. I'm going to do everything I always wanted to do now, while I'm still young, because I could die tomorrow and I would never get that chance."

"YOLO?" she says, tears streaming down her face.

"Exactly." I glance down and Gennie's crying. "Gen?"

"Sorry." She sniffs. "It's just … that's just … I always thought you were running away from responsibility. I thought it was kinda pathetic that you didn't have a wife or any kids and, honestly, it still seems kind of pathetic. You're—"

"Peter Pan." Jack strides through the door and stops at the foot of the bed, looking unimpressed with our lounging. "Our big brother is trying to sell you his bohemian lifestyle as some sort of ideal. Don't fall for it, sis. And how nice of you two to leave me with all the hostess duties downstairs while you chit-chat."

My spine stiffens. I love Jack, but God my little sister is a nag. "First, Gennie's dehydrated. I'm here with her until Michael returns."

Jack's face softens. "Sorry, sis. How's the baby?"

"Moving." Jack places her hand on Gennie's womb and smiles.

"That one will never slow down."

"No, she won't," I reply. "Second, what's the Peter Pan legend?"

"The boy who never grew up," Gennie says.

"Not quite. The author based Peter Pan on his older brother, who died young. Peter Pan was the boy who would never grow up. That's the difference. It's not that Peter didn't want to. Peter couldn't."

"Oh," Gennie says softly.

"Right. A child's life cut tragically short, so the author put Peter in a child's ideal. A world with pirates and fairies and no parents. A world where children rule, but why did Peter bring the Darling children to Neverland?"

Jack raises a hand, thinking. "He wanted … he wanted …" Her shoulders drop. "He wanted Wendy to be the Mommy to his Lost Boys," she says quietly.

"Exactly. Every child hates their parents until they don't have them. Fighting pirates and alligators sounds like fun until you have to do that day after day, year after year, no relief, no respite. Imagine what that might be like, to know that you're cursed to wake up and do the same thing over and over again every day for all eternity. He would never learn or love or grow up and he'd forget his adventures each day." Jack sits on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, listening. "The story ends with the Darling children begging to be returned to their parents and Peter does it, then hangs out outside the window, watching the family he'd never have, knowing that the Darling children would grow up and have new adventures he never would."

Gennie's in tears. Jack's quiet.

"Disney dressed that crap up because it was being marketed to children, but the true lesson is what the Darling children learned. Life is not guaranteed. Have your adventures while you can because adulthood will always be there. Learn from everything that happens to you and love the people in your life, even when they make you mad. Love openly, honestly, and with everything you have because Peter didn't know how to love and was oblivious to other people's feelings. And even fighting pirates and alligators and living without parents is no fun if that is going to be your life day after day."

"Puts a different spin on it," Jack murmurs.

"Yeah. Class on mythologies and legends in undergrad. It had an effect." I smile at both of them. "In short? Don't live life with regrets. Yeah, it's harder now with kids and husbands, but find time to do things you want to do. Get together with your girlfriends and take trips. Go on a cruise. Travel to another country. That bucket list? Start crossing stuff off it now because life isn't guaranteed."

Both are staring at me, tears in their eyes. "And when did you learn this bit of wisdom, Bobby?" Jack asks.

"After my first serious firefight overseas." Both gasp. "Yeah. Les came up with the plan, Ranger led us out, Tank made sure we had everything and I patched us all up. It took everything I had to keep us patched up until we reached a field hospital." They're both pale now, grasping each other tightly. "We sat in that hospital, each of us with bullet wounds, and realized how close we'd come to death.

After that?" I smile. "Say what you want, but we never took life for granted again. We have fun, no matter what. We excised the word 'guilt' from our vocabularies. Our brotherhood was set in stone because we each took bullets to save another's life and we will never ever let go of each other. No matter what."

"I keep telling myself I'm going to a knitting conference and never go," Gennie whispers. "The conference comes here every year and I just never go."

"Then go, sis! The conference is what, just a few days?" She nods. "Then drop the kids off with someone, take vacation and go! Don't live life with regrets."

"Yeah, maybe I should …"

I hop out of bed and grab her iPad from the stand. "Sign up to go, right now. I'll babysit the girls if it means that much to you. Just don't live life saying 'I wish I had.'"

"I can't! The baby will be three months old! I can't—"

"I've babysat a three month old. It's not unfamiliar to me."

"Whose baby was that?" Jack asks. "Because it wasn't one of my boys."

"Hector. New partner. New member of the brotherhood. You haven't met him yet. I was here in Atlanta when his nephew was born. We all babysat baby Hector."

"The little Hispanic baby?" Gennie gasps. "I remember him. He was adorable. He was the one who peed on you!"

She laughs as I make a face. Jack grins, remembering that. "Yeah. So I have experience with babies. Go to your conference. I'll babysit my niece."

She unlocks the tablet and starts surfing. I turn to Jack. "What about you?"

She shakes her head. "I have too much to do, Bobby! I'm on too many boards, I have the boys, Lawrence needs me—"

I leave the room, head to my room and return with my blood pressure cuff. I slip it on Jack as she continues to list her 'very important duties'.

"Well, sis, if you fall over tomorrow, they'll find someone to fill in for you doing all that shit. Lawrence will find a new wife." She glares and I consider how I might have said that nicer. "The only people who will truly miss you are my nephews. Mommy is irreplaceable and your blood pressure is inching toward sky high. Do I need to drag you to a doctor and get an official prescription of 'vacation'?"

"That bad?" Heart disease runs in our family and Jack looks nervous.

"You need to de-stress. Immediately. Find a massage therapist, pamper yourself, and take time out for you. Do I need to bully you into booking a cruise?"

"No," she says faintly. "I'll book one immediately." She and Gennie stare at each other. "You still want to see Alaska?"

"Sounds good."

I sit back and watch as they plan a cruise to Alaska a few months from now. Gennie's registered for her knitting conference and Jack's making a note to start taking care of herself more.

"Look, nothing means more to me than the people I love. You two? You're my baby sisters and I don't want to see you collapse trying to hold up the world." They smile. "If you need to tap the Bank of Bobby, lemme know. I'll send you wherever you want to go. Need a nanny? Gotcha. Need help? Call me. Just don't let me have the pain of having to put either of you in the ground when I could have helped.

Make time for yourselves. Put yourselves first. Tell me what you need and don't feel like you're begging for help because you're not but no one is going to read your mind. I certainly won't." Each one flips me a finger. I flip one back. "If you thought I was being selfish all these years, then maybe you're right. Maybe I was selfish. But I know this: I'll go out without a single regret."

Gennie's sobbing and Jack's wiping her eyes. I pull them both into a tight hug and rub their backs until they calm down.

"The way I've lived, it's not for everyone," I whisper, wiping Jack's face carefully. "If I'd met the woman of my dreams at 25 or 30, asking her to wait would've been selfish. I took a chance. There's every possibility I met the one for me ten or twenty years ago, but I believe that if someone's meant for you, nothing can stop you from being together. Might take some years, and some pain, but you'll be together in the end." I smile, thinking of Tank and Lula. "So, whenever I meet this woman, she'll know I'm ready. I've had my fun, sown my wild oats, lived it up and now I'm ready to settle down. Make some babies—"

"Les?" Jack asks, sniffling.

I'm momentarily confused. "What about Les?"

Jack laughs. "You two are joined at the hip. How is Les going to take losing his wingman?"

"Les is thinking about settling down, but he's still not in a hurry." She sits up and stares at me, shocked. "Seeing Tank and Lula get engaged reaffirmed his faith in a one true love. Mine too. But Les isn't in a hurry. When Les falls, he'll fall hard."

"Wow …" Gennie says.

"It'll be the end of an era," Jack finishes.

I poke her. "We're not as heartless as you think."

"I never thought you heartless, Bobby. Just … not serious." She and Gennie share a smile.

"Again, we work in a dangerous profession, sis. Tomorrow is not guaranteed so we aren't living like it is. We're going to have fun today and die without regrets. Our wills are in place. The orders for my burial"—Gennie screws up her face and frowns—"are in Père's hands. I'm prepared to die tomorrow but tonight?" I grin. "Tonight, I'm having fun." I glance at Gennie. "That's why Michael's excuse smells of bullshit to me. I understand wanting to cut loose, but not noticing your wife's gone pale and she's right next to you?"

She leans back and smiles faintly. "You're hard on people, Robert."

"No, he's not," Jack says, snorting. "Bobby's a soft touch." Repeat that around Hector or Steph, Jack. You'll get a different opinion. "Just cry. He collapses." Thanks, Jack.

"You asked. Besides, you know I don't accept excuses and bullshit, Gennie."

"Still, people aren't perfect. You have to give people leeway to make mistakes and try again."

"I'm well aware of that, Gennie. I'm not perfect. I fuck up. I get it wrong but what I don't do settle. I take note of the failure, determine how and where I failed, resolve to do better, and try again." Gennie swallows hard. "Do or Do not—"

"There is no try," Jack says.

I chuck Gennie under the chin and hand her the water. "Right."

Gennie is silent. "I know," she says softly. She laughs, a quiet pain-filled laugh. "You two sounded like Uncle Charles right then. No, you sounded like Dad then. You stopped short of asking if I wanted a ride down to the jail to see my future." Jack and I laugh as she finally finishes the liter and hands me the empty bottle.

"Good." I kiss her forehead and fluff up the pillows around her. "So hey! Let's say Michael does miss being alone. Do you understand that feeling?" She nods. "So do I. Everyone wants some alone time. I empathize with him there and maybe you two need to talk about carving out some 'Me' space. Both of you, each week or each day, however you can manage it so you have time to be by yourself. You having 'me' time is just as important as him getting some."

"Good idea," she murmurs. "I could use some. I come home after working a full day and still help the girls with homework and make dinner and try to stay in shape, which is why we have a third baby." She points at her belly. I try not to think about Michael pawing my little sister. "You're right. I need to start singing 'I'm Not Your Superwoman' a little more often."

"Remember the time Mère threatened to leave Père with the house and the three of us?" Jack asks.

"She did?" Gennie gasps.

"Oh yeah," Jack replies, grinning. "Père was furious and scared. Père as Mr. Mom?" We both laugh at that thought. "But Mère made her point. She was a wife, not a slave and not a maid. She wanted a husband. Perhaps you should attempt the same threat and pull Michael back in line. Either he'll find the money for a nanny or he'll start pitching in."

"I like it," she murmurs. "Can I hide out at your place?"

"Sure," Jack and I both reply.

"Good. Yeah, I think my husband and I are going to have a serious talk about his lack of participation in our home."

"Fine. Good idea. However, if Michael is cheating, if, sis, he didn't just fall with his pants around his ankles and his dick lined up to go deep." Gennie cringes. Jack nods, her agreement clear. "He made a conscious decision to step out of his marriage. I don't and won't respect him for that, but you say he's faithful and it's not my marriage. How you two work it out is on you. However, I will say this." I look my sister deep in her eyes. "If you end up catching something from him other than a baby, I will ruin him. Totally. Completely. Without hesitation or mercy."

And no one will find his fucking body. Ever.

"I'm sure our big brother means he'll fuck Mike up beyond recognition. Me?" She leans forward. "Assuming he lives once Bobby's done with him, I'll drag his ass through the wringer in court. Child support, alimony, restitution, I'll make sure he pays for it. He'll spend the rest of his days working to support his daughters and you. He'll never know peace."

"Thanks." The tears are flowing down Gennie's cheeks again and she rests her forehead against mine. "Thanks, Bob. Thanks, Jack." Gennie smiles. "I could always count on you guys to beat up the bullies."

"You're goddamn right I will." I kiss her cheek. "You're my baby sister and, carrying your own babies or not, I'll always beat up the bullies."

"Same here," Jack says.

"And here." Chase walks into the room. "His ass is grass if something happens to you."

Gennie falls back against the pillows laughing. "All my protectors are deadly!"

"Damn right." He kisses her cheek. "You're my cousin and I kept all my contacts in APD. He'll disappear and no one will ever investigate." He smiles at me. "Your absence has been noticed, Bobby boy. There's a contingent of women wondering where you've disappeared to."

I groan. Wonderful.

"Just remember, if he isn't cheating, make the effort to let him have some alone time as long as he understands that you need some too," Jack says as I rub Gennie's back. "If it's really the fact that he's just now realized he's about to be a married father of three, maybe he just needs a moment to absorb that.

I remember the day we brought Adam home. Lawrence had this look on his face that I couldn't describe and when I asked him, he said that it wasn't until we brought him home and let Alex see him that he realized that we had two sons, two dogs, two cars, and one big mortgage. He was a family man now. No more strip clubs and wild nights out. It hit him hard in that moment."

"Right. Good idea. Good idea," she murmurs.

Jack slips off her shoes and takes my place on the bed as Chase and I head downstairs.

"How bad is it?"

"Bloodhounds, cuz. Bloodhounds."

I shake my head. "Let 'em know I'll be back as soon as I've made sure Gennie's OK."

"Will do. Do your parents know?"

"Yes, but tell them Gennie's looking better. I'll be back shortly."

Chase salutes and heads back into the ballroom as I head into the kitchen and grab another bottle of water. I'm headed back upstairs just as Michael and Les return from the CVS.

"Packed?"

"Completely," Michael answers. "So here." He holds the diapers out, craning his neck to see into the living room. "You gonna take these up to her?"

I hold the water out and Les grabs it without a word. He disappears as I back Michael into the door until I'm looming over him.

"Tell me, bro. What's more important: my sister, who is pregnant with your child? Or whatever inane conversation you think you're missing?"

He swallows hard and cringes away from me. "Gennie, of course. I just—"

"Wanted to know how she's doing? She's looking better. She'll look a lot better if you go check on her and show some concern. Perhaps you should encourage her to put on the undergarments you just trekked out into the cold for and spend some time by her side making sure she drinks that water. Comprenez-vous?"

His head bobs up and down like a bobble-head. "Yeah. Got it." He grabs the diapers and heads upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time in a bid to get away from me faster.

Hmm … I told Steph I'd work on a way to tell people what they needed to hear without scarring them. Was there a way I could have done that without scaring him shitless? Perhaps, but I think Michael needs someone to actually fear. An angry big brother worried about his lying, cheating ass bringing my baby sister an STD as a gift should set him straight.

"Good job." I whirl around. Père reveals himself in the butler's pantry, refilling his brandy. "I was tempted to shake the little shit."

I snort. "Why didn't you?"

"You looked as if you had it under control."

I laugh and accept the brandy. Père pours two more and hands one to Les, who reappears. "Accompanied him to the pharmacy did you, Lester?"

"I've heard about the amount of time it takes to go get milk," Les replies blandly. "I wondered if adult diapers might have a similar time-bending property to them."

Père laughs silently.

"Why does Gennie stay, sir?" I ask.

He sighs. "The girls. She does love him, but she's trying to tame a playboy. It'll take forever for her to learn." He sips his brandy. "I doubt she gets it until someone puts the evidence right in front of her face. Until then, she'll remain willfully oblivious."

I hope I've helped that along. I think Gennie's ready. He looks at me. "Removed the blinders?"

"We talked."

Père nods. "Good. Straight, no chaser?"

"As always."

Les laughs. "I love this family. If you want the honest truth, ask a Brown."

Père raises his glass in silent acknowledgment. "There are enough people in the world willing to lie to you, shade the truth, softball and 'protect your feelings' to help your self-esteem, which is bullshit. If you can't handle hearing the truth, stop calling yourself an adult."

Les and I share a look and a quiet laugh. You can't handle the truth! Man, that's a great movie.

"I know, sir." Les looks at me. "I trust in Bobby to tell me the truth, straight, no chaser. We all do. We might not like it, but we know Bobby won't lie to us."

I smile at Les, more grateful than ever for his friendship and support. At first, they'll only dislike what you say, but the more correct you start sounding, the more they'll dislike you. That's one of my favorite quotes and it's why I allow most comments from others to roll off my back. It also means that the people I'm friends with are people with backbones, people who know I won't bullshit them and people who won't bullshit me. I don't need anyone around me who expects me to lie to them and if that's what they expect of me, then they're looking to befriend the wrong person.

Of course, my bros, the only people I trust totally and completely, told me to go meet 'Shut the Fuck Up' because I'm right too often. I don't mind that. Shut the Fuck Up's brother is I Told You So, an acknowledgement that I'm usually correct.

OK, so I don't always need to say it. Got it. It's a gift and a curse. Thank God they still love me. I am who I am and there's no getting around that.

Père laughs. "Lester, no one likes being told they're wrong. It takes maturity to accept that and wisdom to ask for help. Most people don't have that level of maturity. They want someone to bail them out. Spend some time in a courtroom and you'll see what I mean."

There's a moment of silence as we each sip our drinks. I'm thinking of Gennie and Michael and wondering how long it will take me to get from my house in Ansley to Gennie's house in Morningside if and when she needs me. Yes, I think I'm moving to Atlanta for a while. I can keep an eye on my branches and stick close by in case my sister needs me. Plus, I'm a short hop to Miami if Les and Hec need me.

Ranger's grounding himself for Steph? I'm grounding myself, temporarily, for my sisters. Gennie needs help and I get to nag Jack for a while. I don't want to take on the civic obligations until I'm sure I'm here for good, but I can at least help Jack and Gennie a little more.

"Enough of Gennie for the moment. I have someone I want you to meet."

I raise an eyebrow. "Matchmaking, Père?"

"Nope. Bringing someone to your attention you might be interested in." He smiles. "There's a young lady out there named Paris. She's the owner of three well-respected restaurants in Marietta." He grins mischievously. "Your mother loves her food."

"French," Les and I mutter, smiling.

"Of course. She was born there, raised in Germany, speaks perfect French and German"—my brow rises—"Army brat, and studied at Le Cordon Bleu. Interested?"

Les looks at me. "He's interested. What's the catch, sir?"

"Lester!" My father plays mock horrified. "This is my son, he who carries my name! You think there's a catch?"

"Well, now I know there's a catch," I mutter.

"Remember Alicia Stanton?"

"Yeah."

"Her cousin." Promising. She have Alicia's butt? "She came with Alicia and Alicia is searching for you. Her mother and your mother have been conspiring to get you down the aisle and the sight of you in a tux tonight . . ." My father grins. "My son is a handsome man. Cream before the kitties. You've been teasing them all night and they're determined to take you down this year. Personally, I think Alicia is too tame. Paris has more fire to her. She'll keep you on your toes."

"And this is good because?"

Père smiles. "Because fire in a marriage is good. Alicia would spend her life trying to be your perfect wife. Like the princess in Coming to America." Les and I snicker. "She'll like what you like, do as you say, and spend her life having your babies and making you look good."

"Been a recipe for success for you, Père."

"Son, if you think your mother does as I say, you're deluded." I laugh. "Your mother does what she thinks is right. Paris? She looks the kind to tell you that if you don't love what you see, you're free to leave. She's not rolling over for you. Plus, she has her own businesses and her own money. She'll never be dependent on you. Marriage of equals." He smiles. "Pops vetted her. She got a nod."

He's right. I am very interested. "He told you?"

"Didn't take me long to pick up on what was going on." Les is laughing so hard he can barely drink his brandy. "Good move. Your mother is mortified that she's hurt more than she's helped."

"I'll smooth it over." I take another sip my brandy and shrug. "Besides, if they can get past Mère in the first place, that's one hurdle jumped."

Père nods approvingly. "Good attitude to take."

"I like having a stress-free life. My wife and my mother at odds? Not a recipe for stress-free living, especially as I'd take my wife's side."

I want the situation Tank has. Lula and Mrs. CJ love each other. My mother and grandmother loved each other. Ric's mother and grandmother love each other. Les's mother and grandmother love each other. It can be done.

Les sighs. "Such are the problems of being a free range bachelor in a socially prominent family. Thank god Tank, Ric and I are mutts." He grins. "Go on. Get your finely bred, pedigreed ass out there and find this woman."

I flip Les a finger and take the extra brandy from Père. I'll need to find Pops too.

Paris.

And Père is introducing her?

This could be interesting.

—oOo—

I'm back by Mère's side, doing the polite meet and greet for an hour before I call time. Mère is thrilled at the turnout.

"I'll have to rent a space next year," she murmurs as I hand her a glass of champagne. "Our little home can't hold it anymore."

I snort. Our 'little home' has a fucking ballroom.

"I thought you and Père were going to sell."

Mère sighs. "When the market comes back up, dear. How's Gennie?"

"Asleep."

"Michael?"

"With her." Mère rolls her eyes. I turn to her. "Perhaps you could give them some help, Mère."

"Robert," Mère says, warningly. "You know that no matter how I state it, Gennie will see my offer as a silent criticism on her mothering."

"I prepared the way. Mock demand more time with the girls instead of asking her if she needs help. That should work. And no unsolicited advice."

Mère thinks then nods. "OK. That I can do." She looks around. Pops is smiling at us. "Your grandfather could use your company."

"I'm being released?" I ask teasingly.

Mère mock growls. "For the moment."

I kiss her cheek and hug her tight. "Thank you."

"For?"

"The love. The help. The understanding."

Her smile is shaky. "I am forgiven?"

"Nothing to forgive. Introductions? OK. Trying to run my life?—"

"No. I know." She sighs. "Besides, I was hoping you'd spend more time here in Atlanta. I'll not interfere." She pinches my cheeks." Besides, I have grandchildren to manage now!"

Mère. Unbroken, unbowed, untamable. I walk off, shaking my head. Again, not fooled. She's looking for Mrs. Stanton and Alicia.

I pass Chase on the way back to the kitchen. He pulls me off into a corner.

"Really? Really, Bobby? You're such an asshole!" he hisses. "I meant to bitch at you about this earlier, you asshole."

I can't help the grin. "What's the problem?"

"You know damn well what the problem is!" He sighs loudly. "Not just Tank's sister but untouched? You really like fucking with me, don't you?"

I'm laughing my ass off mentally. Poor Chase. Maybe I should've mentioned that. "Virgins are a problem?"

He stands up straight. "God no! That's fucking admirable. I admire her determination to wait for the right man—"

"So do I," I tell him, sobered. "Don't mistake me there.""

"I didn't." Good. I nod. "But honestly, are you trying to give me a case of blue balls? I know it's the holiday season, but fewer presents from you, cuz."

I laugh. "Hey, I thought she was your type." I shake my head. "I'm still working on her, though. She has a tendency to judge people without giving them a chance."

"Ah." He nods sagely.

"Exactly."

"Still. She's gotta graduate, move, get her career going and you know Gennie's going to push her, and find some time for herself before trying to be in a relationship with anyone else."

"So get to know her. Be her friend. She'll need some if and when she moves here. You're still in Charlotte right now anyway. Give her some time. I didn't bring her here for you to marry her next week. I brought her here to see if there was any spark between you." I smile smugly. "I thought there might be." I grin at him. "But it's nice to see that trying to peep down her dress has inspired you to think of turning in your pimp card." Chase blushes and I laugh. "Do I tell Tank you were—"

"You don't tell Tank shit," he growls and stalks off. I watch. Straight back to Chenae's side and they're flirting again.

I shake my head and continue to the kitchen. I thought Chase might be a better option for Chenae, but I wasn't sure how Chase might respond to her. Glad to see that worked out. Mère always included him in anything we were doing as kids, so he acquired the same polish and background I have. I thought Chenae might be attracted to that. As for Chase? Smart women get us hot. Always have.

That's one of Pops' standards: no stupid women. Always marry a woman smarter and more ambitious than you, but make sure her ambitions in life include you. A stupid woman can't help you and neither can a woman who doesn't have any goals or ambitions for her life, let alone yours. And don't raise a stupid woman, he added. You raise a stupid girl and you'll have to take care of her all your life.

I head into the butler's pantry and pull the brandy. We're running low. I'm looking for extra bottles when I hear someone enter the kitchen.

"I can't figure out where in the hell he is."

That's Alicia. I'll never forget that voice.

"Well, wherever he is, he's a great escape artist." Silence. "The food is magnificent. I wonder who catered."

That voice could make angels weep. It's smooth and throaty, confident and amused all at the same time. My pants tighten and I freeze, hoping I hear it again.

I hear a sniff. "If I know Mrs. Brown, she made half of it." Alicia again.

"Really?" The mystery voice sounds impressed. "She's a hell of a cook and her French was perfect. She's not just some idiot spouting a few French phrases and calling herself bilingual. I'm impressed."

Alicia snorts. "My mother thinks she is." My eyebrows rise. "A French-spouting idiot. Everything around her is all about the French."

Really? Mère will find that interesting to know.

It's silent for a moment. "There's a difference between fascination and appreciation." The voice is dripping disapproval. "Mrs. Brown appears to me to be a true Francophile. It's not all about France to her. It's about the French diaspora. She took her post-grad experience and really lived it.

Take the food. This isn't just haute cuisine. There's food from Alsace-Lorraine, which is more German than anything. There's French country, there's Haitian, Senegalese, every region is represented here. Then there's the music, the art in this house, everything speaks to her appreciation for the culture in its many different forms."

I'm silently applauding. I hope this is Paris. I decide to chance a glimpse through the crack in the door.

She's at least 5'9". Perhaps an inch or two taller. Nice. Serious hourglass figure with a short bob styled in soft waves around her face. Skin the color of soft caramels or butterscotch, the kind my grandmother used to give me to keep me quiet during church. Almond shaped eyes. Pouty lips and deep dimples. I wish I could see her butt from here. The deep sapphire blue dress she's wearing shows off her figure and color to its best advantage.

Alicia looks ordinary, like a moth next to a butterfly.

Alicia sighs. "I'm not saying her appreciation of the French isn't nice, Paris." Score! Père, you're magnificent, sir! "I'm saying she goes overboard." Alicia laughs mockingly. "Did you know that everyone in the family is forced to speak French?"

"Really?" Paris nods approvingly. "So she convinced her husband to raise their children bilingually. Why is this bad?"

"It's pretentious."

Paris snorts. "No, that's little minds expecting to take over the world with little thoughts." Alicia whirls around in fury, but Paris nods. "What do you expect me to say, Alicia? I speak three languages!"

Alicia blushes in embarrassment. Smart woman? Check!

"Only black kids are sneered at for learning two languages, unless they're biracial and have a parent that speaks another language. Do you think my mother was pretentious to demand I learn German?" She pops a petit-four in her mouth and exhales loudly, clearly enjoying it.

My pants don't have much room left.

"Well … no … I assumed you learned because you were living in Germany."

"That is why I learned German. I learned French in high school and it's the lingua franca in culinary, so I was forced to improve mine. Kind of hard to attend Le Cordon Bleu and not speak French. So I applaud Mrs. Brown. She demanded more of her children and she got it. Top schools, top careers, and let's be honest, you've been looking for her son for the past 20 minutes. Clearly she did something right because you're feenin' for him."

Alicia covers her eyes, cheeks pink.

"Feenin'? Do I look that desperate?"

"A bit, yeah." The macaroons meet with her approval. I'm officially out of room in my pants. Watching a woman eat is damn near making me cum. "So why sneer at her for her appreciation of French culture? It turned out a handsome sophisticated son, according to you. A son you're desperate to see again to see if there's any spark. He was that good that first time?"

"Paris!"

"Well?"

It's quiet for a moment. "He was spectacular. And hung. Honey, he's hung to his knees!" They laugh. "But I really liked Bobby. He was a genuinely nice person. Thoughtful."

"Good. I can't wait to meet him. I like that he owns his own business with partners." Paris pours herself a glass of water while Alicia pops a fig tart in her mouth. I'm grateful for the break.

"Why?"

Yes, why? I'm as close to the door as I can be without it opening.

"Because that tells me he knows how to take a hit. Make a plan, adjust with changing conditions, keep it moving." She selects a bacon-wrapped scallop, bites and nods in approval. "Owning and operating a business is hard as hell, cuz. At the end of the day, all the responsibility is on you. Plus, owning a business with other people means having to be considerate of their feelings. Take into account their opinions and wishes. Negotiate, compromise and discuss things openly and honestly. How many branches does this business have?"

"I think Mom said six, at least."

Paris whistles. "Yeah. That's why I had to buy Angelique out. Her vision was limited. I saw where we could have more. So I have all the responsibility because I'm willing to bear it and now that I've proven I was right, she wants back in. No, thank you. You should've trusted me in the beginning, so if he's still in business with his buddies, there's trust and respect amongst all of them. The man knows how to compromise and how to trust, how to back down when he's wrong and hold his ground when he's right. That's key."

I'm startled to hear a clap and I spot Les walking into the kitchen. "Nice argument. Well put." He smiles. "Lester Santos. I'm Robert's business partner. You are?"

"Paris Stanton," she replies. "And this is my cousin Alicia."

Les smiles at Alicia. "You were Bobby's date for something. Or he was your date." Les thinks. "Debutante?"

Alicia beams. "He's mentioned me?"

"Yes, of course." Les grins wickedly. "He said escorting you was an unforgettable experience."

Alicia goes bright red. I'm sure she's remembering why.

"What did he tell you?"

"Exactly what I just said," Les replies smoothly. "He's too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell and, judging from your face, I'm not going to get the story from you either."

"I think not. Do you know where he is?"

"I saw him with Pops last."

"You mean Mr. Brown, Sr.," she replies archly.

"I meant Pops," Les says, amused. "The man invited me to call him Pops and if I call him Mr. Brown Sr., does that adequately distinguish between the three Robert E. Browns in this house?"

Alicia shrugs. "I'll be right back," she says and walks out. I can't see Paris's face, but her spine stiffens.

Les turns to Paris. "So tell me about your restaurants." He flicks an eye at the butler's pantry and I get the message: Avoid Alicia but I'll hold Paris here. Get a move on.

Thanks, bro. I owe you one.

—oOo—

I call on my Ranger skills to make it to the kitchen undetected. I check the ballroom. Everything's normal in there. I sneak past Alicia after Pops catches my eye and I shake my head no. He flicks his eyes back to Alicia and engages her in conversation so she's distracted.

I stand outside the door to the kitchen for a moment, then walk in and check out the back view. Beautiful.

"I'm thinking of opening a dessert place, but not cupcakes. That's gotten to be cliché. I'm thinking just cakes. Slices of cakes and pies."

"Really? Sounds like a recipe for a treadmill," I reply.

Fate, show the man what he might win if he throws his game right! Paris whirls around but I checked the booty. Ten out of ten. I check out the rest of her up close and personal.

I'm going to need to borrow a few of Little Les's party hats, if she's agreeable. Yes, sweet Jesus, the body on this one is smokin'!

Les grins. "Paris Stanton, may I introduce my business partner and one of tonight's hosts, Mr. Robert Brown III. Bobby, Paris Stanton."

I take her hand and kiss it. "Charmed, I'm sure. Alicia's cousin?"

"Yes." I haven't dropped her hand and she isn't tugging it back. We're smiling at each other and I'm wishing Les would catch a hint.

Leave, Les. Goodbye! Adieu!

Hello? Is our ESP broken? Why are you still here?

Wingman, idiot. Quit obsessing over her ass and chat her up. I'm on guard to take down the approaching enemy.

Oh. Right. Thanks.

By the way, great ass. Beautiful. I see why you're obsessed.

"So, I heard about a cake place. Yours?" I ask, trying to ignore Les behind me.

"I'm thinking about it." She starts telling me about her restaurants and Les moves. I hear him head back through the door and cut Alicia off. Paris's eyes cut over and she laughs.

"Military men. You're all so obvious."

Since when? "Really?"

"Army brat. I know the drill." She smiles. "I'm guessing he was your partner?"

I nod in appreciation. "OK, so how are we obvious?"

She looks me up and down. "Do I start first with you hiding in the butler's pantry like a thief?" My eyebrow shoots up and she grins. "The light caught your watch as you were leaving."

"Fuck." I look at my watch. Patek Phillipe. "This is why we don't wear anything shiny in the field." I laugh. "What else?"

"Lester showing up at just the right moment. Right after we discussed you but before we could really start talking about you in depth? I wonder how long he was listening at the door."

I'm grinning. Sharp.

"True."

"Then you pretending to know nothing of my past and background when I know your mother told you."

"Father, actually."

Her eyebrow rises. "Interesting." She smiles coyly. "Und was genau soll ich denke an deine wahnsinnig sexy ass, Mr. Brown? Weil ich bin versucht, Sie mit nach Hause nehmen, Streifen Sie nackt, und machen Sie um Gnade betteln. Ich bin überfällig für einen sozialen Orgasmus." (And exactly what should I think of your insanely sexy ass, Mr. Brown? Because I'm tempted to take you home, strip you naked, and make you beg for mercy. I'm overdue for a social orgasm.)

She stepped closer during her speech. I slide an arm around her waist and pull her right up against me. My dick is making absolutely no effort to hide his appreciation of both her words and her body and I don't miss the way her eyes widen then lower in desire.

"Ich denke, Sie sollten denken, dass mich zu necken ist gefährlich, wenn Sie nicht bereit sind, um Ihre Versprechungen sind. Ich denke, Sie sollten mich nach Hause zu nehmen und tragen mich aus, solange Sie verstehen, könnte es stunden sein. Ich glaube, Sie spektakuläre in blau und ich wette, Sie erstaunlich, in gar nichts zu suchen. Ich denke, Sie sollten mir mehr über Ihre Restaurants zu sagen, denn wenn Sie das nicht tun, werde ich Sie auf der Anrichteraum zu nehmen und machen Sie sich in Ekstase schreien und meine Mutter hasst, die ihre Parteien-Schau gestohlen."I grin. "Und dein Deutsch ist ausgezeichnet."

("I think you should think that teasing me is dangerous if you aren't willing to back up your promises. I think you should take me home and wear me out as long as you understand you might be at it for hours. I think you look wonderful in blue and I'm betting you look amazing in nothing at all. I think you should tell me more about your restaurants because if you don't, I'm going to take you to the butler's pantry and make you scream in ecstasy and my mother hates having her parties upstaged." I grin. "And your German is excellent.")

She pales. "How many languages do you know?"

"Almost all the romance ones, German, Arabic, and Farsi. I intend to tackle Chinese over the next two years."

"Impressive. How often do you get to use them?"

"French and Spanish daily. Italian?" I shrug. "Depends on if I'm in New Jersey, really. Portuguese? Not that often. Arabic and Farsi? More than I wanted at one point in my life. German? I need someone to practice my German with." I step closer. "I'll make you a deal."

She swallows hard. "OK?" There's still mischief playing in her eyes.

"I'm free tomorrow night and New Year's Eve. Join me and I'll make you scream both nights if that's what you want. You choose which language." I lick my lips and lean closer until there's barely breathing room between us.

She stares at me. "You'd ask me out knowing my cousin is interested in you?" she asks, brow raised. "What kind of man are you?"

"You really want to go there?"

"Yes."

"You attempted to seduce me in another language knowing your cousin is interested in me," I counter. She blushes. "Right. So let's acknowledge that if I were interested in Alicia, I wouldn't have stayed hidden in the butler's pantry. I'm interested in the woman who speaks three languages, owns three restaurants and has me wondering what she's wearing underneath what I can see." I slide my eyes down her body in appreciation. "I know Alicia," I whisper. "I'm more interested in getting to know Paris."

"My interest in you is limited."

Your mouth is saying one thing. Your eyes are saying another. "Sure about that?" She swallows hard. "Give me a chance. Get to know me. You might change your mind." And if you don't, I'm willing to play real life sex toy for a few days.

Her lips purse but, finally, a sexy grin spreads across her face. "Convenu." Her lips land on mine. Soft. Sweet. No tongue.

Pops is right. This one is going to be a handful. I'm looking forward to changing her mind.

Yes, I think I can clear my calendar for Ms. Paris Stanton. Happily.

"Gut." I smile. "So, your restaurants?" I tuck her hand into my arm and walk back into the ballroom.