“Where Jules goes so too does the kids,” I say with a shrug my shoulders. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You don’t think that’s moving a little too fast?” Hawke asks hesitantly, breaching the conversation. I can tell by his tone of voice he’s worried about offending me with his skepticism.

But I get it. I think most people would think it’s moving too soon. I intend on talking about this with my mother tonight and I’m quite sure she will have the same concerns.

But I’m not most people. I’m Max Fournier who is crazy, head over heels in love with Jules Bradley. I don’t see that ever changing. And I don’t consider her having three children to be a burden. That’s part of what makes Jules, well . . . Jules. It’s part of why I love her, and fuck if I haven’t started to love those rug rats too.

“Is it too fast?” I ask them rhetorically. “Time’s subjective, right?”

Yeah, I feel good about this. Still going to talk to my mom about it, and I’m also still going to give it some consideration. While I might be ready to take this next step, I’m anticipating Jules will balk. The key is in making her understand that this is good for the both of us, not something I’m doing to give her a handout but to further our relationship as a whole.

It sucks that I still must have those considerations in dealing with Jules, but she’s still very sensitive about how she’s been perceived by others in this relationship. This renews my anger against that bitch Camille for writing that article, which did nothing but inflame Jules’ own self-doubt.

Luc takes a step toward me, seems to hesitate and then squares his shoulders. “Listen, bro . . . I like Jules. I really do. And those kids are really great. But this is fast. You’ve only known each other . . . what? A month?”

“Two,” I correct him, but even that does sound incredibly short.

“All I’m saying is, how well can you really know someone in that time frame?” he says softly, and I know he’s trying to gentle his tone so I don’t take offense. “You’re rich and famous, and well . . . that attracts—”

“Don’t even go there,” I growl at him. “Jules isn’t like that.”

“No, I’m not.” I hear her voice from the doorway and all three of us turn around to see Jules standing there, staring at Luc.

I immediately want to punch by brother in the face and then perhaps hit him a second time for good measure, because he’s responsible for that closed-off look on Jules’ face right now. Just one more person looking at her and assuming she’s in this for all the wrong reasons.

“Christ, Jules,” Luc says as he takes a step toward her. “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

Jules holds her hand up, palm facing to him in a clear indication to stop. He snaps his mouth shut.

She gives him a hesitant smile and says, “It’s okay. I get it.”

She then turns to me. “Listen . . . I’m going to get the kids packed up and head back to my apartment. I just wanted to say goodbye to everyone.”

Just . . . fuck. Jules had planned to stay much longer when we made plans for today, but clearly that’s her saying she wants out of here.

And now.

I brush past Luc, who looks at me with truly miserable eyes, and I can’t really be mad at him. He’s being a protective family member. He’s known Jules all of a few hours.

I get it.

But he’s not my worry right now.

I reach Jules and take her by the elbow, steering her through the TV area and out the back French doors that open up onto a patio. When I close the door behind us, I say, “I’m sorry, babe. He’s just being a protective brother.”

Her voice is understanding but I know she’s still peeved. “No worries. I understand.”

And I know she does.

I know she gets it.

But does she truly get that I don’t give a fuck about what others think? And that I wish she didn’t give a fuck either?

“How much did you hear?” I ask her.

“Not much,” she admits. “The part about us not knowing each other long, and then the clearly obvious . . . that you’re rich and famous, and the implied statement that I’m not and that obviously is the reason I’m interested in you.”

I wince but try to ignore that. “The part you didn’t hear . . . the part that spurred that conversation, is I was telling them both that I was going to ask you to move in with me.”

She blinks at me in surprise. “With the kids?”

I force my eyes to hold her and not roll around with frustrated annoyance. “Yes, Jules. You and the kids . . . come live with me. They’d each have their own bedroom and you and I could have more time together. And I know how you are, so you can pay me rent or whatever . . . we’ll work out the details.”

“It’s not good timing,” she says quietly.

“Why not?” I ask a little forcefully. “Why isn’t this good timing?”

“Because I’m clearly a little sensitive to this whole disparity of income thing,” she snaps at me, and then immediately looks apologetic. She takes in a deep breath and lets it out. “Look . . . I’m sorry. I totally understand that’s not where you’re coming from. I just need to be able to reconcile some things. Your offer is lovely, and I’d be a fool not to consider it. So why not just let me think on it a bit. We can talk about this some more, okay?”

“Okay,” I say with a forced smile before I pull her into me for a hug. Because I know it will do no good to press her on this. I know Jules needs to arrive in her own time. “But don’t go yet. I want to spend some time lounging on the couch together. It’s a holiday tradition, I hear.”

“You’re Canadian,” she points out. “What could you possibly know?”

“I’m half Canadian,” I tell her with a grin. “My mom is American and I have it on good authority that’s what you do after eating volumes of turkey. This isn’t my first Thanksgiving rodeo, you know.”

Thankfully, she laughs and relaxes in my arms, her prior pique forgotten at least for now. I let out a small smile of relief that I haven’t fucked things up too terribly with my girl.

Chapter 24