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“Mamá,” Damian called as they made their way through a spacious and beautifully decorated living room. The decor screamed money, yet it wasn’t ostentatious. Mother Coldwell had taste, it seemed. He erupted into rapid Spanish as a woman emerged through an archway.
Abby’s jaw slackened. Damian’s mother wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She hadn’t seen any pictures of her at his place because he spent most of his time at his penthouse. The house had been bought as a project to keep his mother busy because she loved decorating. That was the story he’d told her. I need to get into that damn penthouse, Abby thought absently, all the while gaping at the beauty strolling toward them.
She had bone straight, jet black hair with just a hint of gray at the sides and a curvaceous figure that many women paid a lot of money for. She was a few heads taller than Abby, and she moved with a dignified grace. Simply put, Damian’s mother was a knockout. She’d obviously had Damian young because she was still quite youthful. Abby had been right. Damian had inherited his good looks from his mother.
“Hola, hijo,” she said.
Abby watched with growing amusement as the woman caught Damian’s cheeks between her hands, pulled him down to her level, and gave him a loud peck on the forehead. He grumbled something in Spanish, seemingly annoyed, but his eyes were warm as he looked upon his mother.
“I’m sorry, son. Am I embarrassing you in front of your lady friend?” Her words were heavily accented and her eyes twinkled with mischief as she glanced Abby’s way.
Damian scowled and muttered, “Yes, the kiss was a bit much.”
“Oh, stop. I’m sure your macho ego can handle a little embarrassment.”
Abby snickered. Instantly, albeit reluctantly, she felt her admiration for the woman blossoming. She seemed like she gave Damian a hard time and tempered his arrogance. That was a plus in Abby’s book.
“Hello, dear.” The bubbly woman moved to Abby with a broad, welcoming smile. To Abby’s surprise, she was swept into an embrace. “I’m Arlet, and don't you dare let me hear you call me ma’am.”
Abby giggled and relaxed into the warm hug. “I’m Abigail, but please, call me Abby.”
Arlet beamed. “Nice to meet you, Abby. Damian, you didn’t tell me your friend was so beautiful. I see why she caught your eyes.”
Abby’s eyes in turn nearly bulged out of their sockets. For the first time, she witnessed a hint of color seeping into Damian’s cheeks. He was blushing. She had no idea he was capable of it. The temptation to whip out her phone and snap a picture to tease him with later was dampened by the arrival of two others. A woman—another knockout—who had some resemblance to Arlet breezed into the room, followed by an older man.
“I hope all this excitement means Damian’s girlfriend has arrived.”
“Camilla,” Damian said.
“Damian,” she returned with an impish grin. She brushed past him and extended a hand to Abby. “Camilla Gonzalez, a pleasure to meet you.”
“Abby. Nice to meet you too.” Abby sent Damian a nervous glance. Camilla studied her intently as if she were a specimen under a microscope.
Damian sent his cousin a glower and pressed his palm to the small of Abby’s back. “Don’t mind my cousin. She isn’t accustomed to people. She lives in the wild, you know.”
“Very funny, Damian,” Camilla said. “Just remember the loads of embarrassing stories I have about you.”
Abby pursed her lips to hide her smile. Damian’s family was so ... normal. She stole a glance at him from beneath her lashes and nearly laughed out loud at the murderous look he was giving his cousin.
“Abby,” he said, leading her away from Camilla, “this is Joseph.”
The older man with the kind brown eyes took her hand in his. There was a quizzical glint in his eyes, the same that had been in Camilla’s, but all he said was, “Nice to meet you, Abby.”
***
Dinner at Arlet’s was nice, Abby had decided. The woman wasn’t the mean harpy she’d assumed she’d be. She was the total opposite in fact, and Abby found herself envying Damian. If she’d had a mother like Arlet growing up, she would have been very happy. She would have blossomed. And, the woman was one hell of a cook. With all of her son’s money and the fancy house she lived in, it was amazing that they didn’t have a chef, nor was there any sign of a housekeeper.
Stories about young Damian came up, told happily by both Arlet and Camilla. Each time a new story started, Damian could be heard groaning under his breath, and it made Abby smile every time. She also noticed that his shoulders tensed each time his mother spoke to or smiled in Joseph’s direction. There was an underlying tension between the three and Abby had the feeling it would break before dinner was over.
When Camilla wasn’t occupied with attempting to embarrass her cousin or eyeballing Abby, she too, watched Arlet, Joseph, and Damian with interest.
“Abby, how did you and Damian meet?” Arlet asked.
Clearing her throat lightly, Abby twirled her fork. Three pairs of eyes rested on her, and she shifted uneasily in her chair. She gave Damian a fleeting glance and forced out a smile. “We met at his last charity event.”
“That explains your disappearance,” Camilla said, tapping her chin. “I should have known it had something to do with a woman.”
“That’s enough out of you, Camilla,” Damian said.
