Page 305 of Romeo

“And yes. I’ll marry you.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Romeo

For most of my life, I’d believed there were two kinds of men in this world. Men smart enough to fear their mothers, and poor stupid bastards who hadn’t learned yet.

Watching Glorianna La Croix DuBois sweep into the Bourbon Bar with Aunt Marabella beside her confirmed I had been right all along.

Mama didn’t come through the door carrying a purse. She came through carrying enough shit to suggest she’d prepared for a small wedding, a christening, and possibly somebody’s funeral if I irritated her before lunch. Garment bags hung over one arm. A large white box rested against her hip. Flowers filled another bag, and behind her walked an elderly priest I recognized from half a lifetime of Sunday mornings, looking considerably less concerned about being dragged into a biker bar than any man of God reasonably should have been.

Aunt Marabella followed with more bags, two bakery boxes, and the expression of a woman who had already decided the Bourbon Bar belonged to her until further notice.

Gator took one look at them and muttered, “We’re fucked.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Mama’s gaze found me from across the room.

I reconsidered.

“We’re fucked.”

Gator snorted beside me, but neither of us moved quickly enough to escape. Not that there was anywhere to go. Mama had been hunting me since I learned how to walk, and she’d caught me every damn time.

“Jasper Francis Alexander DuBois.”

There was nothing good about hearing every damn name you owned come out of your mama’s mouth at once.

Especially in that tone.

The Bourbon Kings went suspiciously quiet around us. Worm suddenly found something fascinating behind the bar. Thore turned his back, which did absolutely nothing to hide the shaking of his shoulders, and somebody farther down had the poor judgment to laugh before another brother apparently convinced him he valued his life.

I put on the smile that had gotten me out of trouble with women for more than thirty years.

Mama remained unmoved.

“Evenin’, Mama.”

She handed the flower bag to Marabella without looking away from me, crossed the remaining distance, and caught my face between both hands. For one confusing second, I thought she was going to kiss me.

Then her fingers pinched my cheeks.

Hard.

“Do you have any idea what your aunt and I have been through today?”

“Ow.”

“Do not ow me. One phone call. That is not what decent sons give their mothers before deciding to turn an ordinary Tuesday into an event.”

“It’s not Tuesday.”

Her fingers tightened.

Apparently, the calendar wasn’t the point.

Behind her, Aunt Marabella was already ordering Bourbon Kings around like she’d been elected president sometime between the parking lot and the front door. Tables were being moved. Bar stools disappeared against walls. Someone was told to find clean linens. Thore made the mistake of asking why they needed linens in a bar and received a look that sent him moving before she answered.