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“Of course, of course,” my mother said, ushering us into the living room. “Dinner will be ready any moment. Would you like a glass of something? Wine, perhaps?”
I gave my mother a warning look, but she ignored it. The European in her didn’t factor in Nina’s age when handing her a glass of wine, especially with a meal coming up. My parents had insisted on letting us take a taste of whatever they were drinking for as long as I could remember.
Nina glanced at me for permission. Pride bloomed behind my sternum. Choosing to be magnanimous, I turned to my mother and conceded, “Your house, your rules.”
It’s not as if it were the first time she drank in my mother’s home.
“Good,” she agreed, and hustled away for the kitchen.
Leading Nina to the sofa, I sat down beside her.
Turning to me, she said, “I thought you said I couldn’t drink until my birthday.”
“That was at my club. In public. Here, we’re in the heart of my family. You’ll be safe.”
“Are you saying I wouldn’t have been safe in your presence last night,” she teased.
I leaned over and rumbled into her ear, “Baby girl, there are parts of you that will never be safe in my presence.” Inching closer, I murmured, “Like that sweet pussy of yours. If I were to take you someplace and check on that delicious cunt, would you be primed for me?”
Her breath hitched, and a small shudder coursed through her.
I had my answer.
Pulling away to leave a decent amount of space between us, I laid my arm across the gilded wood of my mother’s overwrought couch. The living room leaned toward the ornate baroque style. She always had a penchant for expensive old-world things, and it showed in the royal blue velvet and white damask couch on which we sat. Across from it stood a matching love seat and two upholstered chairs. The gold threads in the heavy brocade matched the gold of the carved legs of the marquetry-topped coffee table, the ornate credenza, and a set of intricately carved bookshelves. Then there were the heavy blue velvet curtains that contrasted with the exaggerated golden pattern of flowers, leaves, and cherubs of the wallpaper. At least the living room wasn’t as bad as her decoration of Tasa and Nina’s place or our house in Romania. Those were positively atrocious.
My mother came back, holding two large glasses of red wine and balancing a plate of appetizers. I rose to take the plate and one of the glasses from her.
“Here you go, the new Beaujolais Nouveau,” she singsonged. Perching on the edge of the chair closest to the couch, she watched carefully as Nina took her first sip. She made a noise of pleasure that shot right to my balls. Christ, I swore to elicit the same exact sound from her beautiful throat when I got her alone.
My mother leaned back in satisfaction. “Good, isn’t it? I thought this year was particularly flavorful. Light and fruity.”
“Delicious,” Nina agreed.
Delicious, indeed. Fuck the Beaujolais. If only she knew how delicious she was. How when I dipped my tongue between her inner folds, her honey tasted lightandfruity. How was I going to get through dinner?
My mother leaned forward and cupped Nina’s cheek. Patting it gently, she murmured “At least I still have one daughter with me.” Turning her eyes to me, she said, “Thank you for bringing her, Alex. You know my heart.”
Nina shifted in her seat, uncomfortable again. She gave me a side-glance with an apology on her face. I took her hand and squeezed it briefly.
Nicu sauntered in at that moment, his gaze fixed on our joined hands. It darted over to my mother, who was watching us with soft eyes. I shook my head slightly to communicate that it wasn’t what he suspected, reluctantly withdrawing my touch.
Noticing him, my mother stood and asked, “Would you like an aperitif?”
“Sure,” he answered, taking a seat in an armchair.
She prepared him a small glass of Kir at the bar, placed it in his hand with a peck on the crown of his head, and left, reminding us that dinner would be ready soon.
A moment later, Bunica hustled in on her short legs, giving Nina a kiss on each of her cheeks. Although my grandmother was Tasa’s number-one champion, she was also a great fan of Nina. She sat with us, assuring Nina that everything was fine with Tasa, until we were called to the dining room.
Luca wandered in at some point, stopping to give Nina a hug before getting his own drink. How had I not realized how loved she was? How established she was in my family? Of course, I noticed her in the past few years because of her beauty, but I suppose I had taken her for granted. Until now, I hadn’t appreciated how much she was part of our family. It was an impressive feat. We were a fiercely private family. While we were model hosts with visitors, we didn’t open our hearts easily. Yet she’d already captured them. She was certainly close to capturing mine.
During dinner, I had to suffer under Bunica’s glare as I relayed to my mother the information about Tasa’s dance workshop and the steps I was taking to search for her, both in Montreal and along the corridor leading from the city to Canada.
I was almost done summarizing my meeting with Nelu, avoiding the subject of offering up Luca as the groom, when my mother suggested, “Why don’t you take Nelu’s girl as your wife?”
Nina stiffened beside me, at the long wooden table. My stomach pitched. I slipped a hand underneath the jacquard tablecloth and wrapped my fingers around the curve of her knee.
“Mama,” I started in warning.
