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Heidi
At first, Damian's mom had seemed like a tough cookie who would rather spit at me and curse me to become a toad than call me "sweetie" and hug me. She hadn't done the latter yet, but she hadn't done the former either. That seemed like a good sign.
Monica Petrescu was a performer, like her son, though she played up the magic aspect while Damian relied more on sex appeal. They shared the same charisma and charm, though. I liked seeing him through the lens of his family. It showed me different sides to him that I might not have noticed otherwise and proved to me that he wasn't patient and sweet with only me. He treated his family the same way, even when he was a touch frustrated with his mom's antics.
I liked Monica, but I wasn't sure if she liked me until she cornered me in the hallway of the guest house. Since it was lunchtime, Damian had escorted us to the dining hall, but his mom waylaid me. Damian saw it and raised his eyebrows at me, like he was asking if I needed help. I smiled, and he seemed to get the picture that I could handle his mom.
Compared to my parents, the Petrescus were the perfect mom and dad.
Once the others had disappeared into the dining hall, Monica faced me. "You are not Ludar."
"No, I'm an average American girl."
She squinted at me. "My son doesn't know it yet, but he's in love with you."
Damian in love with me? I kind of doubted that. Sure, we liked each other—a lot—but love seemed like a giant leap. Being with Damian made me feel more like myself than I had in years, since before I hooked up with a cheating loser. Damian would never cheat on me. I had no facts to back up that belief, but I trusted him so much more than I'd trusted any other man in my entire life. I loved being with him, and I loved the way he made me feel, but I had no idea if I might fall for him.
Even if I did, I shouldn't let Damian feel that way about me. After meeting his family, I realized exactly how screwed up mine was. I couldn't drag him into my mess of a life. He deserved happiness and love, but I didn't know if I could give him that, or if my family would drain it out of him.
What if I was too screwed up to save? Damned by my parents' toxic relationship?
"I like Damian a lot," I said to Monica. "He's a great guy. But I think it's too early to start talking about love, especially with his mother. That's something he and I need to talk about, alone. No offense."
"I'm not offended, dear." She took my hand, turning it over so the palm faced up. Head down, she ran her fingers over the lines on my palm. "I like you, Heidi, but I can't give your relationship with Damian my blessing until I've spent more time with you."
"My relationship with him is something Damian and I should discuss without anyone else involved. I hope you and I can be friends, but honestly, the only person whose opinion matters to me is Damian."
She peered up at me, her head still bowed. "Your lines tell me a lot about you, but what you've said tells me even more."
My mouth had gotten dry, and I couldn't think of any response. What had I said? I wasn't sure which words that came out of my mouth had told her what she needed to know.
She clasped my hand in both of hers and met my gaze. "Your loyalty and spirit are a comfort to me."
Monica released my hand, then walked into the dining hall.
What on earth had she been talking about? I had no idea what our conversation had proved to her. Maybe she'd been reading my palm, and that had comforted her. Whatever.
I wandered into the dining hall, to the table where the Petrescus had gathered. The only empty seat was right next to Damian, so I sat down there.
Damian laid his hand on my thigh and murmured, "Mom saved that seat for you."
"What?"
"Stefan wanted to sit there, but she told him to move his ass. Well, she told him to 'relocate your derriere,' but it's the same thing. She wanted you to sit beside me." He squeezed my thigh, aiming his sweet smile at me. "Mom likes you."
"Oh. I'm glad."
"But not as much as I like you."
Warmth blossomed in my chest, blooming outward until it suffused my entire body. It wasn't lust, though. This feeling stemmed from something softer and sweeter, something that touched a part of me no one had ever managed to touch before. How did Damian always know the right thing to say? How did he pull off being arrogant and dirty but tender and caring too? The contradictions somehow made sense because he was…Damian.
I didn't get a chance to respond to what he'd said. His brother started talking to him, and I enjoyed listening to their banter. They loved to tease each other, but underneath the sarcasm, I could tell they loved each other. They loved their parents too, and Monica and Adrian adored their sons.
My parents had worried more about whose fault this or that was than about whether I had a happy childhood.
A lump hardened in my throat.
But then Damian squeezed my thigh again, flashing me his heart-melting smile, and I forgot to worry about the past.
