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Roman De Luca
Any news?
Blake Baron
I told you I’d keep you up to date on my progress.
Roman De Luca
I’m not a patient man. It’s been a week.
Blake Baron
Obviously. I’ve been working behind the scenes. First piece will fall next week and should be in the papers.
Roman De Luca
I’ll look for it.
As soon as I’ve finished my text exchange with Baron, my phone rings. I mutter a curse at the name that appears on the screen. What doesshewant?
“Hello, Mother,” I say in a clipped tone.
“Don’t ‘hello, mother’me. I was enjoying a nice evening out with my friends, when the gossips invaded the wine bar like a swarm of bees.” She’s always overly dramatic. “Do you know what I learned tonight, Roman? Do you?”
“I—”
She steam rolls right over me. “I learned that my son, my only child, proposed to a woman. In a public restaurant. And she said yes. That’s right, my son is engaged. The very same son who hasn’t bothered to tell his own mother that he’s been dating, that he’s met someone, or that he intended to propose to her.”
I inwardly groan at her dramatics. “Mother, stop. It’s not what you think.”
“So, you’renotengaged to be married?”
I suppress a sigh. “I am engaged. But it’s an arrangement. I’m not marrying for love.”
“Who is it? And why? You don’t need anything from anybody else enough to warrant locking yourself into a loveless marriage. I didn’t even know you were considering the option of marrying again. If I’d known, there are plenty of young ladies I could have introduced you to, sweetheart.”
The last thing I need is my mother involved in my love life. Or any of my business dealings. Both would lead to complete, irreparable devastation.
“Mother, it’s fine. I have my reasons for marrying her, that’s all you need to know.”
“I thought your father, God rest his soul, was the most stubborn man I’d ever met, but now I think you take first place with that particular character flaw. So, who is she? When am I going to meet her? When is the wedding? Did you knock her up, is that why you’re doing this out of the blue?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Her name is Sophia Pontrelli. You’ll meet her soon enough. The wedding is set for the beginning of May. No, she’s not pregnant.”
“Damn straight I’ll meet her soon. You haven’t forgotten about my charity ball next month, have you? Bring her so we can be properly introduced.”
Right, that damn ball. How had I let it slip my mind?
“We will be there.” I grudgingly promise.
“Good. Now be a good boy and go to bed, it’s after midnight.” The call ends.
Shaking my head, I toss my phone on the desk. How does she always manage to get the last word in?
I swallow the rest of my brandy in one go. That woman is enough to drive even the most patient man to drink. And patience is not one of my virtues. If I had it my way, I’d drag Sophia to the courthouse tomorrow, now that she’s agreed to be my wife. But this is a long-game, and I need to let it unfold at a reasonable pace. Rushing could ruin everything. I can’t appear desperate to marry Sophia.
Waking my computer, I shoot an email off to my assistant, Eve. Sophia will need an appropriate ball gown for my mother’s event. As well as everything that goes with it. Hair and makeup for sure.
