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“Yes.”
“Does she know about me? I mean, that I’m Antonio’s daughter.”
He nods.
I chew my lower lip. I want to ask more, but I look at the scenery as he drives through a traditional neighborhood. In a traditional relationship, meeting a boyfriend’s mom is a big deal. A milestone.
What does meeting his mom mean forus?
I can’t call Matteo my boyfriend. I don’t know what to call him, to be honest. I’ve offered myself to him, but he hasn’t done the same yet. Are we doomed? We don’t have the luxury of time. My heart slows at the possibility of moving forward without him. Since we’ve been together, he has shown me so much more than I could ever hope. Going back to a life without him seems so… dull. Flavorless. Gray.
After parking, he opens my door and helps me out of the car.
Then, he circles his arm around my waist as we walk the pebbled pathway to her home.
The PDA sends thrills of excitement through me. I’ve never exchanged any type of affectionate display with him in public because of the severity of our situation. But now, it seems like he wants to make it a point he’s bringing someone special to meet his mom—and entering into this romantic embrace is a good way to do that.
He knocks at the door, and his mother opens it.
In her mid-sixties, Alma is a strikingly beautiful woman. I can see Matteo got his brown eyes from her. She’s tall, slim, and has a short bob. A glint of surprise flickers in her eyes. So, she wasn’t expecting him to visit with company. Or him to visit her at this time at all.
“Hey, Mom. We were in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d stop by. Meet Sienna.”
“Oh, lovely to meet you,” she says quickly, stretching out her hand. “What a pleasant surprise. I?—”
“Great to meet you too,” I say, shaking her hand. My nerves are still bubbling under the surface, and I’m not sure how to behave. Or damn, how to read her. Besides being surprised, does she hate me being here? I can’t blame her if she does. How much does she know?
He touches the small of my back, guiding me into the elegant, well-appointed home.
She shows us to the living room, and I notice some balls of yarn scattered on the lavish leather couches. The décor is subdued, harmonious, and mainly pastel-colored. I compare it to my father’s relentless bronze statues, and this wins big time.
She gestures at the set of couches with throws and little pillows on top. “Please sit. Would you like anything to drink?”
I shake my head. To settle my nerves, I’d need a shot of tequila, but it’s inappropriate this early in the morning. “I’m good, thank you.”
“Well, this should be interesting.” She looks at me, then at her son, and curiosity lurks in her expression. Her smile is kind and reassuring, and now I know how Matteo was able to learn kindness even though he’s been living a bad life for the past ten years.
“You have a lovely home,” I say, mentally patting myself on the back for not wavering. Shit.
“Thank you. Matteo mentioned he’s been watching you,” she says, cutting right to the chase.
My heart skips a beat. “Yes.”
She glances at me, then at him. “I see he’s doing a good job.”
A violent current of warmth crosses over my cheeks. She has no idea just how well he’s excelled at his mission. In fact, she does—she can tell. That’s why she regards me with interest as silence lengthens between us.
Matteo stands. “I’m getting some water. Do you want anything?”
An escape route would be nice. “No.”
He moves away from us and disappears into the kitchen.
She slides to the edge of her seat, tilting her head toward me, creating a bubble of closeness between us. “How do you feel about my son?”
“I love him,” I blurt out. I was unprepared for meeting her, and my lack of experience showed. But I can’t lie. If I only have a few minutes alone with her, I need to be honest.
She lifts her eyebrow. “That’s bold.”
