CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT #2
“I’m sorry,” he muttered against my shoulder, his voice raw.
“You have nothing to apologize for—”
He rolled his head against me so we were eye to eye and I drowned myself in his beautiful brown eyes that looked at me as if I was the most important thing in his life. “I’m sorry that you never got the chance to reconnect with your parents.”
I sighed and focused on his solid warmth. “But you do.”
“Mr. Salvatore is on his way. He’s going to take care of everything. I would like a relationship with my mother, but I need time. I can’t just erase everything that has happened.”
I held him at arm’s length, beyond proud to be his boyfriend. “Don’t you think you should tell her this?”
“I know, I’m not looking forward to it, however.” He glanced toward the living room and moved away from me.
“Wait,” I said and pulled him into a sweet kiss, tasting the salt of his tears. “Love you.”
“Love you more.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said and pushed a lock behind his ear. “I think I love you more. Actually, I’m certain of it.”
He smiled radiantly, sending my heart fluttering. “Spar over it later?”
“You betcha.”
He made his way to the living room, and I slipped my butt into the stool he’d been sitting on.
It would be a lie to say this whole thing didn’t affect me.
I could tell myself not having my parents in my life didn’t bother me, but it was untrue.
He was lucky to have this opportunity and I’d make sure he didn’t miss it.
The hour slipped by as I brewed some more tea and tried not to eavesdrop. My worst fear was Mrs. Fernandez saying something that hurt Matteo. Eventually, Mr. Salvatore arrived, looking spectacular as he always did. He joined me in the kitchen along with Matteo.
“Has your father attempted to make contact? This is why I insisted you let me file a restraining order,” he snarled.
“Mr. Salvatore, can I offer you some of my world famous, yummy tea?” I asked, offering him a clay mug.
He looked like he wanted to decline but accepted the mug with a curt thanks.
“She isn’t here because of him. Believe me, we’d know. Besides, he’d never use her like that. He doesn’t want to lure me back into the family. He wants to annihilate me.”
“Good point,” the lawyer said and sipped at the mug. With a frown, he mumbled, “This is actually good.”
“I know,” I said with a little snicker.
“In any case, I’m going to recommend we file for a restraining order against your father. Should he seek to retaliate in the future, having legal documentation will help.”
“Okay,” Matteo said. “You do that. But you said you could find her a place to stay in the meantime?”
“Yes. To be clear, I work for you, not her.”
“And I’m asking you to do this for me. If it will be easier for you, you can recommend her a divorce attorney, if that’s what she wants to do.
” He sucked in a big gulp of air. “We talked. I explained to her that I can’t just forget about everything that’s happened, but we can work on our relationship.
It has to be on my terms, however and she has to make amends. ”
I massaged Matteo’s shoulder and he leaned into me. I said, “It’s going to take time.”
“Which is why she needs a place to stay. She always had to ask for money from my father, so she probably has nothing except for what she came here with.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Mr. Salvatore said simply and finished off his tea.
I accepted the mug and set it in the sink.
Matteo spoke up before he could leave. “Mr. Salvatore, I’m worried about her. You know my father. He will see this as a betrayal and do everything in his power to destroy her.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and I imagined his job was stressful. “Is she ready?”
We all made our way to the living room where she was still sitting on the sheet-covered couch.
Matteo started talking in French and I watched the emotions play on her face.
She seemed disappointed but nodded and rose to her feet.
They lingered at the door for a while and Matteo made the first move, hugging her tightly.
She broke, her tears flowing, sobs falling from her lips.
“It’s going to be okay, Mama,” he said, his tone raw with his own sobs. “Mr. Salvatore will find you a place to stay, somewhere where Papa can’t find you. You have my new number. We will talk some more, okay?”
She patted his cheek and dabbed at her tears with her napkin. She left without another word. When it was just Matteo and I, he fell into my arms, and I held him for a long time. I guided him to my lips, planting several tender, cherishing kisses. We were each other's rocks.
“I want to go out tonight,” he said. “I want to drink and dance with you. I need the distraction. Besides, you can’t use the excuse that I’m underage anymore.”
And we did. He’d dressed in a cropped shirt and tight jeans, and we shimmied unabashedly on the dance floor with dozens of sweaty bodies moving to the music around us.
I might have helped him reconnect with his music, but he’d shown me how to dance again.