Chapter Three
Lorenzo clenched and unclenched his jaw as he looked out the floor-to-ceiling window at the busy activity of the Tribeca section of Manhattan. Anger stiffened his body, and although he knew no emotion of such a low vibration should control him in that way, he couldn’t find his way back to his normal state of peace. Not when he felt close to hating Josephine.
At the thought of her, his neckline suddenly felt rigid.
I hope this isn’t a stroke.
He reached up to grip his neck and massage it but went still at the quiet presence he felt behind him. Looking back over his broad shoulder, he found his mother, Camilia Cortez, standing there quietly observing him with her ever so wise ebony eyes. In her long jean dress and suede cowboy boots, with her straight jet-black hair nearly reaching her ankles, she looked out of place amongst the sleek and modern design. She was petite and slender, but there was a quiet strength and regality. With the sudden death of their father and the undisputed love of her life, Sebastian Cortez, when Lorenzo was in his teens, she had stepped into the role of leader of their small family. Knowing her feelings for her beloved “Bas” was without measure, it couldn’t have been easy to live without him and raise two children alone.
But she did.
Lorenzo’s love and respect for his mother ran deep. He adored her and was thankful she had poured her love of culinary into him. He treasured the memories of standing on a stool at her side as she cooked.His first cookbook had been dedicated to her.
Clasping her hands behind her back, she crossed the slate tile of the living room to stand beside him. He towered over his mother by more than a foot. They liked to joke that she had never fully recovered after carrying such a big baby.
“I miss you, my hijo,” Camilia said, her voice soft and calming.
He looked down at her profile in surprise. “You’ve been here with me all week,” he said.
“Yes, but your essence is dark,” she said, tucking her long hair behind her ear and revealing the dangling turquoise earrings she always wore—an anniversary gift from his father. “You have let the actions of another change who you are.”
His mother was deeply spiritual and believed in personal responsibility for how you exist and present yourself in the world. She had always taught his sister, Alania, and him that everyone was on their journey to reach heavenly peace and unconditional love on Earth. To only observe the journey of others but not take offense by anyone’s actions—even those against them. Lorenzo felt his face shape with his pensive feelings because it was indeed easier said than done to remember a person’s actions against another were just a reflection of where they were on their journey.
“Yes,” he admitted, knowing he gave away his peace by stewing in his anger.
His mother said no more about the matter, and Lorenzo knew she wouldn’t. She made an observation but left him to decide the reality in which he existed. She not only sought inner peace, but she also set an example of it for her children. “I observe, but I do not interfere,” she often said. “God’s plan is far more powerful than anything I could do to persuade you–whether he has you in the valley or on the mountaintop. It is all for a reason. Find it.”
Lorenzo frowned. At the time, he was finding it hard to find any good in what Josephine had done to keep it from him that he was a father. He knew his hurt and anger controlled him, and he could not see his way through it–nor did he want to.Not yet.
Asking his mother for her take was futile. She would only advise him to go within. Seek the wisdom of his soul to guide him to his truth.
He released a heavy breath, knowing he was struggling amid negative emotions that held him in a chokehold.
“I wanted my daughter to spend the weekend with you and her Tia Alania,” Lorenzo said, his ire rising in his chest with the intensity to scorch the Earth.
Those plans were dashed by Zoie’s supposed illness.
What will Josephine”s next excuse be?
“I know her tia had to go back home for work, but I am still here,” Camilia said, looking down at the quickly walking people on the street below.
“Yeah, but Zoie isn’t,” he pointed out, hearing his clipped tones.
“Manifest what you desire, son,” she said.
Lorenzo clenched and unclenched his jaw. He loved his mother dearly but was not in the mood for any of it.
“I will see my nieta,” she stated simply.
“Let me guess,” he groused, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “That is the reality you created.”
His mother gave him a nod of approval.
Lorenzo turned his head so that she wouldn’t see his eye roll.
She chuckled.
He tensed, literally afraid she had seen him. He would never disrespect her or make her feel annoyed by him.
The doorbell rang.
They locked eyes before looking over their shoulders at the front door.
Lorenzo felt his heart hammer and was excited at seeing his quirky, lively, and clever daughter again. But then he took a deep breath. It might just be a package delivery. Steeling himself for the possibility of yet another disappointment, he strode across the stylishly designed living room and foyer to open the door.
Five feet of pure joy instantly threw herself at him to wrap her arms around his waist and hold him tightly. “Hi, Daddy,” Zoie sighed, not shy about showing her pleasure at seeing her father.
Lorenzo rubbed her back and hugged her even closer as he smiled down into her now upturned face. Pure love for her nearly burst his heart. “How’s my beautiful twin?” he asked, his emotions thickening his Spanish accent.
“I’m good now,” she said, leaning to the side of his large frame to look past him. “Where’s my abutito?”
“Your a-bu-el-a is right inside,” he said, finally resting his dark eyes on Josephine standing in the hall with her hands clutching the strap of her ever-present tote. The brown skin on her knuckles appeared thin.
She notched her chin.
“Here’s your abuela, Zoie,” he heard his mother say, her voice filled with warmth and thick with her accent.
Their daughter’s running echoed as they continued to stare at one another.
“Look at your hair, abulaya!” Zoie exclaimed.
“Better, but its abuela,” Camilia gently corrected her in the distance.
He took a pace back.
Josephine took one forward.
Frowning, Lorenzo stepped back into the hall and closed the door a bit as he eyed her from her slicked-back bun to the tip of the sensible black shoes she wore with yet another neutral pants suit. “Don’t tell me you expect to stay during our visit?” he asked, not hiding his annoyance with her. “Don’t you and your man spend time with each other? When we were together, you stayed stuck under me.”
Josephine launched a brow that was thankfully groomed. “Under you was the only thing we had in common,” she said smoothly.
“Liar,” he said with ease, revealing his disbelief in her assessment of their relationship. “With me, you were adventurous and creative, wild and free. Your best self–or so I thought.”
She shifted her gaze away from his for only a moment, but it was telling.“With Brent—”
“You’re just as stiff and boring as he is,” he interrupted. “Or do you become whoever you think you need to be depending on who you”re with? Who is the real Josephine? Who are you? Are you pretending?”
“With you, I learned to pretend very well–in and out of the bedroom,” she said.
He barked out a laugh. “Your words tell lies your body cannot, squirter,” he mocked.
Josephine pressed a hand to her flushed throat as she released a sharp gasp.
He enjoyed the embarrassment that stained her brown cheeks with her blush. In a flash, he saw a vision of him removing that damn bun and running his fingers through her hair as he kissed her until her body quivered with her climax.
I’ve done it before.
“Trust me, Brian—Bran Muffin—Buffoon is glad we don”t get along,” he said, a bit snide.
“Brent has nothing to worry about,” she said, looking up at him with eyes filled with her irritation.
“Yeah, right, your panties are probably wet right now,” he said, low in his throat, mocking her but also fully believing it was possible.
She released her grip on the strap of her tote to reach up and swing at him. He caught her wrist with ease. For a moment, the adversity between them faded, and he stroked the pounding of her pulse with his thumb. Her shiver was not to be denied. Nor was the slight tremble of her mouth that he dropped his eyes down to watch.He knew all too well the passion she stifled in her plain clothes and life.
But then he remembered she had not thought him worthy to be a father to their child, and his cold disdain for her returned swiftly. He released her and whatever feelings lingered from their past.
The front door opened, and Zoie stepped into the hall. Her bright eyes went from one parent to the other. “Are you two arguing again?” she asked, far too clever and observant for her age.
They both forced smiles as they faced her and not each other.
“No,” they lied in unison.
She shook her head as if she were the parent and they were her children. “My ab-u-la-yo–”
“Abuela,” they corrected her again in unison.
“Yes. Right,” Zoie said with a nod. “She wants to meet you, Mama. Come on.”
“An invite in?” Josephine said animatedly, giving Lorenzo a “so there” look as she passed him to enter his condo. “How nice of her.”
He fought the childish urge to extend his foot and trip her, shocked that he even had the thought at all. It was not who he was. He was a classically trained and acclaimed chef. A speaker of several foreign languages. Author. Avid reader. Well-traveled. Mature. Connoisseur of food, wine, and women. A sportsman. A man proud of his blended culture of Mexican and Native American. Camilia’s well-raised son. A gentleman. And a father.
“You have let the actions of another change who you are.”
He released a breath at the truth of his mother’s words as he turned and entered the rented condo before closing the front door. It”s just that Josephine infuriated him in ways he would have never guessed possible years ago.
This woman had once been the love of his life.
Now, her betrayal stung.
Lorenzo crossed the foyer in his socks. He eased his large hands into the pocket of the straight-legged jogging pants he wore with a long-sleeved, V-neck tee.
“Mama, look at how long her hair is,” Zoie said, still in her purple puffer coat and matching sweater hat with kitten ears. “My hair is curly like yours when you take it out of that old bun. I don”t know why you wear it like that when your hair is–”
Lorenzo enjoyed a good laugh as he walked past his ex.
“What?” Zoie asked, looking at him and then at her mother.
“Your father thinks himself funny,” Josephine explained.
He felt her eyes pierce his back as he reclaimed his spot at the window.
“At what?” Zoie persisted.
In the glass, he saw his daughter unzip and remove her coat. “Just an inside joke between your mother and me,” he said to reassure her and move the topic along.
“Oh,” Zoie said, looking relieved. “I’m glad you two share something in common besides me.”
Camilia released a surprised laugh that was filled with delight.
Lorenzo levied his mother a reprimanding stare that she ignored.
“What a clever girl you are, my nieta,” Camilia said with happiness and a smile.
“I got an A on my world geography quiz today, abuela,” she said.
“You did!” Camilia exclaimed with soft claps of her hands. “I have been blessed with an intelligent nieta who, just like her father, was very good at his studies.”
He smiled as his mother held his daughter’s hand and pressed it to her heart as they walked over to sit on the sofa.
“I have pictures of your father at your age, and you two look just alike,” Camilia said.
He shifted his gaze to Josephine and saw that she, too, watched the relationship between his mother and their daughter blossoming. She smiled a bit, but there was also sadness in her eyes; it was as if she saw this as a loss and not a gain. It confused and then incensed him.
What the hell is she so afraid of?
A tear escaped and clung to her lash before she quickly wiped it away with her fingertips. She turned and caught Lorenzo’s watchful gaze on her. Immediately, she stiffened her spine and arched her chin before averting her face.
Shaking his head in pure frustration, he wiped his face with both hands.
“Josephine, I’ve already cooked dinner, and there is more than enough–”
Lorenzo stiffened at his mother’s invite and turned to look at her like she had lost absolutely every bit of her mind.
No. Definitely not!
“Thank you, Camilia. I appreciate the offer,” Josephine said, already momentarily sitting down her precious tote to remove her wool trench coat.
His mouth opened a bit in shock that she accepted the offer.
She dared to walk over to Lorenzo to hand her things to him. “Thanks,” she said with a smug smile before crossing the room on her sensible heels to claim the seat on the sofa on the other side of Zoie.
Again, a childish urge rose swiftly, but he didn’t toss the items out of the nearest open window without care. Instead, as he received his mother”s urging smile from across the room, he went to the small coat closet in the foyer to hang them up instead.
“I’ll check on dinner,” Lorenzo said, needing to leave Josephine’s presence in order to breathe. He felt strangled by her interfering energy.
The condo’s floorplan was not open like his beloved Parisian apartment. Still, the kitchen down the hall from the main living area was a good size and equipped with high-end appliances. He was just about to check on the carne guisada his mother had prepared when his cell phone vibrated against his hard buttocks. He pulled it from the back pocket of his joggers. It was his sister, Alania. He smiled genuinely as he answered, placing the phone on speaker before sitting it on the quartz countertop. “Hola, hermanita,” he said, opening the oven door and using a mitt to remove the lid off the enameled cast iron Dutch oven to see the Mexican beef stew bubbling away.
“I called Mama’s phone, but she isn’t answering,” Alania said in rapid Spanish. “Everything okay?”
“Sí,” he assured her, using a teaspoon to sample the stew before stirring in some pink Himalayan salt and praying his mother didn’t notice. “Your niece is finally here, and Mama is happy.”
“And the shrew?” Alania asked in English.
Like him, his sister was still on her personal journey to enlightenment.
“Here as well,” he advised her.
Alania sucked air between her teeth in annoyance that matched his own.
“Mama invited her to dinner,” he told her as he replaced the lid.
Spanish expletives flew from her in a smooth stream.
Lorenzo chuckled.
Alania was feisty and fierce, not hiding one bit of her spicy temperament from anyone.
‘Maybe it”s best she isn’t here,’ he thought, imagining her tearing Josephine a new one for withholding his daughter from him. A backhand slap would’ve been possible. Not right, but conceivable.
“Thank God I’m in Arizona,” she said, still speaking in English. “Cause I have no patience for that particular piece of bullshit going on up there.”
Me either.
But he held his tongue, not wanting to anger Alania further.
“You meditate today?” he asked.
“No. You?” she returned with sass.
He laughed in response.
“Okay then,” she said, sounding amused.
They were thick as thieves and had always been. The four years between them meant nothing. She was just as much the champion of her bigger brother as he was of her.
“What did our mother cook?”
He filled her in on the menu. “And flan for dessert,” he finished.
“I guess I’m going to have to cook more because I have a feeling Camilia Cortez ain’t leaving New York any time soon,” she told him.
“She was mi madre first, hermanita,” he reminded her.
“Making me her baby,” Alania countered.
It was an old argument.
“Don’t forget her nieta is here,” he added.
“I love you both the same.”
Lorenzo glanced back at Camilia, who was entering the kitchen. “Right,” he said with an exaggerated wink at his mother as if they shared a secret.
“Did he do that dumb wink?” Alania asked.
Camilia laughed. “Yes, and I’m sure he added more salt to my carne guisada,” she said, playfully nudging his side as she moved past him to pick up his discarded teaspoon to sample the thick broth. “The famous chef no longer loves his Mama’s cooking.”
“Come home to Arizona,” Alania begged. “I think your food is perfectly seasoned,”
“Beso parra arriba,” Lorenzo playfully mocked, calling her a kiss up.
Camilia picked up the wooden spoon she used to stir. “Stay out of my pot, Lorenzo León Cortez,” she said, pointing it at him.
“I felt it was a part of my personal journey to add a little salt to that pot,” he said, teasing their mother.
“No, he didn’t,” Alania drawled.
Lorenzo shrugged before smiling and bending at the waist to press a warm and loving kiss on his mother’s soft cheek.“Alania, we’ll call you back,” he said. “Your niece and–”
“The shrew,” Alania interjected.
“Insults say more about the giver than the receiver, Alania,” Camilia said softly but firmly.
“What happened to observing and not interjecting?” Alania asked her.
“No, she didn’t,” Lorenzo said with a tone and head movement that mimicked his saucy sister.
They all had to laugh at that.
Ending the call, Lorenzo left his phone on the counter. He helped his mother carry the steaming pots into the dining room to set on trivets that lined the center of the large table. He eyed Josephine as she and Zoie entered the dining room. She avoided his gaze.
“Zoie, you sit here by me,” Camilia said, patting the back of the leather parson chair next to the one she stood behind.
Lorenzo sat at the head of the table and frowned when his ex sat across from him.
“Thankfully, I made plenty because my big, handsome son has a very healthy appetite,” Camilia said as she served the food onto plates before distributing them. “He’s insatiable.”
“I remember that,” Josephine said with a laugh, looking at him.
Their eyes met.
Lorenzo wondered if his ex meant food or sex. Both applied.
They looked away from each other.
“What does insatiable mean?” Zoie asked as her grandmother pulled back the chair to take her seat.
“Can’t get enough food,” Camilia explained.
“Or other things,” Lorenzo added.
Josephine’s head shot up to lock eyes with him again.
Camilia took in the silent exchange.
“Oh. Like greedy?” Zoie asked.
“Very,” Camilia stressed before reaching with her foot to secretly kick her son under the table.
He jolted at the gentle assault and broke his gaze with Josephine. “Huh?” he said, sounding as distracted as he had been. He disdained the woman sitting across from him. However, memories of her being wild and uninhibited in the bed briefly pulled him back to their past.
Now that he knew, on top of his heartache at their breakup, there was deception and destruction, the only thing he wanted in his life from their past was his daughter.
Josephine Rivers could go straight to hell.
“I understand you’re engaged to be married, Josephine,” Camilia said, breaking up the awkward sound of forks hitting plates as they dined silently.
“Yes, I am,” Josephine answered.
“I should have told you to call and invite him as well,” Camilia said.
“No thanks,” Lorenzo muttered before taking a bite of the spicy stew atop the arroz amarillo or yellow rice.
“Don’t be that way, Daddy. Brent is nice, and he makes my Mom happy,” Zoie said, imploring him with eyes so like his own to be nice. “And if she’s happy. I’m happy.”
“And I’m very happy,” Josephine added.
And I repeat: she can skip her happy ass to hell.
He forced a smile under his daughter’s watchful gaze.
Camilia stifled back a laugh.
“Brent’s swamped at work and wouldn”t have been able to attend on such short notice,” Josephine supplied.
“Oh. Okay. What does he do?” Camilia asked.
‘The observer sure has a lot of questions,’ he thought snarkily.
“He’s an actuary for the top insurance company in the country,” she said with pride.
Lorenzo released a deliberate and overly extended yawn.
The look Josephine gave him revealed she knew his intent was to call Brent boring.
“He studies the probabilities of risk,” Zoie added.
“A paid worry-wart?” Lorenzo asked. “Doesn’t sound like much of a risk taker.”
“He is where it counts,” Josephine returned.
Lorenzo snorted in skepticism.
Camilia and Zoie looked from one to the other.
“Am I missing something?” their daughter asked, screwing up her face in confusion.
“Plenty,” Camilia drawled, having made observations of her own. “But nothing for you to fret about.”
Lorenzo and Josephine shared another brief look.
Their meal continued. Camilia and Zoie did the majority of the talking. Josephine looked on. Lorenzo simmered in anger. It was becoming his baseline emotion these days.
He was thankful when the dinner finally drew to an end.
“That was so good, Abuela Camilia,” Zoie said, patting her tummy. “Can I take some for lunch tomorrow?”
“Sí. Not too salty?” Camilia asked with a slick side-eye at her son.
That evoked a smile from him.
Zoie rose, helping to pick up plates. “No, it was perfect. Did you teach my dad to cook?” she asked as she and her grandmother left the dining room with their hands full.
“I surely did–even if he’s forgotten,” Camilia said, her words floating back to him.
“Can you teach me, too?” his daughter asked, excitement lacing her words as they disappeared into the kitchen.
He picked up his snifter of brown tequila, which he poured for himself while dining, and twirled the liquid before gulping it down.
“That really was delicious,” Josephine said, wiping the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin before setting it on the table before her.
Lorenzo nodded and tapped the now-empty glass against the table before he stood. “Join me outside,” he softly demanded.
Josephine looked unsure before she, too, rose from her seat.
His strides down the table length were long as he passed her.
“Zoie can’t stay over tonight,” she said from behind him. “She has school tomorrow.”
His steps paused, and he lowered his head before shaking it. He didn”t bother to say anything but continued to the foyer, where he retrieved her coat and trusty tote to gently hand to her.
She took them. Her eyes searched his face, but he knew it was unreadable. He set it that way.
Reaching past her, he opened the front door and entered the hall.
She followed but looked back over her shoulder as if in doubt.
That brought another shake of his head as he leaned his tall and muscled frame against the wall opposite his door. “Enough,” he said.
She had been sliding on her coat but paused. “What?” she asked.
“I’ve had enough,” he said, feeling the coldness of his heart reach his eyes. “Tonight, you couldn’t even allow me and my mother to have this time alone with her without you there supervising like a prison warden.”
“I was invited, Lorenzo,” she said.
“And could have graciously declined but chose not to,” he replied, pushing off the wall with his muscular back.
“We had a good time,” Josephine said.
“And we would have had a good one without you,” he countered.
She finished tying her coat belt and picking up her tote from the floor to slide onto her shoulder.
“The next time you hear from me, it will be through my lawyer,” he said, moving past her to cross the hall.
“What!” she exclaimed.
“The holidays are coming, and I refuse to debate or plead with you about seeing my daughter,” he told her, his voice taciturn and his mind made up.
Her actions tonight to continue to invade his relationship with Zoie was the final straw. The camel’s back was obliterated. “We’ll let the courts decide when and where I see the child you kept from me,” he told her, his angry words low but slashing the air.
“Lorenzo, please,” she begged.
He opened the door and felt her take a step behind him. “You are not welcome in my home,” he said without looking back. “I’ll send Zoie right out.”
With that, he stepped inside and closed the door without saying another word.
Enough had already been said.
“Where’s my mom?” Zoie asked as she pulled on her coat and hat while Camilia looked on.
“Right in the hall waiting for you,” Lorenzo said, forcing himself to ease up and not bleed his annoyance onto his daughter. She was innocent in the war between her parents.
“Okay,” she said before turning to hug his mother tightly. “I hope I can visit you in Arizona.”
“Me, too,” Camilia said, rubbing huge circles onto her granddaughter’s slender back.
Zoie turned and gave her father the same warm affection. “And we’re still going to Paris, right?” she asked. “I want to see your apartment and the restaurant I saw on your TikTok.”
Lorenzo wasn’t surprised by how thorough her online investigation of him seemed. He tucked his bent finger beneath the chin she inherited from him and nodded. “I promise you that everything we have planned will come to fruition,” he assured her. “I give you my word.”
He felt his mother’s gaze on him as he bent to press a kiss atop Zoie’s head, smelling the scent of her sweet shampoo. Their eyes met over his daughter’s head.
“Okay, Daddy,” Zoie said.
“I will do whatever it takes to have you in my life,” he swore, showing his mother with his eyes how serious he was about his intent.
∞
One week later
“Josephine. Talk to me.”
She paused in her pacing across the hardwood floors of her living room to look at her fiancé, Brent, as he sat on the edge of the sofa with his hands atop his open knees. His boyishly handsome face was filled with concern, and his eyes behind his tortoise spectacles were assessing her face. She offered him a comforting smile.
They’d both been busy with work; this was the first time she’d seen him in a week. Unfortunately, it was the same day she’d received official notification of Lorenzo’s court filing from his attorney, Marco Villar. She looked up the stairs to Zoie”s bedroom, where it was easy to overhear. Crossing her arms over her chest, she moved to sit beside him. “I just found out Lorenzo is filing for sole custody,” she said in a low voice.
Brent looked surprised. “Wow,” he said.
She nodded, looking out the window at the snow-filled streets outside her two-bedroom, two-bath brick home in South Orange, New Jersey.It was modest but well-kept and well-loved by her and Zoie since they moved. It was her first major purchase since becoming a branch manager.
He held one of her hands. “Joint custody isn’t as bad as sole custody,” he said.
“I thought he would pursue visitation right,” she said, lighting gnawing at her lower lip–a show of her nervousness. “Sole custody is…”
Her voice trailed off, and she felt his gaze on her face.
“Scary?” he asked.
She nodded as her tears rose. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered.
Brent scooted next to her on the couch and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer. “I can see you’re frightened,” he said.
Josephine opened her eyes and looked around, her head pressed to his chest. His voice was more amenable than agreeable. She slowly sat up straight and eyed him.
“What?” he queried.
“I’ve never asked what you think of all this,” she said, rising to her feet and causing his arm to drift down the back of her body to the sofa. “It”s been a whirlwind few weeks…but let”s talk about it.”
He released a heavy breath and adjusted his glasses.
“Truth,” she urged.
Brent looked up at her and gave her a look as if to ensure she could handle his honesty.
She stared at him, silently urging him to speak.
“What exactly has he done that you kept Zoie from him?” he asked. “Is he abusive? A criminal? Sexual deviant? What?”
Stunned, she masked it well and looked up the stairs. She wished she could ensure her little girl was not eavesdropping. She motioned with her head for them to step beyond the door to the entryway. He nodded in agreement and followed, pulling the glass-paned door closed behind them.
Josephine turned on the tiled floor of the small area and pressed her back to the wooden double front doors to look at him. “When Lorenzo and I were…dating…he made it clear he never wanted children, but when I learned I was pregnant, I wanted the baby. I didn’t put the obligation on him to do something Lorenzo said he didn”t want to do,” she explained, glad that through the glass of the door behind him, she could see if Zoie approached. “I would never want it to be revealed to our daughter that her father did not want her.”
Emotions swelled and rose. Josephine knew them all and had encountered them often over the years. Sadness and disappointment were paramount. The tears she shed knew the tracks down her cheeks all too well.
Brent stepped forward to softly clasp her elbows as he looked at her. “Hey,” he said softly. “These last twelve years have been his loss. She’s a great kid.”
She knew he meant it. Zoie liked Brent a lot as well.
“But Zoie searched him out,” Brent continued.
Josephine closed her eyes. “I wish she hadn’t,” she whispered.
“But she did,” Brent stressed. “She wants this relationship with him, and her feelings must be looked after.”
“That’s what I’m doing!” Josephine exclaimed, splaying her hands. “Because what if the novelty of having a child wears thin, and he hurts her.”
Brent eyed her. “The way he hurt you?” he asked.
“No! I ended the relationship, Brent, so go do your fucking risk assessment somewhere else!” she snapped, breaking free of his hold.
That widened his eyes behind his spectacles. “When did disrespect enter our relationship?” he asked, his tone calm.
Perhaps too calm.
Josephine eyed him. There was no fire in his words or his eyes. No fight. No giving as good as he got it.
It was so unlike…
That damn Lorenzo.
They used to argue just to make-up. Both equally as spirited and fiery.
She closed her eyes and lowered her head as Lorenzo’s mocking yawn replayed and had the nerve to echo.
Damn.
“I’m sorry, Brent,” Josephine said, now reaching to lightly grip his upper arms in the sweater he wore over a collared shirt. “I shouldn’t have cursed at you like that.”
“I didn”t know you swore at all,” he said.
There’s a lot you don’t know of the old me.
Swiftly, she recalled a memory of Lorenzo stroking deep inside her from behind on the floor as she hotly urged him: “Harder!”
She shook her head a bit to clear the hot thought. That was a side of her Brent had–and would never–know. Josie, the wild, single, and childless artist, was gone with Josephine, the reliable mother and banker, in her stead.
“Yeah, right, your panties are probably wet right now.”
Lorenzo’s words mocked her.
“Do you still want to hear what I think?” he asked, pushing his glasses up on his round face with the knuckle of his forefinger.
“Yes,” she said.
“He is her father, and they want to be in each other”s life. If he makes a mistake, then you intervene, of course, but maybe you should give him a chance–and if you can’t…” he said, not finishing his sentence.
“What?” Josephine asked.
Brent shrugged one shoulder. “Then perhaps there”s more to this whole thing that I need to pay attention to,” he said, slightly firmer.
More firm than she had ever heard him during their entire relationship. It was almost enough to ignite a light in her. Almost. It was nothing like Lorenzo’s inferno of emotions and passion. Still, it was something for the usually calm and composed Brent Anderson.
“Trust me, Brian—Bran Muffin—Buffoon is glad we don”t get along.”
“Meaning?” she asked, wishing to get Lorenzo León Cortez out of her head.
Brent removed his glasses to hold in his hand. “Meaning, we’ve barely seen or talked or anything with each other since his arrival,” he said, locking his eyes with hers.
“Don’t you and your man spend time with each other? When we were together, you stayed stuck under me.”
Lorenzo’s accuracy was irksome.
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, struggling to find any words. “I hadn”t even realized that,” she admitted truthfully.
Brent made a face that said: “Exactly.”
“Oh, Brent,” she sighed, guilty for ignoring him.
“You’re so busy watching and guarding Zoie from her father that we barely have time alone anymore,” he continued.
And the most significant truth she wouldn”t admit to him was she didn”t miss their physical connection. His lovemaking was as safe and comfortable as he. She could almost count the strokes until he released a quiet, reserved whimper with his release. Her skill level and needs were much higher than his, and she feared scaring him away by asking or demonstrating more.
“Brent, I hate that you’re feeling neglected, but my daughter comes first,” she said. “I was clear about that from the start.”
“Coming second to your child is find,” he said, replacing his glasses. “But doing so for an unnecessary war with your ex is not.”
She took offense to that. “You’re not second to Zo,” she said, inadvertently switching to the nickname for her ex. “And I will always fight anyone for my child.”
“Then don’t be surprised that Lorenzo returned the fight when you struck the first blow, Josephine,” Brent said.
“Say what?” she asked, surprised at the ballsy answer from the man who was usually uncomplicated.
“You wanted me to be truthful with what I thought,” he said. “Allowing him to spend time with Zoie would have prevented court.”
She frowned.
“Are you going to war with me now?” he asked.
She looked everywhere but at him. The coat and umbrella stand in the corner. The black and white subway pattern of the tiled floors. A smudge on one of the glass panes of the door that led into the living room.
“Hey,” Brent said, leaning to the side to be in her line of vision. “I’m gonna head out and give you some time to think. I’ll call you later tonight.”
She nodded, knowing it was for the best before she really said something in anger he would not be able to forget or respect. Plus, she had a lot to think about. She feared Lorenzo’s wealth and fame would help him defeat her and take her child. Her only solace was him living in Paris. Surely, no judge would uproot Zoie’s routine in that way.
Right?
With a soft kiss to her cheek and one last look over his shoulder, he opened the door. Brent descended the double level of stairs to reach the street and climb into his white SUV–his choice because it was ranked as the safest color vehicle to drive.
She waved him off before stepping back to lock the door. Once back in her living room, she stood before the lit fireplace to warm her hands. Reckoning with her role in Lorenzo’s fury, she started staring into the flames.
“Where’s Brent?”
She broke her gaze with the fire to see Zoie descending the stairs in a winter white sweater dress with matching leggings. She smiled at the colorful socks she wore to school earlier.
“He just left,” Josephine said, opening her arm as an invitation.
Zoie took it and stood close to her mother, who held her close. “He loves your spaghetti,” she said.
He does.
“We’ll save him some,” Josephine promised.
“Okay,” the little girl said before falling silent.
The crackling of the fire echoed in the air.
“I wanted him here when I shared some news with you,” Zoie said.
Josephine forced herself not to tense.
“Promise you won’t be weird about it.”
“I promise,” she assured her daughter.
“My dad is moving to New York,” Zoie said, looking up at her face. “And I’m happy about that, Mama. I really like my dad and want to get to know him.”
Josephine could only hope she didn’t show her shock. Living in Paris had always been Lorenzo’s dream, and now he was giving it up for Zoie. But for how long? And just to win custody? Did he want to move Zoie with him to Paris? And if he lost, and the City of Lights called to him, would he answer the call and leave their daughter behind to be disappointed.
She didn”t reveal the custody battle to Zoie and hoped Lorenzo had done the same.
We have to figure this out.
Hindsight was 20/20, and it seemed Brent was right. She struck the first blow, and now Lorenzo was going in for the kill.