Chapter Eight
Two months later
Lorenzo, Josephine, and Zoie had settled into a regular routine, including sharing expenses. Everything flowed with ease. For that, he was thankful. It was fighting his awareness of Josephine that frustrated him beyond measure. Avoiding being in her presence did nothing to dampen the flames of desire.
Nothing at all.
How could it be when he knew how good it was in her bed? In her embrace. In her—.
“So, mon bel homme, who is she?” Margot asked, her French accent heavy and alluring as she addressed him as her handsome man.
Naked and sitting on the side of his bed in his Paris apartment, with his hair covering his face, he looked down at his long, thick, and flaccid private part. Lorenzo felt highly betrayed by it. “My ex,” he chewed out, raising his hand to wipe his across his eyes after he closed them.
“Oui,” Margot said, pressing a small kiss to his spine before rolling her naked body from his bed. “I cannot compete with a memory, so I take no offense to your inability to–”
The stern look he gave her quieted the rest of her words.
She shrugged both slender shoulders and raised her hands in apology.
Lorenzo eyed her lithe and toned body, free of any hair, just as he liked. He looked down at his sleeping member. He could only shake his head in regret at what he had been physically unable to enjoy.
Lorenzo had decided to keep his Paris apartment, and a month ago, he closed on a three-story, five-bedroom luxury brownstone in the Lennox Hill section of Manhattan. It was just blocks from the palatial townhouse of the Cress brothers’ parents. It wasn”t the condo he’d preferred, but the six thousand square feet offered the space he sought. Although he was doing major renovations that would take months, he wanted to separate his things between his two residences before he got too busy to do so later.
He used the Cress family’s private jet to be flown to Paris to pick up some essential items for his permanent move to New York. Larger objects he would ship America. He wanted to be comfortable and surrounded by things he loved in both homes.
A sexy rendezvous with the eager Margot during his day in Paris had been a bonus. Or was meant to be.
His flesh didn’t seem to agree.
Lorenzo looked up as Margot came to stand in front of him, dressed again in another of her beloved silk caftans she wore when she knocked on his front door. She offered him a slow smile with a twinkle in her hazel eyes. “At least one curiosity had been answered,” she said in sultry French before taking in his impressive size. She lightly stroked the side of his face. “It is more than I ever imagined.”
He gave her a bashful grin as he flung his hair behind his back.
Margot fanned herself and made a little grunt of pleasure in the back of her throat. “Pity this does not seem meant to be,” she said in English. “First, the daughter, and now the ex.”
“And the ex is the daughter”s mother,” he confessed.
Margot’s eyes widened in surprise and then acceptance. “Lucky girl,” she said with another long look between his thighs where his inches dangled over the side of the bed. “I better go; my rose vibrator is calling.”
He smiled as she sauntered away.
“I’ll think of you, mon bel homme,” she called back as she left him alone in the bedroom.
Soon, the sound of his front door closing echoed.
Lorenzo flopped back onto the bed and lightly rested his hand atop his ridged abdomen. Never had he been unable to rise to the occasion or harden his bat to take a swing at it. He released a heavy breath.
He felt like an addict of a drug he just could not kick. One he craved almost desperately. That truth made him ground his teeth in frustration.
At himself.
At her.
His calm and steady life as a prize-winning chef, bestselling cookbook author, and single man with a healthy bevy of willing women seemed shot to hell.
Lorenzo picked up his phone and called her. A six-hour time difference made it a little after nine p.m. in New Jersey. His heart pounded as he pressed the phone to his ear and listened to the ringing.
“Hello,” Josephine answered, her voice soft and husky.
And just like that, his dick awakened.
With wide eyes and a gaping mouth, Lorenzo lifted his head off the bed to watch his dick stand at attention. He released a string of expletives in Spanish and flung the phone across the room to land on the floor with a thud. He cursed her and his tool of pleasure to hell.
“Lorenzo?”
Her voice echoed from the phone.
He used the muscles of his sculpted abdomen to sit up. Standing, he let his erection lead him the length of the bed to pass the suede swivel chairs of the sitting area. He stood over the phone on the hardwood floors and used his toe to tap the screen for the speaker. “I have a problem,” he thundered, placing his fists on his hips.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice concerned.
“You,” he pronounced with emphasis and a shake of his head because just talking to her kept him hard and aroused.
“Huh? What now, Zo?” she asked, sounding tired.
He didn’t care one bit. “I need to move on from wanting you, but that’s pretty hard to do when I can’t get hard for anyone but you,” he asserted, hearing his sarcasm.
“Saywhatnow?” she questioned, the words running together.
Clenching his teeth, he used one of his big toes to convert the phone call to a video call instead.
She accepted and soon gasped. The screen offered her a view of him standing there at full salute. “Oh my. That’s quite a shadow you”re causing there, Zo,” she drawled in amusement.
“It’s not funny, Josephine!” he roared, thrusting his hands into his hair as he looked up to the ceiling and curved his back until all his muscles felt taut.
“Lorenzo,” she said softly. Too softly.
It was a tell.
He knew it very well.
Lorenzo looked down at the screen, his hair falling over one broad shoulder, and saw the glint of desire in her brown eyes. He felt the heat fill his own, coursing through his body like fire to dry kindling. “Mariposa, mariposa, mariposa,” he said with a hint of warning.
“It’s gotten finer with age,” she observed, arching a brow.
He wrapped one hand around the solid base surrounded by his thick patch of ebony hair. His member was darker than the rest of his body. The curve hung to the right. The veins running along the inches of his hardness were like the weighty roots of a tree. As he slowly massaged the long length from base to tip, he stared at her face and caught every nuance of how much she enjoyed the show.
Her breathing deepened and picked up its pace through her open mouth as she gently traced her quivering bottom lip with her fingertips. She repositioned her phone as she lay back against the pillows on her bed. Her fingers slowly trailed from her plump mouth and down to her cleavage.
He felt himself get harder as her hand continued downward and then disappeared off the screen. “Are you touching it?” he asked.
She nodded and closed her eyes as she bit down on one side of her bottom lip.
He tilted his head to the side and looked down at her face on the screen as he quickened the pace of his jacking. “Well damn,” he marveled, his voice deeper with his fascination and pleasure. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
She opened her eyes. “Neither was I, but here we are,” she gasped between deep breaths.
“This won’t help me get over wanting you,” he told her.
“But it will get us off right now,” she reasoned.
Viewing each other closely, they sought their release.
Lorenzo felt fueled by seeing her face fill with rapture as she moaned from the back of her throat. He didn”t care that the phone wasn’t locked on the sight of her fingers massaging her intimacy. He was thrilled by seeing the pleasure on her face and knowing she felt free to masturbate with him watching. As she flung her head back and cried out, her body jerked, and she winced from the intensity of reaching her sexual apex.
He tightened his grip on his hardness and felt the rush of his climax building. The anticipation made his entire body feel electric. His heart pounded, and a fine sheen of sweat coated his physique. Lorenzo went rigid in the millisecond before the first shot of his seed. His hoarse cry of pleasure filled the air and joined in chorus to her soft cat-like purrs.
Through his daze, he noticed Josephine observing him. Looking on as some of his seed dropped onto the screen. She licked at it and sighed as if she could genuinely taste it. That hardened him again. He cried out as a second climax bent him over, inducing trembles as he pushed himself to keep stroking, even though his tip was so sensitive that he whimpered.
“Zo!” she exclaimed in a whisper.
With one last rough yell, he fell back into one of the chairs positioned at the foot of his bed with his legs stretched out before him, his head flung back, and some of his release still clinging to his tip.
“Good night, Zo,” Josephine said through the phone still on the floor.
“Night,” he said, closing his eyes and trusting she would end the video call.
And it was in that spot, spent and satiated, that he soon fell asleep.
∞
Two weeks later
They barely looked at each other.
Since that sexy video call, Josephine had not seen Lorenzo and only briefly spoke to him regarding Zoie. They never mentioned what happened. And although she wished it could be forgotten, it was not.
Not at all.
It came to her at odd moments throughout her workday; sometimes, she enjoyed a naughty smile. Other times, she would feel frustrated because it distracted her from her facts and figures. The recollection of his nude physical form instantly swelled the fleshy bud between her thighs. His body had only gotten better with time. Sexier. More athletic. Stronger. His chest and shoulders were broader. His thighs were thicker with defined muscles. His arms were like steel, and his abdomen was seemingly chiseled from stone.
She often wondered if his lovemaking was even better as well. There was no doubt he was the best lover she ever had. No one before or after him could compete or compare. No one.
“I need to move on from wanting you, but that”s pretty hard to do when I can’t get hard for anyone but you.”
She covered her mouth to hide a small smile as his words that night came rushing from her memory. She’d never forget them–or stop wondering about the identity of the woman who had failed to launch him. Were they still an item? Had they succeeded in doing what they couldn’t before?
From her seat at the dining room table of his rented condo, Josephine glanced at Lorenzo and was surprised to find him quietly watching her. He was sitting at the head of the table. Hastily, she looked away and focused on her meal, wondering what was on his mind. Or if he even wanted her in his home.
Zoie had called for Josephine to pick her up because her father had a few business meetings in the city and was expected back late. That led to Camilia and Zoie insisting she have dinner with them. She’d accepted the offer, thinking she would not see Lorenzo.
She had been wrong.
And when he walked into the condo loudly singing a Spanish love song, his words came to a screeching halt when he entered the dining room to see her sitting at the table. Thankfully, he was kind and polite. Meanwhile, Josephine’s entire set of senses was on high alert at the sight of him in a deep maroon V-neck sweater and matching cords. The color went very well with his long and shiny jet-black hair and light brown complexion.
The man was ridiculously and spectacularly handsome.
“Camilia, this food is delicious,” she said, looking for a diversion from naughty thoughts of undressing Lorenzo.
The older woman gave her a warm smile, making her face glow even brighter. “Thank you, but I was not the chef for the evening,” she said.
“I cooked dinner!” Zoie exclaimed, excitedly jumping up and down in her suede parson chair trimmed in black leather.
“With supervision,” Camilia added.
Josephine and Lorenzo shared a brief look of surprise before focusing on the preteen.
“Good job, Zoie,” Josephine enthused to her daughter, who sat across from her at the large table.
“Excelente!” Lorenzo commended her.
There was shredded chicken over yellow rice with street corn.
“Abuela said love is the best ingredient to put in food,” Zoie said with a thoughtful expression. “Right, abuela? Better than–”
“Any seasoning,” Lorenzo finished along with her.
Camilia nodded. “Lots and lots of love,” she said, smiling at Zoie with the emotion beaming in her eyes. “When you create with the intention of love, that energy is infused in everything you cook, write, draw, or sing and pours into anyone who enjoys your creation.”
Josephine realized why Lorenzo had shared that sentiment with her many times about her art. It was what his mother taught him. And now that same enlightened wisdom was being shared with her daughter. At that moment, she saw everything she had never received as a child.
Her mother’s grief and anger at not being able to sway her father from his wife had made her sullen, sad, and sarcastic. For Josephine, her art had become her escape, not something to be shared with her mother, who didn”t have the proper perspective to see it as a gift. Instead, it was a waste of time and money as far as her mother was concerned. Something to ridicule.
Josephine forced a smile, but she felt her sadness and regret sting. She could only hope the tears that threatened to rise would fail.
“What’s wrong, Josephine?” Lorenzo asked.
She didn’t look at him as she grabbed her linen napkin. “Just happy that my little girl has so much love and support in her life,” she said. “People who love and believe in her. I never had that.”
“I believed in you, mariposa.”
His voice was deep and reverberated against her spine, causing a shiver. She dared to look at him as she nodded. “That’s true,” she admitted, warmth flooding her body.
For her, it was more than her heart could take. She felt transported back to the days they had been deeply in love. Before the pregnancy, the breakup, and her betrayal.
“What does mariposa mean, Daddy?” Zoie asked, looking from her father to her mother, who was still staring at one another.
“Butterfly,” Camilia provided.
“I thought your mother was more beautifully colorful than anything I had ever encountered,” he explained.
“Like a butterfly!” Zoie said in understanding.
“El verdadero amor nunca se puede negar,” Camilia said, almost lyrically.
Her softly spoken words led Lorenzo to shift his eyes slowly to his mother across the long length of the table.
“Translation, please,” Zoie requested.
Silently, Josephine agreed.
Camilia shook her head. “My apologies for any rudeness. But that was meant for your father,” she explained.
“Ma-ri-po-sa! Ma-ri-po-sa!” Zoie sang, moving her arms slowly like butterfly wings.
Lorenzo chuckled as he leaned back against his chair with one of his arms atop the table and eyed her. “Creativity is in your blood, Zoie,” he said.
She paused and looked at him with her arms still in the air. “From you?” she asked.
“From both your mother and I.”
Zoie looked confused. “But you’re a chef, and Mama is a banker,” she declared with so much confidence.
Lorenzo looked to Josephine.
Zoie followed suit.
“I used to be an artist,” she told their daughter.
“She still is,” Lorenzo asserted.
Zoie leaned back in her chair rather comically, with one hand pressed to her flat chest in surprise. “Real-ly?” she stressed.
Camilia laughed at her expressive granddaughter.
“Your mother is skilled at sculpting, painting, sketching, and photography,” Lorenzo informed her.
“Wow!” Zoie said. “You do know that’s wayyyyy cooler than banking, right?”
Josephine smiled. “But it pays wayyyyy less.”
“Careful, Josephine, what you think, believe, and say becomes your reality,” Camilia said with eyes that twinkled brighter than the turquoise and diamond earrings that peeked through the long layers of her hair.
Josephine turned to the right to eye the woman she believed to be a pure soul.
“If you think you can never win, you will always lose,” Camilia explained. “You can be just as successful at what you create as you want–probably more—if you believe that and pour love and goodness into it.”
Josephine smiled as she considered the counsel given; it felt like wisdom. She was glad Zoie heard it as well. Mindset and perspective were game changers. It was something every child should know and adults should be reminded of.
“There’s something I want to show you, Zoie,” Lorenzo stated, rising from his seat to remove his wallet.
Josephine looked on in curiosity as he removed a photo and stood by their daughter to show it to her. “That’s your mother back in the day,” he said.
Camilia set her fork down and moved from her seat at the other end of the dining room table to stand behind Zoie and look down at the picture.
Three sets of eyes shifted from the photo and up to look at her.
“Mama, you look so different!” Zoie exclaimed.
“May I see that?” Josephine asked, extending her hand.
Lorenzo reclaimed his seat as Zoie handed the photograph over.
Josephine curved the corner of her mouth with a smile as she studied the picture. She remembered the exact moment he used her camera to take the photo of her as she sculpted. The brightness of the sunlight pouring into the window had drawn her from the bed where Lorenzo slept. She’d gotten lost in the joy of creating art. Time had slipped away as she used her tools to add minute details to the sculpture. The flash of the camera had drawn her from her zone, and she looked over to find her lover awakened and holding her camera. She had covered the piece with a damp cloth to preserve it before racing over to jump onto the bed beside him with laughter.
“Your aura was much brighter back then, Josephine,” Camilia noted before moving to reclaim her seat.
She’s right.
Josephine saw a glow around her body that seemed more than the sunlight. Outside the birth of Zoie, it was a time when she had been happiest. Most joyful. Free. A time filled with art and love–for and from Lorenzo.
“You are a talented artist,” he expressed. “It’s a pity to see such a God-given gift wasted.”
She continued to eye the photo and be consumed by the good memories. “Art used to beckon me, drawing me from sleep and feeling anxious when I ignored its summoning,” she recollected. “But that time has come and gone. I don’t feel or hear the call anymore.”
“But you hate your job,” Zoie declared.
Josephine looked up at her with surprise in her eyes. “I never said that,” she responded.
“But I can tell, Mama,” Zoie said, very matter-of-fact. “You’re never happy to go to work. You’re not happy when you have to work at home. You’re not happy when you mention work. You hate that job.”
Josephine looked at Lorenzo and found his handsome face troubled. “I believe you deserve to do what makes you happy,” he asserted. “Reconnecting with your gift will do that. You are meant to create.”
She released a heavy breath. “And I wished I believed that as much you do,” she told him.
“Let’s see what we can do about that,” he declared, his deep tone confident and assured.
Zoie beamed. “My dad is gonna fix it. He can do anything.”
Camilia gave her son a wink. “I agree, hijo.”
Josephine remained silent. She was on track to become a district manager in a few years. Although she didn’t love her career, it provided the financial stability she needed. She once had the luxury of youth and the belief in massive dreams to get through the lean days. That luxury was no longer available with a child, mortgage, and other bills.
And my desire to create was gone with it.
She couldn’t remember the last time she yearned to ease her hands into clay or enjoy the feel of her paintbrush as she stroked a canvas with it. To sketch the faces of people. Or take photos of sunsets.
There was a version of Lorenzo that she knew would move heaven and earth for her, but her spark of creating was gone. She picked up her glass of wine and slightly raised it in a toast to him, not believing he could change the fact that she had turned her back on her gift, and now it was no longer hers.
∞
Two weeks later
As Lorenzo called out orders to his newly assembled back-of-house staff, he used his custom-built copper knife to efficiently and expertly slice fresh fruits. It was the night of the grand opening party of GAbrIEL Presents Lorenzo Léon Cortez, his one-night-a-week chef-in-residence or pop-up restaurant. He took it very seriously. He hired his own staff and had his slashing signature embroidered on black linens and leather aprons. The logo would also top the heavy stock paper he would use to print the menu after it was finalized for the night. He hired Sean’s wife, Montgomery, a top publicist, to create a buzz for all of his upcoming endeavors: the pop-up restaurant, his still untitled cooking show that would begin filming in a few months, and the future promotion of his newest cookbook for which his agent recently finalized a deal. She had gathered a bevy of press for the night’s event and was excited about ninety percent of her invitees appearing.
For the evening, bottles of his favorite Nicolas Feuillatte champagne were being served along with a rotation of twelve heavy appetizers and six varieties of desserts. Some people were seated at the tables, but many mingled and moved about the beautifully decorated interior as they enjoyed the flow of drinks and food with Spanish-themed music playing softly in the background. It was more of a soft launch, with the true grand opening happening next Wednesday.
The leather-covered swinging doors leading into the kitchen opened. Montgomery stepped in with her black eyes filled with excitement. “Ready, Zo? It’s time,” she said, looking pretty in a fuchsia strapless dress and matching heels with bold gold jewelry accentuating her deep brown complexion and long black hair.
He nodded and removed the kitchen towel draped over his broad shoulder to wipe his hands. The appetizers were complete, and the staff were in the final stages of preparing and plating the desserts. He motioned for his sous chef, Maria Ortega. She approached him, and in rapid Spanish, he fired off any last-minute instructions, handing her control of the kitchen as he went to enjoy the rest of his party.
“Yes, chef!” she asserted.
He strode into Gabe’s private office to remove the cotton chef’s coat he wore to cook, replacing it with one of the embroidered black leather ones he wore outside the kitchen. He slid his rings onto his index fingers, both a reminder of his mixed heritage. He ensured his long hair was split down the middle and tightly pulled back to his nape with a leather band. His black uniform pants and shoes were still clean, so he didn’t change them before leaving the office and joining Montgomery to exit the bustling kitchen.
As soon as Lorenzo stepped into the front of the house, there was applause for which he pressed his hands together and bowed his head in thanks. He cast them all a broad smile. Montgomery guided him to be interviewed by some of the heavy hitters of the culinary scene–including those who had won a coveted James Beard Award in media. He answered their questions with wit, warmth, and charm, causing those who listened to share in his laughter.He spoke about his enthusiasm for expanding his relationship with Cress, INC. through new avenues like his upcoming show on their streaming network.
He spotted a flash of emerald green silk out of the corner of his eye. By the time he turned his head, the crowd blocked his view.
“Thank you all for coming, and please enjoy the rest of your night,” Montgomery said to the press.
Lorenzo thanked them as well.
“Just a light speech and the rest of the night is ours to enjoy,” Montgomery whispered as they walked to stand before the beautiful bar.“All work and no play make my husband a grumpy boy.”
In fact, all the Cress brothers and their wives were in attendance. He gave them a smile of thanks. Their love and support were endless, and he made sure to provide them with nothing less in return.
Montgomery motioned for the music to be turned down and then lightly tapped the bands of her wedding ring set against her champagne flute to quiet the party goers. She succeeded. “The man of the evening truly needs no introduction. As both his publicist and family friend, I do know he needs encouragement to leave the kitchen and allow those who enjoy his talent to see that he is also a pretty face,” she said, with a brilliant smile and the confidence of a seasoned professional as she drew laughter. “He is a great chef and an even greater man. Ladies and gentlemen, Chef Lorenzo Léon Cortez.”
With that said, as the room exploded with more applause, Montgomery stepped away from him. He mouthed his thanks as she claimed her spot next to Sean.
“I can’t see my Dad!”
Lorenzo smiled, instantly recognizing the sound of his daughter’s voice. He opened his mouth to ask for her to be allowed to the front, but before he could, two brown hands created space between two bodies to step forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, the show stopper is my beautiful daughter, Zoie,” he said, extending his hand for her to join him.
She beamed in her dark grey dress with matching sequined flats as she approached him. She turned and gave the crowd a curtsy before leaning back against her dad with a big, dimpled grin. Lorenzo chuckled. “Zoie and I thank you all for coming. Was the food delicious?” he asked.
All of the ovation and praise touched him. “I am honored and humbled by the support,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “I must thank my best friend and fellow acclaimed chef, Gabriel Cress, for allowing me use of his beautiful restaurant.”
Gabe raised his glass in a toast.
“I hope to see you all back here every Wednesday from 4pm to 11pm for GAbrIEL Presents Lorenzo Léon Cortez. Enjoy the rest of the evening!” he said before bending at the waist to press a loving kiss to the top of Zoie’s head.
Many people came forward to congratulate him, and Zoie stood by his side like a little bodyguard. “Where’s your abuela?” he asked her as soon as the crowd dispersed.
“Sitting at our table by the front window.”
“And did your mom come? I invited her,” he asked.
“Here I am, Zo.”
He froze at the sound of Josephine’s voice and shifted to eye her in surprise as his pulsed race. Seeing her in an emerald jersey wrap dress made him swallow over a lump in his throat. The garb was flowy. The material was soft and clingy in the best way. And the way the deep V framed her breasts was deliciously tempting. Her hair was curlier and more full than usual. Makeup highlighted her doe-shaped brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full mouth.Dainty emerald green showcased her shapely legs.
She was gorgeous!
He locked eyes with hers. The hint of smugness he detected made him suspect his ex meant to take his breath away. When she arched one eyebrow, it was confirmation of her intention.
What game is this?
“I’ll go get my abuela,” Zoie said before leaving them to disappear into the crowd.
Josephine watched her go before turning back to him. “Just to be clear, I had something to prove,” she told him.
“Which is?” he asked, as the line between who he remembered her to be and who she was standing before him blurred, leaving him disoriented.
“That I can be as sexy as I want to be whenever I choose,” she said. “So enough of treating me like the ugly duckling.”
He smiled. Slowly. “Is this about the old photo I showed Zoie?” he asked.
“Absolutely it is.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “But see, now you have poked the lion and awakened the beast,” he told her, losing his smile as he reached to take her hand. He lightly stroked her pounding pulse with his thumb. It was proof that she felt the same chemistry sizzle between them.
She gasped.
He smiled again like a wolf who had locked eyes on its prey.
“I thought you would appreciate the change,” she said, her words hesitant as if she struggled to release them.
“I am,” he assured her.
“Zo,” she said. Softly. Almost with pleading.
“I want you,” he told her.
“I know.”
“And you want me.”
“I know.”
They stared into each other”s eyes and saw the flames of desire reflected in them.
“We can’t,” she mouthed.
“I know,” he replied, releasing her hand.
He took her in again and lingered on the roundness of her breasts in the soft material and the way her hard nipples pressed against it. He leaned in close to her ear. “Are you wearing a bra?” he whispered.
Josephine shivered and released a soft grunt of pleasure. “No,” she admitted.
“I know,” he told her with a hint of amusement.
Again, they locked eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her, knowing he should walk away from pure temptation before his desire for her became evident.
Josephine gave him a wink. “I know,” she said.
They shared a laugh and broke their gaze to see they were surrounded.
“Josephine, these are the Cress brothers and their wives,” Lorenzo explained.
She gave them all a kind smile. “Ah, the Cress family. I have heard so much about you from our little Zoie,” she said. “Let’s see. There’s Lincoln and Bobbie. Then, Phillip Junior and Raquel. Right? And then, Zoie’s beloved Uncle Gabe and Aunt Monica.”
Each couple gave her a nod or brief wave of their hands and a welcoming grin.
“Want a little help?” Lorenzo asked, sounding amused.
“Yes!” she exclaimed.
“That’s Cole and Jillian,” Lorenzo said. “Sean and Montgomery. Lucas and Eve.”
“It”s nice to meet you all,” Josephine greeted them.
Lorenzo watched her and saw nothing but warmth in her eyes and tone as she met people of great importance to him. He wasn’t sure why it mattered if she got along with them, but it did. He was pleased.
“So, come and tell us all about young Lorenzo,” Montgomery said as she wrapped an arm around one of Josephine’s.
As the women all herded her away, already asking her questions or complimenting her dress, Josephine gave him a brief look over her shoulder. There was a bit of trepidation in her beautiful doe-shaped eyes, but she smiled at him.
“Careful, Sean,” Cole drawled before he sipped his champagne.
The entire rest of the men moaned and complained.
“Good Lord, let it go, chap,” Lincoln said with his thick British accent.
It was well known–and well harped upon by Cole–that Lorenzo had once asked Jillian out on a date years ago at the grand opening of GAbrIEL. That was in the days when Cole and Jillian had kept their no-strings-attached relationship a secret as she worked as the family’s private chef.
It happened years ago, and Lorenzo harbored no lingering desires for her or her for him.
“Sorry, being in the room where it happened caused a flashback,” Cole said with a shrug of one broad shoulder.
“The room where it happened?” Phillip Junior snarked. “Who the hell are you, Lin Manuel?”
The men all laughed. Even Cole chuckled at his brother’s quip.
“We all know our wives have a harmless Lorenzo Léon Cortez fan club,” Sean said.
Lorenzo winced and hung his head as he bit back a smile.
“And he knows it,” Gabe added with humor.
True.
Every one of the wives of the Cress brothers made it clear that they had a bevy of beauties they wished they could introduce to him if he would change his mind about not wanting either marriage or children.
Lorenzo leaned back a little to check on Josephine, understanding being surrounded by six women she didn’t know could be difficult. Thankfully, she was laughing and seeming to be having a good time with the women he considered sisters.
“You can’t take your eyes off her, Zo,” Cole observed.
Also, true.
The way she looked thrust him back thirteen years to when he had craved her every second of every day that year. For sex. For friendship. For laughter. For love.
“Looks like the one who got away is back,” Gabe said.
Lorenzo took a deep sip of his champagne, nearly emptying the almost filled flute.
“Cue Usher,” Lucas said.
“He got it, he got it bad,” the brothers all sang off-key.
Lorenzo chuckled.“We promised Zoie we wouldn’t get back together,” he said, explaining their custody agreement and the one rule they all agreed upon because of Zoie’s fear of losing him. “We’re just friends.”
“Without benefits?” Phillip Junior said with a bit of scorn and a deep frown.
The men all gave him hard stares filled with judgment.
Zoie led Camilia to sit at the women”s table before approaching them. She greeted each of the Cress brothers before standing before her tall father and tilting her head back to look up at him with excitement. “Thank you, Daddy, for the best night ever!” she exclaimed. “I’m having so much fun and I’m proud of you!”
He stroked her chin with his index finger. He knew then that no matter the sacrifice, he would keep their one rule and give her the assurance she needed that she would never lose him again. Although he understood he would never desert her, he respected that her point of view mattered. And she deserved more than she had gotten for the last twelve years regarding having a father.
“Poor chap,” Lincoln said. “You do get the father of the year award, though.”
His brothers all nodded in agreement and consolation.