Chapter 25
Vespa leaned in the doorway, arms folded as she studied Montrell. The scowl on her face changed to a grin he knew better than to encourage.
“I told Giulia I’d like to start using the restaurant for meetings again,” Montrell said, trying to hold her off. “Thought today would be a good day to put that into action. Will you help me tell the boys?”
“Feeling kind of chipper today?” Vespa asked, that grin still present.
Montrell hoped his beard was hiding his flush. For the first morning in as long as he could remember, he hadn’t needed to rub one out in the shower. He was still feeling drained. They’d showered together anyway, but it had been about being close, not getting off.
“Leave it alone,” he muttered, drawing a hand down to tug on his beard.
But her grin didn’t go away as she moved into the conference room. It was really more of a smirk than a grin. “Somebody got laid.” She smacked his arm. “Congratulations!”
Even his ears felt hot. “That’s enough, Vespa. It’s not about that.” His chest still felt too tight. Beatrice loved him back.
Vespa’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit, don’t tell me you declared your love mid-thrust.” She groaned, smacking his arm again. “I thought you were better than that. What’s with men confusing lust with love?”
Montrell shook his head. “I do love her, Ves.”
Vespa’s smile returned, gentler this time. “I know that. But your wife deserves a bit more romance.” She eyed him. “If you try hard, you can be romantic.”
He recalled Beatrice complaining about the timing of his confession. It made him laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ve already repeated it this morning. And I’ll keep telling her, every chance I get.” Remembering how Beatrice had flushed when he’d said it this morning made him feel giddy. She’d run back to her room in one of his shirts since she hadn’t worn anything for her visit. He’d wondered if it was too soon to ask her to move her things into his bedroom.
“Such a sap,” Vespa murmured, though there was no heat in her voice and her eyes had softened. “You really are happy. I’m glad.”
He started to play it off, but there was a fragility to Vespa that he hadn’t seen in a long time. He turned, enfolding her in a hug. “Thanks, Ves.”
Vespa squirmed in his arms. “Hey, quit that! What if your wife you love so much sees us?”
He chuckled as he released her. “She’s not the jealous type. Besides, you’re always going to be important to me.” He shoved her shoulder, pleased when she barely budged. “Us against the world. Isn’t that right?”
“Always,” she said, staring at her feet. “The ‘us’ is just expanding a little.”
“That’s why I was surprised.” He’d expected Vespa to get around to being happy for him, but he had figured her protective side would take longer to win over. “I thought you didn’t like Bea.”
Vespa shrugged. “She’s not the worst.”
A snort came from the doorway. “Is that the best you can do?” Beatrice was wearing another dress he hadn’t seen. Red again. He loved her in red.
“For now,” Vespa muttered. Her scowl didn’t sit quite as steadily as she moved away from him.
Beatrice’s smile bloomed as her eyes slid to Montrell, sharing her happiness with him and making bubbles riot in his gut.
“Vespa was congratulating me on getting laid.”
His friend’s scowl settled in more comfortably. “For fuck’s sake, Montrell!” Her hand reached up to wrap around the tight bun at the back of her head.
Beatrice’s skin had flushed to match her dress. It made his hands itch to hold her.
She was the one who moved to his side, even though her scowl matched Vespa’s as she aimed it at him. “Shouting it from the rafters?”
“Pretty sure I already did that.” He leaned into her, lips brushing her ear. “I shouted so loud with how hard I came, both our ears were ringing. You remember?”
Vespa sighed. “You still suck at whispering.”
He straightened with a shrug. “I’m an open book anyway.” He was still feeling giddy, even with his wife’s eyes snapping at him. “I mean, it’s not like I bragged to you, Ves. You were the one who called me out for being chipper.”
“You’re like a goddamn Energizer Bunny today.” Vespa headed toward the door, waving a hand at him. “Do something about that, will you?” she told Bea. “I’ll tell the boys about the change of location.” She shut the door behind her.
Beatrice’s annoyance had fallen away, along with her embarrassment. Instead of a giddiness that matched his, her face looked tense, and her eyes were shuttered again.
“Hey, no.” He wanted to pull her against him. Instead he lifted a hand to stroke back her hair; he was relieved when she didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to do anything. I’m just happy. Not about the sex. We could never have sex again, and I would love you.” His smile felt wobbly as his skin itched from saying it. “I do. I just love you, Bea. That’s what’s making me bubble over.”
Beatrice blinked at him. “How many times are you going to say that?”
“That I love you?” Saying it again made her look like a deer caught in headlights. It was fucking adorable, nothing like the remote expression she’d worn moments ago. Montrell kissed her nose, unable to resist. “Every chance I get. Unless that bothers you?”
She leaned into his chest, and the itching tingles multiplied at the gesture. “It’s kind of embarrassing,” she mumbled.
He wrapped his arms around her, giving her a squeeze. “Never. Will it really bother you?” A slither of guilt snaked in. “I can try to curb it. I suck at not saying what’s on my mind, but I’ll do my best if you hate it.”
Beatrice sighed, giving him one of her gentle kisses. “I don’t hate it. I just…” She frowned as her mind did its thing. Montrell buffed her arms, content to wait for her to decide. “Maybe only around the Coronellas?”
Her saying that convinced him she was already thinking of his men as family. “Fuck, I love you.” He pulled her tighter against him. As he did, he felt the new tension taking over her body.
Her face tilted back, and she searched his eyes. There was worry in hers. “I’m not the same as you. I won’t say it all the time.” She was back to biting her lip. “Do you… need me to?”
“No forcing yourself.” When she looked away, his gut churned. “Hey, look at me.” Her eyes returned to capture his. He hated that they shimmered with tears. “It’s like with sex. You can never say it again, and it doesn’t matter. I know now. I’m not going to doubt it.” He smiled at her. “Like everything else, my ego is big. I don’t need your constant reassurance, Bea. I love you as you are.”
“There it is again.” But her small smile had returned, the one that squeezed his chest every time he saw it. “You’re constantly reassuring me. Isn’t that a bit unfair?”
“I like to.” His hands were back to buffing her arms. He wondered if his need to touch her was going to be a problem, but her hands came up to press to his shirt. She wasn’t flinching from his touch, so he told himself not to overthink it. “Does it bother you?”
“No.” She played with one of the buttons on his dress shirt. “I like it,” she admitted. “I like everything about you.”
Montrell couldn’t contain his grin. “I thought so.”
“There’s that ego.” The small, joyful sound she made returned all the bubbles from before.
He linked his fingers with hers. “Come on. We’re having the meeting at the restaurant. After, it’ll be lunchtime, and Giulia can feed us and the boys.”
Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “Is Giulia aware of this?”
“No. But she’ll love it,” he said, tugging her toward the door. As he did, he appreciated the way she never left his side.
Montrell had many memories of the restaurant. He’d practically grown up there, mainly because Giulia wanted to keep him away from the estate as much as she could. He loved the family feel of the furnishings, and he had often run meetings out of there since he’d taken over the Coronellas’ business.
Yet it was the memory of his date with Beatrice that kept replaying in his mind, distracting him. He’d done himself no favors by eating her out on top of one of the tables. The fact that they weren’t gathered around that particular table didn’t matter.
It wasn’t only the sexy part of their date that was distracting him either. He remembered Beatrice’s sad expression as she let herself be vulnerable enough to tell him about her scars.
Her current giddiness as she led the discussion as his consigliere was a powerful comparison. Oh, she looked professional and confident, but he was understanding her better and could read the glint in her eye. Beatrice was happy.
It was a balm for his soul. His wife was healing.
The vibration of his phone wasn’t welcome, not when he had better things to look at. He was expecting a call from Di Salvo, so when another name was shown on the display, it took him from the heights he’d been experiencing all day and grounded him in the mud.
His mother had always had the ability to do that without even a word.
He stepped into the kitchen. Watching Giulia cook would help to steady him.
“Maeve.” Montrell had expected Giulia’s head to lift at his mother’s name. “It’s been quite a while.”
“Not so long that you get to call me that.” He could practically hear her pouting through the phone. “I’m still your mother, Monty.”
His first instinct was to apologize. Nearly five years ago, with her shrill voice screaming at him to die, he’d told himself he would start using her given name instead of ‘Mother.’ After what he’d seen as rejection from the Luccheses, he’d broken under the continued rejection from his mother. He’d been done dealing with it and had stopped visiting or calling.
From the reports he received on her, he’d assumed she’d been relieved. She’d been acting almost content since she’d returned to the Irish. Well, as content as Maeve could ever be.
The silence through the receiver continued to draw out. “Did you call for a reason?” he asked.
“A business thing, or so my father says.” She sounded irritated.
Montrell’s grandfather was still the patriarch of the family. He’d heard rumors about the old man retiring, but it would never happen. Liam O’Connell liked power. Montrell had never fooled himself into thinking that his grandfather had been unaware of his daughter’s circumstances.
He was a hypocrite for wanting to kill Beatrice’s father for the same thing, but there was one slight difference. When his mother had run home, she’d been protected, not sent back.
Maeve’s family had never had much use for him. He didn’t trust the sudden interest. “I thought the Irish liked to remain separate. Why reach out?”
“Oh, you know I don’t bother with those silly business games.” Maeve sounded sick of the conversation already. “I wouldn’t be calling at all if Father didn’t ask me to.”
Montrell had thought he’d hardened himself against her disinterest, but the sound of her voice returned him to being the little boy who craved his mother’s attention, even if her attentions were a slap or a punch more often than not. Giulia’s concerned gaze helped him to breathe through it. “Just get it said.”
She clicked her tongue. He’d almost forgotten that sound. “Father wants you to meet with him.”
“He’s welcome at the Coronella estate.” Montrell cleared his throat. “You both are. I—”
“I can’t leave, Monty.” Her flat voice made him flinch. “It’s not safe. You’ll come here. Today.”
He should have refused her. He agreed instead, hanging up the phone.
“Why would Maeve contact you?” Giulia asked.
Montrell ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I was expecting it. The O’Connells want to do business with the Di Salvos.” He stared at the back door. “I should sneak away now. Before—”
“Absolutely not!” Vespa growled from behind him.
Montrell turned to find her arms folded and her expression livid. He’d expected it. His best friend didn’t just know of his past; she’d lived it with him. His mother had hated the strength she saw in Vespa and had tried to break it more than once.
“Ves—” he began.
“Your fucking mother. No wonder ants were crawling all over my skin.” She buffed her arms. “No way. No fucking way you go to see her without me watching your back.”
Beatrice had approached the kitchen as well. She looked calm as her gaze flicked from Vespa to him. “The O’Connells finally called?” Trust Bea to remember any scrap of business that had been discussed. “Do you know what they want yet?”
“My mother wouldn’t say over the phone.”
“Then don’t go,” Vespa muttered. “That bitch can rot.”
Montrell expected the harsh words, but they made the little boy lurking inside him, needing to protect his mother, that much harder to ignore.
“I agree with Vespa,” Beatrice said.
“You don’t—” But Vespa interrupted herself as she processed Beatrice’s words. She turned in the doorway, her arms dropping. “Wait, you’re taking my side?”
“This is supposed to be business. Let me go as consigliere.” Beatrice was acting logical, but the shadows in her eyes and her fingers rubbing the sides of her dress gave her away. She was worried. For him.
Some of Montrell’s tension left as her words of love replayed in his head.
“I’ll take Vespa with me if you’re concerned it’s a trap,” Beatrice said.
“I’m fucking going, all right,” Vespa snapped.
Montrell shook his head. “Vespa, you’re the last person who should be around my mother.”
Vespa’s grin showed teeth. “Because I’m willing to kill her.”
“That’s not a selling point. She’s my mother, Ves. Not much of one, but I don’t want her dead.”
“Which is why I never killed her over the years,” Giulia said. She wiped her hands on a towel as she frowned. “It might have been better for you if I had.”
“I’m who I am because of you, Giulia.” Montrell smiled at her. “Would you really change any of that? I wouldn’t.” He met Beatrice’s gaze. “Not when it led us here.”
“Damn sap,” Vespa muttered. Her cheekbones looked more pronounced as she stared at her feet. “There are a few things I would change.”
Montrell’s gut churned. “I’ve never run from my mother. I’m going to meet with her. I know you understand, Vespa.”
Vespa cursed under her breath.
Beatrice hesitated, then nodded. She slipped past a still-seething Vespa and didn’t stop until she put her arms around him, holding him tight. “I’d like to go with you.”
Montrell wanted to lift her off her feet and squeeze her tight. Instead he was gentle as he returned the hug. “I want you there. I want to introduce my wife to my mother.” He grimaced over her head. “Though keep your expectations low.”
Vespa stomped forward. “I’m going.” When Montrell opened his mouth, she gripped her bun again. “It’s not up for debate.”
Montrell nodded at the friend who had seen him at all of his worst moments. His mother hated her, but Vespa would always have his back. So he agreed, despite the nerves that were dancing up his spine.