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I can’t help but laugh. “We all do, bud.”
The waiter interrupts us to take our order. Predictably, Madison goes for the spaghetti with Leo, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s to encourage him to eat his own meal. He sometimes only tries his food if someone else has some, too. I opt for the lobster tagliolini, and my mother chooses the braised lamb pappardelle.
Our drinks are served soon after, with alcohol for us and lemonade for Leo.
“So, Mom, how long are you staying?”
“Forever!” Leo answers.
Mom pinches his cheek before replying, “Just for a couple of nights. Is that okay?”
Not particularly. It will make it harder for Madison and me to sneak around, and I can’t bear the thought of not tasting her for the next hour, let alone the next forty-eight. Still, I conceal my disappointment. My Mom has been nothing but kind to Leo and me, taking care of us the way she did, and I never want her to feel unwelcome. “Of course. Stay as long as you’d like. I was thinking we should visit you in Albany when I get some time off work.”
“Which will be never.” Mom blots her red lipstick and offers Madison a knowing look.
I frown, glancing between them. Have they already discussed this behind my back? The thought makes me uneasy. “I’ll do my best” is all I can offer.
“Uh-huh. You know, if you want to keep this pretty lady interested, you should really cut down on your hours.”
“Mom!” I snap, though I suppose with Leo’s confession, I had it coming. It’s just like my mother to jump the gun. She’s wanted me to find someone since the day I was born, lecturing me on how important love is and how much I deserve to find “The One.” I know it’s because her own experiences were disappointing, to say the least, but I can’t relive the life she wanted for herself.
I certainly don’t need her chiming in with advice about something we haven’t defined. It’s not as though I can ever be with Madison. Minus the obvious — Brandon — I don’t do relationships, and I would never expect a woman in her mid-twenties to commit not just to me but to my son.
It wouldn’t work. We’re too… explosive. Volatile. One minute we’re arguing, the next, we’re fucking like it’s the only thing we know how to do. It’s not sensible.
Maybe Brandon was right about that part.
“I’m just saying.” Mom lifts her hands in caution. “She’s not going to stick around if she spends more time with your son than you.”
“Um, our relationship is strictly professional,” Madison says, her face turning the same color as her red wine. “I’m only here for Leo. It’s my job to spend time with him, and I love doing it.”
“Oh, don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. I’m not a fool. I can see it from a mile away.” Mom motioned between us with a cluck of her tongue. “I think I know when my son is smitten!”
I grind my teeth, something in her statement triggering my defenses. This is going well beyond what Madison and I agreed upon, and I won’t allow it. Especially not in front of my son. “Stop it. I’m not smitten, and you have no right to make everybody at this table uncomfortable.”
“Why are you guys fighting?” Leo asks.
Madison tugs him onto her lap, frowning in a way that downturns her whole face. It only makes me angry to see her that way when she should be smiling. I should be making her smile.
“For once, Roman, I wish you would just surrender all this nonsense and admit that you have a heart. You’re allowed to have feelings, even if they weren’t planned!”
“I won’t talk about this anymore.” I take a long sip of my Scotch, offering her a challenging glower as I swig the bitter taste around my mouth.
Mom purses her lips and shakes her head as though she’s disappointed in me, somehow, for not wanting to talk about my love life at the dinner table in front of a woman I haven’t yet had enough time with.
Bitterness runs through me. It feels like everyone wants to tear into me today.
As Leo returns to his seat, Madison places her hand on my thigh beneath the table. Despite the warmth it brings, I brush it away. Pain flits across her features, but I’m in no mood to explain myself. My mother is wrong. These aren’t feelings, they’re instincts. I don’t want her; I need her. This is pure lust, and it’s mutual.
Or, at least, I think it is until Madison’s eyes begin to sparkle with hurt. Another more unsettling feeling replaces my anger and lands like a brick in my gut.
The table remains uncomfortably quiet while we wait for our food. Finally, it comes.
Instantly, Leo begins to make a mess, another reason I never bring him out with me. “Leo, use your fork.” He doesn’t listen, instead draping the spaghetti over the white tablecloth. “Leo!” My voice thunders through the restaurant, sending the candle centerpieces flickering.
Leo draws back, his lower lip jutting out as he avoids my gaze. “Sorry, Daddy.”
Beside me, Madison is stiff. She’s barely touched her food.
