I’m certain he’s more intent on keeping his prying eyes on me, but I comply, happy to have his attention.
“The room isn’t ready.” Bishop slides a plastic suite card across the table. “They said to give them half an hour.”
Matthew pockets the offering and we all take our allotted seats, Bishop and Matthew against the hedge, while I settle in front of Lorenzo, who clicks his finger in the air, gaining the attention of a waitress who hustles over.
Coffee is ordered. Cake and bagels and croissants, too.
Once the waitress is gone, Lorenzo sits back in his chair, his warm eyes fixed on me. “Tell me about yourself, cara mia. Spare no details. I want to know everything.”
“Lorenzo,” Matthew warns. “Don’t push.”
“I’m not pushing. Merely getting to know the woman of your heart, figlio.”
“It’s okay,” I lie, wishing I knew how to defuse this conversation respectfully. I don’t want to offend Lorenzo by staying silent. I also don’t want Matthew to think I’m willing to open up to a stranger when I’ve spent the duration of our relationship hiding. “I guess the thing that defines me most is that I’m a single mother.” I pause, hoping the usually disparaged label will end my time in the spotlight. “My daughter is eleven going on twenty-three.”
The older man laughs. “They’re all the same at that age.”
“You have children?” I latch on to the information, hoping to divert the conversation from me.
“Many. Some by birth. Others by fate.” He glances to Matthew and Bishop.
“You must be very proud.”
“I am. Now tell me more.” He flares his eyes with exaggerated excitement. “I want to know everything. I’m in awe of the way you’ve ensnared such a stubborn bachelor.”
“Zio,” Matthew growls. “You’re making her uncomfortable.”
“Se la metto a disagio, sicuramente me lo può dire.” Lorenzo frowns. “Isn’t that right, Layla?”
I balk, his words going completely over my head.
“I’m sorry.” He reaches across the table to touch my hand. “Do you not speak Italian?”
“No.” I wince, physically pained at the thought of disappointing him—a stranger—someone I shouldn’t care about. And yet, I do. I want his approval more than anything. “I enjoy listening to your beautiful language, though, so please don’t stop on my account.”
“Matthew will have to teach you.”
I glance to the man in question, my heart warming with the ease of the smile staring back at me.
“I agree.” There’s a teasing hum to his tone. “All I need is for her to commit to the long process.”
He’s not talking about a commitment to a language. His intent is on a pledge of another kind, and right now, I’m mindless to think of one reason to deny him.
“We can talk about this later.” I force my attention back to Lorenzo. “Is it my turn to learn more about you? Matthew told me you’re his mentor.”
“He did, did he?”
“You know it’s true,” Matthew mutters. “Stop fishing for compliments, old man.”
Lorenzo laughs, carefree and bold. “Okay, okay. I know it’s true. I taught Matthew everything I know about business.”
“And arrogance. You taught him that, too.” Bishop shoots me a glower, as if pissed I’m taking over the conversation.
“I assume you were there for that lesson, too.” I quirk a brow at him.
Matthew snickers. “Without a doubt.”
“So you’re in the club business?” I ask Lorenzo.
There’s an awkward pause as the fatherly figure holds his smile, his focus moving to Matthew. Nobody speaks. Or acknowledges the question as the two stare at each other.
I’ve said something wrong.
Bishop shifts in his seat, placing his arm against the hedge to watch the bike riders as they pass.
My question has made things awkward. And with the necessity for guards and a private seating area, I should’ve been less forthright in asking for information.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to be—”
“Don’t apologize.” Lorenzo returns his gaze to mine. “Yes, bella, I own clubs. Many clubs. I only hesitate to discuss the topic because it’s become somewhat of a point of contention lately. Especially with Matthew.”
The awkwardness continues, prickling my skin.
Bishop glowers at the passing bike riders while the gorgeous man beside me turns impassive, his expression not giving a hint of emotion.
Footsteps approach behind me as the quiet stretches, the chatter from pedestrians filling the awkward void.
“Who ordered the latte?” The waitress stops beside our table with a tray filled with food and drinks, her smile beaming into the discomfort.
“That would be me.” I focus on the cream tablecloth, wishing I hadn’t siphoned the enthusiasm from our heartwarming arrival.
“Don’t worry.” Matthew leans into me, whispering in my hair. “We’ve been destined to have this unwanted conversation for a while.” He inches away to refocus on Lorenzo. “I guess it’s time we discussed your retirement.”
“It’s been time for months.” Lorenzo juts his chin. “Have either of you considered my offer?”
Matthew doesn’t move. Not even a flinch.
Bishop continues to stare at the bike track, or maybe even farther to the street traffic.
“Your offer is something that should be reserved for your sons. Your real sons.” Matthew reaches for his piccolo, calm and controlled as he takes a sip.
“You already know they’ve received the same offer. You’re also well aware that hard work never suited them.”
“It’s not the hard work they’re opposed to,” Bishop mutters. “They’re already successful in their own right, and so are we.”
“Il tuo successo non è niente in confronto alle profondità dell'impero familiare.” An edge creeps into Lorenzo’s tone. “Saresti uno sciocco a rifiutare l'offerta.”
“Then call me a fool.” Bishop returns his attention to the conversation. “As tempting as the offer is, I have no plans to return here.”
“Questo è un insulto alla famiglia.” Lorenzo glares. “You both know this.”
“It’s not meant as an insult.” Matthew sighs. “Don’t take your frustration out on us. It’s your sons you should be speaking to.”
“Fanculo i miei figli.” Lorenzo slaps a hand down on the table, startling me. “They don’t deserve to be part of this.”
“Calmati,” Matthew says, a warning in his tone. “If I’d known you were going to push the issue, I wouldn’t have brought Layla here to sit awkwardly through the exchange.”
I press my lips tight at his protection. Appreciating it. Loving it.
I’ve always hated when my brother did the same.
Lorenzo’s shoulders loosen, his face losing the harsh lines of irritation. “My apologies.” He drags in a long breath, regaining composure. “Forgive me, bella. As you can see I’ve grown frustrated at my children for turning their back on the family business. I didn’t raise them to be ungrateful.”