“Okay, we’re done,” Andrew said. “You want to read it through before I send it?” He’d drafted a response to Goode’s job offer.
“It needs to be in my voice,” I said. “Or Goode won’t believe it.”
He grinned up at me. “So you keep saying. You’re more invested in this working than I expected.”
“That’s because it’s important to you.” I landed a kiss on his lips. “And you’re important to me.” I scanned the reply to Goode’s email. Andrew was so smart and he’d crafted my voice so perfectly; his focus got me so hot I mentally calculated if we had time to—no, we absolutely did not. My mom would kill me.
He grabbed my hips and pulled me onto his lap. “You’re important to me too.”
I pressed send on the email. “You think he’ll go for it?”
“You were clear and firm in your refusal of any kind of job working with him. But it was polite and you had good reasons—you want to build a business of your own. I don’t think he’ll try to convince you otherwise. All that remains to be seen is whether Verity is up for sale. Let’s see if he still wants the Monday meeting.”
I turned to him and stroked my finger along his jaw. “How can you be so calm?”
“What’s the alternative?”
“You want to come meet my mom?” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think through what I was saying.
Andrew shrugged. “Sure. Will there be cannoli on the menu?”
“You’re a dufus. But you’re adorable.”
“We can fuck in the car on the way over.”
I pushed off his lap and went to grab my coat. “Your invitation is revoked. There’s no way we’re going together.” Even if Andrew could keep his hands off of me, and there was no guarantee of that, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him.
“Sorry, you can’t revoke an invitation once it’s given. Your mother wouldn’t approve.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“I’m meeting Tristan for drinks at the hotel bar at nine thirty, so as long as your mom won’t be offended if I head off early, I’d love to come and meet her.”
What was I thinking?
As the car pulled out from outside the hotel and headed toward 145th street, Andrew pulled my hand onto his lap and threaded his fingers through mine. We sat in comfortable silence.
“Does your mum know you’re talking to your dad?” he asked out of nowhere.
I shook my head. “Please don’t mention it to her. It would break her. She wouldn’t understand what I’m trying to do. And if she found out, it would all be ruined.” There was no way my mother would take money from Des. Not at this point. I was going to have to pretend I’d managed to save fifty grand while working in London. If I made sure all the bills came directly to me, I might get away with it.
“I won’t say anything.”
“Oh and for the record, you’re paying me a lot of money and there’s a great big bonus at the end of the year if I stay until December.”
“There is? How much?”
“I don’t think she’ll ask. I just . . . If it comes up, just play along. Okay?”
Silence filled the car, but it wasn’t the comfortable silence from before. This one was full of unasked and unanswered questions. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.
“I’m trying to get some money from my father. That’s why I came to London. To meet him, convince him to give me what he owes me. My mom needs a knee replacement and her shitty insurance won’t cover it. For all the years he didn’t pay child support, it’s time my father paid up.”
“Right,” Andrew said quietly.
“If that’s judgement in your voice, I don’t want to hear it. My father walked out before I was born and my mother worked three jobs to put food on the table. He owes me. And I don’t want the money for cannoli. It’s so my mom can continue to work two jobs to keep a roof over her head.”
“I’m not judging you,” he replied.
“Good,” I snapped, pulling my hand from his. “I don’t deserve it.”
“Sounds like you might be judging yourself a little bit.”
“I’m Catholic. It’s what we do.” Maybe confession would help. Not with the money, but with the guilt for trying to establish a relationship with my father just so he’d give me what I wanted. The more I’d gotten to know him, the stronger the guilt became. “I wish I didn’t have to do it. I wish the insurer would just pay up. And then I would never have met him and his wife and his perfect family. I wouldn’t have listened to his perfectly reasonable explanation for his behavior.”
“Is there a perfectly reasonable explanation for his behavior? It sounds like his family had more than enough money to help you and your mother.”
“He was young. Everyone makes mistakes when they’re young.”
“Agreed. But at this point he should do everything in his power to put it right.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m going to ask him for the money. I’m not going to steal it from him. I’m just going to say I’ve fallen behind with my student loan payments. Even if he loans it to me and I have to pay him back eventually, that would be enough. I just want my mom to walk without pain.”
“Tell him that. Give him a chance to do the right thing. If you say he’s got an entirely reasonable explanation for doing what he did, he’ll want to help.”
I knew Andrew was sharp and clever, but he seemed hopelessly naïve in this instance. “And what happens if he says no?”
Without missing a beat, he said, “Then I’ll pay.”
I didn’t have a chance to respond before we pulled up in front of my mom’s building.
She buzzed us up and met us by the front door, fiddling with her bun as she always did. “Sofia, stella mia.” She held out her hands and pulled me close. It had only been a few weeks, but I felt as if I’d been away for years.
“How is your knee, Mamma?”
She released me from the hug and patted me close. “I’m fine. No fussing please. You must be Andrew.” Mom shifted me into the apartment as she held out her hand to shake. “I’m glad you came. If I’d had to take the call from Isabella just now without knowing who this man was that you were going about the city with, we’d have had to have a conversation about family, tesoro.”
“Smells delicious, Mamma,” I said, ignoring her and sending up a little thank-you to God for inspiring the wisdom to invite Andrew along this evening.
“So you work with Sofia?” she asked, taking Andrew’s coat and hanging it on the coat rack. Before we’d gotten into the kitchen, the buzzer rang.
“Delivery for Andrew Blake,” a voice from the intercom sang. Mom glanced at Andrew but buzzed the delivery up.
“Sorry about this,” Andrew said, pointedly ignoring my stare. What was he doing? Had he had some documents couriered over or something? He hadn’t said anything about work on the ride over. Andrew opened the door just as the delivery guy arrived.
“Apologies that this has had to come direct,” Andrew said, handing my mom a huge bouquet of lilies and roses. “And a selection of wine,” he said, lifting the box in his arms slightly. “Italian, of course.”