Granting them some privacy, I lift the shopping bag to her mother, who appears conflicted, and slide past her on my way to their kitchen, calling over my shoulder, “We’re making blueberry soufflé, Mrs. Lockhart.”
Tessa’s grandma mentioned that there was a soufflé mishap the day of the engagement brunch, and I back-pocketed that tidbit for later—or now.
My future mother-in-law leers at me while I unpack the ingredients and the ramekins, slip an apron over my head, and help myself to her pots, pans, and mixing tools.
“My mom grew up on a blueberry farm. My grandmother had mastered every imaginable recipe with blueberries, and she taught my siblings and me. Soufflé is temperamental, but once you get the hang of it, there’s nothing to it.”
She clears her throat, her lips twitching with emotion. “I knew your mom.”
I’m not sure why that takes my breath away, but it does. “You did?”
“Kind of.” She hedges, wringing her hands. “She used to come to the farmers market out here. By herself mostly. Sometimes with a few of you, the little two, especially.”
“Jax and Rena,” I confirm.
“Yes.” She gestures for me to get my ass in gear and start making the damn soufflé, so I preheat the oven and grease the ramekins while she gifts me a surprise piece of my mother. “It was a break for her, from that life. She still had guards with her, but she … We used to talk. She was lovely. She didn’t come out and say it, but she was …”
“Sad?” I ask, dropping the butter into a saucepan on the stove.
“Scared,” she returns.
My gut knots, the agony of my mother never answering my call rushing back to me. The fury Tessa’s mother greeted me withat the engagement brunch makes more sense. Maybe I should have considered it before. NOLA has a small-town atmosphere, wrapped in a big-city package.
I catch a glimpse of my girl and her father peeking in. So much is written on Tessa’s doll-like face. Heartbreak and understanding. She raises an eyebrow, quietly checking to see that I’m okay. I nod my assurance, wondering how this got twisted since we’re here to mend things for her. Maybe it’s the same path.
“That’s probably accurate. My father wasn’t a good man.” I keep to my task of adding flour, salt, and milk while saying my piece. “I might not be either, but I love your daughter more than anything in this world. I’ll devote every day to becoming the man she needs, and I’ll never let her be scared or sad or alone. I would give my life to protect her without hesitation.”
Mrs. Lockhart preps for the next step. “Frankly, I won’t weigh in on what kind of man you are, and I don’t want to know anything about your business, nor do I want Tessa to have any part of it.” She cracks the first egg, separating the yolk from the white. “But I’m going to set that all aside. I believe you love my daughter. I appreciate you calling my husband this morning and bringing her here. It’s clear some of your mother’s fine manners stuck.”
“That’s a start, but …” I let that hang while I blend the sauce mixture and the egg yolks. “You need to fix things with her so your family isn’t something I’m protecting her from.”
“I thought I was protecting her,” she admits in a barely audible voice. “I didn’t want her to experience what …” She dabs at a tear. “I’ve been terrified since she started working there, but I didn’t mean to hurt her like I did.”
“Tell her that,” I order. “But it can’t only be about my mother. That’s a valid reason for some concerns, but not an excusefor everything.” I move on to the soufflé process, ensuring she grasps how much to beat the egg whites.
It’s clear by her body language that she doesn’t love me demanding that she do anything, but she gets lost in the recipe, and when Tessa and her father join us, the conversation flows. Tessa doesn’t shy away from sharing about herself. She talks about Mercy, the Underground, tattooing, and her art. Maybe each admission is a dare to see if they’ll chastise her, but they don’t. They don’t bring up her sisters either, other than to mention how sorry they are.
The soufflé comes out beautifully, which has her mother elated. Gradually, the air grows more breathable. It’s not perfect, but it’s a step to acceptance on both sides. And a joyful encounter that my girl desperately craved.
After a few hours, we head out with a goodbye that migrates from the kitchen to the foyer to the front porch—a sign that everyone is eager to hold on to something.
“Do you need anything for tomorrow?” her father finally asks, doing his damnedest to stay upbeat and conceal his heartbreak at not being there for Tessa’s big day.
“Something blue?” her mother tacks on.
“You,” Tessa replies.
She didn’t mention that as an option, even though she’d casually dropped that our nuptials would be tomorrow. I think she was waiting to see if her parents were truly trying.
“Is it, uh … a fancy—”
“No,” Tessa cuts her mother’s rambling off. “It’s going to be at ho—in the penthouse. On the roof. Dinner. Music. Swimming. Dancing.” She peers at me with those wide turquoise beauties. “Just family.”
Her mother’s green eyes are glossy, her query emerging with a shaky timbre. “What made you decide to have it there?”
“We do these mandatory family meals. Axel makes us all gather around his table three times a week. And”—Tessa hitches a shoulder, tentative but resolved to own her happiness—“those are so special. Plus, Maddox and I spent our first real date up on that roof … talking. The rest of the resort is amazing but belongs to everyone. There, it’s only family. I can’t think of a better place for us to start our life together.”
“Family,” her father parrots.
