She cupped my face with her soft hands. “You are well?”
I smiled for her. “I’m good, Mother.”
“And your Salvador?”
“Working.”
Cynthia nodded as if she understood what that one word conveyed. Considering who she was married to, she should. Lancaster Harris II was a workaholic. He had amassed millions of dollars, but the cost had been precious time spent with his family.
I would have preferred being poor and having a full-time father.
“He’s putting a little overtime so he can be here the night of the art show.”
“Oh?” Cynthia’s perfectly manicured eyebrow rose. “Salvador is coming to the art show?”
“Of course.”
I tried not to take offense, but my parents had never been fully in support of me being with Sal. They liked him well enough, but my father felt he wasn’t rich enough and my mother felt Sal wasn’t gentle enough.
If they only knew.
With the exception of the penthouse apartment we lived in—which had been a present from my grandparents—we lived on our salaries alone, and Sal made more than I did. Arguing money with my father wasn’t worth the breath. Arguing about Sal’s gentleness could get me up in arms every time.
“I didn’t realize art exhibits were his type of scene.”
“Mother.”
“Now, Junior, I’m not trying to start anything.” She knew this was an issue for me. “I was just stating a fact.”
“No, you were stating your opinion.” My jaw jutted out. “And if you ever took the time to actually talk to Sal, you’d know that an art exhibit is not his thing. He’s doing it for me. Besides, I thought you liked Sal.”
“I do, darling. I just worry that you won’t get to experience everything you should living with a policeman.”
“I’d rather be happy than experience everything you think I should.”
My mother sighed. “My apologies, Junior. I know Sal loves you and that should be all that concerns me.”
“You’re my mother.” I smiled, because I really did understand where she was coming from. I just didn’t agree with it. “You’re supposed to be concerned about me.”
An art show wasn’t really my thing either, but a promise was a promise, and I would never break a promise to a friend. Eddie needed help. I wasn’t about to let the man down.
“Did you get the caterers?”
I knew the answer already, because my mother had never let me down, but I wanted to get her mind off of my husband. It was the one bone of contention between us.
“Of course, darling.”
She held out her hand, and a tablet was immediately placed in it. I glanced past my mother to her assistant—her new assistant. Cynthia Harris had very exacting standards. Because of that, she went through assistants like other people went through microwave popcorn.
“The caterers will be here at around three the afternoon of the show to start setting up. I went with hors d’oeuvre that people could nibble while walking around and looking at the paintings. Waiters will be serving champagne, and, of course, there will be an open bar in the back.”
I blinked at my mother. “Are you sure all that alcohol is a good idea?”
Cynthia smirked. “Helps loosen those tightwad pocketbooks.”
I chuckled.
My mother could be a real hoot when she wanted to be.
