Cynthia tapped a few things out on her tablet before handing it back to her assistant. She looped her arm through mine. “Now, show me these paintings of Edward’s.”
I escorted my mother around the gallery, pointing out which paintings belong to Eddie and which ones had been painted by his friends at the art academy.
I was in no way surprised when my mother found a painting she wanted. I also wasn’t surprised when Eddie insisted she take it to thank her for everything she was doing to help with the art show.
And people wondered why I wanted Eddie as a friend. He was just like my mother, and I adored my mother.
“Did you remember to have your tux sent to the dry cleaners, Junior?”
I groaned.
“I take that as a no?”
“I wasn’t going to wear a tux.”
“Nonsense.” My mother fiddled with the collar of my white dress shirt, pressing the edges down. “There will be reporters and critics from all over the city. It’s expected for Edward to wear whatever he wants because he’s a brooding artist. You are a Harris and you need to dress like one.”
“I’m a Delvecchio.”
Oops.
Mother’s eyes narrowed.
“Why does that surprise you?” I had to know. “You took father’s name when you married him. Is there some reason I shouldn’t take Sal’s name?”
I didn’t want to howl with victory when my mother’s stance deflated, because that would just be mean. But I still wanted to make a point.
“I married Sal. I love Sal. I live with Sal. Hopefully, at some point, I will raise kids with Sal.” I took my mother’s slender hands in mine. “I was proud being a Harris, but I am also proud to be a Delvecchio.”
“His parents, Junior—”
“Have nothing to do with Sal.”
I knew where my mother’s fear came from. Sal’s father had tried to kill Sal’s baby brother and had hired a hit man to kill me and Sal. The man was a monster, and I would be forever grateful he was behind bars.
Sal’s mother was no better. She might not have been involved with the heinous things Paolo Delvecchio had tried to do, but she had known about them. We couldn’t prosecute her, and she had fled to Belize, which didn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States.
“Remember, Sal hadn’t seen his family in nearly twenty years. He was kicked out when he was seventeen and had to make his own way in the world, and I think he did pretty damn good.”
Cynthia sighed. “You’re right, of course. I just…I worry, Junior.”
“Don’t. Sal takes very good care of me. Did I tell you that he hired me a driver?”
Cynthia’s expression brightened, and a slow smile moved over her rouged lips. “A driver? Salvador hired you a driver?”
I knew that would make her happy.
I nodded. “He refuses to let me drive and he worries too much about me taking cabs and getting into cars with strangers, so he had our friend Supervisory Special AgentBurke find someone who could act as a driver and bodyguard for me. Father said he’d pay for it.”
We certainly couldn’t afford it on our salaries.
“And where is this person?”
“His name is Marcus. He starts next week.”
I wasn’t thrilled I had been assigned a bodyguard, and that was what Marcus was. The driving me places was just so people wouldn’t know Marcus was my bodyguard. Everyone knew I didn’t drive.
Sal had gotten my agreement while I was in a post-coital bliss.
