I want to laugh. At him, grumbling as he adjusts the towel. At myself, for going from zero to jealous rage in two seconds flat.
Pull it together, Sierra. This isn’t you.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t know who I am anymore. Not with Matteo. Not in this situation that started fake and is starting to feel terrifyingly real.
I climb out of the pool, suddenly grateful for my one-piece. Meeting my future mother-in-law for the first time is awkward enough without adding a skimpy bikini to the mix.
Matteo opens the gate, and a tiny woman breezes into the backyard. She’s almost comically small compared to him, barely reaching his shoulder, with short dark hair and a smile that transforms her whole face when she sees me.
“You must be Sierra!” She’s already halfway across the patio, arms open wide. “I’m Matteo’s mom, but you call me Ma. You’re going to be part of the family, after all.”
She hugs me before I can respond. Her arms wrap around my wet torso without hesitation, not caring that I’m dripping pool water all over her.
“I didn’t know you were coming.” Matteo’s voice is gruff, and I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing. He’s positioned himself behind a lounge chair, towel still firmly in place, looking for all the world like a teenager caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“Well, I had to.” Ma pulls back but keeps her hands on my arms, studying my face with sparkling blue eyes. “You tell me you’re getting married and nothing else? What choice did I have?”
Her tone is pure maternal guilt trip, and watching Matteo duck his head under the weight of it is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. This massive, dangerous man, reduced to a chastened boy by his tiny mother.
“Go get the groceries from the car,” she tells him. “I’m making you two an authentic Italian dinner.”
He goes without a word of protest, and honestly? It’s adorable. This massive, dangerous man, doing exactly what his mama tells him.
I think I might love her already.
Once he’s out of earshot, Ma turns back to me. Her expression softens, and she cups my cheek with one hand.
“Don’t worry, dear. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
My stomach drops. “I’m sorry?”
“Matteo told me the truth about the marriage.” She says it gently, without judgment. “But that doesn’t matter to me. I can tell by the way he talks that he likes you. And I’ve always wanted a daughter.”
I don’t know what to say. I expected disapproval. Disappointment, at least. Not this open acceptance.
“I thought you’d be upset,” I admit. “That your son is marrying someone for... business reasons.”
“My son has his reasons for everything he does.” Her eyes hold shadows I recognize. The same shadows that lurk in Matteo’s. “And those reasons are usually about protecting people he cares about. If he’s marrying you, fake or not, it’s because you matter to him.”
I want that to be true. I want it so badly it scares me.
But wanting things has gotten me hurt before.
We change into dry clothes, and then the three of us crowd into Matteo’s kitchen. Ma takes command immediately, directing us like a tiny general marshaling her troops. Matteo chopsvegetables with surprising precision while I stir sauce and taste everything she hands me.
“More garlic,” she says, watching me sample the marinara. “Always more garlic. Never less.”
She chatters while we cook. Stories about Matteo as a child. The neighbors who drive her crazy and the ones she adores. She mentions Matteo’s father once, briefly, a man who died when Matteo was young. But she doesn’t say anything about her second husband, and I don’t ask.
Over dinner, Ma and I do most of the talking. Matteo listens, offering the occasional grunt or one-word response, but he seems content to watch us bond. His eyes follow my movements. Track my expressions. Every time I look up, he’s already looking at me.
Ma asks about my job, my family, my dreams. When I mention the flower shop I want to open someday, her whole face lights up.
“That sounds lovely, dear.”
“Thanks.” I twist my napkin in my lap. “It’s something I’ve wanted for years. Small, nothing fancy. Just a little shop where people can buy arrangements for birthdays and anniversaries and I don’t know, maybe just because they want something beautiful.”
“That’s lovely.” She reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “You have good dreams, Sierra.”
