“Shit. What time is it?”
“A few minutes after seven. Why?”
I let go of Maya’s hand and drop the car into gear. “She said seven sharp. She meant seven sharp.”
Maya chuckles. “It’s good to see someone has you under their thumb. Most guys worry about what shoes to wear to impress their dates, not if they’re late to meet their mother.”
“Most guys aren’t me,” I say lightly as I pull up to the front of my parent’s house.
Just as I get out of the car, I hear her murmur, “I’m already realizing that.”
The front door is flung open by my mother, who shouts, “You’re seven minutes late!”
I open the door for Maya as I call back, “Sue me!”
Maya calls out a welcome to my mother. When we approach, the two women greet each other like long-lost friends. As they do, I can’t help but think that Maya settles something in me I didn’t realize was restless.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe thinking long-term is too soon. But for the first time, it feels like a possibility that’s never existed before. Then, I decide to embrace the night and call out a hello. It’s entirely possible, knowing my father, that once he emerges I’ll be leaving Maya to defend herself against my mother without protection because once Cian Walsh has a captive audience to discuss his vacation exploits, he will not free them.
We might make it to the table for dinner.
Therefore, I’m astounded when he emerges from his study, gives me a hard hug before declaring, “I want to meet your Maya. She’s all your mother’s talked about.”
My Maya. The words sound perfect to my heart, but then fear strikes through me as I realize if my mother’s talking to my father about Maya, then, “This is bad. Tonight may be more dangerous for Maya than I thought.”
“Son? Dangerous how?”
I groan, “I left her all alone. With Mom. I thought she’d be fine.”
My father winces. “Bad play, Troy. Your mother’s been waiting for you to bring someone home for years.”
The two of us rush down the hallway only to be met with gales of laughter emerging from the kitchen. When we ease our heads in, Maya is sipping a glass of water while my mother stirsa pot. Her eyes meet mine before she asks, “You were telling me about Troy and his first homecoming date?”
My mother snaps, “Thatcivetta. No sense of decorum.”
Hearing my mother call a fourteen-year-old a hussy, I’m about to step in when Maya asks what the word means. Then, to my mother’s delight, she wonders, “Do you mean Troy or his date?”
There’s absolute silence. Even my father hasn’t twitched. Just as I fear for Maya’s safety, my mother tosses her head back in delight. She leans over, kisses both of Maya’s cheeks. Grinning, she declares, “Benvenuta nella famiglia,Maya.”
Hearing her accept Maya so easily, my father and I feel like it’s safe to enter the kitchen. For the rest of the night, all the stories told are ones my mother must have stockpiled for a night such as this.
I’m just grateful it’s Maya she’s sharing them with.
After we make it back to the villa, Maya remarks, “I’m not surprised you’re the man you are with parents like that.”
Her words leave me feeling both proud of who I am and hopeful because I don’t just want this to be a vacation romance.
I want more.
31
THIRD-AND-LONG: THIRD DOWN WITH MANY YARDS TO GAIN.
Being in Italy has been incredible. At first, it was just to find the space between my personal life and professional.
I found so much more.
I’m fierce. Strong. Desirable.
