Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)(39)

There’s a small pinch in my chest. “I’m sure that was a nice change for once.”

She laughs to herself. “Actually, I’ve come to enjoy my espagueti verde that way.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing. “I can only hope Lorenzo will pretend to feel the same way when he tries it next week.”

She makes a face, and I instantly know I made the wrong assumption.

My amusement dies. “What?”

Her eyes fall to her plastic chancletas. “I don’t know if him coming is a good idea yet.”

Whatever hope I had earlier withers away. “Oh…I see.”

She holds up her hands, panic written clear across her face. “I want to meet him—officially, that is—as your…as your…” She stumbles to finish her thought.

I help her out by saying, “Boyfriend.”

She wrings her hands in front of her robe. “Right. But I think we should do so in a smaller setting. Maybe us three first, if that’s okay with you?”

I’m kicking myself for not thinking about that idea first. When she said she didn’t want Lorenzo to come to next week’s lunch, I assumed the worst, not taking into account my mom’s anxiety.

Julian made her believe he’s some kind of mafioso, I reprimand myself. Of course she’s anxious about you dating him.

“You want to get to know him?”

“You’ve never insisted on bringing a…boyfriend to Sunday lunch before, so yes, I’d like to get to know him in a more casual setting.”

“I thought…” My voice wavers.

With Dahlia still not talking to me and the Kids’ Table group chat going radio silent, I believed my mom harbored the same negative feelings toward Lorenzo and me, but I should’ve known hers were caused by anxiety rather than anger.

“You thought what?” she asks with that soft voice that always got me to admit to everything when I was younger.

“That you were mad at me.”

She shakes her head. “I am. It’s hard not to be after you kept this secret from me. Between that and the shop, I feel like I’m failing you if you can’t trust me with something so important.”

My vision is obscured from unshed tears.

You’re doing this to help her. My mom protected me for twenty-eight years of my life, so the least I can do is save her shop and one of the last living memories we have of my father.

She walks over and pulls me into a hug. “I’m still angry with you, but I’m less so now.”

“What changed?”

“I went to go visit your father at the cemetery.”

You will not cry, I chant repeatedly, but my eyes won’t cooperate.

“Spending time with him always calms me down.”

I sniffle. My mom might be anxious, but at least she’s brave enough to stop by his grave, unlike me, who hasn’t since his wake.

She continues, “If he were still here, he’d tell me to give Lorenzo a chance. He’d say that your happiness is more important than my anxiety about you dating someone like him.”

My mouth falls open, but words never make it out. Guilt threatens to consume me whole, and I’m hit with the strongest urge to confess my sin.

She cups my cheek. “I want you to be happy, and if Lorenzo is the man who makes you feel that way, then it’s my job as your mother to support you.”

“But—”

She pats my face. “No buts.”

You’re going to hell, my guilty conscience speaks out.

At least Lorenzo will keep you company.




After the conversation I had with my mom, I decide that I’d rather get awkward introductions done between her and Lorenzo sooner rather than later. That way I can ease some of her worries and assuage some of my guilt.

I’ve had boyfriends in the past who I’ve introduced to my mom, but I’m still nervous as we drive over to our favorite farm located on the outskirts of town. I don’t even like picking berries, but Lorenzo was the one who suggested the activity. He thought it would buy him some points with my mom since she planned on coming out here anyway after she volunteered to make strawberry-flavored agua fresca for next week’s Strawberry Festival.

A lot of people are at the farm today, picking berries for their own festival dishes and desserts, so we’ll be seen by plenty of possible voters over the next couple of hours.

Lorenzo is already parked when we arrive, so he walks over and opens my mom’s door first before helping me out of the car. He pulls me into a short but intimate hug, and I’m hit with the scent of his cologne. It isn’t overpowering but rather nearly undetectable unless I press my nose right up to his skin.

I have enough self-control to resist doing so, but barely.

When he lets go of me, I see a group of people standing in the parking lot, looking over at us like we’re their favorite couple on a dating show.

“?Estás listo para recoger fresas?”I Lorenzo ignores them and turns to my mom.

Her lips curl. “Lo que Dahlia dijo es verdad. Tú hablas espa?ol.”II

“Sí. Aprendí eso y el italiano cuando era peque?o.”III

My mom gives him a confirmatory nod, and I throw him a thumbs-up behind her back that earns me an eye roll.

My mom, Lorenzo, and I head toward the wooden stand, where we are each given a basket. At first, she is quiet and will only speak when directly spoken to. Lorenzo takes her shyness in stride, actively making bids for her attention.