There was a knock at the door. I put down my dust rag and opened the door to find my mother standing there.
She had on a pair of huge dark sunglasses that practically swallowed her face. Her thick brown hair was pulled up and piled on top of her head with strands falling all around her face and her neck. Her petite figure was on display in the short, cheetah-print dress she was wearing. I grimaced at the outfit that made her look wealthy and like she was the wife of an oil tycoon or king of some small country.
“Mom,” I greeted.
She pushed past me and walked inside my apartment. “You haven’t returned my calls,” she said, sitting on my couch and pushing up her sunglasses.
I felt a twinge of guilt. Just a little pinch. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy, working a lot of hours.” I wasn’t technically lying, but we both knew I could have taken five minutes to call her.
“So busy you couldn’t spare a single minute for your mother?” she asked through pursed lips.
“Sorry,” I said, hoping to ease the sting of my ignoring her. “Really, this is my first day off in a couple weeks. I’m catching up on my laundry and other duties that have been neglected.”
“Well, I wanted to talk with you. I need you.”
“Why?” I asked, already having a good idea why she needed me. It was the only time she ever needed me or remembered I was alive.
“He left me,” she said in a haughty tone.
“Who left you?”
“Andres!” she exclaimed. “The man I’ve been seeing for the past month. He jumped on his little yacht and sailed away, leaving me behind.”
I tried to act concerned, but I wasn’t. My mother and Lola both had similar track records when it came to men. The age of the men they pursued didn’t matter. It was the size of their wallet they were both interested in.
However, I felt Lola had the ability to eventually love a man someday. My mother didn’t. She only loved herself. She wanted to be spoiled and taken care of without a lot of effort on her part. She kept herself in good shape, dressed like she was wealthy, acted like she had a spot in high society, but in reality, she was broke and jobless and bouncing from one man to the other for support. It had been that way for most of my life.
“Sorry to hear that,” I said.
“He was a good man, but oh, he was arrogant! It was always all about him. He wanted me to rub his feet and take care of him as if he was a child. It was so selfish. I know I can do better.”
“Yes, you can,” I lied. Andres sounded exactly like her. They could have been two peas in a pod, but then, who would spoil the both of them?
“Let’s go to lunch. We need to catch up.” She waved a bejeweled hand at me. Her obvious despair over her breakup vanished. She was back in fighting form, ready to snare the next victim.
“I’m busy, Mom,” I said, earning a scowl.
“You said you were off today.”
I nodded. “I am, but I have things to do. I need to do my shopping for the week and… and…” I had nothing else. I wasn’t a great liar and could think of nothing so pressing that had to be done right that minute.
Dammit.
“Get dressed, and put on some makeup. You always look so plain. A woman must accentuate her beauty. And when’s the last time you plucked your brows?” She had a disgusted look on her face. “They’re very unkempt.”
I looked at her perfectly plucked brows that were arched high, giving her the appearance of being younger than her forty-five years. “My brows are fine, Mom.”
“Just a little sculpting could shave years off your face,” she said, studying my appearance.
“I don’t want to look like a teenager,” I retorted, getting to my feet.
I walked into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. Despite telling myself I didn’t care, I looked in the damn mirror anyway. I studied my eyebrows, turning left, then right. Were they really that bad?
They were natural. It wasn’t like I had a wooly caterpillar resting above my eyes. I stared at my reflection, my light green eyes staring back at me. My face was plain. I didn’t think I was ugly, but I wasn’t going to be a supermodel anytime in the near future.
I supposed a little eye makeup would be okay. I didn’t want her to think I was doing it for her. I opted for some minimal liner and mascara, using the tip of my finger to brush over my brows.
I was a Greek woman. I had thick dark hair, which meant I had dark brows. It was just the way it was, and I wasn’t going to pluck them and turn around and pencil them back in. That sounded like torture to me.
“All right, I’m ready,” I said, walking back into the living room.
My mother was sitting on the couch, her hand out as she used a small file on her perfectly manicured nails. I looked down at my own short nails with no polish and was reminded she and I were nothing alike. I had no interest in the makeup and hair and all the beautifying she put herself through. If a man wanted me, he wanted me, not a painted version of me.
We walked to a small café, both ordered espresso and salads, and watched the passing people outside. I never felt truly comfortable with my mother. She never made me feel especially wanted or loved. Her visits and phone calls only happened when she was between men.
“He was really a terrible man,” she said. “I don’t know why I wasted my time on him.”
“Who?”
“Andres,” she said with exasperation.
“Mom, you seem to keep finding the worst men on the planet. I thought you said you were going to take a break from the dating world.”
She gave me a look. “Unfortunately, I’m not getting any younger. My best years were spent changing your dirty diapers.”
It was something she often reminded me of. “You still have plenty of years left.”
She gave a dramatic pout. “All the men want pretty young women with no children. They see me, and they know I’ve had a child. I don’t look like I’ve had a child, do I?”
“No, Mom,” I said, playing my part in the same little skit we had been having for years. Whenever she got dumped, she blamed it on the fact she’d had a child. Always. I was always the root cause of her single status.
“I’m not doing it anymore,” she said. “I’m done with shallow men who treat me badly. I’m going to take myself off the market for some time and work on me.” It sounded like she was repeating a line from some article she’d probably read while sunbathing on her last lover’s yacht.
“Sounds like a good plan. I think that’s for the best. You need to—” I stopped myself. I almost said, get your shit together. That would only piss her off and make her cry.
Our salads were delivered. She carried on about the ex, outlining his many faults. It was the same story every time. I nodded my head, made sounds of sympathy, and ate my salad, all while thinking of what I needed to get done for the day.
“I should probably get going,” she said, checking her phone. “I have an appointment with my psychic.”
“Your psychic?” I asked skeptically.
“I need some outside intervention,” she said. “I need to know if I will ever be happy.”
I nodded. “I see.”
“Eliana, I hate to ask,” she started, and I knew exactly what was coming. It was a miracle it had taken over an hour to get to the real reason for her surprise visit.
“What is it?” I asked with defeat.
“Do you have some money I can borrow? Just until I get back on my feet.”
I couldn’t say no. “Fine,” I grumbled, reaching for my purse.
“You’re a sweetheart.”
I handed her the money, knowing I would never see any of it back. “Sure.”
She got up, which meant she was leaving, and I was paying the bill. Again, not a surprise. I got to my feet and snatched the ticket from the table.
She pulled me into her arms, giving me a weak hug. “I will call you soon. We’ll get lunch and talk all about my new outlook on life.”
“I can’t wai
t,” I said, wondering if it would disrupt my life too much if I changed my number and moved.
She walked out the door, sashaying her hips. Her sunglasses were on, and she was back to being the Helen I had been raised by. I paid the bill, already thinking about the money I had just lost and mentally omitting things from my shopping list until I got paid again.
I walked to the market, feeling a little bummed after my meeting with my mother. She had a way of doing that. She blew in and out of my life like the ocean breezes.
She wasn’t interested in me or my life. She never had been. I was an afterthought, an accessory at times when it suited her.
Watching her dysfunctional life was what helped shape my own life. I couldn’t count the number of times she’d come home crying because she’d been dumped by yet another man. When she wasn’t getting dumped, she was doing the dumping because she found something better and richer.
The revolving door of men through our lives had been normal for me as a kid. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized it wasn’t normal. It was unhealthy.
I had decided at some point during my formative years that I would never be like her. I would never cry over a man. I would never change who I was to suit a man’s desires. If I ever had a child, which would be pretty tough to do when I didn’t have sex, I would never, ever be the kind of mother she was.
My child would always come first. I wouldn’t leave the child alone in a small apartment for hours while I went out on dates. I wouldn’t ask the neighbors to keep an eye on my child while I disappeared with my flavor of the month for a few days. I would never be that woman.
I returned home, put away the meager groceries, and finished cleaning up. My mood had soured the moment I had seen her on my doorstep, just like it always did.
I envied healthy mother-daughter relationships. I couldn’t remember how many times I had prayed to God, all the gods, mythological or whatever, asking to have a new mommy sent. It never happened.
I grew to accept I would never have that kind of life and decided to make the best of what I did have.
Chapter 5
Cade
I wiped down the few tables that had been used while Kacia washed the glass protecting the gelato from sneezing and breathing customers. It was after the afternoon rush, when the locals needing a sugar fix came by for a sweet, cold treat.
Kacia had an easy routine and barely needed to say a word. We just knew what to do. I liked working with her. I had a few other employees that were okay, but none of them worked quite like Kacia. She was a young kid, looking to be independent. My shop wasn’t her only job. Last I heard, she had two other jobs. She was determined to be on her own.
“So, are you going to go?” Kacia asked.
I knew what she was talking about. It was what we’d been discussing during our downtime all week. “Yes, I don’t really have a choice.”
“Sure, you do,” she said, grinning. “The word is no. Sound it out with me.”
“You’ve not met my father,” I said in a serious tone. “It isn’t a word he likes to hear, and when it is used in his presence, it is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. It’s dangerous. When he says jump, the only thing you say is how high.”
“I thought Italian guys were supposed to be happy and family orientated. Lovable and sweet.”
I scoffed. “Have you not seen the Godfather or any other mobster movie? Italians are notoriously portrayed as bad guys. What are you basing your opinions on? Have you met a lot of Italians?”
She giggled. “Those are just movies. They aren’t real. I’ve met you. You’re lovable and sweet. You’re like a big teddy bear, although a little on the slimmer side.”
“You haven’t met my father, Don Lorenzo,” I said, using my best Marlon Brando imitation—which was pretty bad. “He is not a teddy bear. He’s a grizzly. He’ll rip you limb from limb if he gets it in his head he doesn’t like you.”
“You’re still alive, so he can’t be that bad,” she reasoned.
“He isn’t the kind to have your fingernails pulled out or your knees shot out,” I said. “He prefers a slow, lifelong torture. I’m alive because I’m too stubborn or too stupid to be afraid of him. I’ve developed some thick skin. He doesn’t bother me anymore.”
She cackled with laughter. “Bullshit. He terrifies you. That’s why you’re going.”
“No, it isn’t,” I retorted. “I’m going because no matter how much I dislike him, I do respect the family. I can’t shake the years of conditioning to respect my elders. He is my elder.”
She smiled. “You’re a good boy—man,” she quickly corrected.
“Thanks, that really means a lot, coming from you,” I said dryly.
“Hey, I have a good sense of these things,” she said. “I wouldn’t work for you if I didn’t think you were a good guy.”
“Thank you. Seriously, thank you.”
She was still smiling. “I think it’s cool that you get to go to some fancy gala. Regular people like us don’t get to rub elbows with the rich and really rich. I think you need to relax and just have some fun.”
“It’s a benefit,” I said. “Rich people drink champagne and talk about how rich they are and how much money they’ve given to charity. They gossip, make business deals, and all of them are angling to make more money by making new connections. I used to get dragged to these things when I was kid—when it suited the family. They are boring and stuffy, and I promise you, you are not missing out on anything. Fun is not a word I would ever use to describe something like this.”
“Why don’t you take a date?” she asked. “I’m sure you’d feel better if you had someone to talk to and act as a nice go-between with you and your dad. A buffer. You could make it fun. Have a few drinks, dance, and just have a little fun.”
I stopped wiping the table I was at and turned to face her. “No, I’m not taking you. Don’t even try to convince me that is a good idea. It isn’t. Trust me.”
She threw a towel at me. “I wouldn’t go with you anywhere, you big ass. I wasn’t talking about me!”
“Bullshit. You were too.”
“I wouldn’t go with you if you dragged me,” she retorted.
“If I dragged you, you would go,” I said, rolling my eyes. “My father would lose his shit if I showed up with a date.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t pick her,” I replied.
“Damn, you’re really painting this guy to be a villain.”
“He is,” I answered but didn’t say anything more. A customer had just walked through the door, and I greeted him. “Good afternoon.”
“I’m looking for a Cade Kouris,” he said, reading a tag on a box he was carrying.
I was almost afraid to admit my identity. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”
“Your father asked me to bring you this,” the man said, his tone completely monotone. “He requests you wear it tomorrow night for the benefit.”
I looked at the box, then him. “No thanks.”
“Sir, your father insists.”
“You said request. Now you say insist. Which is it?” I grinned, trying to get the guy to lighten up a bit.
He wasn’t amused. Clearly, the man was associated with my father. His funny bone had been removed, just like my dad’s. He thrust the box at me. “Insists,” he said, in a biting tone.
I nodded, taking the box before the man beat me over the head with it. “Got it. Thanks. Please tell my father I so appreciate this.”
Either my sarcasm game was off, or the guy had nerves of steel. He didn’t blink or show any emotion at all. “I’ll pass that along,” he said dryly.
He walked out of the shop. Both Kacia and I were quiet as we watched him leave. The box felt like a lead weight in my hands. I sighed, dropped it on one of the tables, and stared at it. Kacia came to stand beside me, and both of us looked at the box.
“Is it ticking?” she asked.
I leaned forward, putting my ear a
gainst the lid before standing and shaking my head. “Doesn’t sound like it. Why don’t I go take the trash out and you open it?”
She swatted my arm. “You’re such a jerk! You want me to blow up alone?”
“No point in both of us blowing up,” I said. “I’ll make sure to give you a nice eulogy.”
She stared at me. “I hate you. I don’t know why I work here.”
“Because you like it.”
“Open the stupid box,” she grumbled.
I took a deep breath and pulled off the cover. I heard Kacia’s sharp intake of breath. It matched my own. I was almost afraid to touch it.
“What the hell?” I asked.
“Is it real?”
“Of course, it’s fucking real! Do you think it’s an imaginary suit?”
She slapped my arm again. “Don’t yell at me. I didn’t send you the Joker’s backup suit!”
I nodded. “That’s exactly what it looks like.”
I pulled out the bright blue jacket and held it up, staring at it with utter disgust. It had to be the ugliest thing I had ever seen. The pants were the same color. It was paired with an aqua shirt and a hot-pink tie. There was no fucking way I could wear the suit and have any dignity left.
“It looks like something from the eighties or an exploded box of crayons,” Kacia commented.
“It’s awful.”
She picked up the tie. “Do guys still wear pink?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, they do. I don’t.”
She held the tie up to my chest and burst into laughter. “You look good in pink.”
“Shut up.”
I tossed the jacket back in the box. I knew the suit probably cost a great deal of money, but it was hideous.
“Is he trying to embarrass you?” she asked.
I put the lid back on the box. “I’m sure he is.”
“Are you going to wear it?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t know.”
“It’s not that bad,” she offered.
“Kacia, it’s awful.”
She grimaced. “It kind of is.”
Pretending to be Rich Page 3