Not My Romeo

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “Promises, promises,” I pant as he holds my hands above my head and thrusts inside me. We move like it’s a perfectly choreographed dance, his strokes soft and unhurried, his mouth on mine, kissing me slow, savoring me.

  “You’re all mine.”

  His thumb arrives and drives me insane, circling as he takes his time. I lose myself again in the feel of him, the way he looks at me, the emotion that carries me away when I come apart and call his name.

  He goes over with me, eyes honed in on mine, something . . . something there in the way he looks at me as we ride it out together.

  I close my eyes, holding him. Does he feel this too? How good we are?

  You’re mine, he said.

  But . . .

  For how long?

  Chapter 26

  ELENA

  I take down the last drape from the front windows in the dining room and fold them carefully. Velvet and a deep brown, they’ve been up for nearly twenty years, but they’re classic and hang beautifully—although they’re a bit dusty. After a good cleaning and pressing, they’ll be perfect for everyone by the time the engagement party arrives in a few weeks. We’ve picked a date after the play, and I am going to do it right. Lots of food, a bar for drinks, snapshots of Giselle and Preston around the house . . .

  “Elena! Your phone keeps beeping with texts, and now it’s ringing,” Giselle calls from the kitchen, where I left her earlier, polishing silver. “It’s Weatherman Wannabe? Is that the football player? Want me to bring it to you?”

  “Crap!” I stop folding and dash to the kitchen, skidding in my fuzzy cat socks. I need to put shoes on.

  “She’s practically falling down to talk to him,” Aunt Clara says slyly as I grab my phone and answer it, ignoring her grin as I clear my voice.

  “Hey.”

  “You left before I woke up.” His voice is low and husky, and I picture him still in that big bed when I left around five o’clock this morning. It’s nine now. Did he sleep this long?

  “I did,” I say, heading out to the screened-in back porch, mentally taking notes of the leaves I’ll need to clean up that have swept in from Romeo going in and out.

  “I had to get back before anyone noticed my car wasn’t home. Plus, I planned a cleanup day for Giselle and Preston’s party.”

  “You left your purple underwear.”

  “Lavender. And it’s a present. I know what a weirdo you are about panties.”

  “Just yours. They’re in my pocket now.”

  I guess he’s not in bed.

  Background noise of him rustling around hits my ears. “What are you doing?”

  “Just left the gym, where I ran. Getting in my car. Did you really think you were just going to run away?”

  “No, I mean, I didn’t know if you’d want to, you know . . .” I stop, biting my lip as anxiousness hits, part of me excited that he’s called, the other side of me disappointed that I really should get back to work.

  “Want to do a late lunch? You can come over, and we can call Milano’s?” he asks.

  Back to his penthouse.

  “We’re cleaning. It’s one of the only days I’ll have to get everything done. Between the play and work, I need to trim the shrubs, get the carpets cleaned, polish the hardwood, power wash the sidewalk. Everyone’s here now. Maybe Preston later. There’s a lot to do.”

  His car starts, and there’s a long pause. “This party . . . isn’t it going to bother you?”

  Giselle waltzes out to the porch and grabs one of the extra brooms. I glance down at her ring, waiting for the wince that usually comes when I see it, but it doesn’t hit my heart like it did in the library. She gives me a wave, and she mimics throwing a football and waggles her eyebrows. She arrived bright and early at eight o’clock, an unsure look on her face as she came in and took in the house. I can’t remember her actually being here since the Fourth of July, when she met Preston. She must feel really guilty.

  I wait until she goes back in the house before answering. “In the grand scheme of things, she’s family. We may not have it all together, but we’re in it together. Nana used to say that.”

  “And Preston? On Valentine’s Day, you were definitely upset about him,” he adds. “Do you always fall in and out of caring for someone so quickly?”

  I sputter. “What kind of question is that?”

  “A good one.”

  I huff, thinking back to what Giselle said in the library, how if I had really loved him, then why hadn’t I told Mama or at least confronted her? “Everyone in Daisy knew he picked right up with her after me, and she’s my sister. How do you think I felt?”

  “So it’s just your pride that’s hurt. Not your heart?”

  Why is he asking such hard questions?

  I exhale. “If my heart was broken, I wouldn’t have agreed to the party.”

  “Hmm. You might. You’re a kind person. I don’t like him,” he growls. “And I’m annoyed that he gets to see you today.”

  “Jealous of my ex and the preacher. Tsk, tsk.”

  “I can hear you smiling through the phone.”

  I laugh.

  He sighs. “Okay, so you don’t want to see me.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “So you do want to see me. There’s always dinner . . . or whatever.” His voice deepens.

  Play it cool, Elena. Protect your heart as much as you can.

  Mama comes out with Romeo in her arms. She’s dressed him in a blue sweater I knit last year. She sees me on the phone, and I wave at her that I’ll be off in a minute.

  She leans in, ignoring me, and whispers, “Elena, the sewing room is locked. Don’t you want to use it for the party? We could put some chairs in there. Giselle thinks we’ll have at least a hundred people here.”

  I groan.

  “What’s wrong?” Jack asks.

  “Nothing. I have to go,” I say.

  I click the end button without even saying goodbye and blow out a breath as I stand and head back into the house while Mama follows me.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your call,” she says as we walk in the kitchen.

  “No, it’s fine.” I glance at the sewing room door. “I really don’t want to use my workroom. All my stuff is everywhere. Material is a mess. Machines are hard to move. Let’s leave it be.” I keep my voice firm, eyes on hers.

  “Okay. Your house, your call.”

  I breathe out a sigh of relief, feeling winded, as she wanders into the den.

  Two hours later, I’m polishing the cherry staircase when I hear car doors shutting out in the driveway. Preston? Did he bring someone? He still hasn’t arrived, and Giselle keeps texting him to see when he’s coming.

  “Topher, can you see who that is?” I call from the top of the staircase.

  “Got it, Elle!” He jogs into the foyer from the kitchen and opens the front door.

  “Holy shit!” I hear him call from the front porch.

  Holy shit means something big, especially since Mama clearly heard him as she stomps in from the kitchen, cleaning cloth in one hand, glass of ice tea in the other.

  I mutter and tug down my old Daisy Lions gray sweatshirt, which was clearly too many layers for this kind of work, and head down the stairs. I wish I’d talked to Jack more on the phone. I wish . . .

  Aunt Clara meets me at the bottom and follows me. “Who is it?”

  I fling open the door and step outside on the porch.

  Jack, Quinn, Devon, and Aiden talk as they walk around the front of the house, looking at my flower beds.

  What the heck?

  I freeze, inwardly cursing my lack of lipstick, crazy topknot, and old Chucks. And I’m sure I have dust on my face.

  Mama heads down the sidewalk toward them. Topher watches with bemusement from the porch.

  “You’re that football player” is her greeting, her eyes raking him over from head to toe, taking in his black designer skinny jeans—which cling to his thigh muscles—and turtleneck with a blue f
lannel shirt. Dang it. I sigh. How does he manage to look hot in everything?

  “Yes, ma’am. You must be Elena’s mom. Good to meet you.” He sticks his hand out, and she pauses before taking it.

  I look up at the sky. Lord, if you’re up there, please let her be nice . . .

  “Well, it’s about time we had a formal introduction. You ran off from church and took Elena with you. She missed lunch. She never misses one of my meals. I cooked that one especially for her. And the preacher was there. He was disappointed.”

  No, he wasn’t! He likes Laura!

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. Elena offered to drive me home. Emergency of sorts.” He flushes and looks at me. Mama follows his gaze, her face blank.

  Blank is not good. It means her wheels are turning. It means—

  Oh, who cares!

  I look like hell!

  I scrub at my face, pushing strands of my hair that have fallen out and are sticking to it.

  Mama focuses back on Jack, arms crossed. “Is all that stuff true about you on the internet?”

  No, no! Why does she always have to get right to it?

  Jack sticks his hands in his jeans. “Well, which part do you mean? There’s a whole lot.” He pauses. “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, but that was a long time ago.”

  Oh, smart. Blanket statement that covers the DUI and the partying . . .

  “That book some girl wrote about you. I read part of it. It was terrible!”

  I close my eyes.

  “No, ma’am. Not true. She just wanted money, and people love to talk about me. I tend to not say anything back, and it drives them crazy.”

  “Because you’re famous.” Mama puts her hands on her hips. Wearing old jogging pants and a T-shirt with the pink Cut ’N’ Curl logo on the front, she’s not dressed in her usual slacks and blazer, but you’d never know it by her regal stance.

  “I just play football.”

  Oh, Jack. Please. You’re famous.

  “Well, I never heard of you,” Mama retorts. “We never even had a football team here in Daisy. School is too small.”

  Devon laughs. “Even me, Mrs. Riley? You’ve heard of me, right?”

  She swivels her head to him, probably eyeballing the hair, tattoos that peek out from his sleeves, and those black earrings. “No, but you’re memorable. What color is that in your hair? You need to come see me. I’ll fix it.”

  He laughs. “Devon Walsh, wide receiver. Pleasure to meet Elena and Giselle’s mom. Nice girls you have.” He takes her hand and kisses it.

  She blinks.

  Young James Bond steps forward, all brawn and blond. Even today, he’s dressed in a black turtleneck and dark jeans. “I’m Quinn, ma’am. I do security for Jack. Beautiful property here. Love the town. Jack drove us around for a few and showed us the sights.”

  The sights?

  Mama starts. “Security? Bless. Do you carry a gun?”

  Quinn laughs, looking at Jack. “No. I usually just stock his fridge and arrange his schedule, stuff like that.”

  “Well, that must be boring.”

  Mama!

  “Keeps me busy and out of trouble, ma’am. Jack and I are sort of foster brothers.”

  “I see.” She lasers in on Aiden. “And you?”

  “Aiden Woods. Best quarterback on the team.” He shakes her hand.

  “Watch it, Alabama,” Jack murmurs. “You’re only here to be of use. I can send you home at any time.”

  Aiden smiles sheepishly, nudging his head at Jack. “He’s better than me. For now.”

  Mama takes it all in, her foot tapping, before turning back to Jack. I can’t see her face, but I know she’s sizing him up, deciding if he’s to her taste. She’s playing back all that stuff she read online, the book, probably recalling how he went to Timmy’s school.

  I hold my breath, waiting for her reply.

  If she calls him a hayseed . . .

  He fidgets as he shifts from one foot to the next, color rising on his cheeks as she stares at him. His eyes land on me again, and I shake my head at him. Mama has you in her sights, my eyes say. Beware!

  She lets out a long exhale. “Well, about those things I read . . . gossip is a terrible thing. Ruins lives. People need better things to do with their time. I appreciate everything you’ve done for Timmy and Laura. I heard you bought back their house she lost when her husband died. I’m sure you didn’t have to do that.”

  My eyes flare. He did that? How does she know?

  She knows everything . . .

  “Stop stalling. Cynthia is scary.” Aunt Clara pokes me in the back. “You better get down there before she runs them off.”

  She wouldn’t!

  She might . . .

  Topher laughs from the front swing, where he’s sat down. Wearing old jeans and a faded Queen shirt, he’s taking it all in. “Ms. Clark and Birdie Walker have driven by the house twice since they pulled in. Lunchtime in Daisy is causing a traffic jam. Guess it’s hard to miss an Escalade, Range Rover, and the red Maserati. Wonder who that belongs to? I’m betting Mohawk.”

  “Cars and people driving by are not the issue! There are four football players in my yard, and I don’t know why,” I exclaim.

  “I know. It’s awesome.” He grins. “We haven’t had this much excitement here since, well, never. I should go get my diary and jot this down. Good material. Maybe take some pics.” He sighs. “Although you did leave that pie at his place. I should hate him for that.”

  “You aren’t moving a muscle. I might need you.” I go down the steps toward Mama but hang back a few paces, wavering as I pretend to bend down to tie my shoe. I’m totally waiting to see how Jack handles Mama, and vice versa.

  Why is he here?

  Why am I so nervous?

  Mama sweeps her eyes over the four men. “Well, why are y’all here?”

  It’s as if she reads my mind. Dammit, is it true that you eventually turn into your mother the older you get? No, absolutely not. Please no.

  Jack flashes a smile. “To work. Elena mentioned you had a party to get ready for, and she had a lot to do. Said she couldn’t have dinner with me.”

  I stand; color blooms on my face. How dare he tell her that? Doesn’t he know that once she knows we are . . . whatever we are . . . then she’s never going to leave him be?

  “Well, if there’s no time for dinner, there is always time for lunch on Sunday,” she declares.

  Fell right into that one! I glare at Jack.

  Giselle and Aunt Clara appear next to me. Like me, they’re in sweats, no makeup, and bad hair. At least I’m not alone as we slowly inch closer.

  “We can’t hear well from the porch. What on earth is going on?” Giselle hisses.

  “The gods answered our prayers and blessed us with eye candy. Big muscles and handsome faces,” Aunt Clara murmurs, fluffing her hair.

  Giselle winces. “Preston isn’t coming. He said he’s working late.”

  On a Saturday—when we need all the help we can get? I frown.

  “Does he work on the weekends a lot?” I whisper, keeping my eyes on the group in front of me as they talk.

  Giselle nods, her expression hesitant. “He is the new guy at the firm.”

  “Did you really tell Jack you wouldn’t have dinner with him? You have to eat, Elena.” Aunt Clara giggles. “I went to bed late last night, so don’t think I didn’t see that your car was not in your driveway.”

  No privacy. Ever.

  I elbow her. “Did I tell you I called Scotty to come clean the oriental rugs? He has one of those cleaning machines. Maybe he can slip over to your house later and clean yours.”

  Her eyes widen. “You hussy! You did not!”

  I check the time on my phone. “He’ll be here soon. He was thrilled, even offered to do it for free, especially when I told him you’d be here helping us.”

  “I’m going to put rat poison in your tea,” she whispers.

  I laugh.

  Giselle sighs.
“Everyone knows y’all are a thing. I don’t know why you won’t just make it official, Aunt Clara.”

  She huffs. “I’m ten years older than him! It’s ridiculous. Everyone will think I’m robbing the cradle.” She looks down at her shirt. “Dang it. Now I need to go change clothes before he gets here.”

  I grab her arm before she can head off to her house down the road. “You will not. We all look like something Romeo dragged in, and you are not going to show us up.”

  She sighs. “True. I don’t want to miss one minute. I’m curious to see if your mama will tell the boys what to do or if Jack will try to take over. He likes to be in charge; I can tell.”

  We gaze back at the group, and they’ve moved to Jack’s black Escalade, Mama right behind them.

  “Jack’s got a power washer,” Giselle murmurs as he pulls it from the back of the vehicle.

  “And a hedge trimmer that looks brand new from the Home Depot,” Aunt Clara adds with a sigh. “Elena, do you think he went and bought it just for us?”

  “I have a perfectly good one,” I mutter. “It’s in the shed.”

  “Who’s the blond dude? He’s not a football player?” Topher says from the other side of me. I guess the curiosity got to him, and he decided to join us.

  “Quinn. Jack’s foster brother.”

  “Nice,” he says, walking up to the men and introducing himself to Aiden and Quinn.

  Mama looks back at us. “Elena? Aren’t you going to say hello to your company?”

  Where are your manners? is written on her face. Right, right.

  Giselle hooks her arm in mine, Aunt Clara on the other side, and the three of us approach the group. Daisy Lady Gang.

  Jack’s gaze is on me, lips twitching. “Elena. Good to see you.”

  Good to see me? Please! He had me all kinds of ways last night! My body remembers clearly.

  “Nice of you to come help,” I say weakly.

  “Thought you’d need some extra hands, and these guys don’t have anything better to do.”

  “We could be watching game tape,” Aiden mutters, and Jack smacks him on the arm.

  “Patience is a virtue, Alabama. Pick up that trimmer, and start on the flower beds. Might bulk you up,” he tells Aiden. “You try to keep up with me in the gym, but you’re puny. Need help carrying that box?”