Page 60 of Wanted

Lionel smiles as he drops his right arm around her. “I feel much better, and you should thank your daughter-in-law for that. She has been taking good care of me, feeding me, and making sure I take all my medications as the doctor prescribed.”

Lionel’s mother’s gaze falls on me, and although she’s still as cold as ever, I feel her melt. Maybe just a little. But hey, no step is too small.

I can’t hate this woman forever, she’s my husband’s mother, and I know how important family is. Although small, I don’t know what I would do without mine.

She puts a hand on her son’s cheek, stroking it tenderly. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Lionel smiles back and kisses her palm. They seem to have a close relationship. Nobody could say that he’s just her adoptive son. What I have in front of me is a sign of love. Flat and simple.

“We just had dinner, and I know pizza is not your favorite.” She doesn’t like pizza? Somehow it surprises me, and at the same time, it doesn’t. She seems too sophisticated for something as mundane as pizza.

“Too many carbs,” she replies, waving her hands. “I need to stay healthy so one day I can take care of your children.”

Lionel laughs, throwing his head back. “Mom, you are healthier than me.”

“Precisely, because I take care of myself.”

“May I offer you a glass of wine?” he asks her, and she nods. “Let’s go to the kitchen then.”

My husband turns away from his mother to come to where I am and help me get up. I was thinking of leaving them to speak alone, maybe his mother has come here to talk about something personal, and she prefers to do it without me being present.

However, Lionel’s attitude is clear. He wants me to be there with them.

Once we are in the kitchen, Mrs. Kral and I sit at the breakfast bar while Lionel moves around looking for a glass and opening a bottle of white he got from the wine cooler.

“Do you want another beer, Hvezda? I think the other one must be warm already.”

Asshole, he said it with one of his patented mischievous smiles, and my neck flushes red as I remember what we were doing until we were interrupted.

“Yes, thank you,” I reply, glaring at him. He continues with the same carefree and nonchalant attitude.

“The two women in my life, sitting having a drink on a Friday night. Who would’ve known?”

His mother responds by clearing her throat. I keep staring at him, although daggers no longer come out of my eyes.

“It would be better if we could sit somewhere other than these stools,” she rebukes him. “It would be nice to see some furniture in this house for a change.”

This time it’s Lionel who clears his throat. I have no idea what to answer. To be frank, even though I’ve decided to stay, our relationship is far from being ready to run the marathon. We need to continue taking baby steps.

“And all these wooden things on the countertops, what project are you into now?”

Lionel smiles and walks over to me, taking one of my hands from the granite countertop. “Actually, it’s Stella’s project. She makes honey-based cold-pressed soaps. So our kitchen is her part-time factory. Catherine Cole placed an order for her company party.”

Those words have left Johanna Kral speechless. She looks at Lionel with her mouth open, and after what seems like an eon, she turns to face me.

“You turned out to be a hidden gem,” she tells me, but her voice is full of sarcasm.

“You have no idea.” It’s Lionel who answers.

I take a sip of my beer, trying to distract myself because the tension is so thick, it can almost be cut with a knife.

Lionel leaves his bottle on the counter before speaking to his mother. “Did you want to talk to me about something important?”

She looks for something in her handbag, it turns out to be a yellow envelope which she hands over to him. “This is for you. I’ve made a little investigation of my own.”

My husband takes a long, deep breath before answering her. “I told you in the hospital that isn’t necessary. Jackson is taking care of everything, and you know he’s the best in the business, and I also trust his expertise.”

Mrs. Kral presses her mouth into a thin line. My mother does the same when my answer doesn’t please her. Perhaps it is something inherent in motherhood.

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