Page 22 of Fiancée for the Cameras

“Andrea! What has come over you? That is the third glass of wine you have drunk in twenty minutes.”

His mother’s probing pulled Andrea out of the reverie. He turned to her and for the first time that evening noted the bright red lipstick, the complicated chignon, the navy blue designer dress and the simple diamond choker at her neck that had been a present from his father.

She was dressed up to the hilt, not something he’d seen in years. Her skin glowed with health and there was a simple joy to her gaze that made his heart swell in his chest. “What a beast Iam, Mama, for not telling you how pretty you look this evening. Papa loved you in that color, I remember.”

His mother blushed, scoffed and then slapped his arm, making sure he knew that she knew what he was doing. Romeo chuckled on her other side.

“Grazie mile, Andrea. But what is making you so restless that you drink so much?” At whatever she saw in his face, her words drifted away. “You are impatient to see her. You...like her. More than for—”

Andrea groaned. “Have we traveled in time back to my eighth grade, Mama?”

Turning so that she could see him fully, his mother clasped his cheek. He chafed under her scrutiny, not because he was thirty-four damned years old and she was trying to fix his hair, but because he couldn’t bear to see the flash of grief the cut of his features usually brought her.

For all he teased Romeo about it, he was the one who looked so much like their father. He also remembered that, for almost a year after the accident, she’d been unable to look upon his face fully or meet his eyes or speak a sentence in his direction. Her grief at losing her husband had been so great that it had choked her to speak of their father for a long while. On some dark days, he’d even wondered if she hated him for causing the accident, if she would ever forgive him.

“Romeo reminded me that I am unfair to you,” she said, her eyes shining with a suspicious sheen. “Judging you for this affair, real or fake, as if you were some...jungle predator, when in truth, you have not looked this interested in anything in a long time.”

Andrea gritted his teeth, feeling more than discomfited under her scrutiny. “I would prefer it if you didn’t discuss my personal stuff with him. Or with me. Or at all. There are certain things a man cannot continue to discuss with his mother.”

“So itispersonal?”

He groaned out loud.

She laughed and the soft sound snagged at his chest. “I forgot, momentarily, that you’re your father’s son, Andrea. That you would never knowingly hurt another. As for when it comes to your...manly affairs and desires...remember what he—”

“Mama,” he groaned, clasping her cheeks in return. “This is worse than when Papa and you gave me the sex talk. At least then, I was remunerated for sitting through it.”

His mother blushed but relented, nevertheless, by going on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I want you to be happy, Andrea. In whatever form it takes. I am sorry I...neglected you all these years.”

“Cristo, Mama,” Andrea said, enfolding her in his arms, his throat tight and aching. She was so small and had always been mostly unaware of the world’s schemes, but hid a spine of steel. Just like another woman he knew. “I am a grown man and it is my turn to look after you. As it is Romeo’s right, too.”

She nodded, hiding her tears in his suit jacket. “I will not push you, but if you truly like her so much, why not turn this into a more—”

“You nicked yourself in two spots while shaving,” Romeo said, coming to his rescue, his eyes full of devilish humor. “Mama’s right. I haven’t seen you drink a glass of wine that fast before, much less three, and now this. If it is this bad now, I cannot wait to see your condition once you two—”

Leaning away from his mother, Andrea pushed at Romeo’s shoulder, hard enough that the wheelchair squeaked on the polished marble tiles. “Basta!You won’t speak of her like that.”

To the background of his mother’s outraged gasp, Romeo not only recovered but also delivered a solid punch to Andrea’s gut that he hadn’t seen coming, and did so with a resounding cackle.

Eyes wide, his mother stared between them, and then shouted,“Basta!”just as Andrea decided to retaliate in kind. “You’re behaving like dogs and I know your father and I have taught you better manners.” At least she hadn’t grabbed the tops of their ears and twisted them around like she used to do when they had been kids.

Whatever Andrea had been about to shout into Romeo’s face died as a vision in pink appeared at the top of the steps of the circular balcony.

Her amber eyes widened, her pink mouth open on a gasp, Monica stared at Andrea’s crooked jacket and Romeo’s ruffled hair and Flora standing between them with her arms spread out like a referee at a particularly nasty soccer match. “What’s going on?”

Andrea jerked his jacket down, his head feeling woozy as if he’d received a pounding to his head rather than to his gut. In a hot pink sleeveless dress that hugged her breasts and then flared out from under them, Monica looked like some lush, exotic flower at full bloom. The rich pink made her shoulders and neck gleam like burnished gold, while the upper swells of her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breaths. With each step she took down the stairs, the almost thigh-high slit bared the lean length of her thigh, her legs even longer than usual in gold-strapped stilettos that Andrea had to swallow and look away from, counting his breaths. Her dark, silky hair had been curled into long waves and they slithered over and away from her chest, as if beckoning him for a closer look.

She neared them and a subtle scent overlaid with her own hit his nostrils.

“What’s happening?” she asked, slowly but definitely moving toward Romeo.

Andrea gritted his teeth, while his brother wriggled his brows in a childish taunt, meant for him.

Monica’s hands went to Romeo’s ruffled hair and in a smooth move, she pushed at the thick, wavy strands until they settled back into his designer haircut. Jealousy at the open affection clung to Andrea’s throat like the thick brew Mama used to make them drink to ward off colds.

“The Valentini brothers forgot that they’re full-grown men and instead decided to fight like ruffians.” His mother took the younger woman’s hand and pulled her close for a better look. “You look beautiful,cara. I know you’re nervous about this whole...drama that you and Andrea are cooking up, but do not be,si? Anyone who talks to me and Romeo will know that we wish it were the truth.”

Alarm flickered through her eyes but Monica nodded. Still not meeting his eyes. “Thank you. I want to be of help.”

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