Page 59 of Loving You

“I don’t have a child,” Monty said quietly.

“And I don’t think that would matter. Trust me. I fought them tooth and nail on being accepted. I didn’t want to deal with the pain and rejection once they realized I wasn’t as fun or carefree as my brother. But they liked me for me. You don’t need to hold on to someone who’s cruel to you because you’re afraid of being alone. The other people in your life who lo—who like you, wholoveyou,” he corrected because fuck it, even if he wasn’t going to say it directly, Monty deserved to hear that word, “will always be there.”

Monty took a long, slow breath. He was silent for a beat, and Bronx’s heart was hammering in his chest. Was it too much? Not enough.

Monty bowed his head. “We should go inside.” Bronx deflated, but before he could turn and getout, Monty grabbed him. “Thank you. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”

Bronx squeezed his hand, then let go and waited for Monty to get out. At the walkway, Bronx slung his arm around Monty’s waist and kept him close. “I don’t need to keep my hands to myself, do I?”

“I’d love it if you didn’t,” Monty said.

Bronx kissed him as he felt around the wall for the doorbell and kept kissing him until he heard it open. He broke away at the sound of someone clearing their throat, and he was slightly disappointed to see a woman standing there. Rod’s wife, if he remembered right.

She looked different—dressed down a bit in jeans and a blouse, and she looked tired. She offered them a friendly smile, something Bronx hadn’t been expecting, and she stepped aside. “Dinner’s just being served. Please ignore him if he says you’re late.”

Monty let Bronx go and offered his hands to her and kissed her on both cheeks. “Merci, chérie. Did I ever introduce you two?” He stepped aside. “Bronx, this is Poppy, my father’s wife.”

“Not his mother,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s been a nonstop fight.”

Bronx wanted to ask why she let him get away with it. Why she just stood there the other night. But he also knew that wasn’t fair. There were a thousand reasons why someone might not be able to defend what they wanted, and it wasn’t his place to judge.

He was standing firmly in the middle of a glass house, and he had no real excuses for himself. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said finally.

Poppy smiled as she took her hand back. “I’m sure it isn’t, but I appreciate you being here. Rod’s been losing hisdamn mind since he laid eyes on you. I think it’s the whole silver fox thing.”

Bronx flushed. “I hadn’t realized I was old enough. But I suppose there are worse things.”

“You’re perfect,” Monty said quietly. He took Bronx’s hand again and led the way into the dining room.

It was dimly lit and very quiet, some sort of violin concerto playing in the background. It smelled like roast duck and wildflowers, both of which were on the table. Rod sat at the head, looking very much the same man who had burst into Monty’s apartment, and on his left and right were two men who looked almost nothing like Monty.

Brothers, he assumed. They looked exactly like their father, down to the elongated nose and thin lips. A very old-world European vibe, though Bronx wasn’t really cultured enough to make that call. They definitely made him feel underdressed and unrefined, but he didn’t care. He’d rather be an Appalachian country boy than whatever these men were.

At least he knew how to love.

“Montez,” Rod said, and Bronx was surprised. He almost never heard anyone use Monty’s full name. Rod glanced at Bronx once, then went into a long string of what Bronx assumed was Portuguese, but he couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. He’d barely mastered Google French greetings.

Monty listened to his father as the two of them sat, his jaw tense. “I’ve been busy at work,” Monty told him in English. “I’ve been swamped.”

Rod sneered. “Ah, yes. All those single mothers.”

“Exactly. You’re the expert. You’re responsible for several of them,” Monty fired back.

Rod’s brows flew up, and Bronx could tell that Monty didn’t normally mouth off. “They went willingly.”

Monty scoffed and reached for his water, bypassing the wine on his right. He took a long sip, then turned and smiled at Bronx. “He thinks I was avoiding dinner because of you.”

“I did keep him a bit busy when work wasn’t,” Bronx said helpfully, leaning heavily on his accent.

Rod’s ears went flushed, and one of Monty’s brothers choked on his swallow of wine. Monty hid his smile in his napkin before dropping it into his lap.

“I suppose I’ll do introductions. This is Bronx, my boyfriend.”

“Aren’t you too old for that word?” Rod asked.

Monty ignored him. “You’ve met my father and his wife when they walked into my home uninvited.”

“I recall,” Bronx said dryly.

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