𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 ( 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐎𝐧𝐞)

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧- 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬

Time spent with the right person feels like a vacation from the world.
~𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐤~

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚

Lia should have hanged her coat, but she puts it in the middle chair that separates us. She throws the sling bag on top before pulling her seat and sitting down with a thud. Usually, I would have said something about it. However, until this meeting, or ambush, came to an end or I got used to sitting beside Lia in front of an audience too soon after spending more than a few hours making love to her, I intended to vet every word that got out of my mouth.

"So, what brings you here?" My mom asked; she was leaning on the chair, arms across her chest, her eyes spotting a glint that told me she already knew.

I shrug, "celebrating." I say, elbowing Lia for her to continue. It was her news to share, her success; I didn't want to be the one to say the words. Mom moves her eyes to Lia, all of them do. I look at her—my mother—although I was young, I remember her sad eyes. It was one of those things that you never forget. They haunt you, traumatize you because your brain has made them a part of your life, and will never allow you to forget.

I turn to look at Lia when I hear her Sigh. She is moving her animated eyes from one to the other, building up their anticipation; I watched eagerness turn to impatience until they were about to lose it.

"I just finished filming my first dialogue part in the children of blood and oil."

They gasp, her mom holds a trembling hand against her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes.

"It's okay, mom." Lia says, touching her hand in comfort.

"That's wonderful, honey. Tell us about Maxwell Vanderbilt."

I roll my eyes. What the hell did women see in that prick?

"Is he as cute in person?"

Lia nods, and I gently pinch her thigh, ensuring my calm demeanor remains. I don't want to draw attention to us.

"I wasn't aware you found him cute," I hear the sneer in my voice; they heard it too, judging by their similar smirks.

"You don't agree?" My mom asks, her knowing gaze fixed on mine. "Of course you're more beautiful than him." She emphasis.

"Sure, mom." I reply, unconvinced, kneading the back of my neck as if I was tired. I wasn't; I was just tired of hearing them giggle, sigh, and aah over Maxwell Vanderbilt.

"I'm serious. You're more beautiful; you came from your father and me."

"I believe you." I said quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when the chef knocked on the door. I didn't want her to add anything to the subject, like throw me a gleeful look alluding to the fact that I was conceived in a poorly lit club in Milan. Not that she knew I knew, my father had answered some of my most pressing questions once when I needed to know whether he was my father. 

He had said yes, which was one of the best moments of my life. Although I didn't believe it at first, considering my mother and I had lived with Freddie, my stepfather, for four years before Bruno came for us, I had doubted it; then believed him when he asked if DNA would convince me.