Page 53 of The Cruiser
“This one,” Alix says, tipping his head at Morgan. “We’re still waiting for him to grow up.”
This pushes the last of Morgan’s buttons. He lets fly a burst of annoyed French, my interpretation of it along the lines of If you don’t shut your mouth, we’re out of here.
Alix, unperturbed, continues. “How long are you here for?”
“I leave on Sunday, after the Monaco show.”
“Well, you must come over for dinner. Céline, my wife, would be thrilled to meet you. And see her only child.” A little ice on that comment, too.
“We’re busy with the show,” Morgan says firmly.
Alix scoffs. “One is never too busy to eat. And the show doesn’t start until Wednesday so you can come tomorrow night.”
I turn to Morgan. “We don’t have anything planned.”
“If Khaled wants to meet tomorrow night, that’s the priority,” he reminds me, with an air of Thanks, you’re supposed to be on my side.
“Then it’s settled.” Alix folds his napkin into a perfect square, pressing hard on the pleat. “Six o’clock. No need to bring anything but yourselves.”
Morgan tosses back the last of his espresso, unamused. I know how he feels, being beat up by the parents. But underneath Alix’s challenging fist lies a tone of tender love. Big difference from my experiences. Which is why he and I share conspiratorial smiles. I immediately like him. I like how he’s showed me a different side of Morgan. That underneath his suave sophistication he’s still a little boy, undone by a parent. Maybe that’s why they never worked together.
Nothing like fire and ice to create the perfect storm.
* * *
Genoa is several miles behind us when Morgan brings it up.
“We don’t have to go for dinner,” he says, checking over his shoulder before moving into the left lane. The autostrada is less hectic, Sunday drivers and transport vehicles moseying along in the slow lane. Morgan refuses to stay stuck behind them.
“It sounds like they want to see you.”
He glances over. “You haven’t figured out this is all about you?”
“What do I have to do with anything?”
“You can ask me that after you meet Maman,” he says, with a hint of foreboding. “If it’s up to her, she won’t let you leave the house.”
“Ah,” I say, clueing in. “A little bit of a matchmaker? Sounds like my mom.”
“So you’re used to this? And you’re still happy to watch me suffer through the same fate?” Trying for accusatory, the lightness in his voice calls him out.
I laugh just a little. “Honestly, I didn’t know. If you want to cancel, no sweat.”
His gloved hands grip the steering wheel tighter. “The thing is, if I don’t go, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“I can be on my utmost terrifying behavior, if that helps your cause,” I say.
“Are you capable of such a thing?”
“For what it’s worth, your dad seems cool. And they must be proud of you.”
“They’re wonderful parents,” he concurs. “They just want the best for me. Like every parent.”
It strikes me that I’m more than a little interested in this dinner. Alix proved to be a personality and I’m curious what Morgan’s mother is like. If she’s got him under her thumb.
“I meant to ask earlier, but was your father in Genoa for the show?”
“He planned to surprise me at the award ceremony, but there was an accident on the motorway that tied up traffic for hours. He texted me just before we headed out to tell me what was going on. We decided on breakfast instead.” His mouth flattens into a thin line. Then, “Did you have a good time last night?”
