Page 34 of His Cruel Exception

“His name is Logan?” Enzo asks.

There's something unusually intent about the way he's watching Alexander's friend, and I follow his gaze just as the two of them disappear around a bend in the road.

I snatch my arm from his grip and push open the car door, stepping out onto the sidewalk and crossing the narrow walkway toward the house. Enzo gets out and follows a few paces behind me.

I reach the porch and knock once, and the sound has barely faded when I hear footsteps approaching from the other side. A moment later, the door opens to reveal a middle-aged woman with features similar to Alexander's. She has the same expressive eyes and delicate facial structure, although there are faint lines around her mouth and a few strands of gray running through her hair, which has been pulled back loosely.

“You’re back so fast,” she says, her expression brightening as she opens the door wider. Then her eyes settle on me, and her smile falters slightly. “Oh, you’re not Alex.”

The initial heat of my anger begins to subside and I distinctly remember reading that Alex is a New Jersey native from the information Davide dug up. I straighten my shoulders and school my expression into something pleasant, and extend my hand to her.

“Hello, I’m Antonio. Alexander’s friend,” I say, before gesturing toward Enzo. “And this is my cousin, Vincenzo.”

She accepts my hand, her expression softening as she looks between us. She has the same warm, approachable manner Alexander seems to have inherited. “I’m Martha,” she says, stepping aside and waving us into the house.”He didn’t tell me anyone was coming, Are you his friend or boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend,” I reply, giving her a pleasant smile as I step inside.

Enzo lets out a sound behind me. I ignore him and follow Alexander's mother into the living room. The house isn't big, but it's clean and cozy. The walls are painted a pale cream that has begun to fade in a few places, and the wooden floorboards show signs of wear. Nothing in the room is particularly expensive, and most of the furniture has clearly been here for years, but everything is well maintained.

“You have a lovely place,” I tell Martha as I look at a framed photograph of a young Alexander hanging on the wall.

He can't be more than seven or eight in the picture, with a wide, toothy grin and his hair sticking up in several directions. His cheeks are fuller, and there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that I recognize.

“Thanks, my dear,” she says with a warm smile. “Do you like lemonade? I made some for Alex and Logan, but I’m sure they won’t mind sharing.”

“We do,” Enzo replies, leaning back against the couch. “Thank you.”

She excuses herself and disappears into the kitchen. She returns a few minutes later, carrying a tray with two glasses of lemonade and a small bowl piled with cookies. She approaches the stool in front of Enzo, but just as she begins lowering the tray, her hands suddenly tremble, and before either of us can reach her, it slips from her grasp and crashes onto the floor.

The glasses shatter on impact, scattering shards across the floor as lemonade splashes over the rug and the cookies tumble from the overturned bowl. I move to her immediately just as Enzo rises from the couch, but she barely seems to notice either of us. She's staring at her hands with a confused expression, slowly opening and closing her fingers.

I place a steadying hand on her arm and guide her away from the broken glass before she can accidentally step on it. She offers no resistance as I lead her toward the couch, and I keep my hand on her arm until she's seated. Her complexion has lost some of its color, and although she tries to give me a reassuring smile when she notices my attention, I can see that she's unsettled by what just happened.

Before I can ask whether she needs anything, the front door opens, followed by Alexander's familiar voice.

“We’re back,” he announces, sounding cheerful.

The cheer disappears the moment he steps inside. With no hallway separating the entrance from the living room, he has an unobstructed view of his mother sitting on the couch, the shattered glasses on the floor, and Enzo crouching beside the overturned tray.

His eyes widen, and he crosses the room so quickly that the bag in his hand swings against his leg before he drops to his knees in front of his mother.

“Mom, are you okay? What happened?”

“I'm fine,” she assures him, reaching out to touch his cheek, but Alexander is already looking her over with an anxious expression.

His hands moves from her arms to her fingers, examining her palms and turning her hands over. His brows are drawn tightly together, and the nervous way he keeps rubbing his thumb over her knuckles makes it clear that this has frightened him more than he's willing to admit.

Meanwhile, Logan has stopped just inside the doorway, his gaze settling on Enzo, who is still crouched beside the spilled cookies.His lips part slightly before a grin spreads across his face before he disappears into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a mop and a dustpan, which he uses to clean up the spilled lemonade and gather the broken glass while Enzo finishes collecting the cookies.

My attention returns to Alexander, who’s still kneeling in front of his mother, speaking to her in a low voice, asking whether she's feeling dizzy while she reassures him that she's perfectly fine. He doesn't look convinced, but he finally gives her the pharmacy bag he's brought with him and watches as she checks its contents.

She gets to her feet slowly, and Alexander rises beside her, keeping a hand near her elbow until she's standing properly. She gives him an affectionate look before telling us that she needs to rest. She then leans forward to press a kiss to Alexander's cheek, then does the same to Logan.

“It was nice meeting you, Antonio and Vincenzo,” she says, turning to us with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. “Alex will pack some cookies for you. I hope you visit again.”

Alexander accompanies her a few steps before she gently waves him away. He remains standing where she left him, his gaze following her until she disappears from sight, his shoulders dropping slightly once she's no longer looking at him.

I make a mental note to ask Davide for the medical information he gathered on her. I know that Alexander has been paying for his mother's medication, but I hadn't given the matter much thought beyond the financial strain it was placing on him.