Page 63 of Reticent

“Hunter’s not the asshole he was in high school,” Priscilla says with as much of a frown as I’m assuming the Botox will allow. “But I’m afraid he’s still a bit of a slut.”

“Wow. Thanks, Mom.”

I chuckle but disguise it by clearing my throat.

“But he has a big heart,” Priscilla continues.

“Thank you, Mom,” he says, faking gratitude.

“He keeps that sucker to himself now after giving it to the wrong women. But you, my dear”—she leans forward in her chair and gives my hand a gentle squeeze—“you are the right woman for my Hunter. I hope he gets out of his own way and snatches you up before someone else does.”

When she lets go of my hand, I’m almost afraid to look at Hunter because of what may be reflected in my eyes: hope, sadness, and love—all swirling together. When I finally steal a glance at him, Hunter looks as unaffected as ever.

“You have to excuse my mother,” he says. “She comes on a little strong.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine.”

Priscilla scoffs. “I do not. Yasmine is a sweetheart. She gets me, unlike that she-bitch of an ex-wife. I told you not to marry that girl.”

“Now is not the time,” Hunter says, calm but firm.

“You’re right. I’ll leave it alone,” she relents.

“Thank you. Any more from you and we’ll have Liam call you Grandma instead of Gam Gam.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, old woman,” he says, smiling over the rim of his water glass.

“Old? How dare you? This face and this body cost me a fortune.”

I hold back my laugh just in time. But when Priscilla starts to laugh and Hunter joins in, shaking his head, I let it go. How could I not? Priscilla Demalio is a force that I did not expect.

* * *

We say our goodbyes to Priscilla. She gives me a long hug and a belly rub before meeting her friends at the tennis courts. Hunter and I leisurely walk the grounds. He wraps his arm around me, and I slide my arm around his lower back. It feels nice, like we’re a couple.

“You and your mom seem close.”

“We’re working on it. But I struggle with her lack of remorse.”

“Did your dad know?”

“Everyone did. But my dad checked out of our family years before. Work came before everything. It’s the only thing that connected me to my father. My brothers and I were part of the brand, but he never treated us like sons.”

I run my hand up his back, suddenly feeling open to share. “Because of the trauma from my mom giving me up, and never feeling good enough with my dad and stepmom, sometimes I struggle with feeling like I’m worthy of love.”

“So you avoid falling in love like the plague,” he says, and he’s exactly right. Which is why my feelings for him scare the shit out of me. “Believe me, I understand.”

“Do you feel like your parents’ marriage helped shape your perspective on love and marriage?”

“Absolutely,” he says. “It’s why my brothers never married and why I’m drawn toward emotionally unavailable women.”

Like Fatima. Fatima was always his, even when she wasn’t.

Like Jemma. Jessica’s still in love with her ex-husband, which is why what we had worked.

Like me. The harder you love, the harder you fall. And who wants to have their heart broken?