“It’s more complicated than that, Mom.”
“Honey,” she says, her bracelets jingling off the tabletop as she leans forward, “love is always complicated.”
“I said I didn’t know. You said that means I don’t.”
She smiles. “Can I give you some advice?”
“You’re going to anyway.”
“Your brothers are overbearing. I know that. Your father can be too. But don’t let them sway you to or from someone that makes you happy. Okay?”
My eyes drop to the table, my stomach churning. “What if . . . what if no one will like him? What if they even hate him or don’t understand him?”
“Is he nice to you?”
“Yes,” I say immediately, looking up at her.
“Does he make you smile?”
My lips turn up. “Yes.”
“Is he respectful? Is he loyal?”
“Yes.”
“Then your brothers will come around,” she says. “And if they don’t, you’ll have to tell your mom. I hear she has some pull. Most of them have wives now too that can help keep them in line.”
Although I’m still not sure this helps anything or only confuses me more, I stand and walk around the table. Wrapping my arms around her, I squeeze. She smells of expensive perfume and the warmth of home. “Thank you,” I say against her cheek.
She pats my arm. “I do want you to think about introducing him to someone. Me, Ford, Graham—”
“Graham?” I say, pulling back. “Let’s just ask for his tax returns and background check while we’re at it. He’ll make him think it’s an interview for a job!”
Mom laughs, pushing away from the table. “It is, in a way. If he’s serious about stepping into your life, your brothers . . . and your father and I,” she says pointedly, “will expect a certain level of responsibility.”
We gather our things and head for the elevator. I admire the way she almost glides through the room, waving discreetly at certain acquaintances.
“Mom?”
“What, Camilla?”
I rest my head on her shoulder as we stand behind a handful of people for the elevator waiting for the button to ding. “Why couldn’t you have had Sienna and I first?”
“We had to save the best for last.” She turns her head until she’s looking at me and winks.
“Good point.”
The Gold Room sits in front of me in all its non-glory. I didn’t mean to come here specifically. When I left Mom in the parking lot of Picante, I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to call my friend Joy and see if she wanted to head to yoga or go shopping. All I wanted was to see Dominic. Maybe I even needed to see him, but the thought of that makes me lightheaded.
Now I’m here. Biting my lip. Fighting the rumble in my gut.
If needing to see him makes me lightheaded, seeing him here, at the bar, makes me downright dizzy.
Looking from the half-lit sign to my phone, wondering if I should call him first and warn him or just walk in, I refuse to bite my freshly painted nails even though I want to gnaw them off.
It could very well be counterproductive to think showing up here will satisfy the craving I have for him. The Gold Room is off-limits to me. Yet, here I am.
“You’re stupid,” I mutter to myself, grabbing my purse off the passenger seat and locking the car door behind me. I garner a whistle and a lewd offer before I can get to the heavy front doors. It takes a little more effort than it should to pull them open and step inside.