11. Leo

CHAPTER 11

Leo

O h shit.

Scrambling for my pants, I hike them up over my fizzling erection and zip them quickly.

“Leonardo Moretti, you oughtta be ashamed of yourself,” my mama scolds.

I scrub my hands down my face. All the anxiety over this exact possibility comes barreling at me in full force. So many times, I envisioned this happening. Not this exactly, but my mama showing up in town. Now that it is, I’m not sure what the most appropriate reaction is.

Besides doing up my pants and introducing Giana to my mama. Since I’ve already done the former, I do the latter.

“Hey, Mama.” I reach behind me for Giana’s hand, and it takes a moment before she clutches onto mine.

“Don’t hey, Mama me, young man. You have a lot of explaining to do. Starting with…with…that.” She gestures a hand in our direction, wiping at the air.

At first, I think she means Giana, but then I think she means what we were doing. And to be honest, at her age, shouldn’t she know by now? Or is it, she doesn’t have an open enough mind to consider her son would be having sex?

“Mama, this is Giana Russo. Giana, this is my mother. Carol Moretti.” I give Giana a small nudge in the back, forcing her to stumble forward a step.

She shoots me a glare but hides it before she puts on a brave face for my mama. She goes in for a handshake. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, ma’am.”

I’ve never seen my mama be deliberately rude to someone, and she thankfully doesn’t choose now to break that streak. Instead, she fixes the fakest smile on her face and shakes Giana’s hand. I recognize the smile. It’s the same one she uses when she agrees to yet another church committee, even though she doesn’t want to.

My stomach fills with a heaviness. And my dick, which was stiff only moments before has seemed to shrivel up inside of me.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Giana.” Mama tugs her hand away and wipes it on the front of her long, fitted skirt.

Giana notices, but she’s too polite to call my mama out on her bullshit. I should, but I want to get her out of here as fast as possible. And the best way to do that is to not start something.

“What are you doing here, Mama? And since when do you find it acceptable to barge into someone’s house without knockin’?”

The expression she conjures up on her face is insulted, even though I know that’s fake too.

“I did. No one answered. And what do you think I’m doing here, Leonardo? I came to meet the lady that has you so head over heels that you can’t even return home after hearing your daddy had a stroke.”

“Mama,” I scold, frowning at her.

“And I came to see this so-called investment you’ve poured your inheritance into.” She glances around, turning this way and that. “Or should I say, the inheritance you’ve squandered?”

“Um…” Giana perks up, and it draws in both my and my mama’s attention. “I’m going to visit the restroom. Leo, why don’t you offer your mama something cold to drink. I believe we have some lemonade in the fridge. Please excuse me.”

My first instinct is to snatch her hand and keep her here with me. I need her strength by my side when dealing with my mother. Giana gives me a soft but confident smile, and I reluctantly release her.

We both watch her until she’s closed the bathroom door.

“How ’bout some lemonade?” I offer, knowing damn well she doesn’t want lemonade. It doesn’t stop me from offering or going to the fridge to hide my head in it.

“Leonardo, don’t you think you’ve been playing house long enough?” she snaps.

I spin around to face her, slamming the refrigerator door shut. I narrow my eyes at her where she stands, glaring right back at me, fists stuffed onto her hips. “I’m not playing, Mama.”

“Don’t give me that, Leo. You and I have been butting heads since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. But this time, son, there ain’t no wiggle room for arguing. This isn’t about me. It’s about your daddy. And right now, he needs you.” She finally stops talking long enough to suck in a measured breath.

I scrub a hand down my face. “He doesn’t need me, Mama. He never has.” The toilet flushes and it jolts my memory. I was supposed to give her the lemonade. “Just hire someone.”

“That’s not the same. He needs you. He wants you.” She swipes the plastic tumbler I hold out to her, but not without judging it first.

You’re serving your mama a drink in a plastic cup? is what I imagine she’s thinking. But if she knew anything that was going on here, if she cared at all, she’d know we’re in the middle of a home renovation.

So sorry we don’t have the crystal you’re used to , is what I want to mutter, but instead, I shout, “Well that’s too damn bad.”

“Excuse me?” Her accent always comes out thicker the angrier she gets. “After all he’s done for you? Ya’ll jus’ gonna say, too damn bad?”

I’ve probably heard my mama cuss maybe five times in my entire life.

“I’ve been working at the ranch practically since I could walk. I’ve put in my time, despite having zero interest in cattle. Now, I’ve found something— someone —I’m passionate about. And you want me to what? Throw it all away? Just like that?”

“I’m sure this Jul-Julia is a fine woman.” She pauses to clear her throat, though it’s not needed. I already know what she’s insinuating.

“Giana,” I correct her.

“Whatever.” She waves a hand dismissively, and I grit my teeth. “But it doesn’t disregard the obligations you have back home.”

“Fuck obligations.” I pound my fist onto the counter so hard tingles shoot up my arm.

When I glance up, not only does my mama look genuinely horrified, but Giana also stands there with an expression smeared on her face that says she’d rather be anywhere else than here right now. I don’t blame her. So would I.

Since no one else speaks, I continue, forcing back all reservations. I’m done playing the good son. “You’re the one who filed for a divorce. You’re the one who’s quitting on him. Not me. So why don’t you turn that finger around and point it at who’s really to blame here. ’Cause it ain’t me.” I swipe an ice- cold beer from the fridge, abandoning my lemonade on the counter, and retreat to the front porch.

Leaving Giana alone with Mama is probably not the best idea I’ve had. But if I stayed in there any longer, I’d say the rest of what I’ve had bottled inside for far too long. I don’t think either of us is ready for that shitshow.

I sit on the porch swing and take a long pull from my beer. The cold liquid coats my throat, and after I swallow, I exhale a satisfying breath. Two birds swoop low as they chase one another before returning to the blue sky and zipping near the tops of the trees. As I run my thumb along the wood of the porch swing, a sliver catches. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

Sanding and painting the swing is on my long list of projects I have left to finish at the cabin. Just the thought of being unable to complete it has my stomach twisting in knots. The thought of leaving Giana makes me nauseous.

From that first night, I knew she was the one. The one I wanted to spend the rest of my life making laugh. The one I wanted to make up songs about. The one I wanted to grow old with. Bring our grandkids here to swim in the creek. Teach them how to make s’mores the right way.

And now all that is being threatened.

Fuck family obligations.

I close my eyes and chug my beer.

The door opens slowly, and I hold my breath while I pry open one eye and peek over my shoulder. Exhaling at the sight of my pretty girl, an easy smile tugs at my lips. Seeing her in the painted coveralls gets my mind racing about tearing them off her again.

“Hey, Sugar,” I drawl.

“Hey, yourself,” she says softly.

She sits gingerly next to me on the swing .

“What’s she doing in there?”

“Using the restroom.” Giana pulls my hand into her lap, and the simple physical contact rights all the wrongs from moments before.

That’s what she does. She straightens my tilted world. She gets my vision to see clearly. She’s my beacon of sanity.

“So you better warn me now, is she the type of mother-in-law who’d rearrange all my kitchen cabinets? That is, if we had anything worth rearranging.” Giana rubs my knuckles with her thumb, and the pressure of it is reassuring.

My brain hitches on the words mother-in-law, and it causes my heart to shift in my chest. It’s comforting. I like the idea of being married to Giana. And more importantly, that she’s thinking about us and the future.

I breathe out a laugh. “She’d be the type who’d hire someone to do it.”

Giana smiles. “Now that, I’m not sure I would mind.”

Leaning in close to her, I press a kiss to her cheek, then nuzzle my nose into her neck. Inhaling her familiar cherry blossom scent while I close my eyes, I can’t help but worry this is a privilege I’m going to lose. Just the thought of going back to the ranch has me spiraling.

The ranch is like The Twilight Zone . Once you go there, you’re stuck, you never leave. That’s what happened to my dad. He worked at the Jones Family Ranch one summer, met my mama, and he never returned to his hometown—Maple Ridge, Colorado. Despite his pleading to Mama, saying he wasn’t meant to be a rancher, she fed him the same bullshit she’s feeding me now. That they had family obligations to stay and take over her father’s ranch.

I won’t do it.

Except that there’s a small tug on my heart. My dad never wanted that ranch, and yet he’s stuck there. He’s trying to keep it afloat. Trying not to lose something he’s spent his entire adult years building up.

He’s done a fine job. The Jones Family Ranch is impressive. Over five hundred acres with 250 heads of cattle, chickens, pigs, horse boarding, and hay harvesting. But it wasn’t his dream. And it’s not mine either.

This is. Giana. The cabin. Maple Ridge.

I can’t picture my life any differently. And yet, I know. I gotta go.

The door creaks open, and Mama steps out onto the porch, the wood groaning under her feet. She clears her throat, and both Giana and I glance up. It’s proper for us to stand. Polite even. I can’t undo the Southern manners in me despite the anger seeping through me as a result of her presence.

I stand.

“Giana, thank you for your hospitality.” Mama forces a smile, and Giana stands now and nods, probably not sure what to say. I don’t blame her. “Leonardo, I’ll be at the hotel in town. Here, for when you change your mind.” She hands me a plane ticket.

“I’m not going,” I huff, smacking the ticket against my leg.

Her lips fold, and she turns her cheek at me, waiting.

I roll my eyes and give her a kiss. Then I watch her turn and shuffle down the porch steps, get into what I assume is a rental car, and drive away.

The wood scrapes underneath Giana’s steps until I feel her arms wrapping around me from behind. I pull them in closer, anchoring her to me. As the realization sets in heavy and thick, I inhale a sharp breath. Giana knows I have to go too.

But we don’t talk about it.

Giana slips her arms free from my grip and tugs my hand. “C’mon, let’s go finish painting those cabinets.”

I don’t feel like painting. I don’t feel like doing much of anything. I push my thumb and finger into my eyes, trying to force away the last twenty minutes from my memory.

“And when we’re done, I’ll let you wash all this paint off me in the bath.” She shoots me a playful grin, and it stirs an awakening in my depths.

It almost wipes away the dread that threatens to consume me.

Almost.

“Promise?” is my reply.