Chapter 1

Chapter One

Thiago shut down his computer and removed the laptop from the docking station, sliding it into his messenger bag. He hated briefcases. They appeared pretentious to him. Besides, he liked his hands free as much as possible.

As if she had radar, the display on his phone lit up with an incoming call. His mother's face smiled brightly at him before he swiped the screen to accept it.

"Hola, Mamá."

"Hola, mijo."

It didn't matter how old they were, their mother called Thiago and each of his three brothers, darling. Some people thought it was sweet. Those people didn't know Elena Dominguez. Those mijos were tossed around more frequently when she had something up her sleeve.

Inserting one wireless earbud into his left ear, Thiago adjusted his bag crossbody, preparing to leave his office at Ashford-Dominguez corporate headquarters.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you today, Mamá. What's going on?"

Thiago walked through the office space, giving the occasional nod to an employee as he waited for his mother to answer his question. Instead of coming out with it directly, she began talking about her book club. One of the ladies from the salon she frequented invited her, and she'd been going for a few months.

While he was happy she'd expanded her group of friends and associates, Thiago wondered what her book club had to do with him. He enjoyed a good murder mystery, thriller, or even the occasional sci-fi read. But, he wasn't the group discussion type. He preferred doing his woodworking to wind down from his day.

By the time he'd made it to his truck, she still hadn't gotten around to actually answering his question. Climbing inside, dropped his bag into the backseat before he started the engine and switched the call over from his earbud. He didn't ask his mother to stop talking while he did so, because it wouldn't matter.

Only it did. When the call fully connected to the vehicle speakers, she was calling his name.

"Thiago? Thiago, are you listening, mijo?"

"Of course, I'm listening, Mamá."

"So, are you on your way over now? It sounds like you're in your truck."

Baring his teeth in a grimace, Thiago looked at the time right above where his mother's image was displayed on the vehicle information screen.

"Sure, Mamá. I'm on my way now."

Turning left instead of right out of the parking garage, Thiago went toward his parent's home instead of completing the errands he'd planned to do before going to his own house. There was a match-up between the Atlanta Fantasy and the Los Angeles Flash, and he didn't want to miss tip-off.

When he reached his parent's ranch style home at the edge of Logan City, he saw his father outside wearing a wide-brimmed hat and gardening gloves with a bandana tied around his neck. He was the physical embodiment of what people assumed a ranch hand looked like. Stepping out of his pickup, Thiago lifted a hand in greeting.

"Hola, Papá."

"Hola, hijo." His father took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket as he stood from the planter in front of him. Pointing to the flowering bushes inside, he shook his head.

"I don't know why your mother insists we keep trying to grow these gardenias. I end up being the one trying to keep them alive. One little bug and she's running back into the house."

Hooking his thumb over his shoulder, Thiago's father tried to look annoyed at his wife's persistence on having pretty things, but not wanting to maintain them. Looking at the white flowers, Thiago would admit the white blooms were attention getters.

"How long have you been married, Pop? You didn't just learn your wife likes outside as long as she doesn't have to encounter the things that live outside."

Swatting at him with the gloves he ripped from his pocket, his father mumbled about Thiago being a mama's boy and never taking his side, before turning toward the house. Following him, Thiago shook his head. His dad would complain. But next spring, he ‘d be right back in the planter trying to keep whatever difficult-to-grow flower alive for his mother.

The moment he set foot over the threshold, his mother was flying at him with the tails of her long crochet sweater vest trailing behind her.

"You're here!"

Grabbing him in a hug, she pulled him to the kitchen, pushing him in front of the sink to wash his hands before steering him to the round, four-seater table. This wasn't where they ate when all of his brothers came over, but it was where his parents took most of their meals when home alone. There were already place settings in front of each seat.

"Sit. Sit, mijo. I'll get the food."

Thiago was well and truly suspicious now. His mother was flitting around the kitchen plating steaming piles of grilled meat and vegetables, along with flour tortillas and beans. Serving the meal family style, she placed everything in the center of the table. By the time she was done, his father entered the room, drying his hands on a towel.

"Sit, Miguel. Thiago is ready to eat his dinner."

Thiago actually hadn't said a word, but he didn't correct his mother, even if it meant catching a glare from his father.

"Thiago isn't the man of this house. I am. We don't eat on his stomach time."

"Miguel!" His mother hissed, giving Thiago yet another clue. Whatever his mother wanted, his father was well aware of it.

Thiago had no sooner taken the first bite of his fajita before his mother started up again about her book club.

"Beatrice asked about you last week at book club. We were discussing our book about this big guy, and she said he reminded her of you a little."

That wasn't weird at all. Thiago again kept his thought to himself. Knowing what kind of books they typically read, he wasn't sure he wanted his de facto godmother saying a man in one of their sexy time stories reminded her of him. Felt more than a little icky. Apparently what he didn't say aloud was written on his face.

Waving a hand at him, his mother's expression matched her scandalized rebuke.

"Thiago Martine Dominguez! You get that dirty thought out of your head. She wasn't talking about you..." His mother leaned in and lowered her voice, " sexually. "

"Mi amor, if you can read about it, why can't you say it out loud?"

Thiago's father earned himself a censuring glare for his contribution to the discussion. So, he returned to scooping meat and vegetables onto his tortilla. Thiago followed his father's lead and forked beans into his mouth.

Going back to their conversation as if his father hadn't said a word, his mother returned her gaze to Thiago.

"Anyway, as I was saying. Beatrice said the MMC—that's the main male character—reminded her of you. Not just because he was a big man, but he was so protective and willing to do whatever it took to make his lady feel safe. I was proud."

Sitting up straighter in her seat, she brushed imaginary lint from the front of her crocheted vest.

"I raised good boys who became great men. The ladies were all abuzz when she brought you up. So, of course, we showed them pictures of you. And your brothers."

Thiago closed his eyes. The perfectly seasoned beans took on the taste of cardboard in his mouth. Swallowing the bite was a struggle. He could almost recite verbatim the words that were coming next.

"It's a shame that I have such good, handsome sons and not one of them has gotten married and given me grandchildren to spoil." Shaking her head with regret, his mother added something unexpected to her normal, why am I not an abuela, routine.

"The ladies agreed with me that it was a shame. Then one of them showed me this."

Pulling her phone from her pocket, his mother swiped her finger across the screen before holding it up for him to see.

"It's a dating agency. Very exclusive."

Her assurances of the exclusivity of the service did nothing to make Thiago feel good about where this was going.

"The ladies said it was the perfect place for a man to be chosen by a good, bookish woman. Because, the woman has to choose the man."

Shaking his head, Thiago wiped his mouth before placing his hands flat on the table.

"I'm not signing up on a dating app, Mamá."

The broad smile on his mother's face filled Thiago's stomach with dread.

"You don't have to, mijo. I did it for you. Now we just have to wait for my perfect daughter-in-law to find you."

Dropping his head, Thiago counted. Then he prayed. Then he counted some more. His mother's soft hand tapped the back of his where it lay atop the floral tablecloth.

"Don't worry, mijo. Everyone knows girls who like to read, make the best wives. Trust me. She'll be perfect for you."