Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

M atteo

"Yes, Mom."

"Matthew, I have brought you dinner. Are you at home or the clinic?" Despite being born and raised in Dallas, her voice is ever the crisp northeastern accent of a Connecticut debutant.

It's her nanny's accent. A nanny hired because she previously nannied for the Vanderbilt family. The nanny raised my mother and her brothers and sisters. Her parents barely made an appearance in her life.

Shit, now I feel bad. She brought me dinner again. Because she's aware that I don't eat properly. I run on protein shakes, scrambled eggs, and delivery. Although I'm not ready yet to share Layla or Amy with anyone—let alone my mom—I sure as hell am not going to hide them. "I'm home. You can come on up."

"Wonderful, dear. Five minutes or so."

The front desk called before allowing visitors up—except anyone we had on a list. Family had their own cards to scan in the elevators to come up to the condo. Mom learned to call before simply knocking on my door. I didn't like to wear much more than my boxers at home. She found out the hard way by coming up without calling when I answered the door without thinking.

Opening the door with Layla on my hip, I'm an ass for finding her reaction amusing. Wide green eyes go to Layla, and her mouth falls open. She looks to me, then back to Layla. She blinks a few times.

"Mathew, darling, is that your daughter?" I can't tell if she's happy or not.

To everyone but my mother, I'm Matteo. The difference is that my mother wanted to name me Matthew after her beloved brother, who died a few years before I was born.

My father wanted his children to have names that honored our Latin roots. While my mother was recovering from her cesarian surgery, he filled out the birth certificate with the name Matteo instead of Matthew. Despite previously agreeing to Matthew—she never forgave him for it.

I remember the way Javier found out he had a daughter. I laugh. "Kind of sort of. This is Layla. Layla, say hello to your Gigi. Her mother is in bed. She came into the clinic today with a bad case of strep throat. Once she's feeling better, I'm going to marry her."

Her hand goes up to the base of her throat. "Matthew, my sweet, beautiful child. You know I love you, right?"

I shrug and nod. While I grew up resenting the revolving door nannies we had in place of her as an actual mother. Her explanation of it was how she was raised, so she believed it was how things were supposed to be was understandable. Once she realized how her lack of a presence in our lives hurt me and my brothers, she apologized and attempted to make amends.

Also, she stepped in against my grandfather. In an attempt to manipulate me not to become a doctor, he refused to pay for college or give me any access to the family trust fund. Up until that point, my mother never went against my grandfather—even when she wanted to. His word was law in our family.

My mother never said a word to my grandfather—that I was aware of. She told me if I wanted to be a doctor, all I needed to worry about was getting into school. She would take care of everything else. And she did.

She paid my tuition, gave me a monthly allowance and a credit card in case of emergencies, bought a condo in New York for me to live in for my undergrad, and then a home in Baltimore for medical school. She was there when I needed her in every way.

"Have you lost your mind? You cannot meet a woman and decide you are going to marry her the same day. What does she think about this plan of yours? Does she know you are a Castillo? Or maybe she saw a white coat and?—"

"Mother, Amy is unaware I'm wealthy. She might have seen the white coat and stethoscope, but she has no idea I plan on making her my wife. We've barely managed to speak thirty words to each other?—"

"Jesus fucking christ, Matteo Alphonso Castillo." I hold Layla close and wonder if I should put her in her crib.

My mother has never sworn in my presence. Her repeated remark of people who swore are not simply uncouth but unintelligent to rely on such words is something I've heard often. She also hasn't said all three of my names at once since I was ten years old and trapped Javier in the dryer and had him go around a few times. He wanted to go in. So, I thought being grounded wasn't a fair punishment.

"Give me that baby right now. I am calling my housekeeper to prepare a room for the poor woman. She can recover in my home, where she and the baby are well taken care of. And not at the mercy of a man who has clearly lost his mind and should be seeking the care of a therapist." She holds out her hands for Layla.

Layla leans into me and babbles something around the fingers she's sucking on. Hmm, she's probably teething. I run a hand over her head and kiss her to reassure her.

"Amy and Layla aren't going anywhere. I'm already going to make an appointment with the therapist Rafe found me. I'll send an email to her today. Since I'm going to make changes in my life to give them the time and attention they deserve—the first of which is cutting my working hours from eighty to only forty. It's going to take some adjusting. I will need outside input to ensure I don't indirectly take anything out on Layla or Amy?—"

"Wait, you are cutting your hours down?" She's frowning as much as the Botox will allow. She barely looks ten years older than me instead of the twenty-three years she is due to years of Botox and peels.

"Of course. I already hired the person who will take my hours to keep me from going over forty. Now that I'm thinking of it, I should also have someone who can do part time and is willing to be on call as needed. I'm sure there are going to be times Amy or Layla need me, and I won't be able to go in to work."

A hand goes flat in the middle of her chest. "You already hired someone? And now you are thinking of hiring another person…" She sits down on the leather sofa, her hands clenched in her lap. "I am going to need you to explain, very slowly, why you believe you are going to marry someone you have barely spoken thirty words to."

Hearing her say it, I understand the question. She's not going to like my answer. I sit down in the oversized chair next to the sofa. Layla snuggles into me on my lap, kicking her feet out with a grin.

"I just know." My hand comes up to stop her arguing with me. "I'm aware of how crazy it sounds. Do not fear I didn't wonder if it's a sane statement to make. There is Layla's father to contend with. The bastard broke her car seat base so Amy couldn't leave him. So that promises to be an issue. Amy is very clearly on her last hope and prayer as she was living at a truly atrocious motel. And from what I can tell, barely enough money for her and Layla to survive on."

My mother sighs and pinches the bridge of her elegant nose. Sometimes, I think my mother is overwhelmed by her sons and their unwillingness to fit into the public persona of a billionaire family in Dallas society.

"All of that will cause Amy to be wary of me. I have no doubt it will take time and patience to get her to trust in me. At the same time, I'm hopeful the connection we have is going to help her trust there's something between us she cannot walk away from. She refused to come home with me initially. It wasn't until I told her she could have all the pride she wanted except when it came to what was right for Layla. She folded immediately with regret she couldn't tell me no."

My mother is clearly surprised.

"That speaks to a woman with pride who also loves her daughter deeply and will do what's right for her—despite it being against what she wants."

She exhales slowly. "If she wants to leave, you will let her go?"

Those lines are trying to make an appearance on her forehead as I consider the question.

My honest answer is no. But I think she knows that already. "I'm going to do everything I can to ensure she doesn't want to leave. I need your help. Since I don't want to leave them here alone. Could you please shop for what they will need? Layla only has a few things I got from the donation room. And Amy has nothing at all except what she's wearing."

My mother's sigh is from the depths of her soul. "Fine. We have exceptional lawyers who can keep you out of prison."

I can't help laughing. It startles Layla, and she laughs, too. "Thank you, Mom. Say, thank you, Gigi." I tell Layla.

We're both shocked when Layla gurgles the word. "Gigi." Seeing our surprise, she laughs and repeats it. This time more clearly and with pride. "Gigi."

"Oh, my darling, yes. I am your Gigi." She reaches for Layla. This time, Layla happily goes into her arms.

I let go when it's clear my mother has a good grip on her. Odd, my arms feel empty the same way they did when I put Amy down. The sensation leaves me stunned for a moment.

Her eyes are on me with concern. "Matthew? Are you all right, dear?"

Unsettled, I nod as I force a smile. "Yes, you've got my girl, and I'm already attached to her. While you have her, could I make a quick call? I want to offer the job to the person I'm hoping will be part-time and back up before it's too late tonight."

"Yes, go on. Leave me to get to know my newest grandchild." My mother waves me away. Layla laughs and waves, too. Seeing them together, a sense of relief wells up inside me. She might not truly get it, but she's going to support me. And it's why I've never regretted forgiving her for my childhood.

It takes some digging to find the resume. The idea of someone who preferred not only part-time or on-call left me concerned they weren't committed and responsible. Especially when the notes are she has a social media presence that's important to her—that has to be accepted or she won't take the position. The staffing agency reviewed it and felt the videos she posted were unoffensive since they were only make-up reviews and tutorials.

By the time I'm off the phone with her I'm sure she will work out. Once again, the level of relief running through me surprises me. I wonder where it comes from, considering I worked long and hard to make the center happen. Will I regret it in a week or two from now?

I shoot an email to the therapist requesting a session as soon as possible with my reasons for not only seeing her but why an immediate session is necessary. As I write the email, I begin to understand why there's only relief I will no longer devote all my time and energy to the clinic. The center was to give me a place to serve my penance for being rich, the way oncology was before.

Except now that Layla and Amy need me, I'm done. I can finally see there's no need to pay a penance. I've spent fourteen years doing everything I could to save the patients I treated. I served my time. I more than earned the right to be happy, to live a life for myself and not others.

I find my mother completely engrossed in Layla. "We are going to get you the best of everything. You let your Gigi take care of it. Do you like pink, or should we get you a rainbow of colors? I believe we should go with some warm colors with your lovely skin tone. Is your mommy native, or is it your daddy? If it's Mommy, maybe we can go see a pow-wow. They are so much fun. The fry bread is so yummy. I must not have the whole thing. Will you share with your Gigi?"

Hearing my mother refer to another man as Layla's father has bile bubbling up to the back of my throat. Would I have to share her with another man? Send her off on the weekends, wondering if he's taking good care of her. It had to have been bad for Amy to leave him when she clearly was struggling on her own. I make a decision I'm aware could come back to bite me in the ass.

Back in the office, I grab Amy's wallet and open it. I'd left her purse in my office to put in the safe later. The number is in my phone, put there by Rafe when it comes to staffing. He told me to have the staffing agency run everyone through a private security company run by Taylor Hunt and Sam King. They were able to delve into the very minutia of a person's life.

I needed to know everything. The better to be prepared when I faced him with the news that I wanted Layla as my own. That's it—that's all I want out of the call—the means to make him fold on leaving our lives completely and totally.

When I walk into the living room this time, my mother is cuddling a sleeping Layla.

"How did you get her to sleep? She's been out for hours already. I was sure I had another hour or two to keep her occupied."

My mother's smile could split open her face. "She needed a burping session. Poor thing. She was out like a light two minutes after letting out the biggest burp. I'll put her in her crib."

"I need to put clean sheets on the mattress. I'm not sure if they left any." I'm ahead of her. The linen closet in the bathroom attached to the bedroom holds several fitted sheets for the crib and a few extra soft baby towels and washcloths.

The moment Layla is laid down in the crib, my mother is into everything. I have no idea where the pen and small notepad came from she's writing in. "Hm, so I will be doing an afternoon of shopping for them. And do take down the decoration on the wall for Ava. Javier said it would come off easily. We can put something up for Layla soon enough. Do you plan on making the condo your home?"

"Not for the long term. Layla will need a backyard to run and play in. I'll leave it up to Amy to decide the home when it's time."

"What were you thinking for Amy? And do you have her size?" My mother turns the page in her notepad.

"She's an eighteen. And she's only five-three, so keep petite in mind for length. Her shoe size is seven. I want several pairs of shoes for her. She is wearing leggings and a T-shirt. Since it could be all she can afford, could you get her a selection of clothes fit for this chaotic weather of almost January in Texas?"

My mother chuckles. "Yes, it can be difficult to go from a coat and gloves one day to a light jacket the next. I'll buy her basics. She can shop for what she would like once she's feeling better."

I'm nodding, hoping Amy doesn't resent my mother picking out her clothes. My mother has impeccable style. It's timeless in that what she wears can fit in easily almost anywhere. Her clothes were never flashy despite all of them having designer labels.

"Come along, dear. We want to let Layla sleep. You're going to enjoy your dinner right where I can see you."

I roll my eyes as I follow my mother out of the room, careful to leave it open slightly to hear Layla. Once, I got caught up in planning after she brought me dinner and didn't finish eating. When she brought me lunch the next day and found the half-eaten dinner, she was displeased—to say the least. Ever since then she sits with me while I eat to ensure I finish whatever she brings me.

She hands over her notebook. "Is there anything else you can think of?"

Sitting down at the dinner table, I go through it and add a few more things. Once I'm done, I hand her my credit card.

I open the container of food and find one of my favorites, chicken fried chicken with smothered potatoes and green beans. "You're going to make me fat."

She chuckles. "I think you're underweight. Too many muscles and not an ounce of fat."

I'm inhaling my food. Her housekeeper is an amazing cook. I don't bother arguing with her since she's not wrong. My main outlet for stress is working out. I'm heavy on weights and use a rowing machine. I only climb onto the treadmill once a week for a mile. Considering how much I work out, I should be eating more than once a day and chugging protein shakes. But food isn't a priority for me.

Only now with Layla and Amy in the condo, that will need to change. "I'm going to have to fill the refrigerator, but I'm not even sure what to do as far as…"

My mother rolls her eyes and holds her hand out for my phone. She downloads an app and fills the cart. "It's too late for today. So I put an order in for delivery tomorrow afternoon. Most of this is precooked, so you simply need to warm it up. The rest is prepared. All you need to do is put it into the oven to cook. Since there is no telling as far as allergies go, I have been careful to keep it to mainly non-gluten items and minimal dairy items."

"Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it." I really do. I shouldn't be this clueless as a man at almost forty about ordering groceries. Except I have no idea what grocery stores are in Dallas or where they are. My extent of shopping for groceries was buying bread, eggs, and cheese from a nearby convenience store. In Baltimore, I had a housekeeper who dealt with all of this.

"You are welcome, dear. All right, see me out." She taps her cheek for a kiss.

Closing the door behind her, I wonder how soon before she spills to my brothers, and they come running to tell me this will be a disaster.