Page 24 of Danger Close

The boy should be put on the cover of a magazine.

“Is she not a fan of classical philosophy? Does she find your talks of Hypatia dull?” I smirked. “Though, with your looks, I don’t even think that would be a deterrent.”

Greg threw his head back and laughed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. It was a fantastic sight.

The food arrived, and I looked at the greasy American meal, picking up the knife and fork to cut the massive cheeseburger in half.

He dug right in, grabbing the burger with one hand, and then slopping ketchup to a miniscule, open space on his plate with the other.

“Your table manners may need some work,” I said without thinking. “But I doubt that would put off a young lady, given the rest of your packaging.”

He paused mid-bite, his eyes going from me to the burger, then back again.

He straightened, put down the burger, then sheepishly picked up a French fry with two fingers as he sheepishly said, “Sorry.”

“Don’t stop eating on my account,” I said, waving a knife at him. “I’m sure you could commit murder and still be considered loveable.”

He blushed but smiled, picking up his burger again.

“Truly, I don’t mean to be so critical. Sometimes I speak without thinking.” I wasn’t sorry for being honest. But I was sorry for the way my honesty came out. “If a man like you can’t get the person he wants, then there’s truly no hope for the rest of us.”

Why did I think of Cobra at that moment? His hard eyes, his scowl, the way his hand had rested on my thigh.

“Mrs. Guerro, you’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?” he joked, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh,” I said, pawing at the air to tell him to stop his joking. “It’s cruel to tease an old woman! Have some respect for your elders!”

Greg laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You know, you’re not what I expected.”

“And what did you expect?” I posed with my chin on my knuckles, my elbow on the table.

“I don’t know. Horns, maybe?” He shrugged. “A wicked stepmother-type. I’ve heard Trinity talk about you, and this wasn’t the picture it conjured.”

I tensed, then forced myself to relax. With a practiced smile that I’d once reserved for photographs—the kind that didn’t wrinkle the eyes—I shrugged.

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Hurt? Yes. Surprised? No.“My daughter and I have never seen eye to eye.”

“My mom and I didn’t either,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “But my mom’s not like you.”

He looked at me, his mouth partially open, as if he hadn’t completely expressed his thought, and I was more than happy to wait for him to tell me more.

“Every time you say Taz’s name, you light up. Then you get sad.” He took a drink, and I followed suit, just to fill in the brief pause in our conversation. “You wouldn’t be so conflicted if you didn’t love her.”

“Your mother didn’t love you?” How could someone not love this boy?

“She loved herself,” he said with a degree of honesty that one didn’t often find among young people. “She loved me as an extension of herself.”

I felt for him. I understood him.

“That was how my father loved as well,” I said quietly.

He’d beaten my mother bloody when she was not the appropriate extension of himself. I learned to be perfect in a way my mother never did. I was pretty and unobtrusive. A proper young lady. I endured his cruelty with golden silence. That was what made him happy until the day I left Nantes for Paris.

I was a terrible mother. But IlovedTrinity—stubborn, strong, intelligent, and lost as she might be. She was no more an extension of me than a falcon in the dive was an extension of a caged canary. Where I was bound by clipped wings, Trinity was always able to soar.

“I’m sorry,” I said, quietly. “When your parents do not love you as they should, it can be very painful.”

With a cheeky little smile, Greg raised his bottle in the air in a toast, “To loveless parents!”