Page 56 of The Hitch
Vulnerable Dante is hotter than dominant, fucking-me-into-the-floor Dante. Hotter than "good boy" Dante. Hotter than aloof Dante. Fuck me, I think I've got it bad.
"My boy! Wonderful to see you, my darling boy!" An incredibly well-dressed woman bounces from the front porch of a palatial home on the Main Line. Her grey hair is perfectly coiffed, not a flyaway to be found. She pulls Dante in for a gentle hug, and a massive rock on her ring finger glints in the flickering light of the gas lamps lining her driveway.
"Mother," he says, stepping back. "This is my wife, Melody. Melody, my mother. Flora."
"Wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Lyons," I smile and say with all the grace I can muster. She sweeps her eyes up and down my figure before plastering on a smile.
"And lovely to meetyou, Mrs. Lyons! Come in, come in. Dinner is nearly ready." The other Mrs. Lyons turns around and motions for us to follow.
Her heels clack on the hardwood floors, echoing around the airy, open-concept home. It's enormous—not to mention immaculate. Where Dante's house is classic goth, mahogany and ebony, his mother's is the polar opposite. Modern sweeping windows with avant-garde art hanging from the white walls, complemented by white ash wood trim and a perfectly polished floor. I feel… entirely out of place.
Awkwardly, I follow Flora and Dante through to an asymmetric table covered in crisp white linens with three place settings. Flora turns to me and smiles. She directs us to our seats, and we settle in, with me across the table from them both. I'm sure she doesn't mean anything by it; of course, she wants to sit by her only son. But it does feel a bit like I've been called into the very posh principal's office.
Dante reaches across the table and strokes my hand with a tiny smile. The tiny gesture puts me somewhat at ease, and I roll my shoulders back, sitting tall. I can do this.
"So wonderful of you to visit, my dear boy. And with yourwife!What a beautiful blessing. Thank you for joining us, Melody." Flora scrunches her face into what I assume is supposed to be a smile, but she didn't quite get it right. Maybe Botox? I don't know. But I swallow my discomfort, and smile back with whispered thanks.
A tall, slim woman in black wheels a cart up to the table and silently unloads plates while Flora barely gives her a sideways glance. Instead, she focuses all of her attention on Dante. Sheruns her fingers through loose strands of his hair and pats his cheek before turning to the table.
"Perfect timing! Dinner is served." Flora spoons a tiny helping of mashed potatoes onto her plate along with the world's smallest hunk of steak. The silent woman quickly exits the room.
Dante motions for me to serve myself. "I'll go after you, love."
"Love. How sweet, these little pet names after such a short amount of time," Flora simpers.
"Don't play coy, Mother. You and my father had a bit of a shotgun wedding yourselves. If you have something to say, say it," Dante snaps.
I stuff my face with food to avoid the possibility of joining the conversation.
"I just think it's a bit odd that I've never met your wife before this very moment. Why, of course I saw her at the wedding—if you could call it that. But you never introduced us in all this time? Why ever not? Are you ashamed of me, son?" Flora throws down her napkin as tears gather in the corner of her eyes.
"Not ashamed. Just busy. Someone has to take care of business in the absence of my father." Dante stabs a steak with his fork and plops it onto his plate. I know that kind of stab. That's the stab of a man who desperately wants to murder someone. It's… exhilarating to watch. I shift in my seat and pray that these expensive-ass chairs don't squeak. Thankfully, they don't.
"My own son doesn't visit me! I'm all alone in this house, no husband, noson—"
"You're being dramatic. You have an endless string of friends coming in and out of this house. Don't think I don't keep tabs, Mother. By the way, you seem to be gettingverycozy with your trainer. Mark, is it?"
Flora seems to be stunned. "He's avery goodtrainer, Dante."
"I'm sure he is," he flippantly replies.
Family dynamics are weird. Some people have picture-perfect relationships, while others might have an all-out drunken brawl at the drop of a hat. I murdered my own stepfather, so it's pretty clear which camp I'm in. But this feels like something in between. A gray area. Subtle digs and snide comments make my stomach churn, and I gently put down my fork, watching the show play out with unease.
"Can you blame me for seeking companionship? You've obviously done the same thing, son." Flora whips her head around to stare at me, daggers behind her eyes.
"Leave her out of this," Dante says coolly. "Honestly, Mother? I'm happy for you. Maybe we'll have another dinner soon. Invite Mark."
We're both stunned. Flora's mouth flops open, which is the least dignified I've seen her all evening. I'm sure I don't look any better, but this is… quite a turnaround.
"Well. Thank you, Dante. I'm sure he'd like that." His mother turns back to her minuscule steak and saws off a microscopic bite. "Have you considered children yet?"
"That's just about all I consider." Dante looks over at me with an incredibly unholy look. My cheeks flush a firetruck red, and I can't stifle the giggle that bubbles out of me.
"Oh, my! Well, I'm sure it'll be any day now. The ladies and I can throw you both a delightful baby shower, and Marlene—you remember Marlene, right? She handcrafts these darling little quilts—I'm sure she'd be overjoyed to make one for the baby… or babies."
I'm happy to fall into the background of their conversation, just watching them interact. The longer we're here, the more it seems Dante lets his guard down. I don't blame him for having complicated feelings. Yes, what she did to his father was disgusting. But she's his mom. And she really does seem to care about him, to love him, in this weird, emotionally distant way.
But I don't want us to be like that. I don't want to be like that with our baby. I can't just walk away with an obscene amount of money after all is said and done. No, I think I'm in this for the long haul.
