Chapter 2

DANNY

I stalked off and slid into my car, adrenaline still buzzing. My phone lit up with the only person who could adjust my blood pressure back to safe levels.

Mom.

I answered on the first ring. “Hello, my beautiful mom.”

She laughed. “My handsome boy. Will you come home tonight? Your mother wants to see you.”

“Say no more.” I grinned, already powering the car. “On my way.”

Driving home always felt like speeding toward a soft place. Dad had “evicted” me at twenty...same as Asher, because, and I quote, “I can’t share your mother’s attention.” Princess got kicked out for five dramatic minutes once and still had a master key. Asher and I needed a formal invitation from the Queen herself.

Tonight, I had it.

When I walked into the living room, Mom was already on the couch waiting like a scene from a commercial: silk blouse, soft glow, the exact smile that had saved me a thousand times. I kissed her cheek and sprawled, head in her lap like I had since I was six.

“I missed you,” I said, shamelessly needy. “It’s been two months. I was counting.”

Her fingers slid into my hair. “I know. Breathe.” She smoothed my temple like she could iron out my week. “You’re too thin.”

“I’m twenty seven, not twelve.”

“And I’m still your mother,” she said, which was the end of that debate forever.

Footsteps thudded on the stairs. Dad descended like a monarch who’d smelled his throne being borrowed.

“Isn’t your head too heavy for my wife’s thighs?” He asked, one brow raised. "You're going to flatten her thighs."

The smile slid off my face. “Evening to you too, sir.”

“Lucian,” Mom warned gently.

He came around the couch, sat beside her, draped an arm over her shoulders like she was his favorite trophy and battlefield, both. “I’m just saying,” he continued, eyes on me, “you should marry and put your head on your wife’s thighs. Not your mother’s.”

“Awkward visual, thanks,” I said. “And hello.”

He ignored that. “You’re twenty-seven. Planning to grow old single?”

“Stop,” Mom said. “Do not harass my son. Danny, I made your favorite. Should I bring it out?”

I sat up like a meerkat. “Yes, please. And pretend Dad isn’t here.”

My dad gave me the long, disappointed father exhale. Honestly, he lives for it.

Mom rose, kissed his jaw (traitor), and headed to the kitchen. He watched her go with that look he gets—intense enough to light the drapes on fire—then turned back to me.

“So,” he said. “Work?”

“Excellent,” I replied.“Everything’s booming. Also, I almost got murdered by a bicycle.”

“A bicycle,” he repeated, deadpan. “Powerful enemy.”

“She weaponized a helmet,” I said. “It was premeditated.”

His mouth twitched. “And you? How did you react?”

“Like a gentleman.”

He just looked at me.

I sighed. “Okay, I told her to keep the helmet on because the full picture was… a lot.”

“She threw a helmet at you,” he said mildly. “Seems you two were… well matched.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means your mother will feed you, and I will pretend you’re not a public menace.”

Mom swept back in with a tray and the smell of home— a side of I-know-you-haven’t-eaten-real-food-in-days. I swear my soul stood up and saluted.

I started eating like a man who had outrun famine. Mom watched me and smiled like she’d planned this exact reunion when I was born.

My dad tried to steal a plantain. Mom slapped his hand midair without looking. King dethroned.

“Mom,” I said around a mouthful, “you are the love of my life.”

“You were rude to someone today,” she said, sighing like a weather report. “I can feel it.”

I chuckled. “I was attacked by a cyclist.”

“So you were rude to someone today,” she repeated.

“Unrelated.”

She tilted her head. “Apologize.”

“She threw a helmet at me.”

“Apologize,” she said again, softer this time, which is somehow ten times more dangerous.

I stabbed a plantain. “She ran over my foot, dusted my chest like I was a statue, called me a pig, then said I wasn’t her type. Me. Not her type.”

Mom’s brows rose. Dad coughed into his fist. “Tragic.”

“I know,” I said.

Mom hid a smile. “Not being someone’s type is not a crime, Danny. Sometimes it’s a blessing.”

“Trust me, this woman was blessed,” I muttered. “By chaos.”

Mom reached over and smoothed my cheek with her thumb. “Be kind. You don’t know what anyone is carrying.”

“Helmet,” I said.

“Inside,” she retorted.

I groaned. “Fine.”

We ate. We bickered, the soft kind that loops back into love. Dad asked strategic questions about contracts like he wasn’t proud; Mom asked nosy questions about my heart like she didn’t know the answer (vacant), and I gave them both slippery responses because I was not, under any circumstances, telling them I’d been trying....and failing...to buy dinner with a woman named after a color.

When I finally slowed down, Mom topped up my drink and patted my hand. “Stay the night if you want.”

“Dad will confiscate my pillow.”

My dad leaned back, assessing me like a contract. “You can stay,” he said. “As long as you don’t forget to leave.”

“Be still my heart,” I said. “He wrote me a sonnet.”

Mom squeezed my fingers. “Ignore him.”

I did. I always do.

A few minutes of silence passed, then, mom pressed her hands to her cheeks, smiling as she said. “Seeing you enjoy my food makes me want to cook for you every day. If only some people weren’t so jealous, you could come over more often.”

Dad muttered, “That is not happening in my house.”

Mom and I both chuckled.

Halfway through my last plate, she casually dropped the bomb. “Danny, speaking with all manner of seriousness, what do you think about getting married?”

I choked so hard the food I’d just swallowed shot halfway back up my throat. Dad nearly fell off his chair laughing. I stared at him and then turned to Mom, my voice raspy. “What?”

“There’s someone I think would make a perfect wife for you,” she said, her tone as gentle as if she were offering me dessert.

There was one thing about my mom... she was the only woman in the world I couldn’t say 'NO' to. Still, getting married to someone other than Sexy Red? Nah.

Nevertheless, I smiled. “Okay… I’m listening,” I said warily.

“You remember my best friend Hailey, right? Her daughter used to come around when she was little, though she’s been abroad for a while. She’s back now. Sweet girl. Quiet, reserved. She doesn’t talk much. An introvert... perfect for you.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Don’t remember her.”

“Well, you will when you see her,” Mom said confidently. “I always wanted our children to marry. Sky’s daughter is taken, but Hailey’s daughter is single. I thought… maybe it’s time. I would have asked Asher, but you know he is too rough. She needs someone calm.”

Calm? If she thought I was calm, she clearly hadn’t been paying attention for the last twenty years.

I dropped my spoon. "Mom.... I just can't...."

Her expression instantly changed to a sad one even before I was done speaking. Seeing this, my dad glared at me, got up and walked away.

He was upset that I had made his wife sad. But I was hurting too. If I could, I would make my mom smile for as long as she lived.

She sighed sadly. “It's okay. Since you don’t want to, I’ll just call Hailey and tell her it’s not possible. I guess my dream of becoming related to one of my friends through marriage will never be fulfilled. It's fine, Danny. I'll go make the call."

Seeing her get up with so much sadness in her face, I tried to hold out, but in the end, I couldn't stop myself...

“Is that what you really want?” I asked.

She stopped and nodded without hesitation. “Yes.”

I stared at her for a long second and then gave in. “Fine. If it’s what you want.”

Her face lit up like I’d just announced she’d won the lottery. “Oh my God, Danny, you’ve made my day! Let me show you her picture...”

“No, no need,” I interrupted quickly. “If you picked her, then she’s good enough for me.”

“Perfect! I’ll call Hailey right now and I'll have you guys meet tomorrow.”

As she walked away to make the call, my mind wandered... to a dancer in red, her hand gripping a pole, her hips swaying to a beat that haunted me at night......and most importantly, how the mere sight of her made my heart beat faster. How I longed to hold her in my arms.

The one woman I actually wanted, was the only one who wanted nothing to do with me.

I looked at Mom again, her eyes sparkling with happiness as she spoke. I forced a smile. If this made my Mom that happy… then maybe it was worth it.

Tomorrow I’d meet my so-called ‘perfect match.’ But no matter who she was, she wouldn’t be the woman in red… and I wasn’t sure if I could live with that.