Twisted (Never After #4)(67)

It’s a morbid thought, waiting for my father to die, one that has guilt and sadness commingling in my chest and compressing my lungs until they feel beaten and worn, but there’s nothing else we can do except wait. I have to come to terms with it in order to make sure his legacy is protected in the end.

Julian’s hand briefly touches my back and then retreats, and that brings me back into the moment.

I’ve noticed that Julian generally likes me to show affection in public or around people, including my father, who we’re trying to convince that we’re the real deal, but I don’t know if that extends to his own mother. You’d think he’d let me in on what I’m supposed to do, but a large part of pretending to be in love with Julian is figuring out what he wants like I’m a mind reader. He just expects me to know. Another dickish trait of his.

Despite the nerves, though, part of me is excited to see him interact with someone he loves—although the jury’s still out on whether he’s even capable of the emotion.

When we reach the door, he doesn’t knock; he just opens the matte-black handle and walks inside.

“Ma,” he hollers.

His tone catches me off guard, and I hold back a laugh at how normal he sounds as I follow behind him through the large entryway with a staircase to the left and past the open dining room that already has food set in the middle of the table. The smell of oregano and something hearty hits my nostrils, making my stomach rumble in appreciation. I haven’t eaten since brunch this morning, and the nerves of having to be around Julian and his mother at the same time have sent me into a bit of a tailspin, so I’m starved, and the food smells delicious.

We walk by a living room with a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, flames crackling, and then head to the right of the cream-colored couches and into the open kitchen.

A woman stands between the small island and a gas stove, her black hair with silver streaks pulled into a low bun on her head.

Right before she turns around, Julian reaches behind him and grabs my hand. Tightly.

My brows shoot up as I look at him, confused by how out of sorts he seems, an anxious energy radiating off him that normally doesn’t exist. But when his mother faces us, I clear the expression, adopting a large smile and leaning in slightly to Julian’s touch. Both because I’m trying to be convincing and because his mother immediately puts me on edge. Her face is stern, and her eyes are cold as ice. They zone in on our linked hands immediately.

“Ciao, Ma.”

“Vita mia, come give your mother a kiss.”

Her voice is strong and smooth like honey, and she’s clearly not from Badour with the way she drops her r’s and elongates her a’s. I realize then that I have no idea if Julian is originally from here, and anxiety squeezes my insides tight, worried she’ll ask me questions I don’t know how to answer. Questions that any other married couple should know.

Whatever. It’s not like I had a choice in the matter anyway, so if we look silly, then I’m blaming him, and he can deal with the repercussions.

There’s a wooden spoon in his mother’s left hand as she walks over to us, reaching up to wrap Julian in a hug. As she does, her left arm drops harshly, forcing my hand away from his.

My heart jumps and my fingers sting from the action, but I shake it off, telling myself that surely, she didn’t do it on purpose.

She backs away from him, holding onto his biceps before reaching up to pat him on the face, then looks over to me. “And who is this?”

Julian shakes her off, grabbing me around the waist and dragging me into his side. “This is Yasmin.”

“Yasmin.” She lifts her chin so she’s staring down her nose at me. “I didn’t know my son would be bringing strangers into my home.”

“Ma,” Julian sighs.

“What?” she asks, her gaze swinging back to him. “You bring a girl here without warning me and I’m not allowed to ask any questions?” She turns toward me, primping the side of her already perfect bun. “Honestly, you’d think I’m chopped liver with the way he treats me. Barely calls, never tells me what he’s doing with his life, and now here you are. A random girl I’ve never met.” Her lip curls. “Maybe you’re the reason he’s been so distant.”

I stare at her with wide eyes, extremely uncomfortable and insulted but also a little amused. She’s talking to Julian like he’s a kid, not like the formidable businessman he is. It honestly fascinates me a little, and I can’t help the tiny smirk that lines my mouth when I turn to look at Julian, seeing him in a different light for the first time. It’s hard to be intimidated by him when he’s in this element.

“Is this new?” she asks, pointing her finger to me and then him.

“Not particularly,” I reply after Julian doesn’t say a word.

“And you never let me meet her?” she complains. “Typical.”

“You’re meeting her now,” he says dryly.

“And for what? What if I died and you never even let me meet the girl you’re seeing? You’d have to live with that for the rest of your life. Any day now, I could go, you know that? I don’t have much time left. I’ve told you what the doctors say. Do you want that on your conscience?”

I inhale a harsh breath at her words, pain slicing through the hidden wounds caused by my father’s illness.