Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(63)

Not like it’s easy to sneak into a hotel room.

“I am not the one who gives him heartburn,” my mother declares.

Henri stomps a foot. “Listen. Both of you. I don’t like to be rude. I might have a heart attack and die in a minute here, because I’m on the verge of hyperventilating over some of these things coming out of my mouth, but Luca’s a good man, and he deserves to be able to dream of whatever life he wants, with or without a companion by his side, without all the baggage you’ve all thrown on him. That’s completely unfair of both of you, and if there’s one thing I hate more than rudeness, it’s unfairness. Now, apologize to each other and promise to be friends, for Luca’s sake, before I name my next witch Morgan Irene and hex her with a mushroom infection under her armpits and a habit of exploding acid out of her vagina every time she sneezes. And then you’re going to tell me where I can find the man known as his father so that he and I can have a heart-to-whatever-he-has too.”

She jams her fists onto her hips.

I could never live with myself if Henri had a heart attack while defending my honor, so I stride down the short hallway, bend and wrap my arms around her waist, and kiss her cheek. “Hey, sugarplum.”

She sags against me, and holy crap. Her heart is racing, which I can feel through her back, and she’s shaking like I did at my first major league at-bat. “Hi, honey,” she says faintly.

Nonna’s smiling like a freaking Angel of Chaos whose work is done. Mom’s glaring at her. If I listen closely enough, I’ll be able to hear the moment when her molars all crack, which is understandable, since she would’ve gone Bringer of Death on the last person who manipulated me into a relationship if I hadn’t threatened to never talk to her again if she was imprisoned for murder when me firing my agent would be enough.

“Go away,” I tell them both while I tighten my grip on Henri.

Nonna’s rubbing her hands in glee. “Are you gonna throw her on the bed and strip her and forget a condom?”

“Don’t be crass, Irene. He’s only dating her to get out of your stupid fake curse. And what kind of a grandmother does that to her grandson?”

“The kind who’s protecting him from a mother like you.”

“Or maybe you’re both afraid Luca’s going to choose one of you over the other when if you’d freaking get along, he wouldn’t have to choose at all? How about what the fuck are you both doing to him? Oh, god. Oh, god, I’m going to have a stroke too. And you made me say the fuck word. I hate when people make me say the fuck word.”

“Shh,” I murmur. “It’s okay. Here. Come sit down. Then I’ll open the window and take care of the problems.”

“Promise?”

“I’ve wanted to throw them both off a tall building for a few years now. And we’re only six stories up. That should do significant damage without resulting in murder charges.”

“We can hear you,” Mom says dryly.

Pretty sure she knows I’m not serious, but I still give her the go away look. “Good. Leave.” I sweep Henri up into my arms and carry her the two steps to deposit her on top of the disaster of a bed.

If I didn’t know my mother was having hot flashes and my grandmother never got over hers, I’d think they had some kind of fling in here last night for the way the bedclothes are all tangled and twisted.

Shit.

I can’t make out with Henri on this bed. It has my mother’s sweat in it. And my grandmother’s.

“You’re adorable when your whole face twitches like that,” Henri whispers.

Mine might be twitching, but hers is as white as the chalk lines before a game, and it doesn’t matter that my dick is hard as steel for the first time in weeks, and that I want to make out with Henri despite my mother and grandmother being here, and all of their cooties being all over everything.

There’s something bigger taking control of my body.

It’s an organ in my chest that rarely gets the kind of metaphysical workout everyone thinks it’s supposed to be for.

I touch her cheek. “Are you okay?”

She opens her mouth, and a full, loud, whiney meow comes from beside the bed, accompanied by the sound of claws on canvas.

She brought her cat.

Of course she did.

Dogzilla meows again, which is the freakiest thing I’ve ever heard. That cat’s too lazy to meow, and now she’s done it twice in a row. She’d be too lazy to breathe if it wasn’t an automatic body function.

I shoot my family another look while I bend over to rescue the cat from its carrier prison.

Nonna shoves Mom. “C’mon, then, Morgan. Let’s go hit on some of Luca’s friends and get you a personality transplant.”

“While we’re at it, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Arsenic won’t kill me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I hand the cat to Henri, and they blow out matching sighs of relief as Henri hugs Dogzilla to her chest.

There’s no costume on the cat today, but it’s weird enough seeing Dogzilla alert and putting a paw to Henri’s cheek like she’s asking if Henri’s okay.

“Is that a shapeshifting cat?” I ask. “Or a cursed former lover?

And then I realize how far gone I am if I believed for a minute that either of those things could be real.