The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(102)

I smile bashfully. “Ah . . .”

Our mineral water arrives and she pours us both a glass. “Has Elliot warned you not to elaborate on anything to me?”

Oh hell.

I smile shyly. “Maybe.”

“He’s a very private person.”

“Yes.” I nod. “I know.”

She opens her menu. “I’m afraid that out of all my children, growing up in the spotlight has had the biggest effect on Elliot.”

I frown as I listen.

“He guards his privacy with his life and I’m quite sure that some days he despises his surname.”

“I don’t think—”

“Now, now.” She cuts me off. “There’s no need to make excuses, my dear. I understand where he’s coming from.”

“Where is he coming from?” I whisper.

“Elliot is a dreamer,” she continues. “He lives in a world where he is forced to be a realist, but in his heart, he is a romantic.”

I smile; I already knew this from my interaction with Ed. “Yes, I know.”

“When he called me last week and told me that he was bringing a plus-one to his birthday dinner, I knew that you must be special to him.”

“Why is that?”

“Darling.” She takes my hand over the table. “You’re the first woman he’s ever brought home to us.”

My face falls as I stare at her. “He’s a very confusing man,” I whisper.

She gives me a knowing smile. “Hang in there, my dear.” She sips her drink. “Once Elliot commits to a woman, she would be his entire world.”

I drop my head. I know he told me not to tell her anything, but if there’s one woman who knows him better than anyone, it’s her. “It’s only early days, he doesn’t even want anyone to know that we’re seeing each other.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” she replies. “Elliot hates press, he hates the invasion of his privacy. When they nicknamed him Casanova Miles he was mortified; he believes that once something becomes the property of the gossip pages, that it’s no longer special, or belongs to him.”

I frown.

“He’s watched Jameson go through very public battles with the media and the ramifications it has caused in his private life.”

I listen intently; this isn’t how I was expecting our conversation to go.

“He doesn’t want that for himself or his partner. In his own way, he is protecting you.”

“Who would ever have thought that a media family would hate the press so much?” I say.

“The irony.” She smiles. “Christopher has filled me in on your and Elliot’s history, you haven’t always liked each other or gotten along?”

“No.”

She smiles as she watches me. “Why is that?”

Fuck.

I stare at her, lost for words.

She reminds me what it was like to have a mother figure pry for information: it feels nice. Familiar.

She takes my hand in hers once more. “I hold honesty in the highest regard, Kate.”

Shit, that was code for . . . lie to me bitch, and you’re done. Oh hell, I brace myself to tell her the truth. Here goes nothing.

“I thought he was a self-absorbed, self-righteous womanizer.”

She chuckles in surprise. “Elliot is all of those things.”

I smile too.

“But if you get underneath all that, and not many people get the chance to, he is kind and warm and generous.”

I well up; she’s completely right. “I know.” I sip my drink. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mrs. Miles,” I whisper. “But I wish Elliot was a plumber.”

“Why?”

“Because then we would come from the same world and I wouldn’t have to share him. And he could just be whoever he wanted to be.”

She puts her hand under her chin as she stares at me.

Shit . . . I shouldn’t have said that. I crossed the line.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“That’s okay, dear,” she cuts me off. “Can I ask you a question, Kate?”

I nod.

“What don’t you like about Elliot?”

“Um.” I pause. Fuck . . . he told me not to go there with her and here I am having a deep and meaningful. I’ve fallen for her trap. You idiot, Kate.

“Umm . . .” I pause again.

“Be honest with me. What don’t you like about Elliot?”

“His arrogance, his money, his temper . . .” I pause as I try to articulate my words. “He’s closed off and cold, reserved, and can be mean—”

“What do you like about him?” she interrupts.

I think for a moment. “His kind heart.”

Her eyes hold mine and eventually, she smiles softly. “It’s lovely to meet you, Kathryn,” she whispers.

“I’m so sorry about this morning,” I whisper back. “You can’t imagine how horrified I am that we met that way.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” She laughs. “I know what my son is like, I’m not delusional. He’s definitely no angel and his nickname was well earned.”

She seems happy and I’m not sure, but I think I answered her questions right.