Behind the Curtain - Page 108

“I know that. Thanks, Mom.”

He hugged her. She reciprocated, albeit clumsily. His mom had never been much of a hugger. She squeezed his upper arms.

“My goodness, you’ve grown,” she said, sounding flustered as they separated. He laughed.

“I’m the same size as I was the last time you saw me.”

“Well,” she said, smoothing her bobbed brown hair even though not a strand was out of place. “You have grown, nevertheless. You’ve become quite an accomplished man,” she said, staring everywhere but at him. He opened his mouth to thank her. It had been the closest thing to a compliment that he’d heard from his mother in years. “Asher, go and put on some clothes,” she scolded before he could say anything. “You shouldn’t be answering the door naked.”

“I’m wearing pajama bottoms, Mom. What do you expect? I was sleeping,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at the fact that she had to revert to scolding instead of letting the warm moment unfold.

“Well, go and shower and get dressed anyway. I’ve scheduled a birthday brunch for us at the club.”

“Mom, I’m not alone.”

“What?” Her wide-eyed, askance look transferred to the entryway of the kitchen. Asher turned and saw Laila standing in the entryway, looking uncertain as to whether she should stay or try to escape. She wore the button-down shirt he’d

been wearing yesterday. The shirt fell on her pretty legs at midthigh. Her long hair spilled around her shoulders. She looked mussed and radiant and amazingly beautiful.

“Hello,” she said in her low, resonant, singular voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“You’re not interrupting,” Asher assured her. Part of his brain absorbed his mother’s stiff, increasingly imperious expression. It embarrassed the hell out of him, as usual. The familiar feeling was even stronger presently, because it was Laila witnessing it all. Out of long habit, another part of him was already determinedly ignoring his mother’s arrogance. “Mom, this is Laila Barek. Laila, this is my mother, Madeline Gaites-Granville.”

“Well. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” his mom said, giving Laila a puzzled, frigid once-over before she stepped forward and shook her hand. The formal gesture struck Asher as ridiculous, given Laila’s and his rumpled, just-rolled-out-of-bed condition.

“It’s nice to meet you as well. I’ve heard so much about you,” Laila said breathlessly, shaking his mother’s hand.

“That much? Really?” his mother said, stepping back and giving Asher a speculative, coldly amused glance. “You work fast, son. You’ve only been in town a few days.”

“I’ve known Laila for eight years,” he said, all too happy to puncture a hole in his mother’s superior bubble. It worked. She started and blinked, glancing at Laila more sharply this time.

“Eight years?”

“Yeah. In fact, I have you and Dad to thank for it. We met at Crescent Bay, that summer after I finished college,” Asher said evenly. He noticed Laila’s disbelieving, concerned glance, but it didn’t stop him from his mission of bringing his mother down a notch or two. “We fell hard for each other, back then.”

“And you’ve been in contact ever since then?” his mother asked in a high-pitched voice.

“No. We ran into each other unexpectedly a few days ago, here in Chicago,” Asher said. He stepped closer to Laila and put his arm around her, rubbing her hip. “You can imagine how happy we were to see each other again.”

“Yes, I can imagine. Barek, is it?” his mother asked, as if suddenly politely fascinated. Asher clenched his teeth hard at her sudden change of behavior.

“Yes,” Laila said.

“Laila Barek,” his mother mused. “I’m trying to recall if Asher has ever mentioned you, but I’m coming up short. I’m sure I’d remember the name. It’s lovely. Is it Spanish, by chance? You have a look I associate with traveling along the Mediterranean coast there—”

“Mom—” Asher interrupted impatiently, seeing where this was headed.

“Just on the other side of the Mediterranean from Spain, actually. My family comes from Morocco,” Laila said, cutting off Asher in turn.

“Morocco,” his mother said stiffly after a pause. “How . . . exotic.”

Asher refrained from rolling his eyes again. Instead, he pulled Laila closer. His mother noticed his protective gesture. She inhaled, as if to clear her head of the image of the two of them, and smiled widely. “Well, I can see you’re not available to celebrate your birthday with your mother. You have much more interesting company. Would it be too much of an inconvenience if I were to ask you to the house tomorrow for lunch? I’ll ask your father to be there, as well.”

“To celebrate my birthday?” Asher asked.

“Of course. And to talk, as well. We have some unfinished business,” she said briskly, buttoning her coat.

“I told you we were done getting together for business,” he reminded her quietly. Firmly.

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