Chapter 43 The Meeting
Three o'clock arrived with the inevitability of a storm you could see coming from miles away but couldn't outrun.
Cedric stood in front of his bedroom mirror...his own bedroom, not Falcone's, because somehow getting dressed separately felt important, like they each needed space to suit up...and tried to decide for the fifth time if the navy button-down was too casual or if the grey one looked like he was trying too hard.
His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"This is stupid," he muttered at his reflection. "It's just dinner. People have dinner all the time. You've had dinner with your mother a thousand times."
Except not like this. Never like this.
Never with everything unsaid pressing down on the table like an unwelcome guest. Never with so much riding on whether she approved or walked out and stopped speaking to him. Never with his heart fully invested in someone she was about to meet for the first time.
A soft knock. Before he could answer, the door opened and Falcone stepped in. He was dressed impeccably....charcoal slacks, white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, no tie. Respectful enough to show he cared, casual enough not to look like he was performing. The perfect balance that Cedric couldn't seem to find.
"You look terrified," Falcone said.
"I am terrified." Cedric held up both shirts. "Which one?"
"Navy. It brings out your eyes." Falcone crossed the room, took the grey shirt and hung it back up. "Here. Let me."
He helped Cedric into the navy shirt, fingers steady on the buttons while Cedric's trembled uselessly. The intimacy of it....being dressed like a child, or like a lover, or some combination of both....made Cedric's throat go tight.
"I can't do this," Cedric said suddenly. "What if she hates you? What if she sees right through everything and tells me I'm making the biggest mistake of my life? What if...."
"Cedric." Falcone's hands cupped his face, forcing eye contact. "Breathe. You're spiraling."
"I'm allowed to spiral. My mother is going to be here in three hours and I have to explain...." His breath caught. "How do I explain us? How do I make her understand?"
"You tell her the truth. As much as you're comfortable with." Falcone's thumbs stroked his cheekbones. "You tell her I love you. That you love me. That we're building something together. Everything else is just details."
"Details like how we met? Details like what you do for a living? Details like the fact that you're...." Cedric stopped himself, but the words hung there anyway. A crime lord. A killer. The man who orchestrated my father's death even if I don't know that yet.
"Details like the fact that I'm not perfect," Falcone finished quietly. "That I've done things I'm not proud of. That I come from a complicated world. But also that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. To give you the life you deserve."
"She's going to ask questions."
"Let her. We'll answer what we can, honestly."
"And what we can't?"
"We'll be honest about that too. 'I can't tell you that right now' is still an answer." Falcone pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Your mother loves you. She wants you to be happy. That matters more than anything else."
Cedric wanted to believe that. He'd seen his mother's face when she was disappointed, when she was worried, when she was trying to protect her children from their own bad decisions. He knew what it looked like when she said "I love you" but meant "I don't understand you."
"Finish getting dressed," Falcone said gently. "I'll wait downstairs. We'll do this together, like everything else."
After he left, Cedric finished buttoning the shirt with still-shaking hands. Tucked it into dark jeans that Falcone had bought him...expensive denim that fit perfectly because of course it did. Ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make it look intentionally messy instead of anxiety-messy.
His phone buzzed. A text from his mother: Running a few minutes early. Is that okay? Too excited to wait!
His stomach dropped.
He typed back with fumbling fingers: That's fine. See you soon. Love you.
Then immediately texted Falcone: She's coming early. Like now. She's coming now.
The response was instant: Deep breaths. I'll meet you downstairs. It's going to be okay.
Cedric looked at himself one more time. Navy shirt, dark jeans, hair that would have to do. He looked like himself...a better-dressed, healthier version, but still recognizably Cedric Santos. That had to count for something.
His hands still wouldn't stop shaking.
He made his way downstairs on legs that felt unsteady. The house smelled incredible...whatever Rosa was cooking filled every corner with warmth. Mrs. Kozlov was in the foyer doing last-minute adjustments to the flower arrangement on the entrance table. She looked up when she heard him on the stairs.
"She'll be here any moment. Mr. Falcone is in the sitting room. Go. Sit. Try not to look like you're about to pass out." Her expression softened. "It will be fine, Mr. Santos. Mothers are more understanding than you give them credit for."
"You don't know my mother."
"I know all mothers. We're more similar than different." She shooed him toward the sitting room. "Go."
Falcone was standing by the window when Cedric entered, watching the driveway with an intensity that looked more like tracking a threat than waiting for his boyfriend's mother. He turned when Cedric came in, and something in his face relaxed.
"You look good," Falcone said.
"You already said that."
"Still true." He crossed to Cedric, took his hand. "Your hand is freezing."
"I'm terrified."
"Me too." Falcone squeezed gently. "But we're terrified together. That's something."
They stood like that, hands clasped, waiting. The clock on the mantle ticked away seconds that felt like hours. Outside, the afternoon sun was starting to descend, turning everything golden.
Then...headlights in the driveway.
A car door.
Footsteps on the stone path.
"Oh God," Cedric breathed. "She's here."
"Breathe," Falcone reminded him, though his own breathing had gone shallow.
The doorbell rang...a sound Cedric had never actually heard before. Mrs. Kozlov's footsteps crossed the foyer. The door opening.
And then...
"Hello, I'm Linda Santos. I'm here to see my son?"
Her voice. His mother's voice, sounding small and uncertain in this massive space. Cedric's chest ached.
"Of course, Mrs. Santos. Please, come in. May I take your coat?"
Cedric couldn't hear his mother's response. His heart was pounding too loud. Falcone's hand tightened on his.
"Together," Falcone murmured.
"Together," Cedric echoed.
Then Mrs. Kozlov was in the doorway, and behind her....
Mom.