The Last Marchetti Bachelor. Teresa Southwick
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loves you.”
“That’s not the whopper, and she’s never said that to me.” Just the opposite. She hadn’t said it in so many words, but when she’d left his office, he knew it was for good. Part of him rebelled at the thought. But he couldn’t think about that now.
He met his mother’s gaze. “Ma, when are you going to get it through your head that love doesn’t make the world go round?”
“Never. Because it may not make the world go round but it sure makes the journey a lot more fun.”
“Maddie handles my legal affairs. That’s all.”
“Even though you spent the night together after Alex’s wedding?”
“How did you know— I mean—”
“Her car was parked here overnight because you drove her home.”
Good grief, he felt like a randy teenager caught sneaking out of the house in the dead of night to meet a girl. That wasn’t far from the truth. Even though she had come to him with this preposterous story, he felt the need to protect Maddie.
“That doesn’t mean that I stayed with her.”
“Did you?”
Instead of responding directly he said, “You didn’t say anything to anyone else, did you?”
“I didn’t have to. Nick and Abby came by the next day for brunch. They were the ones who told your father and me.” There was a self-satisfied expression on her face. “I always could tell when you were lying.”
Had he inherited that trait? Would he be able to tell if she was lying? His head pounded as doubts reared up again. They had glided and swirled through his mind as he’d driven straight from his office at Marchetti’s Incorporated to this house where he’d grown up. What if Maddie hadn’t been lying? What if Tom Marchetti wasn’t his father? That would mean his mother had slept with another man. No. It couldn’t be true. Again pain threatened and he pushed it away.
“Where’s Dad?” he said, nearly choking on the word. It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask. He wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the answer.
“Your father is having dinner with Rosie, Nick, Joe and Alex. You know he refuses to give up the tradition he started before you and your sister were born of giving me a night off by taking all his children out for dinner.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, why are you here and not with them?”
“I forgot. I had a lot on my mind.” He recalled the dinners with his Dad and siblings. They had done it once a week when they were all younger. Now the get-togethers were less frequent because of their busy schedules. But they made an effort to meet once a month at one of the Marchetti restaurants.
“Have you eaten, dear?” She started to stand. “I can make you something. Sit down.”
Ignoring her invitation, he asked, “What did you do while Dad took us out?”
Flo looked thoughtful. “Usually I had a long, relaxing soak in the tub. I didn’t have to play referee or listen to little fists pounding on the door. It was heaven for a frazzled young mother. Your father, bless his heart, realized that with three small boys a year apart in age, I needed some time for myself.” She smiled. “So tell me about Madison and the whopper.”
“She came to my office today,” he started, watching his mother’s face.
“That’s a start. Togetherness breeds familiarity—or something like that,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve always thought the two of you—”
“Ma, there is no two of us—”
“Have you ever heard the expression ‘One is a lonely number’? It’s about time you got yourself a love life. You’re not getting any younger, Luke. You work too hard. Soul mates don’t grow on trees. You’ve got to get out there and shake some branches. Find Ms. Right. Maddie is a wonderful girl—”
“I didn’t come here to discuss my love life.”
“Then why did you come, dear?” she asked calmly. “I can tell you’ve got something on your mind. What’s troubling you?”
“Your love life.”
She laughed. “Very funny. Every time your father or I have made allusions to our love life you kids make gagging noises and clear the room.”
His nerves cranked up a notch. He had to know about her love life. “Do you know a guy named Brad Stephenson?” He gripped the back of the wooden chair until his knuckles ached.
Her body language was all the answer he needed. She went completely still as her eyes widened and her skin paled. “Brad Stephenson?” she whispered.
“So you do know him.” Blood pounded in his ears. The barrier between him and the threatening pain cracked.
She nodded. “He was your father’s accountant years ago.”
There could still be a misunderstanding. Just because she knew him didn’t mean she’d slept with the man. “Maddie came to the office today and you won’t believe the wild story she told me. This guy Stephenson died—”
“Oh, no,” his mother gasped as her hand fluttered over her breast.
“You cared about him?” he asked, studying her shocked expression. The knot in his gut tightened a notch.
“Tom and I both liked him,” she said cautiously. “I’m sorry to hear he’s passed away.”
“Here’s where the whopper comes in.” He swallowed hard to get the words past the constriction in his throat. “He left a will, and Maddie inherited the account. She says I’m the beneficiary, that the guy is my father. Can you believe that?”
Flo sighed as she took off her reading glasses and set them on the table. She closed the newspaper and folded it in half, then quarters. The moment stretched into what felt like an eternity as his mother gathered her composure.
Lifting a gaze filled with tragedy, she said, “It’s true, Luke. Brad Stephenson is your father.”
Stunned didn’t begin to describe what he felt. He could hardly breathe. It was as if hands had reached into his chest, squeezing all the vital organs he needed to draw in a single breath of air. It was as if her words tapped into a motherlode of shock. Pain flooded him. He couldn’t get his mind around the fact that his mother, his Rock of Gibraltar on all things, could have done what she was saying.
“It was a long time ago,” she continued. “I’d like to explain—”
“And about damn time, don’t you think? When were you going to tell me?” Hurt and betrayal made him go cold inside.
She stood up and looked him straight in the eye. “Don’t take that tone with me. I’m still your mother and deserving of your respect.”
“Does Dad know? I mean Tom. Does he know?”
“Of course he does. I wouldn’t keep something like that from him.”
“But you kept it from me.”
“You were a baby.”
“I’m not now.” He stared at her. “Does anyone else know?”
“Your brother Joe.”
“Half brother,” he clarified.
She lifted her chin slightly. “I had to tell him. He was having a personal crisis. I talked to him so he could work some things through. He needed to understand that every relationship goes through ups and downs. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I also gave him permission to tell all of you about it. Apparently he decided not to. He doesn’t know about you, just my indiscretion—”
“Such a tidy word for it,” he said. “Isn’t there a neat little word for what I am?”
“Don’t