Her eyes soften, something almost whimsical flickering through them as she beams at me and takes a step forward.
“Oh,” she breathes. “Oh, Roman, she is beautiful.”
I blink, staring at her like a statue as Roman clears his throat.
“Fae. This is my mother. Fiona Longstaff.”
Before I can prepare myself or introduce myself, she pulls me into her arms. It’s not tentative. It’s not polite. It’s warm and motherly. The kind of hug that knocks the breath out of you before softening at the edges. My eyes water without my permission. No one has hugged me like this in years. Not since my mum died; it hits me how much I missed as a child.
She smells like fresh linen and raspberries, like she’s just come from baking. Her hand presses briefly against the back of my head and my chest splinters.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she gushes as she pulls back, keeping her hands on my shoulders. “You are even more beautiful than he described.”
He described… me?
My face heats. I feel awkward and exposed, unsure where to put my hands or how to receive this kind of affection without flinching. I chance a glance at Roman. Looking between them, I can see the resemblance. Now that she’s up close, I’m surprised I ever questioned who she was. He’s a lighter, younger, taller version of her.
I turn back to her and smile. Or at least, I hope I do. I worry it comes across as a grimace.
“Thank you,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. “It is lovely to meet you.”
Fiona takes my face in her hands, tilting it left and right like she’s inspecting a rare painting.
“Just look at you,” she says, pulling her hands away and clasping them beneath her chin. “You must come over for dinner sometime soon.”
Just as I’m about to respond, a thick arm bands around my waist and pulls me back. The moment I hit his chest, I realise it’s Roman.
“Mum,” he says flatly, like he’s trying to tell her something else.
Fiona’s face pales as she steps back, her gaze dropping to his arm around me. She has that look in her eyes, the same one Roman gets when he’s cataloguing something. Her gaze flicks between where my hand rests over his and where his fingers flex lightly at my hip.
Her expression shifts. She opens her mouth, then closes it. My body coils with tension as she looks between us, blinking slowly before lifting a finger.
“You are touching her,” she announces like it’s world-breaking news and I frown. Is this not allowed in his family? I don’t have much experience with healthy family dynamics, but it’s a strange thing to point out.
“Yes,” Roman replies, dry and deadpan, pulling me even closer to his body.
Heat floods my cheeks and I try to subtly fan myself as Fiona’s eyes widen like she’s just discovered something remarkable.
“Do you…” she begins carefully, “touch? You know, naked?”
I choke on my spit and Roman moves one hand to rub my back as I press my hands to my cheeks through the mortification. My eyes dart between Roman and Fiona, not knowing what to say or how to act. I want the marble floor to swallow me up whole as Roman’s palm keeps gently rubbing circles on my back. Part of me wants to lean into the feeling, knowing that he is my safe space, and the other part wants to pull away from the source of embarrassment.
“Mum!” Roman growls, making me jump slightly.
“Oh, stop,” Fiona flaps her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s natural.”
“The act is natural, Mum,” Roman scoffs, “but I am not going to answer if we get naked together. It is private.”
“I will answer it for them, Mumzy,” I groan and throw my head back against Roman’s chest at the sound of that voice.
Out of all the men in all of my business, it had to be Riggs. He is bound to say something inappropriate. I watch him move in from the left of Roman and me, swooping in to give me a peck on the cheek before moving to kiss Fiona as she beams up at him.
“Oh, Riggs, darling, how are you?” If she were a colour, she would be yellow. Her aura is so radiant and bright, it’s impressive she was half the reason for Roman.
“Much better now,” he replies with a serious face and Fiona gasps, cradling his cheek. The sunny disposition dims slightly as a shadow crosses her face, like she could single-handedly conquer his troubles.
“What happened?” Fiona demands.