My mom's boyfriend

Milan Malpensa Airport buzzed with activity as travelers hurried to their destinations. I stood outside, the warm Italian sun beating down on me, my frustration mounting. My mom had arranged everything for this trip, so why was no one here to pick me up? I pushed my sunglasses up onto my head, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces.

Just as my patience was wearing thin, I spotted Mr. Martin, my mom’s secretary, making his way toward me. Relief washed over me.

“Ms. Isabella!” he called out.

I raised an eyebrow, muttering under my breath, “Thank God.”

“Finally, my mom has sent someone to pick me up,” I said aloud, not bothering to hide my irritation.

Without waiting for a response, I walked briskly toward the car he had arrived in. Mr. Martin hurried to keep up, opening the door for me.

I slid into the back seat with a stern face, choosing to remain silent. He quickly managed my luggage and took his place beside the driver.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the traffic. For a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the engine. Then Mr. Martin broke the silence.

“How are you, Isabella? It has been three years since we last met.”

I exhaled, “I am fine, Uncle.”

“You have changed a lot,” he remarked, his eyes briefly meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

I took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling over me. ‘Maybe I have,’ I thought, but instead of voicing my thoughts, I asked, “Where is she?”

“Ma’am is at home,” he replied.

His words brought a wave of silence over me.

‘Yes, why would she come? I’ve expected too much from her. She didn’t think to come to the airport herself,’ I thought, bitterness creeping into my mind.

‘Whatever it is, as long as she fulfills my demands, I’ll listen to her.’

I leaned back in my seat, trying to shake off the disappointment. I was tired—tired of the drama, the uncertainty, the endless expectations. Closing my eyes, I sought the temporary escape of sleep.

The gentle motion of the car lulled me, and soon I drifted off, the world around me fading. It felt like only moments had passed when I was pulled from my sleep by Mr. Martin’s voice.

“Miss!”

“Ms. Isabella!”

I cracked my eyes open in irritation and looked at Mr. Martin. He smiled. "We are home."

I slowly got out of the car and gazed at my mom’s mansion. Raising my brows, I entered with a nonchalant face.

As I stepped into the drawing hall, the place seemed oddly empty, though music played softly. Mr. Martin set my luggage down and left without a word. I placed my laptop bag on the couch and called out, “Mom!”

There was no response. Annoyed, I walked over and turned off the music, the sudden silence amplifying my frustration. I looked around, feeling a sense of unease.

“Mom, are you home?” I called again, my voice echoing slightly in the large space.

Just then, I heard a man’s voice behind me. “Isabella!”

I turned back as I heard my name. To my amazement, a half-naked man stood before me. My lips pressed together in shock as my eyes roamed around the room, then back to him, wide with surprise.

It wasn't just his sudden appearance that rendered me speechless. It was how incredibly handsome he was. His abs were chiseled, his muscles and arms were well-defined. His facial features were sharp, like something out of the dark romance novels I devoured. But amidst all this perfection, what struck me most was the bowl he held in his hand.

I narrowed my eyes, puzzled. ‘Is he my mom’s cook?’

I wondered, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. I asked, “You?”

He smiled, a charming, disarming smile. “Ah, I am Ezekiel.”

I narrowed my eyes and raised my brows. “So, when did you join here as a cook?”

He parted his lips to say something but then chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Then he answered me, “Umm… It’s just a few weeks, you can say.”

“Oh…” I crossed my arms, giving him a once-over from bottom to top.

Ezekiel noticed my scrutiny and arched an eyebrow. “Are you done checking me out?”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’m not checking you out,” I retorted.

“I’m just wondering how my mom ended up hiring such a handsome cook.”

Ezekiel pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath before answering me, “Well, I guess you’ll have to ask her that, and I take it as a compliment, Ms.”

I smiled, feeling a bit lighter. Maybe my time here wouldn’t be so bad after all. The prospect of staying in Italy without my friends had been daunting, but Ezekiel’s presence suggested it might be more interesting than I had anticipated.

“And I would be honored to stay here as your cook rather than your mom’s boyfriend,” he added with a teasing smile.

My smile faded immediately.

Did I hear him right?

“What?” I stuttered, my mind racing.

Before I could process what he had just said, I spotted my mom coming downstairs, dressed in her nightwear.

Seeing me, she called out, “Isabella!”

I was already too shocked after hearing Ezekiel. In that moment, I realized what the surprise my mom had wanted to reveal was. She moved to hug me, but I didn’t hug her back.

I asked directly, skipping any pleasantries, “Who is he? Is this your surprise, Mom?”

Her expression sobered, eyes flicking from me to Ezekiel.

“Isabella, stop it. Come to my room.”

I arched my brows and pulled my arm from her grasp. She was clearly worried I’d cause a scene right there in the foyer. And she was right to worry—I was ready to.

Mom grabbed my hand again, more firmly this time, and said, “Let’s go.”

I looked at her, then at Ezekiel. He smiled at me slightly, but I turned away from him in irritation. I followed her to her room, my mind buzzing with the thing I heard.

Once we were inside, she closed the door and turned to face me.

“What is that behavior, Isabella?”

I crossed my arms, trying to contain my frustration.

“You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone. And you spring it on me like this?”

She sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“I thought to give you a surprise, honey,” my mom said, her voice pleading for understanding.

I pressed my lips together, trying to sober myself. This was too much to process, and I couldn’t believe what my mom was doing.

“Surprise?” I chuckled mockingly.

“Surprise me with what, Mom?”

I looked directly into her eyes. She sighed heavily, “I am sorry, I know right now you can’t accept Ezekiel as your dad.”

“And you know he has his own business, besides being the heir of a famous university here. He is too perfect for me.”

I was speechless, hearing my mom. She was totally engrossed in this man. It was as if she had completely moved on from everything else.

“Mom, what is his age?” I asked, the question burning inside me. Ezekiel seemed younger than my mom, and I needed to know.

Mom bit her lower lip, hesitating for a moment before she sighed deeply and spoke.

“He is 25 years old.”

“You are f*ck*ng 14 years older than him. How could you do that, Mom? Do you think he will stay with you?” I exploded, unable to contain my fury. The age difference was staggering, and I couldn’t fathom how she believed it would work.

“He is literally 5 years older than me.”

“Not 5 years, Isabella,” Mom corrected me.

“It’s 6 years.”

I arched my brows and replied with even more annoyance, “This month I am going to be 20. So yeah, it’s 5. How can you date a boy so young, Mom?”

“Isabella!” Mom raised her voice, clearly feeling a bit offended. I averted my gaze, unable to look at her.

I wasn’t one of those typical girls who couldn’t accept their mom dating someone. I had no problem with her finding happiness again. But the problem was the absurdity of her dating someone 14 years younger. It just didn’t make sense to me.

“I didn’t think that you would talk like a typical girl,” Mom said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

I arched my brows slightly, feeling the sting of her words. Before I could respond, we heard a knock on the door. Mom quickly regained her composure, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t as good an actress as she was.

Ezekiel cracked the door open. I shot him an angry look.

“Darling, why are you knocking?” Mom said as she walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Ezekiel looked at me with a smile, but his eyes told me he understood that Mom had scolded me. I rolled my eyes, turning away from them.

“Kathrin,” he said gently, “I thought it would be good if I knocked. She’s your daughter, after all. You would have some personal talks with her.”

“What?” Mom chuckled.

“We are family. So, there is nothing that I should tell her privately.”

The way she said it made my skin crawl. Was this what she considered family now? A man almost my age playing the role of a father figure?

Mom hugged him, and I watched them closely. Ezekiel looked at me, a hesitant smile playing on his lips as he patted Mom’s back. The sight of their lovey-dovey display made my teeth grit in annoyance.

“At least he has some sense of manners, not like you,” I snapped, unable to hold back.

With that, I turned and walked out of the room. I could hear Mom calling my name, her voice filled with frustration and concern, but I didn’t respond. I needed to get away to clear my head from the overwhelming emotions.

“Isabella!” she called after me, her voice echoing down the hallway.

I kept walking, not looking back. I needed space to process everything.