She chuckled. “I hold you blameless, if it makes you feel any better.”
“It does, actually.” He opened the door to the limo and she watched through the tinted window as the crowd surged toward him. Then he held a hand out for her, and it was time for her to make her appearance.
Chelsea put her hand in his and let him help her from the limo, and immediately the cameras were in their faces. A woman hurried forward, dressed in a red and black zebra-striped suit. She had a small dog tucked against her arm and her hair was cut into a stylish silver bob streaked with purple. She leaned in and gave Sebastian a quick kiss on the cheek and then a judgmental look. “Nugget, I am very unhappy with you.”
Sebastian’s hand tightened on Chelsea’s. “Mother, don’t call me that. And do we have to have the cameras here?” He gestured at the three cameras hovering over his mother’s shoulder.
“I am filming a reality TV show, Nugget. They are recording my reality.” She gestured loftily at the cameras and then narrowed her eyes at Chelsea. “Is this the hooker?”
“Jesus, Mother. She’s not a hooker. This is my wife. Chelsea.”
Chelsea couldn’t help it. She giggled again and held her hand out. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Cabral. Sebastian has told me so much about you.”
Mrs. Cabral raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “If that were the case, then he would have told you that I prefer to be called Mama Precious.”
“And I told her I’m not calling you that,” Sebastian growled. “And did you really have to ambush me at my front door? What about my privacy, mother?”
“You won’t come see your Mama Precious, Nugget. How else am I going to come see you? To think that you didn’t even invite me to your own wedding.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mrs. Cabral,” Chelsea offered. “We didn’t invite my parents, either. It was a very spur-of-the-moment sort of thing.”
“Why?” Mrs. Cabral asked, her over-injected lip curling a bit. “Is it because you’re charging him by the hour and he would have had to return to the ATM?”
“She’s not a whore, mother. I’m not paying her, and you’re insulting both of us, so stop it.”
Chelsea only giggled again. It might have been insulting, if it wasn’t so damn funny. This ridiculous Cruella De Vil–looking woman with a tiny dog was her new mother-in-law? “At any rate, I am super pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cabral,” Chelsea said, keeping her voice sweet. “You look entirely too young to be Sebastian’s mother.”
It was the truth, actually. Her face had been lifted and filled and peeled so many times that her skin was utter perfection. Despite the artfully gray and purple hair, she didn’t look a day over forty, much too young to be Sebastian Cabral’s mother.
The eyebrow rose again and she studied Chelsea. “Hmph.” She looked over at her son. “I’ll have you know that you broke Lisa’s heart. She had to find out via Perez Hilton that you got married. How do you think that makes her feel?”
“Seeing as how we only dated for a month well over two years ago and I haven’t seen her since then? I don’t know that I care.”
“You know she wanted to reconcile, Nugget—”
“Then her story line can be about how she’s going to get over that I married Chelsea.” He smiled tightly and steered Chelsea past the cameras toward the steps of the town house. “I love you, Mother, but I’m not doing this. Not right now.”
“Aren’t you going to invite your mother in to meet your new wife?”
“You are welcome to come in, Mother. The camera crew is not.” He continued steering Chelsea forward, and then paused.
There was a woman sitting on the steps of the townhouse. She looked up as Chelsea and Sebastian approached, her mascara streaking down her cheeks. She was pretty, in an exceedingly plastic-surgeried sort of way. And she stood up at the sight of Sebastian and began sobbing anew the moment the cameras started rolling.
He made a pained sound and gestured at the woman. “Chelsea, meet Lisa.”