"Dammit! Why do I have to say things wrong?! What I meant was, a Matriarch rarely leaves her area, much less the Realms, so the odds of her showing up...here are very, very small. Add to that, I rarely go into the Demon Realms anymore, much less visit with my family, so it seemed an even smaller chance that you would ever meet them. As for being ashamed of you?" He leaned up and gently tilted my face so that I could see his. "Never. You are more precious to me than anything else ever will be." I. She was young and slender and very fair; you could see the blue veinsthrough her skin. Silky nearly white hair fell across her shoulders.Beside her marched a good looking guy, several years older, nicecomplexion, bright eyes, curly hair, tall. They were holding hands andlooking at each other more than they looked at me."Hi, Stacy", the girl said, coming forward. "I wanted you to know thatyou have made me rich." Huh?" I asked groggily.She grinned. "For one thing, the last mythological paintings. Initially, for a few days, it was just normal conversations. We started opening up to each other after two months. She had a boy friend back in the college, a Muslim fellow. Things didn’t work out between them, so she was single then. We shared an almost common interest. About Meenu, she just finished her college and was working in a pharmaceutical company.We started texting each other day and night. And once while messaging, I had sent her a naughty WhatsApp forward message. She had read that. Teresa was a great piece of ass but she had shit for brains when it came down to resisting the interrogation techniques of her Sicilian mama with the hook-nose and the sweet looking ass that was stuck inside the crappy black clothes those widow ladies wore all the time over in Queens.Teresa’s mom was waiting for me on the sidewalk and I was a little bit fearful because sometimes the Italian females tend to get a little emotional about daughters and sisters and some crazy sense of honor about.