I winced internally, realising I'd walked myself into a trap. Scratching the back of my head awkwardly, I gave her a guilty smile and said, "I mean...I don't stare so obviously, you know? Just...every now and then...Subtly."
Her eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "LUCA!" She exclaimed, her voice rising an octave, her face flushing with a mix of shock and outrage. "Are you seriously admitting this to your mother?!"
"Okay, okay! Calm down before you start a pillow war in here. I'm trying to explain something, alright?" I quickly raised my hands in a placating gesture, sensing another pillow-throwing incident was imminent.
Her hand hovered near the nearest pillow, her narrowed eyes fixed on me suspiciously. "This better be good...Or else, I'll give you a spanking so hard that you won't dare to leer at another woman again." She warned, though her voice had dropped a notch.
I exhaled, giving her a disarming smile. "Look, Mom, it's not what you think. I'm not out here gawking at women like some hormone-fuelled teenager with no self-control. I'm just…admiring, if I had to say."
"Admiring?" She repeated, her brow arching incredulously. "What does that even mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like." I replied, pushing myself back into the couch, trying to sound as composed as possible. "When I look at a woman, I'm not thinking anything indecent. I'm appreciating their figures, their beauty. It's like…admiring a work of art."
Her expression shifted from shock to confusion, her arms crossing defensively. "A work of art?" She echoed, tilting her head like I'd just started speaking another language.
I nodded, folding my arms and leaning forward slightly to emphasise my point as I explained, saying,
"Think about it, Mom. A well-proportioned figure, the way someone carries themselves, their confidence—it's like looking at a masterpiece. Every curve, every detail, it's all part of what makes them unique...It's not about lust; it's about admiration. Respect, even."
"Respect? Is that what we're calling it now?" She blinked, momentarily stunned, though her skeptical expression didn't fade entirely.
I laughed lightly, brushing off her sarcasm.
"I'm serious! I mean, take a painting, for example. When you stand in front of a beautiful portrait at a museum, you're not thinking about owning it or doing something inappropriate with it, right? You're just…appreciating its existence. That's how I see it."
"You're comparing women to paintings now? Really?" She narrowed her eyes, her lips twitching as if trying to suppress a laugh.
"Not just paintings—statues, photographs, even sunsets!" I shot back, my tone light but earnest. "There's beauty everywhere, Mom. And appreciating it doesn't make me a bad person."
She shook her head at my words, a mix of disbelief and exasperation on her face. "Only you could compare women to sunsets and somehow make it sound convincing." She muttered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
And, for a moment, she seemed to drop the topic entirely, her gaze drifting toward the screen.
But then her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket draped over her lap, a telltale sign that something was on her mind. I then noticed a faint pink creeping into her cheeks, the way her lips pressed together in hesitation, like she was wrestling with whether to say something.
Finally, she cleared her throat softly.
"Luca..." She began, her voice quieter than usual. I turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow.
"What is it?" I asked, sensing her hesitation.
She avoided my gaze for a moment, her fingers now twisting the fabric of the blanket. "When you were...s-staring earlier..." She said, glancing at me briefly before looking away again. "...you were looking at my chest, right?"
I froze for a second, caught off guard by the bluntness of her question.
"I-I mean…yeah." I admitted, scratching the back of my head awkwardly. "But you told me to treat you like a woman, so—"
"No, no." She interrupted quickly, waving her hands as if to dismiss my attempt at justification. "That's not what I'm asking." Her voice was barely above a mumble now, and she still refused to meet my eyes. "I mean…Do you—" She paused, taking a deep breath as if trying to steel herself. "Do you also admire my figure? S-Since you said that whenever you stare at a woman with such a gaze, it means that you're admiring her."
Her question hung in the air, heavy and laced with a vulnerability I hadn't expected. For a moment, I wasn't sure how to respond. The confident woman who always seemed to have the upper hand was suddenly…uncertain, fidgeting like a shy girl asking for validation.
She quickly added, almost stumbling over her words, "I'm not asking this because I'm fishing for compliments or anything. It's just—" She stopped, sighed, and then continued, her voice quieter. "It's just that I only know how you see me as your mother, and it's always been that way, since, of course, you're my son, and you will always see me as a naggy woman who always pesters you and will probably never think of me any other way."
"...But now, with everything you've been saying, I can't help but wonder how you see me…as a woman. Not as the woman who raised you your whole life, but maybe how you would see me as a lady you just saw walk across you."
Her gaze flicked to me, just for a second, before darting back to the blanket in her lap.
"It's silly, I know." She said, her words rushed as if trying to brush away her own nerves. "But you're the most important person in my life, Luca. Your opinion matters to me more than anyone else's. So… I'm curious. If you do see me that way, what do you think of…my appearance or figure?"
The words hung in the air for a moment, and I could see the faint pink creeping up her cheeks, betraying just how vulnerable she felt asking something so personal.
She let out a soft sigh, her fingers still clutching the blanket. "I mean, it's not like I can just ask anyone else." She continued, her tone quieter now, tinged with self-awareness. "I don't care how the rest of the men out there see me. Their opinions don't mean anything to me...They never have."
Her voice grew steadier as she spoke, but there was still an undercurrent of uncertainty. "And when I bring up things like this in front of the others—your mothers—they always say nice things. Of course they do. That's just what women do, isn't it? They compliment each other. It's sweet and all, but it's not…" She hesitated, searching for the right words. "...It's not the same as hearing it from someone who sees me differently."
She glanced up at me again, her expression a mix of vulnerability and hope. "That's why I want to know what you think. You're the only man in my life who truly matters to me, Luca. And if you're really going to treat me like a woman for this ridiculous bet, then I want to know. If you didn't see me as your mother—if you really saw me as a woman—what would you think?"
Her question was raw, honest, and so unlike the confident, playful tone she usually carried.
For a moment, I just looked at her, stunned into silence by how much weight her words carried. This wasn't a joke to her. It wasn't part of the banter we'd been tossing back and forth all night.
This was real, and she was trusting me with something deeply personal.
Her eyes searched mine, looking for something—an answer, a reaction, a reassurance. Anything. And as much as I wanted to tease her or brush it off, I couldn't...Not this time...It was time to make my move on her.
But, after realising what she had just asked her son, my mother realised how absurd it was and let out a sharp breath, shaking her head as if to dismiss the whole exchange, and said, "Actually, you know what? Forget it. This was stupid. I shouldn't have asked something so ridiculous."
But to her shock, I cocked an eyebrow, leaning forward with a glint of mischief in my eyes as I said,
"Oh no, Mom. You're not getting off that easily."