to us. “Apologies and congratulations are in order.” He extends his hand for the love of my life to shake. “Please excuse my rudeness, Miss Headley. I was…caught off guard. You were…not who I was expecting nor who I would’ve personally picked.”
Rage roils around the bottom of my stomach. “Watch yourself, Father.”
They shake at the same time he states, “Edmund.”
“Brooklyn.”
“Like in New York,” my mother coos as she rises to her feet. “Not our favorite place to visit, but one we do, nonetheless. I’ll admit they do have some adorable little wine bars that are hard to turn down.” She extends her hand for them to shake yet abruptly switches gears to admire the jewelry on her left hand. “Oh! What a charming little gem, Scott! Very thoughtful placeholder for the real thing!”
“Nope,” I quietly sigh and have a seat on the couch opposite of where April and Harrison are stationed. “That’s…the real thing, Mother.”
Mother poorly hides her frown. “Oh…”
Maybe it’d be a good call if I started drinking, too?
Maybe that would calm my internal stormy seas.
“I love it,” Brooklyn bravely states with a wide grin. “It’s perfect.”
Her words tip my chin a little higher.
“I think he did a great job finding something that balanced meaning and uniqueness.”
The effortless lifesaver she throws to me is returned by me stretching out my hand for her to take my side. As soon as her palm touches mine the roaring waters inside of me begin to calm and provide hope that we may make it through this hurricane unscathed.
She wasn’t completely clueless about what we were walking into, but I was prepared for more of a category two than something building to a five. Wealth and class and status are all threads they’re going to tug on; however, at the end of it, they’ll remember to be grateful that the possibility of grandchildren and our family legacy continuing is really all that matters.
I watched them chew up and spit out April when Harrison introduced her.
Watched them do it, again, when he announced their marriage.
They like to believe they’re watching out for our best interests, yet it feels as though they’re just repeating the scrutiny they each underwent.
Almost like a family tradition of terrorism.
Harrison momentarily manages to shift the conversation away from its uncomfortable start to how bad he lost at the previous night’s poker game. We munch on the hors d'oeuvre and criticize his inability to bluff. Father claims that comes from Grandfather, his father, and Brooklyn respectfully requests more information about him since I rarely bring the bastard up. She’s given just enough tidbits that my father can technically say he’s not ignoring her; however, to say she’s welcomed to the conversation would be a lie. The initial behaviors combined with the snubs that follow the woman of my dreams have her more silent than she’s ever been in my presence.
Pretty sure she spoke more words on that shitty first date I stole her from than she has since we’ve been here.
On our way to the dining room table for the formal meal, I stop her, pull her into a private hallway, and state, “Babe, we can leave whenever you’re ready.” I steal another glimpse of her toes that have barely stopped wiggling in their stress-relieving nature since we arrived. “Hell, we can even leave right now. You can go start the car, and I’ll politely or more likely rudely tell them I’d rather eat room service than share another piece of food with them. Pretty sure The Frost serves high class steaks we could eat instead.”
“No…” Her brown gaze fights to hide her dismay. “This is…someway…somehow your family. You wanted to be here with them for the holidays-”
“Again, that was really more about my niece and nephew who I’d wish they’d stop banishing to go play elsewhere. My parents’ behaviors this afternoon have successfully reminded me why I don’t spend more time with them than I must.”
“We can do this, bae,” Brooklyn quietly encourages. “We can…get through this meal, which will leave them with no grounds to argue that we didn’t at least give it the good old drop them in the deep end to see if they can swim try.”
An ear-to-ear grin takes over my face. “I don’t know what’s sexier. The legal term you chose to use or the swimming metaphor.”
“How about the fact I said both while being full of your-”
“Scott!” my mother shrilly calls.
The sneer that slides onto my face causes Brooklyn to chortle.
“Come on, Ax,” she