were the decorations tacky, not only was the food too spicy and not “elevated” enough for their refined palates, but Ford’s mother made it a point to continually harp on all the ways that Claudia had done things better.
“I remember the last time we had dinner with the two of you,” she mused, picking at her salad. It was the only thing on her plate that she’d touched.
Of course, she wasn’t talking about me, but about Ford and Claudia.
“We had the most perfect filet mignon and asparagus souffle served on china plates,” she said. “And a private chef to make it all! Truly one of the best meals I’ve ever had.”
She poked at her fish a couple of times, didn’t bother to try any of it, and eventually pushed the plate away. There was a bottle of wine at the center of the table, and though I’d filled everyone’s glasses when we first sat down, Ford’s mother’s was now empty and she looked at me with expectant eyes, clearing her throat. The bottle, of course, was closer to her.
“Would you like some more wine?” I asked.
“I would,” she said, turning to her husband. “Do you remember how Claudia always made sure our glasses were full? She would never have to ask.”
Ford’s father was busy eating—apparently the spices tasted just fine to him, despite his wife’s criticism. Meanwhile, Ford said nothing.
I poured the wine, but with my hands shaking, some of it spilled on the table.
Ford’s mother looked at me as if I’d spilled it directly on her.
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she said, narrowing her eyes at her glass. “This wine isn’t a very good vintage, after all. Claudia always made sure to have my favorite Pinot whenever we came over.”
I was pretty sure that if I heard Claudia’s name again, I would throw something. The message was clear: I wasn’t good enough for Ford, and I never would be.
“Would anyone like dessert?” I asked. “It’s sorbet. Coconut.” The scoops were all ready to go in the freezer, in pretty blue glass bowls, topped with a sprig of mint.
“Sounds great,” Ford said. “I’ll help you clear the dishes.”
I wished he would defend me—and the meal—to his parents, but as usual, his mom was being a total steamroller. It seemed like Ford was just trying to get through the meal in one piece, as was I. But when I finally put dessert down, Mrs. Malone pushed the bowls aside.
“And now the real reason for this visit. We need to speak with you two about something very important,” Ford’s mother said.
His father was looking all around the room—anywhere but at me or Ford. Whatever this was about, I doubted he would say anything. Mrs. Malone was steering the ship. Per usual.
I braced myself, not knowing what to expect, but still expecting the worst.
“I know that you’re newlyweds,” Ford’s mother said. “And that you’re…having fun.”
Ford gagged. “Mother,” he said. “We don’t need to discuss this.”
“Oh, please.” Ford’s mother waved her hand. “All I’m saying is that you two need to be careful. It’s far too soon for children. You’re both so young.”
Ah. Right. So even though I’d agreed to divorce Ford within the year, she wasn’t content with my promise. She wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any new Malone offspring that would keep Ford tied to me—legally, financially, emotionally, or otherwise—in the future.
“We’re not even thinking about it,” Ford said. “Though honestly, this isn’t your business. It’s ours.”
“Ford’s right,” I agreed, noticing that Mr. Malone had somehow managed to make his entire bowl of sorbet disappear while the rest of us had been distracted.
I discreetly slid my bowl over to him, having thoroughly lost my appetite.
“You should both be focusing on your careers at this stage of your lives,” Ford’s mother went on. “And I’m certain Mara wouldn’t want to sacrifice her photography—not while she’s already struggling to make a name for herself in such a competitive field. Which, honestly…”
It wouldn’t be Mother Malone if she couldn’t find a way to compliment and insult me at the same time. With every word, every sentence, I felt smaller and smaller.
It was clear that this lecture wasn’t actually directed at Ford. It was Mrs. Malone’s way of not-so-subtly reminding me of our agreement, and the fact that I was expendable. That she’d do everything in her power to make sure that after the year was up, I’d be gone as planned. The threat of not paying off the Bratva was underneath all