The black and gold decor gave a classy vibe to the restaurant.
I stared across the black marble table at Lena’s father. It was never my intention to disrespect anyone’s parents, but hell, if they had it coming, they had it coming.
“My photoshoot went well,” Lena said into the silence.
“The same one you kicked us out of?” her mother grumbled.
“No one kicked you out,” Lena said. “You were distracting the photographer, Ma. I had Demetria ask if you could wait outside, and neither one of you wanted to.”
“Wait outside like we’re some animals?” her father asked.
“I don’t like that girl,” her mother said.
“Who? Demetria?”
“Who else would I be talking about?” Her mother’s tone was cutting, and I balled my fist, reminding myself this was her mother.
“She’s been a great PA for the past five years,” Lena defended.
“Uh, huh. It’s not like you have the best people skills.” Her mother’s gaze cut over to me.
I leaned forward with a smile on my face, though I’m sure it didn’t look friendly. “Is there something you wanted to say, Mrs. Clarkson?”
Her eyelids widened right before her gaze darted over to her husband.
I turned to Lena’s father. “Or you, Mr. Clarkson?”
Before he could respond, our waiter appeared at our table.
“The Giacomo Conterno Monfortino wine that was requested at the time of reservation.” The waiter held out the bottle of red wine, displaying the label, for the entire table to see. He then half filled all four of our glasses before letting us know he would be back to take our orders.
“For as much as that bottle of wine is, he could’ve at least given us a full glass,” Lena’s father said before gulping half of his wine down in one shot.
The rest of the dinner pretty much went on in the same manner. Though the food and service were excellent, it seemed as though Lena’s parents could always find something to complain about. And if they weren’t complaining about the food or service, they bickered with one another.
“And what about your album?” Lena’s mother asked about halfway through dinner.
“What about it?” Lena avoided looking directly at her mother.
“Isn’t that why you ran off? To complete your next album? It’s been over two months. Haven’t you completed it by now?” her father questioned.
Lena shifted in her seat.
I moved my hand to her thigh, squeezing it. She glanced up at me with a hesitant expression on her face.
“Her writing’s going well,” I answered.
Both of her parents shifted their gazes over to me.
“How is it going well when you’re not working with your usual team? You know you need producers to help you arrange the music,” Lena’s mother said.
“Right? And who is approving what you’re writing?” her father added. “We know you haven’t consulted with Nate. How do we even know what you’re writing is worth listening to?”
My hand tightened on her thigh. It took everything in me not to curse this fool out.
“I don’t need his approval. Or anyone else’s,” Lena said sharply.
Her mother had the nerve to look insulted.
