“Say it more confidently,” my mother lightly chides under her breath. “This isn’t ideal and when we got the call?—”
“Oh my God,” I moan, bringing my hand to one of my temples. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”
“He wanted to surprise you.”
“And he was honest with who he was and how things came to be,” Dad inserts simply. “I can respect it.”
“Question is, that was a lot,” my mother notes. “So, we just want to make sure you’re alright and we don’t need to hire a lawyer?—”
“I’m okay,” I quickly reply before Bronte comes back. “Everything is fine.”
“But you’d tell us, right?”
I nod. “Of course.”
“Because you didn’t tell us yet,” Dad lightly accuses. “And if he has something he’s blackmailing you with?—”
“It’s not like that. I promise.”
“Meirna, we’re a bit worried. We…had in our heads that you were marrying Bobby. We’vemetBobby. But…his brother told us about some shady dealings and attempts to get you involved. We’re concerned.”
Shoot me now.
“It’s been handled,” I vouch simply. “Bronte’s great, Mom. You’ll love him.”
She presses her lips together and bobs her head, looking as though she agrees, but her expression still holds that motherly unease. “I’m sure we will.”
Right.
However, am I staying married to this man for her to get a chance?
Chapter 32
Meirna
My parents’ apprehension of Bronte disappeared after salads because now they’re obsessed with him. The dinner carried on more perfectly than I ever could’ve imagined. As if they’d known him for as long as Bobby and, even then, they didn’t love him as much.
What’s wild is the fact that Bronte doesn’t even need to try. He’s not openly charming and tries to please my father by brown-nosing or complimenting my mother on how beautiful she is, and that she’s edging toward twenty-three.
He doesn’t do any of that.
He just speaks.
And they listen.
Tack on that Callie and Eleni have been humanizing him with little jokes and jabs, and my father has been hooting and hollering, slapping his knee when he laughs, and I just soaked it all in.
In the kitchen, I told Eleni I’d grab her another bottle of wine. Insisting she relax and remain seated because she made a beautiful meal, and it’s the least I can do since she wouldn’t let me lift a finger.
A few bottles are lined up along the back of the white marbledcountertop as I grab the first one to see what kind it is. Eleni didn’t specify which one she wanted, and I’m no wine expert by any means when it comes to what merlot goes good with roast or if it’s a white wine for dessert.
Gathering up another one, two hands lock on either side of me, followed by the smell of musk and vanilla filling my nostrils.
“You hangin’ in there, Daydream?”
Better than I thought I would.
I haven’t thanked him yet for bringing my parents to Boston. Once he came back with my dad’s water, it’s been non-stop conversing, and I haven’t had a moment alone with him yet.
