He’s right.
The town needs this.
But I can’t quite make myself not feel guilty for the weight of what my family might’ve done.
Chapter 21
Dane
Amanda’s fucking gorgeous, and I’m pissed.
I’m pissed because someone dropped off a letter telling her that the issues between our families are all her family’s fault, and now she’s gorgeous and sad when she should just be gorgeous.
We haven’t been at my grandparents’ party for ten minutes before someone quietly asks me if she’s okay. Six more make subtle similar inquiries in the next hour as guests arrive and everyone mingles over appetizers and champagne before dinner.
“She’s sad that our families haven’t made up so that the rest of her family could be here” is my story, and the number ofI wish they’d all just get over it tooresponses I get, in some form or another, once again resolidifies my belief that we’re doing Tinsel a massive favor here.
The Andersons are the only family in town who aren’t celebrating my grandparents’ anniversary.
Their absence is even more noticeable in the face of Amanda being here. She’s a glowing red beacon ofsomething is amiss but I’m trying my best.
Uncle Rob pulls me aside to tell me that my fiancée needs tosmile more.
That she’sbringing down the vibe.
I tell him she just found out one of her favorite dogs died in New York. The one who humped my leg when we ran into each other and started dating.
I’ve never made up stories and lies so much in my life, but when I rejoin Amanda and quietly fill her in, I get a real smile for the first time all night. “Look at that. I’m rubbing off on you.”
Huh.
She is.
We hug my grandparents and wish them happy anniversary.
Correction: I hug my grandparents.
Amanda tries, but my grandma makes a face, my grandpa makes a noise, and Amanda grabs my arm instead. “Oh, that’s embarrassing. Predinner champagne doesn’t usually affect me like this.” She sways back and forth a little more, overdone to the point that I almost snap at my grandparents for making her uncomfortable.
She’s trying.
She’s hurting.
And this is their night, and I need to remember that.
So instead of making a scene about the way they’re treating her, I squeeze her hand on my arm and vow to stop by their house tomorrow to inform them that I’m choosing her over them, and they can fucking deal.
“My fault,” I say to my grandparents. “I didn’t give her time to eat this afternoon.”
Uncle Rob’s right behind us, and he grunts out a mutter that my grandmother’s echoing in her glare.
Awesome.
“Sorry,” Amanda whispers as we head toward our seats for dinner.
“Don’t be sorry that someone else has poor manners.”
“You two going to Vicki Anderson’s anniversary party tomorrow night?” someone asks.
