“I just want this shit to go well,” he admits. “I love you and I love them. I just want y’all to get along.”
“I know. And that’s my goal for today.”
And I mean that. Just maybe not in the way he thinks.
His shoulders relax, and it confirms how much this means to him. He laces his fingers through mine, and we ride in silence, just a married couple headed to a party.
When we pull up to Jovan’s house, the cars are lining the street. Ace parks, then turns to me, letting his eyes rake over me.
“You look beautiful,” he says. “I can’t wait to get you home later.”
I smile at the compliment, but in my head, another thought illuminates in my mind.
He might not feel the same way after I’m done here.
Inside, Jovan’s place is warm and crowded. A giant Christmas tree glows in the foyer, ornaments bright and colorful. Someone insists that we pose in front of it, so we do. Ace stands behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist. I smile for the camera. Soft and sweet.
Then we head downstairs.
The basement is impressive, especially for a single man. He’s got string lights, a full bar setup, leather couches, and festive music playing softly from every angle. It feels welcoming and homey, not like some cliched man cave.
I still don’t like him, though.
Ace greets everyone. Being social comes so easily to him. I love that about him, but it’s a bittersweet reminder of how much I suck at it. But I do my best to follow his lead. I’m pleasant. I’m polite. I’m smiling.
Inside, I’m gritting my teeth.
Every instinct I have is telling me all these people are my enemies. The bitterness I thought I’d choked down comes barreling back to the surface, making my smile falter.
Then I remind myself: this is for Ace.
And this is what love looks like sometimes.
After we’re settled and drinks have been poured, I turn to the birthday boy.
“Jovan, can I talk to you and Bron and Dayton for a second? In private?”
Ace looks at me, his eyebrows raised. I lean in to reassure him.
“It’s okay. I’m gonna fix this. Just trust me.”
He nods.
We stand and follow Jovan to the screened-in porch, which is heated. It’s nice and cozy out here, overlooking the large yard.
“This is really nice,” I compliment. “You did a good job.”
“Thanks,” Jovan says, pointing at the table he wants us to sit around. “This was my parents’ house. I renovated most of it, but kept the porch.”
“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.”
He frowns at that. “They’re not dead. They just moved to Houston.”
“Oh.”
An awkward silence follows as the three guys take their seats. I fold my hands in my lap and take a breath. I kinda like having their attention, having them on the edge of their seats. That’s the way all men should be with women.
On edge.
