–Me: How about some Diet Dr. Pepper?
I send the message before I realize what I’m doing. I bite my lip, wondering if he’s going to think I’m being overly sentimental…or maybe presumptuous.
–Bryce: I can grab that, too. I’m leaving the office in half an hour.
–Me: That early?
–Bryce: Shitty traffic, and we have to go out for dinner.
Dinner? Then why the pizza…?
Is this some weird way of trying to celebrate our fake two-year marriage? In any case, isn’t necessary to cut his workday short for it.
–Bryce: With my family. Paola told everyone, and of course, The Fogeys want to meet you.
I inhale sharply. He called the elders of his family The Fogeys in college, and I’m guessing that hasn’t changed. Something like an electric charge runs through my nerves, leaving me shaky. I drop onto a couch and try some deep breathing. But it doesn’t settle my anxiety.
–Me: Do we have to? I’m only your wife for a little while.
–Bryce: Sorry, it’s mandatory. My stepmom is cooking, and there’s no avoiding it. Unless you want them descending on our house, which I’d prefer to avoid.
I prop my elbow on my knee and rest my forehead in my palm. A small throbbing starts at the base of my neck—the beginning of a tension headache.
–Me: If we’re having dinner with your family, why are you getting pizza?
–Bryce: Because that’s also mandatory.
What?
–Bryce: Trust me. You’ll thank me later. Gotta go.
I blink, dazed and dumbfounded like I just got sucked into a tornado. Realistically speaking, I suppose it only makes sense that his family wants to meet me, although…don’t they know about the ugly history between me and Bryce? Ares and Josh know for sure. They were atHarvard when it happened. I ran into them a few times later, and they both looked at me with loathing and contempt. The only reason they didn’t punch me in the face was my gender.
Is this going to be some kind of dinner of disapproval? The family wants to warn me to be good to Bryce or else…? The judge said I was lucky to marry into the Huxleys because they’re loyal, but he doesn’t know the history. They’ll never accept me as one of their own.
I run my clammy hands on my skirt, then stop.Ohshit! I can’t go like this.I picked this dress because it was the most bridal-looking one, but they probably don’t want to be reminded of my new status as Mrs. Bryce Huxley. I rush to the closet to find something else, but…
Jeans won’t do. A blue wrap dress with a floral print in darker blue? I put it on and look at the mirror. Much better. And a pair of nude pumps. I redo my hair, twisting it into an updo. Reapply mascara and blush. Then I undo my hair and brush it vigorously. Still… Something’s off.
By the time I’m done, my hair’s in a French twist, and my apprehension is through the roof. There’s no scenario under which his family’s going to like me. Forgetlike. I’ll settle for indifference. At least it won’t be hate.
“Fiona…? I come bearing pizza and Diet Dr. Pepper!” comes Bryce’s voice from below.
“Coming!” I say, checking the time. Five thirty. A little too early to eat, but then I realize I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. Suddenly I’m famished.
I hurry downstairs. The heavenly aroma of pizza laces the air. Bryce stands by the counter, in a black suit he wears like armor. My pulse accelerates at the slight slant of his eyebrows, the piercing, intelligent eyes and gorgeous lips—the only thing soft on him. The sight of the wedding band glinting on his finger has a combination of fluttery anticipation, guilt, wistfulness, remorse and something else warm and sweet I don’t dare name pooling in my heart.
I want his family to not hate me with a keen, aching desperation. My fingers tremble, and I clench my hands to hide it. I promised myself to be the best wife possible, and refusing to meet his family would be breaking that vow.
He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes darkening with the desire I’ve cometo recognize so well. “Damn. You look good enough to eat. Maybe we can skip the dinner.”
“No. Your family will be disappointed.”
“They can wait.”
“No.”I don’t want them to hate me any more than they already do. “Let’s have the pizza. I didn’t have any lunch.”
“You should’ve raided the fridge,” he scolds as he takes out two plates and glasses from the cabinets.
