My stomach dropped. Right. His family. The people who still looked at me like I was the enemy, despite everything that had happened over the past few weeks.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked, pulling on a clean shirt. “Your mom can barely look at me, and your dad still acts like I’m going to pull out a gun and shoot everyone at the dinner table.”
“I know.” Nick sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “But we can’t avoid them forever. And maybe... maybe it’ll help. Show them that we’re actually trying to make this work.”
I wanted to argue, to say that his family would never accept me, that this dinner would be a disaster. But the hope in his eyes made me bite back the words.
“Okay,” I said instead. “If you think it’ll help, we’ll do it.”
His expression softened, and he crossed the room to pull me into a kiss that made me forget why I’d been worried in the first place.
“Thank you,” he murmured against my lips. “For trying.”
“I’d do a lot more than have dinner with your parents for you,” I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
The look he gave me then made my heart race. But before either of us could say anything else, there was a knock at the front door.
“Nick? Dante?” It was Angelo’s voice, slightly muffled. “Mrs. Wesley wanted me to check on you two to make sure you’re still coming to dinner.”
“Thanks, Angelo,” Nick called back. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
We heard footsteps retreating, and Nick turned back to me with a rueful smile.
“Guess it’s time to face the music,” he said.
I nodded, already dreading the next few hours. But as Nick took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly, I realized that maybe I could survive anything as long as he was beside me.
Even dinner with the in-laws who hated my guts.
The walk over to the main house was short. We really only lived a quarter of a mile away or so. But it felt like stepping into a different world. The house loomed larger than it ever had before, its warm lights spilling from the windows like eyes watching our approach. I could smell something cooking—roast beef, maybe, and fresh bread—and my stomach twisted with nerves that had nothing to do with hunger. So much for the tough mobster persona. Apparently, that didn’t work on in-laws.
“You okay?” Nick asked quietly, his hand finding mine in the darkness between the houses.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just... preparing myself.”
“They’re not that bad.”
I shot him a look. “Your sister would slit my throat in a second if she got the chance.”
“That was only at the beginning,” Nick said, but his tone lacked conviction. “She’s had time to cool down.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I didn’t say anything. We were already at the porch steps, and I could hear voices inside. Angelo’s laugh, deep and genuine. Mrs. Wesley saying something I couldn’t quite make out. And then a woman’s voice that had to be Heather, sharp and cutting even when I couldn’t understand the words.
Nick squeezed my hand once more before letting go, and I felt the loss of contact like a physical ache. We were back to being careful, to maintaining distance. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
He opened the door without knocking, and we stepped into warmth and light and the overwhelming smell of home-cooked food. The living room opened directly into the dining area, and I could see the table already set with mismatched plates and well-worn silverware. Mrs. Wesley stood at the stove, her back to us, while Mr. Wesley sat at the head of the table with a beer in his hand. Angelo was helping set out serving dishes, and Heatherwas staring at me like she was trying to decide where to hide my body.
“Boys!” Mrs. Wesley turned, her smile bright but not quite reaching her eyes. “We were starting to worry. Come on in, dinner’s almost ready.”
“Sorry we’re late, Mom,” Nick said, moving toward the table. “Got caught up with some ranch business.”
I saw Heather’s eyes narrow, like she knew exactly what kind of “business” had delayed us, and I felt heat creep up my neck. Did she know? Could she tell just by looking at us?
“Dante,” Mrs. Wesley said, her tone polite but distant. “I hope you’re feeling better. Nick says your ribs are healing well.”
“Yes ma’am,” I replied, staying near the door like I wasn’t sure I was actually welcome. “Much better. Thank you for asking.”
An awkward silence fell, broken only by the sound of Angelo setting down a bowl of mashed potatoes with slightly too much force.
