But my parents? My mother? That's a different story entirely. A tiny sheen of sweat forms on my forehead as Quin disappears into the foyer. In moments like this, I wish I could drown my anxiety in a glass of wine. It would make everything so much easier to bear.
As my parents enter the townhouse, the air around me thickens and I find it difficult to breath. My mother narrows her eyes, judging the decor as she weaves toward me. I force a smile, my heart pounding with apprehension.
"Hi, Mom, welcome to our…home."
She hums, lips pursed. "Thank you, it's very...nice in here." Her gaze drifts to Quinton, and she raises an eyebrow. "It appears my daughter has cultivated an expensive taste."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
"I truly hope that's not arealMonet," she adds, her disapproval evident.
Ignoring her comment, I give my dad a hug, whispering, "Be nice to him, okay?"
"It's not me you should worry about," he replies with a knowing smile.
After Josie takes my parents' coats, giving me a disdainful look that I can't blame her for, Quin claps his hands to get everyone's attention. "Shall we eat?"
"Yes, let's," my mother says, scrutinizing Quinton's every move—how he pulls out my chair, how he drapes a cloth napkin over his lap, and how he thanks Saran, our chef, as he brings out the food.
My hand trembles as I pick up a glass of water and take a sip. It's too quiet. We should've put on some background music. Within a second of having the thought, Quin excuses himself from the table and turns on the stereo, soft jazz filling the room.
When he returns, he says, "A little ambiance never hurts."
My mother picks up her fork and pushes the food on her plate around, inspecting the chicken. "This looks rather oily," she notes, casting a critical glance in my direction. "I thought your doctor told you to avoid eating fats."
"I—"
Quin interjects, coming to my rescue as he always does. "It's made with olive oil, Mrs. Jones, a heart-healthy fat. Studies have shown consuming olive oil reduces the risk of cardiovascular disease by 5 percent and coronary heart disease by 7 percent."
My mother purses her lips. "Is that from a studyyouconducted, Dr. Marquis?"
"Quin is fine," he says, refusing to let my mother rattle him. "And no, my company primarily conducts studies on the effectiveness of new drugs, although we do have products related to cardiovascular health."
"I suppose a doctor isn't the worst person to date, given Emery's condition," Dad chimes in, attempting to steer the conversation in a more positive direction. He glances at Quin. "From what I read in the paper, you seem to be doing well for yourself. I've always said Emery needs a man with ambition. Did you know shefinished college with multiple degrees in only three years?"
Quin smiles fondly at me. "Yes, your daughter is quite the genius. She can be intimidating at times."
My father chuckles. "Did you hear that, Susan? Our little girl is intimidating."
"Oh, yes, I heard," Mom murmurs, her tone still frosty. Straightening her posture, she clears her throat and I damn well know the inquisition has only started. “So, how did you two meet?”
My palms clam up.
“We met at a conference,” Quin lies with a devilish gleam. “The moment she arrived, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.”
“I see,” Mom hums. She might as well get it all out now. “And what conference might this have been? I can’t imagine there’s a lot of overlap between your two professions.”
Shit. I should say something. I should answer at leastonequestion. But for some reason, I can barely open my mouth. My tongue is broken, unwilling to tell them lies. It’s never been an issue before. Why now?
Quin chuckles, light and airy, and I thank the universe that he’s able to remain so fucking calm and collected. “It was a networking conference for New York City executives.” He smirks at me. “Very exclusive.”
I see what he’s doing. Half truths. Half lies. Club Hadesisexclusive. He’s not wrong.
“And you’ve been seeing each other since then?” Mom asks.
“Essentially,” Quin confirms, avoiding timelines.
We eat in relative silence for a few minutes as my dad makes the smallest of talks with Quin about rugby, and then my mother decides to take the stage again.
