Warmth pooled in my chest, even while my nerves twisted tighter. He wasn’t just nervous about me meeting them—he was nervous aboutme seeing him with them.
Like he had just as much to lose in this thing between us as I did.
“They’re going to love you,” he said again, firmer, protective. “How could they not?”
I could think of a million reasons why they wouldn’t, actually.
I bit my lip, though, fighting the urge to say the words clawing at my throat: that even if they didn’t, I’d do anything to keep him, to convince him he shouldn’t let me go.
The Regency House was intimidating before we even stepped inside.
The brick façade glowed under iron lanterns, valets in long coats hurrying to take keys from cars that gleamed like spaceships. Matty’s car was nice, but it looked almost hilariously out of place compared to the cars that were pulling in around us.
“Do you usually eat this fancy after games?” I asked with a frown, hating that I didn’t know the answer to this already. I was usually finishing up mascot duties and couldn’t follow him. From researching him, though, I knew that Matty didn’t come from a wealthy family, so I was surprised we were eating here.
His jaw flexed. “Only when my dad’s involved.”
“Oh,” I said softly, watching as he handed over the keys.
He gave a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “When I’m paying for it, he expects the best.”
The words landed heavy, something brittle threaded through the calm way he said them. I frowned, wanting to ask more but stopping myself when the valet opened the door for us.
Matty got out of the truck and walked around to help me out. He slipped his hand to the small of my back and guided me forward like he could block the sting of whatever his last words had meant.
Inside, chandeliers spilled golden light onto white-linen tables and crystal glasses. The smell of grilled steak and expensive wine hung in the air. I tugged at the hem of my navy wrap dress, suddenly wishing I’d had something nicer to wear.
“You look perfect,” Matty muttered in my ear.
The hostess glanced up, blinked twice, and pasted on a smile polished enough to belong in a magazine. “Can I help you?”
“Adler party. They should be seated already,” Matty told her, his arm tightening around me as she nodded and began leading us through the restaurant.
“Here we go,” he muttered as we approached a round booth near the back that was filled with people.
Before I could brace myself, a high-pitched squeal broke through the low hum of conversation.
“Matty!”
A blur of pigtails and glitter sneakers launched out of the booth. His little sister barreled straight toward him, shouting his name far too loud for a place with a dress code. Matty laughed, catching her mid-run and scooping her up like she weighed nothing.
“Hey, Lizzie-bug,” he said, spinning her once before setting her on his hip.
My heart melted at the sight—this big, six-foot-four college football player completely undone by a little girl in orange leggings.
Lizzie finally noticed me over his shoulder. Her eyes went wide. “Wow,” she stage-whispered. “You have aprettygirlfriend.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Hi, Lizzie,” I said, smiling. “I’m Ophelia.”
She gasped, like the name itself was magic. “That’ssofancy.”
Matty chuckled, kissing the top of her head before setting her down. “Go easy on her, kiddo.”
We made it the rest of the way to the booth where his family was waiting—two younger boys around middle-school age who immediately started whispering to each other, and his parents across from them.
I already knew what they looked like, of course. I’d seen their faces a hundred times before—in Facebook posts, holiday photos, and the occasional tagged picture from a booster event. But seeing them in real life felt different. His mom’s smile was warm and a little tired. His dad’s wasn’t a smile at all.
Matty slid an arm around my waist as we reached the table, his touch steadying even as my pulse hammered.
