His head is somehow even bigger than Matt’s, and his ego? Unparalleled.
“I just invested in a company in Saudi Arabia that’s going to make me massive amounts of money.”
I roll my eyes.So what?
Yiayiá smiles proudly at Christopher, then darts Matt a look that says everything about how she feels. It takes everything in me not toblurt out that Matt’s working on a resort in Switzerland that’s going to land him on theForbesbillionaire list.
And the part that’s almost laughable?
Everyone at this table knows Matt has more money than all of them combined. But Christopher still feels the need to compete. To one-up him. To be better.
He isn’t. Not in one single category.
Matt clears his throat, calm and deliberate. “We have some exciting news as well.”
My heart shoots straight into my throat, and the glare I give him could cut glass.
My mamá looks at me when Matt doesn’t say anything more. “What is it?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my brain scrambling.
It comes to me.
“I’m remodeling Sherry Wolf’s home in the Hamptons.” I force a smile.
“That’s wonderful,” my yiayiá says. She actually seems... proud. “Sherry Wolf is a lovely woman. Very generous. I heard she gives millions every year to the children’s hospital.”
Matt taps my foot under the table.
“Sheisvery generous,” he says smoothly, validating Yiayiá. “And a good friend of mine,” he adds, validating himself. “But that’s not the news I was talking about.”
He reaches for my hand, which I’m tempted to snap away from him. Instead, I let him weave his fingers through mine. He holds it there, squeezing gently, reminding me he’s here. That he’ll share the burden.
His gaze burns into me. Waiting.
Waiting for me to stop being such a damn wimp and come clean.
“What is it, kouklaki?” Pappoús asks from the head of the table.
My pulse pounds, my stomach knotting, and for a brief moment I’m convinced I’m going to hurl right here at the dinner table.
Matt squeezes my hand again.
“Um…” I glance at him, then around the table, hesitation clawing upmy throat. And then, before I can think better of it, I blurt, “Matt and I got married.”
Silence.
A gasp.
Someone’s fork clatters against their plate.
“Yesterday, actually.” I smile, reaching for more of the glazed carrots, because my yiayiá never makes anything but lamb as a main dish.
Relief washes through me, fast and intense. Even though I know the interrogation hasn’t even begun.
ButJesus.
Getting that off my chest?
