I nodded. “I won’t, sir.” Because in the end, Quinn was the one who had the power. The power to bring me back to life, or snuff out whatever light was left in me. He didn’t need to know that, though.
Chapter fifteen
Stay
Quinn
Every second my dadand Hux spent in the house caused more and more dread to claw its way up my throat, making it hard to speak, hard to breathe. I hated being alone with Georgette. She hadn’t done anything yet, but I just had this growing, horrible feeling the longer I was around her.
“How’re you doing on that mojito, sweetie? You want another?” she asked, lounging on the couch like she was posing for Sports Illustrated or Playboy. I hadn’t been around her more than a time or two before this, and even then it had been brief, so maybe this was really her, but she hadn’t seemed so obnoxious when her and dad first met.
Whit’s words burned in my mind from earlier today.You really want him marrying her?
More and more I realized I didn’t. But again, it wasn’t about me. It was about him. He genuinely seemed happy with her. Who was I to deny him that happiness?
I held up my half drunk mojito before placing it back on the coffee table before us. “I’m good… So, I figured we could hammer out some wedding details.”
“Queenie, sweetheart, you need to let loose a bit. Sit back, relax, drink the mojito. And tell me about your boy toy!” She sat up, her gaze turning devious, the smirk on her face full of mischief. “You know, for a blind guy, he’s pretty hot.”
Anger simmered to life in my veins and I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I drew blood. Sitting on my hands to hide the trembling, I said with a calm I most certainly didn’t feel, “You do realize him being blind has nothing to do with how attractive he is, right?” Was she really that ignorant? That stupid? Did she really believe that? But most importantly, how the hell were her and my dad together? Dad wasn’t hateful like that. He wasn’t mean-spirited and close-minded. Georgette…she might just be the most awful person I’d ever met.
You’re doing this for Dad. Not her.
She at least had the decency to frown. “I’m so sorry. That came out wrong. I just—I’m sorry. I’m drunk. You must…” Her bottom lip even quivered. Oh my God, was she seriously criying? “You must think I’m awful.”
I bit back an eye roll. This was such a shit show. I wondered how Hux’s conversation with my dad was going. Was it as bad as this? Worse? God, I hoped not. Guilt bubbled in my stomach, making me feel sick.
I had just wanted to have a nice date with him, and now I was dealing with my dad’s drunk, small-minded fiancé.
“I don’t think that,” I lied through my teeth.
Her brown gaze pegged me in place. “You’re just saying that.”
Shaking my head, I said, “No, I’m not. Honest.”
Lies.
She sniffled, taking a drink from her already empty mojito, before glancing around the backyard and shouting for the poor cook who was grilling carne asada and chicken on the outdoor barbeque. “Isidor! Isidor! Another mojito when you get a moment.” She hiccuped. “Please.”
Well, at least she said please.
Even though every nerve ending in my body screamed not to, I rose from the couch and made my way over to her. “So, we really should start figuring out things for the wedding.”
She leaned her head against my shoulder. “Wedding plans can wait, my head hurts. We’ve got time.”
I fought the urge to point out maybe the headache had something to do with the four mojitos she’d had in the time I’d gotten here. Instead, I let out a nervous laugh. “Actually, we don’t. The wedding is in two Saturdays from now. We need to get things going, like, yesterday, if we want everything to be smooth sailing.”
I was under no such impulsion that there would be any smooth sailing with this event, but she didn’t need to know that.
Isidor came a few minutes later with a drink in hand for her and set it down on the table. “Here you are, Mrs. Decker.”
“Thanks, Isidor. How long for dinner?”
“Maybe fifteen more minutes, ma’am.” He turned his gaze to me, a guilty look coming over his face. He was young, probably not much older than me, and looked so nervous and stressed as he stammered out, “I’m so sorry, ma’am, can I get you something?”
I offered him a soft, reassuring smile. “No thank you, Isidor.”
An emotion shifted on his face, more guilt, I realized, as he leaned over and replied under his breath, “Actually, my name is Isidro, not Isidor, ma’am.”
