Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
When I return to our table, some schmuck has stupidly sat down next to her. My blood doesn’t boil because I’m not threatened by his paisley purple tuxedo and slicked-back gelled helmet for hair. But I don’t like it when he leans in, forcing her to lean away from him.
And here I thought I’d have to go looking for trouble to get another black eye for my girl’s pleasure. Looks like it found me. “Excuse me, you’re in my seat.” I set the drinks down next to her, getting a strong suspicion I might need my hands free from objects.
The guy glances at me and then returns to speak to Delaney like I didn’t say a damn word. Delaney says to the guy, “You need to move. This is his seat.”
When he grabs her wrist and says, “Let’s dance,” my blood fucking boils.
As soon as he stands, Delaney’s already ripped her wrist free, but now he’ll deal with me. “Don’t touch my wife again.”
He glances from my hand to hers, catching on quickly that I might be lying. “Wife?” He laughs. “She’s not wearing a ring. Only a green stain on her finger, ya cheap bastard. Did you buy her ring out of a candy machine?”
The reflex to send him to his grave has me pulling my arm back, but Delaney’s hands land so fast on my chest that I’m pushed back a step. “No, Warner.”
“Down boy,” the guy says, still laughing, but this time, he begins to back away with his arms up in front of him. “She’s got that leash tight around that collar of yours.”
I lower my arm. “Get the fuck out of here.” There always has to be one asshole in the crowd. He’s probably some drunk-ass distant cousin one of their mothers insisted on inviting. From the slightest Midwestern accent I pick up on, he sure as fuck isn’t from around here.
“She ain’t that hot, man.” He’s quick to slip through some couples standing near the next table.
The encounter doesn’t bother me as much as the confidence I see draining from Delaney. Her expression fell along with her shoulders, which she held back before he came around.
“You know it’s bullshit, right?”
“Yeah, sure.” Swallowing seems to strain the plastered grin she had for me. “We should eat something,” she says, sitting down again.
When I sit next to her, she takes a bite of a roll, but the chicken and the salad are still untouched. She can’t seem to will herself to eat despite probably wanting the distraction.
I rub her back and pull her to my side. “He doesn’t matter.”
“That’s what sucks. I know he doesn’t, but he still managed to get in my head.”
“You know what? Fuck him. Fuck this whole thing. I know a great Italian place on the West Side.”
Her smile blooms for me. “Bayetti’s?”
“Yeah, you think we can get a reservation on a Saturday night on short notice?”
With her mood lifted, she says, “I can pull a few strings.”
I stand, taking her by the hand. When we turn, my mother is there. Her eyes go from me to the hand I’m holding. “Hello, Son.” She looks at Delaney without so much as a smile. “I don’t remember us being formally introduced last time. I’m Grace Landers. You’re Delaney Bayetti. Is that right?”
The sudden shiver in her hand has me wrapping mine around it and holding it at my side. I’m not sure how my mother knows, but her investigative skills are impressive. Delaney replies, “Yes.”
“Bayetti is Italian?”
I hear Delaney gulp just fine over the music, and I’m sure my mother does as well. She exhales and says, “It is. My mom is from Connecticut. My dad is from New York. His family goes back to Italy for a few generations.”
When silence falls between them, I say, “We were just leaving.”
“That’s too bad,” my mother says, looking genuinely disappointed. A sympathetic smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “I was hoping to spend some time with your friend to get to know her better.” Turning to Delaney, she takes her hand right out of mine and holds it between both of hers. “Warner never introduces me to his friends. Well,” she says with an eye roll, “except James.”
“I didn’t know you were on the guest list, or we would have looked for you.”
She leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “I skipped the ceremony. I just stopped by for a glass of champagne and a piece of cake.” Shooting her gaze to Sass, she adds, “But then I found out it was carrot cake. Why someone would want a vegetable in their cake is beyond me.”
She and Delaney share a laugh while I stand there dumbfounded. My mother isn’t a cruel woman. Strict when I was growing up and hands off for the most part, but I was taken care of. I’ve just never seen this side of her directed at me before, though admittedly, I have when she and my dad hosted parties, and I would eavesdrop. Turning over a new leaf?