Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I bit my lip and nodded. “I promise.”
16
WHITLEY
“Ready for this?” Gavin asked.
We were seated in the back of his black car, heading toward our dinner reservations. I’d come home from an anxiety-ridden day of playing catch-up to throw on a midnight-blue dress and head out again. I’d considered wearing something outrageous to get a reaction from my mom. Show the rebel I’d always been, but I’d given up on that. I just wanted them to go home. Back to Texas, where they belonged, and not in my beloved New York.
I shrugged and chewed on my bottom lip. Gavin reached across the car and took my hand. I jerked my head back to him as he threaded our fingers together.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re nervous.”
“Well … yeah. Pretending for your parents was easy. They wanted to see you happy. They didn’t know who I was.”
“Your parents want you to be happy,” he said, drawing calming circles on the top of my hand.
I scoffed. “They want me to be happy in the way they want me to be happy.”
“Do you really care what they think? We could walk in there and tell them the truth.”
I trembled at that suggestion. It would be the easiest route, of course. Much easier than telling them later that it hadn’t worked out. But it wasn’t the right thing to do either. They wouldn’t understand. It might actually be worse than breaking off a relationship they deemed fitting. This was making a mockery of the thing they wanted.
Slowly, I shook my head. “I can’t do that either.”
He nodded approvingly. “A few more days then? It shouldn’t be too bad.”
No. No, it wasn’t bad at all. Being Gavin’s fiancée was … better than I’d imagined it would be. In the moments when I let myself consider it at all, I found the whole thing as easy as breathing. I didn’t know what that meant.
I liked Gavin. I’d liked him for a long time. But I wasn’t girlfriend material. Not really. And he’d see that too one day, if he hadn’t already.
The car stopped in front of the restaurant, and Gavin stepped out first, offering me his hand. I took it and set my heels down on the wet sidewalk. It had been raining on and off since we’d gotten home. It felt like an ominous portent.
Gavin was greeted by the maître d’ as soon as we entered the restaurant. My parents were already standing nearby. Their expressions of discomfort disappeared at Gavin’s presence and his clear command. My mom looked overly pleased with herself as we bypassed a long line of people and were immediately seated.
“This way,” the woman said with a wide smile.
“What service,” my mother said, delighted.
“We’re always pleased when Mr. King graces our restaurant. We’ve reserved you the best table,” she said, gesturing to a seat at the window overlooking the city street beyond.
“Thank you,” Gavin said with his winning smile. He pulled my seat out for me. “After you.”
“Thank you. I didn’t realize you were a regular here.”
“A man has to have his secrets.” He shot me a look with one arched eyebrow. There was jest in his eyes.
This must have been where he took dates. Classic Gavin.
I forced back a laugh as my parents took their seats. Dad groaned slightly as he settled into his chair. My mom fluttered about him, but he just pushed her off.
“Leave it, Cynthia.”
“Walter,” she whispered.
He glared at her once and then scooted his chair in. She dropped it with a gulp and then forced her cheery smile back into place.
We perused the menu. I saw my mom wince at the entrée prices. We were pretty well off, but still, a couple hundred dollars for a steak wasn’t a regular meal. She probably hadn’t considered where a King would take them for dinner. That was the Upper East Side for you.
Gavin ordered a bottle of wine for the table as we went around and ordered. I wasn’t surprised that my mom got a salad or that she sneered at me for getting steak. If I was going to get a King dinner, I was going to get a King dinner.
Gavin just smiled when I ordered and looked up at the waiter and said, “I’ll have what she’s having. She has good taste.”
My mom’s face pinched at those words. Caught between wanting to tell me to eat less to please my future husband and the realization that Gavin didn’t give a shit.
“So, tell me all the details,” Mom said once the waiter was gone. “How did you meet? How did he propose?”
I glanced at Gavin. Well, at least we’d practiced this much. “We’ve known each other for a few years. We met before I moved to California.”
My mother looked aghast at this news. As if we could have been married then.