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“That’s unfortunate,” my mother answered.
“Indeed,” I said. “It’s also the reason I refuse to play games tonight. We’ll be seated at the table with family, as was expected, or we’ll leave. You choose, Mother. I did not travel all this way to be treated as if I weren’t a part of this family. So, perhaps we can all reset and forget any of this nonsense ever happened?”
“Perhaps,” my mother mocked. Anyone who didn’t know her would have no idea she was furious that I had the nerve to cross her. “Let’s move past all this pettiness, shall we?”
“Mom,” I said dryly, “I’d rather not.”
“Don’t behave like a toddler, John. I’ll have a table rearranged so you and Mickie can join your brothers, their other halves, and your father and me,” she said, then turned and floated back into the room.
“Judge me later for this, and I might have to agree with you,” I told Mick.
She slipped her hand back into mine, “I would never judge you, and I will say I feel sorry for you having to attend stuff like this. Though, your mom is right. Weddings tend to bring out a lot of drama and stress.”
“Don’t you dare tell me you agree with her,” I teased, my nerves crashing down.
She chuckled, “I will give you hell for all of this later,” she played back, and I couldn’t resist smiling at her. If Mick survived this night and tomorrow, I’d be a fool not to stop in Vegas and marry her on our way back to California.
That’s if we survived this.
Chapter Forty-Four
Mickie
John’s expression up until now, as dinner slowly progressed, was far from readable. I had no idea what was going through the man’s mind, but all his humor was gone, and a temper I didn’t think he had had taken its place.
I expected I’d be the one feeling miserable and out of place tonight, but it looked like John was the victim of emotions he was struggling to control instead.
There wasn’t much said at the family table where we ate, and instead of focusing on John’s family members’ better-than-thou expressions, I did my best not to bring unwanted attention to myself. I’d been to plenty of fancy dinners in my life—after all, I wasn’t a complete cave dweller—but none of them were like this, with so many courses, each with their own special utensil. I was just trying my best to sit up straight, keep my elbows off the table, and not spill anything on Ruby’s couture.
As I sat here pretending to know precisely what I was doing—and pulling it off pretty well, if I do say so myself—I couldn’t help but be surprised at the lack of communication at the table. It was supposed to be a joyous event, for Christ’s sake, but everyone looked like they were strangers at a funeral reception. It was enough to make me wonder how the hell a guy like John, with his boisterous and playful personality, came from a family like this.
“I trust everyone enjoyed the food this evening?” John’s mother finally spoke.
I was so fucked because, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember anyone’s name. It must’ve been because none of us were speaking to each other. I was going with the flow at this point, and it was obvious this was a table where you didn’t speak to until spoken to.
Fucking strange.
“It was delightful,” the sister-in-law, who was married to John’s eldest brother, said with a triumphant smile, dabbing the corners of her mouth. “I loved the soufflé,” she smiled at her husband’s stiff nod.
“The soufflé is one of Pollyanna’s favorites, so it had to be part of the meal,” John’s mother said with a loving smile, looking at the bride’s dull and miserable expression.
Should I say something, or would it be rude? Is it rude not to say something? Talk about being in a world where you clearly don’t belong.
“The partridge was delicious,” Pollyanna said with her first smile of the evening.
“And that, my dear, is to keep the nerves down,” John’s mother responded.
“John would know something about that, and perhaps Dr. Smith? Both being physicians, of course,” John’s father finally spoke.
He was the stiffest man at the table, with a boldness that made me know in my gut that the best thing for me to do was just smile and nod.
The man was handsome beyond belief, with silver hair cut short and perfectly styled to make his clean-shaven face look more polished. He wore a bespoke suit, looked like he ran the world, and his voice naturally boomed.
“We are indeed physicians,” John said dryly. He was a different person than the one I’d met months ago. He was just as stiff and prickly as the rest of the miserable-looking men at the table, “However, we’re not trained to know how different birds affect our nervous systems.”
“That’s a shame,” his father’s eyes went straight to me, forcing me to pray that the man didn’t ask me any questions about birds. “And Dr. Smith,” he said, sipping his wine, his eyes sizing up my response to his approaching me in conversation, “how did you enjoy the fine meal?”
I inhaled and decided I wasn’t going to even try to fit in with this.
