He clenches his teeth and positions his shoulders to show he's ready to move at a moment's notice.
“Hey.” I step in front of him, blocking his view of the crowd. “Look at me.”
He does.
“It’s my sister’s party,” I say. “These are our people that they know and love. Nobody here is going to hurt us.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I know that Aunt Martha’s biggest threat is her opinions about my biological clock. I know that Chris’s college roommate Brad is mostly dangerous near an open bar and a conversation about CrossFit.” I cup his face in my hands. “I need you to be here with me. Present. Not somewhere else in your head. Can you do that?”
He takes a breath—unnecessary, I’m almost certain—and his shoulders drop a fraction.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay?”
“I’ll try. For you.”
“That’s all I’m asking.” I rise on my toes and kiss his cheek. “Now come on. Time to be charming for the masses.”
The next hour is chaos.
Introductions. So many introductions. Relatives who remember me when I “was this tall.” Friends of Violet who want to know about my “little internet thing.” Chris’s family—warm and boisterous, nothing like my own clan.
And through it all, Julian stays close. A hand on my back when we move through the crowd. A steadying presence when Aunt Martha corners me about my “timeline.” A shield between me and the well-meaning relatives who want to know when I’m going to “settle down.”
“Poppy, darling!” My mother materializes in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and passive-aggressive commentary. “Isn’t this wonderful? Chris is such a thoughtful young man.”
Translation: Why can’t you find someone like this?
“It’s amazing,” I agree. “Very romantic.”
“And Julian.” Her eyes sweep him. “How are you enjoying the evening?”
“Very much, Catherine. Chris has outdone himself.”
“He has, hasn’t he? That’s what real love looks like.” A pause, loaded. “The kind that comes from knowing you’ve found your person.”
I brace for impact.
But Julian speaks first. “Poppy knows exactly what that feels like.”
Mom’s eyebrows rise. “Does she?”
“She does.” He looks at me, and something in his expression makes my heart skip a beat. “Whether she’s ready to admit it or not.”
For once, my mom has nothing to say. She looks between us—calculating, always calculating—and her expression shifts.
“Well,” she says. “We’ll see.”
She sweeps away. Julian’s hand finds mine.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say quietly.
“Do what?”
“Defend me. Deflect her.”
