Look, we were going to tell themeventually, ideally at our own pace.
This whole thing feels like a reality dating show—Love Island: Oops, We Got Married. One minute we’re strangers, then fake married, thensomehow falling for each other in between prenatal vitamins and late-night Taco Bell because suddenly I have cravings.
Anyway.
I hadn’t wanted to call my folks and be like, “Hey, remember how you always warned me about fast-moving relationships and were elated when I dumped Tim? Plot twist! I’m seeing someone new and expecting, ha ha, how has your week been?”
I wanted to wait to say anything to anyone until I was sure. Lucy doesn’t count.
Now here I am, about to meet Mr. and Mrs. McBride.
Maverick clicks his phone off and looks at me, eyes soft. “You ready?”
No. Not even a little. “Sure.”
Here goes nothing . . .
Maverick slips his arm around my shoulders as we walk toward the living room, where his laptop is propped open on the coffee table. The screen is already connected to our call—camera off, thank God—but I can hear the faint sound of laughter.
Shit.
He gives me a squeeze. “They’re excited to meet you. Don’t panic.”
I give him a tight smile. “I’m not panicking.”
I am absolutely panicking.
He clicks the camera on, and suddenly, there they are. His mom has the same mischievous grin he does and is waving at the screen like she’s spotted us in a crowd. Giddy.
His dad—more stoic in a gruff but charming way—nods once before leaning in closer to squint at the screen as if he can’t see us clearly.
“Is this her?” his mom all but squeals. “Oh, aren’t youdarling! Look at those cheekbones! And your hair—Callum, you didn’t tell us she was this pretty!”
Maverick chuckles. “Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad. This is Annabelle.”
“Annabelle!” She beams. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
Lies. They’ve heardnothingabout me, short of what they’ve seen on television, and even then, they weren’t certain any of it was true. They didn’t even know I existed in any official capacity.
“It’s so lovely to meet you,” I say, because I was raised right and also I’m terrified.
His dad tilts his head. “So, how long have you two been seeing each other, then?”
Maverick opens his mouth.
I open mine faster. “About a month?”
Ish.If you’re being generous and adding some weeks—but who’s counting? Ha.
His mom clutches her chest like she’s on the verge of fainting—but in a veryenthusiastic, giddy way. “A month! Oh my goodness. And already so smitten, I can tell!”
Smitten. Such a mom thing to say ...
His dad raises a brow, clearly trying to compute the math, but says nothing. Sips from what I suspect is a scotch glass and gives Maverick a noncommitted nod.
“We saw something about you both on the news,” his mom admits, voice dropping to a whisper like she’s about to reveal a secret. “Honestly, I thought it might’ve been a fake story.”
“Or AI,” his dad adds dryly. “You know how they fake celebrity couples now.”
