I need to calm down, because I can feel something ugly building in my chest.
It’s not just the money. It’s not even the apartment, or the dog, or the fact that my mother managed to toss a wedding into the conversation like that was a normal next step. It’s the fact that I already said no, and somehow everyone is still talking around me like my opinion is a minor logistical issue to solve later.
I want to leave.
But it’s Dad’s birthday, and I refuse to become the dramatic centerpiece of his dinner before dessert has even happened.
Luckily, before I can come up with a way to shut this whole clusterfuck down, I spot Brad and Maria Scott walking up the path toward the Main Cottage.
A few moments later, the front door opens, and they step inside dressed for dinner—Brad in a rust-colored blazer and cream shirt that screams old money, Maria in a simple beige dress with the kind of perfect cut that makes you afraid to guess the price.
Thankfully, that puts an end to my parents terrorizing Connor.
“Oh, it’s so cozy in here!” Maria says as soon as she sees the candlelit table.
Before going over to greet them, Mom and Dad give Connor a meaningful look that clearly says they are not done with him.
Which would piss me off a lot more if Connor weren’t the reason we’re in this mess in the first place.
As the Scotts give Dad their gifts, I catch Connor’s gaze across the room. He’s still sitting on the sofa, his cheeks flushed, his eyes a little panicked. He gives me a subtle nod, asking me to come back over, but if I open my mouth in front of everyone right now, I’m going to say something I can’t take back.
So instead, I nod toward the stairs.
Follow me.
Connor hesitates for half a second, then gets up.
I lead him up to the landing between the first and second floors, where there’s a small window seat tucked into a little nook. It’s private enough that nobody downstairs should be able to hear us. We don’t sit, though. I’m too riled up, and Connor looks like he isn’t sure whether he’s about to be yelled at or pushed out a window.
“Well,” he says, giving me a sheepish, guilty-looking smile. “That spiraled fast.”
I don’t have it in me to smile back.
I take a breath, trying to hold it in, but the anger is already pushing its way out.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, keeping my voice low even though my chest feels like it’s about to crack open. “That was a little too much, don’t you think?”
Connor runs a hand through his hair, messing up the careful styling. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he actually does look distressed. “Did I overdo it?”
Okay. He regrets it. I can see that.
I should calm down.
“Overdo it?” I repeat, frustration bleeding through anyway. “That’s putting it mildly. I’m screwed now, thanks to you.”
Connor blinks, clearly taken aback.
I pause, trying to understand why I’m so angry, because it isn’t just the dog or the apartment or the fact that my mother somehow managed to bring up a wedding without anyone stopping her.
It’s him.
It’s the way he made all of it sound so easy. Like none of it costs him anything. Like he can sit beside me, hold me, smile at my parents, tell them we’re moving in together and getting a dog, and not understand that they’re going to be hurt when it ends.
Like he doesn’t understand that I’m already hurt.
Which is stupid. I know it’s stupid. This was the deal. He was supposed to play my boyfriend, not become one. He doesn’t owe me anything.
Except he was so fucking convincing that some pathetic part of me believed him too.
