She pats my chest. “I can already tell he did not get me enough of those cheesy bacon things. So load up. Bring your girl some, yeah?”
“You know, I think he’s taken,” a woman says to her, smiling as she walks by.
“Actually, this is my son,” Mom corrects.
I expect the usual “Oh my God, how old were you when you had him?” line of questions, and I brace myself for it. But the older woman raises her glass to Mom instead.
“Nicely done.”
Mom leans her head against my shoulder. “I love that you’re a billionaire dating the sister of the groom, but your biggest claim to fame here is an artfully posed dick pic.”
“What?” I cough out. “Mywhat?”
“Isn’t that right, Frank?” Mom grins. “People have been showing it all over. I was in the bathroom earlier, and it’s all people were talking about—that and the fact that the special-label wine with the bride’s and groom’s faces on it maybe wasn’t the best idea. So file that away for your wedding.”
“You werelookingat that picture?!” I’m horrified. “You shouldn’t have.”
“This is going to shock you, Graham, so you might need to sit down for a minute—Frank, please get him a chair—I have actually seen your penis before.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation with you, Mom.”
“And I approve of its life choices. Clearly, I did well making you drink all that whole milk.”
“Dani wanted that photo,” I explain. “She swore it wasn’t going to get passed around. It’s not like I could tell her no.”
“What did I tell you about sexting? Well, that answers that mystery, though, right, Frank?”
Frank just grunts.
“So, kid—Dani’s just got you wrapped around her little finger, huh?” Mom gives me an assessing look.
“Something like that.”
Mom laughs. “She made you!You’re like a foot taller than her!”
“Yeah. I mean, she’s just…” I look at her. There are clearly people around Dani talking about the photo, and she gives me a guilty look then makes a heart shape with her hands and grimaces.
“She’s just everything I always wanted.”
“We should elope,”Dani murmurs when I half carry her into my penthouse.
She has her arms around my neck, and I have my arm around her waist. My other arm is holding the bags and boxes of leftovers from the party.
“Pro tip.” Dani smiles up at me. She’s still drunk and warm and loopy. “Always order extra food for weddings. People won’t eat it, then you have leftovers, and you don’t have to cook for a few days.”
I turn my hip so I can sit her down on the island in the kitchen I never use. She nudges me with her bare foot as I start to put the food away.
“You want to get married?” I narrow my eyes at her.
Her eyes widen. She looks a little shocked.Dumb thing to say.
“You told me not to wear panties for a reason, right?” Her mouth is parted, her face flushed—not just from all the dessert wine.
“Right—fuck.”
How did I get so lulled by the false domesticity?
We don’t live together. We’re not dating. We’re not getting married. I’m not a good person, or a good boyfriend, or a good father.
