Page 52 of Married to Lies

“I will,” he promised. Then he reached into the passenger seat and handed me a tall, thin bag.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“For you to give to his momma. Best not show up empty-handed.”

I almost slapped my forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” George said.

I smiled at him. “Thank God for that.” I got out, wine gift bag in hand, and walked up the long sidewalk to the front door. There was a doorbell with a camera on it, so I stood tall, making sure not to do anything embarrassing while I waited for someone to answer.

Eventually, the tall door opened, and Quentin stood in the doorway. He stepped out with me, shutting the door behind him. He looked handsome, dressed in dark jeans and a green sweater. I wished I could read the labels from here, get the feel for designer clothes that looked like they had been made especially for him.

“Are you-are you ready?” he asked me. That’s when I noticed... He looked nervous. He shifted from foot to foot, his hands rubbing together.

I put my hand on his arm to steady him, and he stilled, solid under my palm. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’m excited to meet her.”

He looked at me, surprised. “You are?”

“Of course,” I said. “She’s going to be my mother-in-law.” Some idiotic part of me was hoping she’d be a second mom. That maybe she’d care for me the way my mom cared for Eleanor.

Quentin gave me one of his rare smiles, and it was like the sun breaking the horizon on my drive into work. Everything was the same, and yet it changed everything. I found myself lost in his smile until it fell again.

“Let’s get inside,” he said. “It’s cold out here.”

He held the door open for me again and placed his hand on the small of my back as we went inside. The gentle touch heated every inch of my skin under his large hand until he released me to take my coat. He held the wine as I slipped off my jacket, taking in the foyer, but when I looked back at him, he was staring.

“It’s the dress, isn’t it?” I asked, fiddling with the hem pulling tight along my thighs just above the knee. “Is there time to go back and change?”

His gaze lowered to my hand and said, “Over my dead body.”

The heated words made my thighs clench. As he turned to hang my coat in a closet, I tried to get my act together. I couldn’t show up to meet his mom swooning over the heat in his voice.

He closed the closet door and turned back, handing me the bottle of wine so I could gift it. As we started out of the foyer, my heels felt loud over the black-and-white checkered floor, muffled only by the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Quentin reached for my hand, twining our fingers together.

How long had it been since I’d held hands? I wondered. And why had I let it go this long?

Holding his hand instantly eased my nerves, gave me a life raft to hold on to as we rounded the corner into a great room that blended into a big, open-concept kitchen with matte-black stone countertops veined with gleaming white slivers.

An older Black woman with brown curly hair corralled two men from the dining nook, dragging them to meet us. One appeared close to Quentin’s age and the other old enough to be his father. She beamed at me, saying, “Welcome to our home, Rei.”

I smiled back at the warm welcome. “I’m so glad to be here... This is for you.” I handed her the wine, and she fawned over it, saying how sweet I was. Thank you, George.

Quentin’s dad extended a large hand to shake. “Great to meet you,” he said in a low rumbling voice. He didn’t smile, not quite, but the crinkles around his eyes and lips deepened in a warm approximation.

The younger man, slimmer than Quentin and dressed in a Henley shirt that tugged around his biceps, shook my hand next. “Tyrone,” he said.

Apologetically, the woman said, “I’m Coretta, and my husband’s name is Charles.”

Charles nodded as if confirming the information.

“It’s so good to meet you all,” I said. Usually I wasn’t nervous around new people, but I found myself wondering if they liked what they saw. If they’d expected someone different for Quentin. That must be because of the stakes. This marriage wasn’t just about saving Quentin’s company; it was about protecting mine.

“Dinner’s ready,” Coretta said, gesturing toward the line of trays on the counter along the back wall. “Fill a plate and let’s eat, get to know each other.”

I nodded. “Sounds great.”