Page 50 of Trial and Error

I shake my head. “If I have anything to do with it, she won’t. Our relationship—or whatever this is—has nothing to do with her, and I’ll tell her exactly that if she tries to get in the way.”

Appreciation curls at her lips as she leans forward and presses a feather light kiss to the underside of my jaw.

“You really are what dreams are made of, aren’t you?”

So are you.

We sit at a circular table that has been crammed into their small dining room. Natalie sits opposite Bridget and me, knocking back her glass of wine like her life depends on it.

Bridget’s dad, Sam, sits beside Bridget and looks at his daughter with a warm smile. His blue eyes are hidden behind a pair of wire-framed glasses and they light up when he looks at his daughters, like they’re the most wonderful people in the universe. He’s short and stocky, but what he lacks in height, he makes up for with his quick wit and his nurturing nature.

Vivienne is the complete opposite.

She looks anything but pleased as we sit together. Her hazel eyes narrow as she looks between the two of us, her gaze scrutinizing as she looks down at the ring on Bridget’s hand.

Bridget and Natalie are carbon copies of her, but it’s apparent that their looks are the only thing they have in common with their mother. She clicks her fingernails against the step of her wineglass as she pretends she listens to Bridget, but we all know she’s not paying any attention to her.

She’s sizing me up.

Wondering how hard she needs to dig to get me out of the way.

She sits tall at the table, asserting her dominance, shoulders pulled back and face pulled tight. Sam looks over at her with a frown and then over to me, his brows shooting up to his hairline when he realizes I’m meeting her head on.

He’s smart and decides to stay out of it.

The room we’re in is crowded with a dresser that houses different types of bone-white china. Most of which are plates that are stacked neatly, but the odd shelf holds teacups and saucers with intricate patterns, each one different to the other—the kind of thing that would’ve been handed down from generation to generation.

“So, Elijah…” Vivienne drawls.

“Elias,” Sam interjects, and his wife waves a dismissive hand in response.

I feel Bridget stiffen beside me, but I reach underneath the table and fumble to find her hand. I interlock our fingers and swipe the pad of my thumb over her knuckles.

“Bridget hasn’t mentioned you before,” she says. “It seems odd that I’m only now hearing about you. An afterthought, it seems.”

My gaze flicks around the table and lands on Natalie, who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else but here. She looks up at me over the rim of her glass and her wine-stained lips pull into an uncomfortable grimace as she raises her glass in a toast.

Good luck, she mouths.

I turn my attention to Bridget and find her already looking at me. There is panic swirling around her irises but the squeeze of my hand relaxes her slightly.

“We’re a pretty private couple,” I say, my gaze still holding Bridget’s. “We don’t see the point in broadcasting our relationship.”

Vivienne scoffs. “Neither of you thought you should tell your parents about something as big as this?”

I shrug at that, my attention settling on her. “Our relationship is ours and no one else’s.”

Natalie lifts her glass in the air. “Hear, hear!”

Bridget and I laugh and Sam chuckles under his breath, but Vivienne doesn’t bat an eyelid. She takes a long sip of her wine, her gaze locked on me. Her eyes drift over to her daughter and a ghost of a smile pulls at her lips at the sound of her daughter’s laughter.

“Well, can we see the ring?”

I lift our joined hands and let go as Bridget reaches across the table. Her mother takes her hand in her own, and from the way she’s looking at the ring, I’m convinced she might pull out a magnifying glass to make sure the diamonds are real.

“It’s pretty,” she comments, and I let my shoulders sag, but from the way Bridget’s breath hitches, I can tell she’s not finished. “Not as nice as the one Tom had lined up for you, but nice enough.”

Bridget snatches her hand back and hides it under the table, her posture now rigid. “Vivienne…” Sam sighs, looking over at his wife in exasperation. “That’s hardly appropriate.”