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I nod.
“You still haven’t told me your full name.”
She looks at me in anticipation, and I pause, considering my words. Why should it be so difficult to tell someone your name? It seems like she should’ve known first, but I’ve been stalling and changing the subject when I can because I know once she knows, it could change everything. Since this morning the words seem to be flowing between us, and I decide that it’s the right moment. She’ll eventually know anyway.
“My name is Tate Williams. Tatum Henry Williams, to be exact.”
I look down at my bagel.
“Wait…” Realization flashes across her face, and it’s the kind of reaction I assumed I’d get.
“Williams…” she says the name aloud, finally understanding the heart of the matter.
“Yep, that’s me.”
“As in, the Williams dynasty? The Williams’ that have, like, their names on museums and libraries and stuff?”
“Those are the ones.”
“Tate, that’s a big deal.”
“I know. That’s why it took me so long to tell you. I just want to move past it, you know? I say the name Williams and everyone automatically has these assumptions about me. About what I stand for. Coming to Whitefish has changed me in a lot of ways because I’ve been able to get away from all the expectations and the looks from people who know who I am. I know I exceeded my family’s expectations in a lot of ways, I was on the path to walk in my father’s footsteps, but I felt dead inside, you know? Empty or something; like I wasn’t being myself. I was being what everyone else wanted me to be.”
“I understand,” Brianna replies sympathetically. Damn, she’s such a warm, caring human being.
“Well, you’ll understand it a whole lot better tomorrow.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” she smiles. I know how nervous she’s been about meeting everyone, but after spending all of our free time together, I feel as if she really knows me, at least well enough to fool my family.
The time we’ve spent getting to know one another better has flown by. Tomorrow morning we’re leaving for Chicago, and I don’t want this to be over. We haven’t even touched other than our arms randomly brushing together, but that’s it. Though I’ve wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss the fuck out of her several times over the past few weeks, I made a vow to myself I wouldn’t. I want our relationship to be on trust regardless of all the hints she threw my way. I diligently kept to my own room each night, which was hard. Climbing Mount Everest with no shoes on would be easier, but I’m proud of myself for holding back, and I can tell Brianna respects me for it.
“Are you nervous?” I ask her before biting into my bagel.
“Kind of. Are you?” she asks.
“Not at all.”
“Seriously?” She asks searching my face.
“Seriously. My family is going to love you.”
“I’m not so sure.” She’s allowing her nerves to get the best of her.
“Oh, come on. They’re going to be crazy about you.” I try to encourage her. She’s beautiful, sweet, and genuine, what’s there not to love?
“I think those designer dresses you ordered will make them think they love me,” she says. She didn’t like how much I spent on the dresses, but there was no other option. They arrived late last night, and I was stressed they wouldn’t be here on time before our flight.
“Everything fits?” I ask.
“Like a glove. Literally.”
“Well, if you got it might as well flaunt it,” I say teasingly. The dresses are meant to hug every curve of her perfection. Brianna’s body is like a dream, and I find myself thinking about it all the time, and I can’t wait for her to be the swan in a crowd of ugly ducklings in Chicago.
“And what about you? What are you going to wear?” she asks.
“Suits, of course. Armani.”
“Naturally.” She playfully rolls her eyes.
