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ove that you take all of the socks out of the dryer and count them. I love that you feel so fucking perfect when I push inside you, the way you moan, the way you come. I love your elf ears, the noises you make after you sip wine. The fact that you pick up pennies, no one does that anymore.” We smile at each other as his eyes water, and his voice clogs with emotion. “I love that you laugh inappropriately when you’re nervous. I love that you’re so smart. I love that, Mila. I love that you’re a natural teacher because I’ve already learned so much from you. I wasn’t ever able to tell you that before because of foolish pride, but you know all of me now. All of me, even the parts I didn’t want you to.
“I love you,” he says, standing, the ring hooked on his thumb as he takes my face in his hands. “I’m so undeniably in love with you. I want this, I want you to be mine, to make that promise to me. Mine. Forever.”
I’m a mess, every fiber of my being shaking with the strike of each word. He’s perfect, and he has no idea. That thought keeps running through my head as his love rips through me, striking again and again where it’s intended.
“I’m already yours.”
His tearful smile elates me. “Oh, baby, did I fuck this up, but if you can forgive me for this, we’re gold. Mila, will you marry me?”
Mila
Stirring the mixture in my bowl, tears escape me at the memory of Lucas’s proposal when the doorbell rings. Quickly I wipe them away before opening the door for my mother who spots the evidence immediately. I can see the worry on her face when she reads mine. “I’m fine, Mom. I just got a little bit sentimental.”
She lifts her shoulders defensively. “I didn’t say a word.”
“You don’t have to,” I snark behind her as she bounds through the doorway with her typical air of authority scrutinizing our spacious house before turning to me. “Is he here?”
“No, he’s working. I told you it would just be us.”
“Your father sends his regrets as well. He’s got some nasty cold.”
“You told me.”
“You could call him.” Guilt riddles me. It’s the truth. I’ve been so wrapped up with Lucas and getting my footing back at work that I’ve been completely avoiding my parents. “I’ll call him tonight.” Mom follows me into the kitchen as I wash my hands and then roll up my sleeves. She looks pleased as I pour her some wine and she eyes the ingredients.
“What’s this?”
“You know what it is,” I say with a smile. “Yanni, my new boss taught me how to make it for you.”
“What a lovely surprise. Can I help?”
“I insist you do,” I say as she rounds the marble countertop and washes her hands. We spend hours drinking wine and talking about simpler times. I can see her worry as she brings up Lucas and I bat the subject away. I’m enjoying the moment, just being her daughter. She tells me a few stories I’d forgotten about when I was younger and when Lucas walks into the kitchen unexpectedly, we both have smiles on our faces. Scowling he looks between us, his expression stern as he greets my mother. “Maïwenn,” he says sharply, and I see her flinch. It takes everything in me not to walk over and pummel him. “Lucas, I wasn’t expecting you home.”
“Funny, I remember you demanding I come,” he says, his voice full of acid. “Smells great.”
“Have some,” I grate out, plating the rich meat, vegetables, and heavy cream sauce before I thrust it toward him.
Eyeing it, he looks directly at my mother with a dead stare before sauntering off. “I’ll eat later. I’ll be in my office.” Anger boiling, I turn to my mother humiliated. “I’m so sorry.”
She’s paling rapidly as she watches Lucas’s retreating back. “Mila, what’s going on?”
“He’s just…” I shake my head. “He’s sad about Blake.”
“And this rudeness comes from his grief?”
Lucas’s voice bellows from the hall. “You can always leave if you aren’t feeling welcome.”
I gasp audibly, and my mother pushes past me. I curse as I follow her down the hall. “Have I offended you in some way, Lucas?”
He turns on his heel, and I can see from the way he’s standing there’s no going back from what he’s about to say.
“Offending me? Now, why would you think that? Because you ruined your daughter’s wedding by humiliating yourself, or the fact that you think you have some right or some say in her life after?”
My mother stands her ground. “Silly man, you’re just the husband, I created that human. I have every right to her, as much as you.”
“Should she invite you into the bedroom too so you can watch, Mom? Will that satisfy you?”
I feel slapped, and it’s obvious my mother does too. “I’ll forgive you for that, but no more.”
