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Drew shot to his feet, hitting the table. His chair fell backward, silverware rattled, a wineglass toppled. Wine splattered across the table and Lydia jumped up, scooting backward in an attempt to save her dress.
“Clumsy jerk!” she hissed. “Watch it!”
Drew ignored her, addressing his cousin. “What the hell kind of question is that?”
Harold’s smile widened. The room fell silent. Everyone was watching and listening.
“I’m surprised you even heard me, you’re so zoned out tonight.” Harold’s voice was clear and carrying. “Go easy on that wine, Drew. Are you on antihistamines? Or maybe something stronger?”
“I heard what you said,” Drew said. “Do not speak to her again.”
“Just admiring your fiancée,” Harold said innocently. “You’ve smeared your red-hot scorching love affair far and wide all over the internet, so I could hardly avoid admiring her if I wanted to. Don’t go all caveman on me now. It’s unbecoming.”
“Admire someone else. Keep your goddamn opinions to yourself.”
“Drew!” Jenna said in a fierce whisper. “Holy crap! Calm down!”
Harold lifted his hands, grinning widely. “Take it easy, big guy.”
“What the hell is going on?” Uncle Malcolm’s furious voice came from behind him.
“Oh, no biggie.” Harold’s tone was light. “Just the usual. Drew’s had a few too many, and now he’s making a public spectacle of himself. Same old same old.”
“What’s this?” Uncle Malcolm glared at Drew. “What’s this? Is this true?”
Drew opened his mouth, but Lydia spoke up first.
“I can’t take any more of this,” she quavered, clutching the wine-stained napkin she’d used to clean up her dress in her shaking hand. “You lying, cheating son of a bitch. They say you were engaged to this woman last year, when you were in San Francisco!” She pointed at Jenna. “Engaged! And you never said a word about it, all those times when you were nailing me right on the desk in your office! You filthy, selfish bastard!”
Gasps and low murmurs of scandalized conversation followed that outburst. The waiters all around the tables froze in place, terrified, holding their trays of prime rib.
Lydia burst into tears. She hurried out of the room, weaving and bumping between tables. Sobbing, tear-blinded, but taking her toxic cloud of perfume with her, thank God.
When she was out the door, Uncle Malcolm turned back to Drew and cleared his throat. “So. Nephew. Just to be forewarned, for the sake of my heart health, are there any more of your disgruntled chippies roaming around here on the rampage tonight?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Drew said.
Uncle Malcolm harrumphed and looked around, scowling. The entire room looked back, waiting for their cue. Malcolm made a disgusted sound and waved his hand. “For God’s sake, finish serving the damn meat before it’s stone-cold,” he snarled at the waiters. He turned to Drew. “You, come with me. I need to speak to you privately. Right now.”
Drew let out a slow breath. He’d reached the end of the line.
In some ways, it was for the best. His bridges were burned, so he no longer had to torture himself with doubts or second thoughts. All he could do was move forward.
He should feel relieved, but as he looked into Jenna’s worried eyes, he felt like something precious had been ripped from him. Something he’d just learned how to value.
He fixed Harold with a grim stare. “If you slime her again, I will flatten you.”
“Come now!” his uncle snapped. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself!”
“Yeah, that seems to be the general theme of my life lately.” He leaned down and cupped Jenna’s face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. “Goodbye.”
He kissed Jenna, slowly and intensely, with all his pent-up desperation, ignoring the rising hum of excited chatter and his uncle’s furious sputtering. Because what the hell.
He had nothing left to lose.
