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Our meeting was not by our choice.
This morning was my fault.
So tonight, will you accompany me to dinner and allow me to make up for it?
Awaiting your reply,
GM.
––––––––
“Holy hell.”
I jumped at my mother’s voice, hugging the letter to my chest. She was reading behind me this whole time, and I hadn’t even notice.
“If you don’t go to that dinner, I swear I will, and he’ll be your stepfather.” She grinned, moving to the roses, searching over them.
“It’s a little much. He could have just texted,” I muttered, trying to hide the smile on my face.
“You really need to drop that habit of pushing away things you like,” she said, turning the flowers around to look at the side. “You love cheesy stuff.”
“I do not—”
“You do. You get it from me. I’m your mother, so I know.”
I grabbed my flowers. God, they were heavy. “Maybe you should get your own love life, Mom.”
“I don’t want to overshadow you, sweetheart.”
Rolling my eyes, I walked up the stairs. Thankfully, she didn’t follow me into the spare bedroom I always used here. Walking to the bed, I placed the roses in front of me and began to search. I tried not to smile, but who couldn’t with something like this.
Who still wrote a letter like that nowadays?
Apparently, princes.
And I liked it much better than a text message.
“Found you,” I whispered, lifting out the red, silk rose.
What harm can dinner be? I thought, taking out my phone. But then I remembered I didn’t have his number. However, I had a feeling my mother did. The only thing was, I didn’t want to see the look she’d give me. The second I thought that, I glanced back down at his letter. His reason for saying what he had said was his pride, and my reason for not getting his number was my pride.
“Wow, Odette,” I whispered, gently touching the petals of the roses. This was probably one of the similarities my mom was talking about between him and me.
Taking out my phone, I texted her. What’s his number?
She immediately texted back. Who?
Ugh.
You know who. Can you just tell me?
“Sure,” she said as she busted into the room with an enormous, obnoxious grin on her face, clearly rubbing it in.
“I just asked for his number. I’m not saying yes to getting married or anything.”
“Hmm, um.” She nodded. “Sure. What are you going to wear tonight?”
“I don’t know—”
