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She touches my arm again, surprising me. She’s been verytouchy feelytonight. When she wished me Happy Birthday, she pulled me in for the longest hug and when she introduced me to some of her friends; she looped her arm around mine. I assumed she was playing the part of mydear fiancée. At least I hope that’s it and she hasn’t grown feelings for me.
Even if I didn’t have Sin, Tif and I aren’t compatible as anything more than friends.
“How do you feel about calling it off tonight? You can say it’s all my fault and that—“
“Royce, I’m okay with not getting hitched because like you, I’ve fallen in love.”
Happiness floods me like a tide hitting the shore. “Who is the lucky guy?”
Tiffany opens her mouth to tell me, but closes it with a snap as Gramps and her father, Jack, come around the corner. From the stern look on their faces, they aren’t too happy we’re back here by the coat check instead of upfront, cheesing and enjoying the festivities.
“Royce. Tiffany. We’ve been looking for you,” Gramps says, throwing a stink eye at each of us. Jack Primrose, no taller than his daughter but almost three times her width, nods in agreement. His slicked back hair, an homage to a 1980s TV character, doesn’t move an inch. “We’d like to make an announcement about your engagement.”
Tif and I voice our disapproval at the same time.
“You can’t do that, Daddy.”
“We agreed, Gramps.”
Tif crosses her arms and nods in my direction, giving me the lead while she glares at her father.
“Gramps. Mr. Primrose. Tiffany and I have changed our minds.” I turn to Tif. She nods again. This time in agreement. With the OK from her, I face the two men whose expressions have changed from scowls to that of snarling bulls. “We no longer want to get married.”
Mr. Primrose runs a hand down his hair, the gesture reminding me of a kid going down a well-oiled slide. I’m not surprised at the sheen I see on his palm as he closes it to point a finger at his daughter. “Tiffany Gertrude, you will not disappoint your mother and me. She wants this. I want this. I’ve invited everyone we know. How will that look if we called it off? Your mother would wilt from the shame—“
“Daddy, you’re the one that wanted this. Not me. I was willing to go along with it because I didn’t think I’d ever find someone.” She lowers her voice to a whisper, which I’m sure only I can hear as I’m the only one listening. “Someone who is patient and kind and cares about me.”
“What was that?” Gramp says, swiveling his gaze off me and onto Tif. “Speak up, girl. This is no time for whispers.”
Tif meets his gaze, jutting out her elfin chin. “I said: we aren’t going to get married and you two have no say in it.”
“Royce,” Gramps says, dismissing Tif to try to strong arm me. “You’d better convince her to honor her commitment… or you know what will happen if you don’t.” He drives his point home by giving me that hard look he gave me last night.
I’m not bothered by it as I am no longer a closed book. My guilt left me last night when Sin and I talked. Now that we are on the same page, we will turn the rest of the pages together and create our own story.
And Gramps needs to know that he can no longer steam-roll me or Tif into doing his bidding.
“Tif is a grown woman,” I say, throwing Gramps’s look back at him. “She’s made up her mind. Who am I to tell her what to do?”
I can’t help the smug smile that settles on my face when Gramps realizes that he’s lost. His face falls and beads of sweat pop out on his brow. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he loosens the tie around his neck. “Damn you kids,” he growls. “Back in my day, an agreement was your word. Your bond. We didn’t shake hands on a deal only to take it back—“
He stops to thump his chest a couple of times, then lets out a loud burp that echoes in the stillness.
A few guests, busy gathering their coats, peek their heads around the wall to see what the noise is. They retreat quickly under my dark glare.
I sidle up to him and place a hand on his back. Ready to thump it or something if need be. “Gramps, are you okay?”
“No. No, I’m not. My chest…” He rubs it with the heel of his hand like he’s trying to dislodge something. He slumps and I catch him under the armpits. He has sweated through his shirt and Armani tux.
“Call 9-1-1,” I shout to Tif.
Tif, the color absent from her face, reaches a shaky hand into her miniscule bag and pulls out her phone. While she dials, Mr. Primrose and I lead Gramps to the nearest chair close to the entrance. I feel his forehead; it is cold and clammy.
My heart beats like a hammer, striking nails into my throat. I say a silent prayer until the ambulance arrives in what seems like hours, but it’s only minutes later. I quickly explain to the EMTs that my grandfather was experiencing chest pains as they take his vitals then load him onto the gurney. Gramps, in a tone so weak it sends chills up my spine, feebly tries to answer the questions the medic asks him about his medical history.
I’m almost out the door to follow behind Gramps and the medics when Tif says, “Don’t worry, Royce. He will be just fine.”
I give her a grateful smile, hoping she’s right.
