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She goes quiet, and I reach over to take her hand in mine, running my thumb along the soft skin between her thumb and index finger. She sighs like she’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders, and capable as they may be, she was only a child. It shouldn’t have been her that had to carry pain from what should’ve been a happy time.
“Instead, she became the instant center of attention, coddled and spoiled in nearly every way to make up for her early years’ mistreatment, and through no fault of her own,” she says emphatically, making excuses for her family, “she made me even more of an outsider. Only this time, it wasn’t in my extended family. It was in my own home. Mom joked that Jessica was their ‘Do-Over Child’ and that they wouldn’t make the same mistakes with her that they made with me.”
“That’s bullshit,” I snap.
I don’t know if she believes me because she adds, “Fourteen-year-old me had a teeny-tiny moment of hope that they finally saw how awful they’d been to me and wanted to be better. But no. Now? Twenty-five-year-old me hopes that someday, Jessica will mature beyond the thirteen-year-old princess my parents have created and we’ll eventually become the friends I wished for.”
In my opinion, she’s moved beyond ‘looking for the silver lining’ there and is spit-polishing a nickel, hoping it’ll shine up like silver.
“And your parents?” I ask tightly. This is a bad line of questioning before we walk into the rehearsal dinner. Not for Janey, but for me. I’m supposed to play the charming, loving boyfriend, but mostly, I want to rip Janey’s family a new one for not recognizing what an amazing human she is.
“If you ask them, they were good parents and the proof of that is that I’m an upstanding, independent adult with a job. That’s their stamp of achievement as far as they’re concerned.”
She shrugs it off casually, though her lips have tilted fully upside down. I’ve never seen her frown. Even when dipshit was breaking up with her, her lips were only pressed into a straight, flat line. I hate that her family is what prompts the expression now. It shouldn’t be like that.
I’ve got my own troubles with my family—an emotionally distant dad, a mom who makes up for it by loving too hard, brothers who fought for ranking in a fake hierarchy and one who opted out of that nonsense, and a sister who’s weary from years of second-mothering us all. And a partridge in a pear tree or some shit.
But Janey’s different. She’s too good to have to suffer through hell at a place and time that should be your safe spot. Home. Family. Childhood.
Her family should’ve been the ones to love and appreciate her, but instead they used their position of power to squash her, making her doubt her own worth. The consequences for that are still echoing in her heart and mind. Hell, even in her relationships, like with dipshit.
I grit my teeth so I don’t tell her what I think about her shitty parents and bitchy sister, mostly because I want to go into the rehearsal dinner and help her, and if she thinks I might go Asshole Mode on them, she’ll bail on this whole thing.
Which I don’t want because she needs this on multiple levels, and I don’t want to take it from her.
“They never noticed the difficulties I had growing up,” Janey continues about her parents, not noticing my thinly held grip on my anger, “and to be honest, I never told them. It wouldn’t do any good to bring it up now. Better to let that hurt live under the rug where I’ve already tap-danced it down until it’s flat enough to not trip me up anymore.”
She forces a smile to her face, but it looks brittle and artificial. “Tonight’s about Paisley and Max. That’s it. Get in and get out unscathed.”
We’re quiet for the rest of the drive. I think Janey’s gone back to listing out the activities of tonight’s festivities. I’m figuring out whether there’s a way to get her dad out back for a little chat.
I pull into the parking lot of a steak restaurant that’s known for two things: a pricey menu and an air of snobbery that’s rarer than the steaks they serve. I don’t know Janey’s family’s financial situation, but I’m a bit surprised, I have to admit.
My family wouldn’t give a place like this a second thought, but I’m well aware that we’re in a different tax bracket than most. Well, my parents are.
“Why’re you going to the rehearsal dinner if you’re not in the wedding?” I ask, realizing that though I haven’t been to many weddings, that’s unusual.
“Paisley wanted a big woo-di-hoo with her family and Max’s family breaking bread together. And yes, I know what you’re thinking—isn’t that what the reception is for? And you’d be right, yes, it is. But what Paisley wants, Paisley gets, so a family affair rehearsal dinner it is. The bridal party did the practice run earlier today, but dinner is an all-hands-on-deck situation.”
With what Janey’s told me about Paisley, I’m not surprised. One more opportunity to be the center of attention sounds right up her alley.
There’s a valet in front of the restaurant, but I think Janey could use one last moment to collect herself before this shitshow begins, so I drive past him to park on my own. “Stay there,” I tell her before I get out and walk around the truck to her door. I open it and take her hand to help her down, making sure she’s steady since she’s no longer barefoot in that damn sundress but is wearing nude strappy heels. This close, I can see the line of her cleavage and am tempted to trace it with a finger and then my tongue, teasing her breasts until she forgets about her family’s drama.
Completely unaware of the filthy thoughts running through my mind and still surprised at the mildest chivalrous gesture, she quietly says, “Thank you.”
I’ve got no issue with women who want to open their own doors and don’t need their chair pulled out, but Janey likes those things. I suspect she’s never been treated that way, and I plan to show her how a man should cherish her in all the everyday, small ways.
“You ready?” I ask, keeping her in the open doorway with one hand on the truck and one on the door. There’s no one around to hear us, but this is a private conversation. Only she and I know what’s about to happen, and it needs to stay that way. If she says no, I’ll help her climb back in the truck and have her roaring down the highway, heading back to the cabin, in under sixty seconds.
“Yep! Let’s go introduce everyone to my awesome, hot, smart, rich boyfriend!” she says, sounding like she’s channeling a cheerleader on pep rally day. Rah, rah, sis, boom, bah!
It’s fake. Obviously so, and I sense she needs a little encouragement to do this. She needs to at least partially feel like it’s real.
I lean into her, murmuring so close that my lips brush hers. “Call me your boyfriend again, beautiful.”
I feel her breath whoosh out and grin victoriously. She’s not thinking about Paisley or her parents or her sister now. She’s thinking about me and only me. And not that I’m some fake stand-in that she’s lying about.
For a moment, it feelsreal.
