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“No, thank you.”
Unexpectedly, Marius presses his lips to my cheek. “Too late, sweetness. You’re here with me, and everyone will know it before the night is out.”
Eyes widen. Seriously?
“You took me here on purpose?”
“We’re the news of the day, sweetness. Enjoy the spotlight.” I kick his shin, and he doesn’t even wince, bringing his arm around my shoulders. “Oh, and we’re having lunch with my grandmother tomorrow.”
“The fuck we are!”
“Wear the Dolce & Gabbana. Mamie isn’tsnob, exactly, but she won’t abide those sacks of yours.”
“No,” I repeat, equal parts shocked and outraged.
“If you insist, you can choose the dress, so long as it’s one of those I bought you. Given your taste, that’s safer.” He wrinkles his nose.
“There’s nothing wrong with my taste!”
If I had his budget, I’d dress nicely.
I remember the selection of affordable dresses he sent me, and my protests fall silent. Fine. Maybe I don’t have much fashion sense, or patience for shopping. I hate spending money, and that has bled into my dressing habits.
“And I’m not meeting your grandmother.”
“You keep saying no, when it’s absolutely going to happen,” he tells me insouciantly as we reach the bar. “It makes the word lose its meaning. I’m just assuming you’re saying it for fun at this point.”
I grit my teeth. “I’ll pass on drinks. Take me home, please.”
“See? More words you don’t mean. You clearly are staying for a drink.”
We reach the bar and he pulls out a stool for me. I remain on my feet, stubbornly crossing my arms around my middle.
“Oh, Sarah. Does everything have to be a fight with you?”
Yes.
I don’t know why, but yes, I feel like pushing every single time he pulls. Some of my answers are purely logical, but I can also see it has become an instinctive response. He asks, the answer is no.
He’s right, though. It does weaken the word when I don’t truly mean it.
“I want to go home,” I clarify. “I just don’t want to walk four miles in the middle of the night.”
“One drink, we’ll discuss the way forward, and I’ll take you.”
Are we…compromising?
I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect that from him. He’s the kind of man who takes what he wants without concession.
I drop my hands and climb on the stool. “All right. One drink.”
He waves to call the attention of a slender man—or woman, I can’t quite tell—with short, spiky hair.
“And I’m still not meeting your freaking grandmother.”
“Of course you are. If it makes you feel better,Idon’t have any choice in it either. You met Mariann last week. Thanks to Vi and her big mouth, I was ordered to bring you around for lunch.”
I find myself smirking. I can’t imagine anyone ordering Marius Goltz around, let alone a frail old grandma. That, more than anything he’s said, makes me mildly curious to meet her.
