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I’msure I’ve been trapped in a montage sequence from one of my books. Except the genre I’m being written into is unclear. The past couple of days have been surreal.
My time with Matthew in the art studio was a sweet shock to my system. I’ve discovered how it feels to want to sin—to collapse into the freedom that only he can make me feel. Even after the two showers I took in our suite, paint hides in the crevices of my knuckles. My skin tingles with the memory of his touch.
The true reason why Oliver and Clara named their resorts On Cloud Nine is a lot clearer now. Falling in love is euphoric, terrifying, and so damn real.
Perhaps once Matthew and I tie the knot we can see if there’s an opportunity to make the feelings between us work before we go through with a divorce.
Whatever happens, I’m safe with him here.
Oh gosh. This is the first time I’m introducing someone I genuinely care for to my parents. My nerves fret.
It’s fine. Everything will work out for the best.
I know it.
Matthew wraps his fingers in mine as we step into the restaurant.
Vivian and Ray Greene’s presence is obvious, ritzy, and commanding, as if an empire is resting on their shoulders. I suppose it is. And only a few weeks ago, it was my responsibility to ensure that it keeps expanding.
My father’s gaze sears his phone screen. My mother is to his left, flipping through a leather portfolio. Are those the plans for my wedding to Matthew?
The waitstaff watch them with hawkish attention, ready to pounce at any indication of dissatisfaction.
Matthew is fixated on my father. I can’t blame him. Dad’s face is like a painting, every line and wrinkle from years of hard work and time he’s committed to the resorts. I straighten my spine, raise my chin, and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
“Hi, Mom; hi, Dad,” I say brightly. “It’s nice to be here together again. The last time must’ve been when I was, I don’t know, ten?”
My father sets down his phone. The leather portfolio slams shut. My mother looks displeased that I brought up a memory frombefore.
“Vivian.” Matthew gives her a polite smile. “Mr. Greene.” He extends his hand to my dad. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Ray is fine.” My father works through his autopilot pleasantries, standing up, fixing his jacket, shaking Matthew’s hand before retaking his seat. To him, this is just a meeting with a fleeting stranger.
My chest deflates. Sure, I didn’t expect him to throw Matthew into a big bear hug and smack his lips against my boyfriend’s—uh, fake boyfriend’s—face, but he could’ve at least given him a pat on the back.
I take the seat beside Mom. Matthew sits on my right.
“Molly, what’s wrong with your hands?” My mother frowns, catching the paint in my cuticles. I toss my palms onto my thighs, rubbing my fingers across the napkin settled there.
“Sorry, I—”
“We had a painting class earlier today,” Matthew interjects. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not much of an artist, and Molly had to help me clean up my mess.”
His mess.
“Hmm.” Mom turns the tip of her nose toward the ceiling.
“Did you have a pleasant flight over here?” I offer, keeping the conversation on neutral topics. As though that’ll do me any good.
“Doll, we’re going to cut straight to the chase.” Dad faces Matthew, looking at him with an unsettling frankness. “You passed your wedding course with flying colors, like we agreed. But there’s still the matter of signing off on your match, and we’re hesitant to give our seal of approval, given hownewthis relationship is to us.”
Trusting them was a mistake.
“If we’re to consider Matthew as a part of this family, as a father to future Greenes, we need to ensure that this connection you have is real,” Mom says.
I was naive to think they would keep their promise to me. They must’ve never planned on letting me have autonomy.
And why are they bringing up the topic of children?Mortification spreads through my bones.
