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“What happened?”
We decide on spaghetti bolognese for lunch and begin preparations.
“She bought Brenda’s bullshit.” Brad’s voice is harsh. He inhales deeply. “That’s in the past; I should just let it go.”
My heart squeezes at the hurt in his voice. I want to wrap my arms around him to protect him. I pause from dicing onions and squeeze Brad’s arm.
“Brenda said that I neglected her and that I wasn’t much of a husband to her,” Brad continues. “That work came before my family. My father had made that mistake, and when Mom heard that, she decided I take after my father. I’d told Brenda about that period when my parents had differences and they almost parted ways.”
I shake my head even before he finishes the sentence. Brad is simply not that kind of a person. He loves Isaac with all his heart, and I imagine he loved his wife the same way. I also can’t believe that Brad’s ex-wife would use the information given in confidence for her own selfish benefit.
“She never gave me a chance to explain,” Brad says and then adds cheer to his voice. “But that’s in the past. She’s here now, and she’s apologetic about that period. She took the fact that we’re married well, didn’t she?”
I shoot him a smile but keep my counsel. Brad has just pinpointed what has been bothering me. For someone whose son’s marriage came as a surprise, she was awfully calm about it. As if she already knew. The more I think about it, the more it seems to me as if she came for that very purpose. Because Brad has a new wife. I have a feeling she’s not here to make friends with her new daughter-in-law. I swallow a lump of saliva. Her motive doesn’t matter. Our marriage is fake, so whether she likes me or not is irrelevant.
Why then does a ball of anxiety settle in my stomach?
“You don’t think she knew about our marriage before you told her?” I ask Brad.
He shakes his head. “She would have blurted it out on the phone when she called me. It took her by surprise. That, I’m sure.”
His words reassure me somewhat. After all, it’s his mother. He knows her best. Perhaps I got carried away by my own fears. The poor woman probably has no issues with me. I do have a tendency to think the worst of people, especially when I really want them to like me.
“What’s your father like?” I ask Brad.
“Serious. He takes his responsibilities seriously. He’s retired now but still wakes up before dawn and gets dressed,” Brad says with a chuckle. “Retirement doesn’t suit him at all.”
The smells of frying onions fill the kitchen. I’ve chopped up the rest of the vegetables, and I hand them to Brad to pour into the cooking pan. Our hands brush, and a slow sensual heat rises from the point of contact. My chest rises up and down.
Brad is dangerous. I’ve made myself vulnerable to him. What if when he gets custody, he asks me for a divorce? Where would that leave me? Broken-hearted again. I don’t want to think about that now.
We finish cooking and set the table. Brad and I work well together. It’s as if we can communicate without actually exchanging words.
“Right on time,” Brad says as Isaac and Mrs. Bennet enter the kitchen.
The two giggle. I look at Isaac and his grandmother and happiness bubbles in my chest. Mrs. Bennet clearly loves her grandson, and the feeling is mutual.
Over dinner, Mrs. Bennet updates Brad about the family and friends of the family.
“We’re boring Mila,” Brad says after a moment.
“Not at all,” I say quickly. It’s nice to listen to Brad and to watch his movements without looking as if I’m staring.
“Stella still asks after you,” Mrs. Bennet says with a sly smile.
“Well, you’ll have to tell her that I’m taken,” Brad says and places his hand over my arm. That protective gesture warms me all the way through.
Brad’s mother giggles. “I don’t think that would be enough to stop her.”
“Mother!” Brad says.
She laughs. “I’m sure Mila understands that a man doesn’t stop being attractive just because of a ring on his finger.”
“It’s fine,” I quickly say. They’ve just reconnected, and I don’t want to be the reason that Brad and his mother disagree again.
The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, and Isaac excuses himself to go and play.
“I’ll wash up while you ladies get to know each other,” Brad says, looking at us with hope and love shining from his eyes.
“That would be lovely,” Mrs. Bennet says.
Dread fills me as I follow her to the living area. My feet feel like blocks of cement. I don’t want to be alone with her.
“So,” she says when we settle on different ends of the couch. “Isaac tells me you and my son met when you moved in next door.”
