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ChapterThirty
The next severaldays follow a similar routine. Art wakes up first, makes breakfast and lunch, and then I join him for yoga before he goes to his ballet practice. When he returns, we cook dinner together and watch more movies from our lists.
Each day, I feel like I’m getting closer to him—a pleasant illusion. More and more, it’s as if we were a real husband and wife, just with a dysfunctional sex life. But hey, not every relationship is perfect.
We also have our wedding reception coming up on Saturday. Art is planning the whole thing, but that doesn’t mean I’m immune from stress. I’ve had to veto just about every single flower Art has chosen because the smell of them would’ve driven me insane.
We’ve settled on succulents instead.
As we’re saying our goodnights on Thursday, Art asks, “Are you excited about seeing your parents?”
“Yeah,” I say with as much excitement as I can muster. I don’t want to seem like an ungrateful brat when it comes to anything family-related.
The truth is, what I’m dreading the most about the upcoming reception is introducing Mom and Dad to Art.
When it comes to creative ways to embarrass their daughters, my parents should be in the Guinness World Records.
“Are your parents adventurous eaters?” Art asks.
The hair on my nape rises, like I’ve picked up a great disturbance in the Force. “Why?” He didn’t ask this when planning the food for the reception, so it’s not about that…
He tips his head to the side. “I’m just thinking about what to make for them tomorrow.”
Oh, no. My Spidey Force sense might be right—a realization that raises my heart rate. “Did you invite my parents to eat with us before the reception?”
He purses his lips. “Not just eat. They’re staying with us.”
They’re what?
Skunking skunk glands. How could he do something so reckless? There are plenty of other daughters for Mom and Dad to stay with, not to mention thousands of hotels.
“Interesting,” I say in a choked voice. “It’s odd that they’re willing to crash with us instead of in a hotel.”
He grins. “Your father actually sounded excited, at least over text. He didn’t think that meeting me for the first at the reception would be private enough.”
Right.
That was by design.
I take a calming breath. “They’re not fussy eaters.”
That’s putting it mildly. I’m pretty sure my parents have eaten everything from jellyfish to human placentas.
“Great,” Art says. “It is kind of strange they didn’t tell you about their visit.”
Not strange. They probably knew I’d try to talk them out of it.
I heave a sigh. “I guess we’ll deal with them tomorrow. Right now, I should head to bed.”
He flashes me a warm smile. “Sweet dreams.”
I run to the bedroom and close the door.
Must call parents and prevent this Armageddon.
Mom doesn’t pick up.
Fuck.
