–Dad: I’m not amused.
–Dad: You can’t decline to invite me.
–Dad: Do you know how ridiculous you’re going to look?
–Dad: What do Sandra’s parents think about this?
I roll my eyes. More of Joey speaking for Dad. Clearly, neither of them can remember Amy’s name. I’d bet half my brain cells they believe such a trivial detail isn’t important—the name Ted Lasker alone should get him what he wants.
–Dad: They’re probably worried about entrusting an asshole with their daughter.
No. Amy’s dad is probably happy he doesn’t have to endure your bullshit.
Amy and her dad return to the living room, sans his bag.
“How’s the room?” I ask him. We prepped the best guest bedroom for his arrival.
“Seems all right,” he says.
Not so easy to read. “Well, if you need anything, let us know.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Are you hungry? I’m not sure if you had a chance to grab a bite on the way.”
“Yeah, I could eat.”
“How about some brunch at Nieve?” Amy says. “You really liked it last time you were here.”
She told me how much he enjoyed their weekend champagne brunch, so I reserved one of
their nicest tables for two hours, since we weren’t sure exactly when Mac would arrive.
“Yeah, that sounds great. They serve the best Belgian waffles I’ve ever had.”
We take my yellow Urus to the Aylster Hotel. Mac looks at the car with interest—but again, not like “Hey, it’s an expensive car,” but more like “Look at that gorgeous piece of engineering.”
I was hoping we could bond over car talk—but nope. He doesn’t say anything about it. Even has his lips pressed.
He’s determined to not weaken his position. Not giving even a hint of approval until he’s sure about me.
When we arrive, the maître d’ takes us to our table with cheery alacrity. We order—an egg omelet and bacon for me, French toast and bacon for Amy and a gigantic Belgian waffle for her father.
“I’m getting a sparkling pear and peach cider,” Amy says.
“I’ll have one too,” I say.
“No, you and Dad should enjoy the champagne. I don’t mind. We should toast in style.”
The drinks come out first. We toast to good health and happiness. Then the food arrives and Amy digs into her French toast with gusto.
Her dad eyes her. “No morning sickness?”
“Not yet. Just constantly hungry,” she says.
“Hopefully it’ll stay this way,” I say. “I read that some women never get it.”
I reach for my drink and almost knock it off the table when somebody smacks my shoulder. Hard.