I lean in slightly, establishing a conspiratorial closeness. “I have to confess that I’m looking forward to your barbecue. Becca told me a lot about it. Said it’s the best in the entire South.”
She laughs and puts a hand to her face, which has gone slightly rosy. “Ribs are actually my specialty, if I may say so, but there’s no time to prep them the right way tonight. So you’ll have to settle for steak.”
“I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”
“Truth be told, not many young men complain about my cooking. If Becca had only let me know, I could’ve gotten started earlier. But we’ll do some up next time. Why don’t you come sit down?”
“I need to take this bowl to the
kitchen.”
“Oh, you just have a seat and let me take that.”
“Are you sure? It’s heavy,” I say.
She laughs. “I’m not that old and frail, Devlin.”
I have my doubts, but hand her the bowl anyway. Behind her, Becca is watching us. Her expression says she needs a bucket of bleach for her eyes, but there’s no reason I shouldn’t flatter her grandmother. Becca wants her to give her a house, so why not be charming?
Is this the house Becca wants? It isn’t bad, but it isn’t something I’d really want to take on, especially with all the cows of judgment. I like my home a bit more private, without eyeballs everywhere.
“I brought a peach pie, Grandma,” Becca says, her tone more polite than family-like.
“I see. Thank you, dear,” Margaret says in the same manner.
How…weird. Aren’t grandmothers supposed to be nicer than this? Mine doted on me, spoiled me rotten. I could be a complete asshole, and she’d still indulge me. She said grandchildren were God’s gifts, her reward for having put up with her son for so long. I agreed with that wholeheartedly, since Dad is an asshole.
“Have you met Devlin?” Becca asks Margaret.
“Yes, but he’s such a famous man, I don’t think a formal introduction was necessary.” The words are smooth and friendly, but the expression on her face and the tone of her voice aren’t. They’re saying I’m famous, unlike Becca.
Why does she feel the need to put her own granddaughter down?
“But did you know he’s my husband?” Becca asks with a bland smile.
“He is?” Margaret starts, looks at me and then back at Becca. “No. I hadn’t heard. Well, well, well. You went and got married without a word to your grandmother? What would your mother think? Bless her heart.”
I’ve spent enough time in Dallas to understand that when a Southern woman says, “Bless her heart,” it really means, “Fuck you, you fucking whore bitch!” And sure enough, Becca’s face grows tense, and hurt flashes through her violet eyes. Although I’m not happy about how I got tangled up in this fake marriage, I don’t want to see her hurt. Becca deserves better, especially from her grandmother.
Before my brain and better sense can fully engage, my mouth opens. “Actually, Margaret, that was my fault. Becca wanted to wait and do all the right things, like planning a huge, sumptuous wedding where we could invite everyone. She also told me I needed to visit here and ask for your blessing, since she doesn’t have a father I can speak to. But, well, Becca’s so beautiful and lovely, I just couldn’t wait. All I could think about was making her mine in every way and starting a family. My heart just melts at the idea of having a baby girl who looks like her.” I place a hand over my heart. “I know I rushed things and denied you the joy of attending your granddaughter’s nuptials. But can you forgive me anyway for loving her so much?”
I reach over, take Margaret’s hands and gaze soulfully into her eyes. It’s hard not to laugh at her reaction. In my peripheral vison, Becca is staring at me like she can’t believe what’s happening.
Margaret remains speechless for a long moment, so I softly add, “Please?”
“Yes…of course,” she says dazedly.
Perfect. Now she can’t bitch at Becca about the Vegas wedding. I bring Margaret’s hands up and kiss them gently. “I knew you’d understand. I just got this feeling the moment I laid my eyes on you that you’re a thoughtful and warm-hearted human being.”
“Well, I… I do try to practice Christian charity to others…” Margaret’s flushed, and she’s stuttering.
I nod and squeeze her hands one last time. Time to go over to Becca and get touchy-feely for the next act.
But as soon as I start to move in Becca’s direction, Margaret tightens her grip. “Devlin, would you like something to drink? We have some lovely iced tea. I brewed it fresh this morning.”
Huh. This woman takes great pride in her domestic prowess, and she really doesn’t want me to get close to Becca. Does she suspect Becca and I might’ve faked this wedding? Or does she just not want to see us as a disgustingly happy couple in love?
Regardless, I can play this game. “Of course, Margaret. I’d love some.”