“Fine,” Max replied with a strained calm. I had to commend him. He handled her with a patient grace she often times didn’t deserve. “The Bordeaux tastes like red wine.”
“Seriously,” Amanda muttered, her eyes widening as she read through the subtle differences in what we’d be sampling, “I can tell them apart by color, but that’s about it. Tell me, do we really want something to tast
e woodsy?” She pointed, and I leaned over with a frown.
“That’s usually paired with heavy meats and root vegetables.” Marcus returned to the table and sat down gracefully in his chair. “I don’t think either of those are something Becca would want.” He flashed me a sparkling grin. “Right, honey?”
I cleared my throat delicately. “Actually, when I pictured my wedding as a child, I always imagined root vegetables.”
Max snorted, and my mother kicked me under the table.
“Take this seriously,” she hissed. “A wedding like yours isn’t going to be a personal affair; it’s going to be a social event. Certain niceties have to be followed.”
“Which is why I appreciate you coming down, Sharon,” Marcus cut in neatly. “I know both Becca and I feel a little over our heads here. We’re not exactly…wedding people, if you know what I mean. We’re more excited about the marriage.” He laced his fingers through mine and placed our joint hands on the table. “I was actually thinking of hiring a professional event coordinator to handle the bulk of it…” My mother’s face paled in despair, and he was quick to elaborate. “…to help you with the logistics.”
She warmed immediately. “Oh, well that sounds lovely. It will be nice to have a bit of help. Someone to do the legwork so I can take more of a ‘big picture’ position.”
I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing. If I’d known she’d react like this, I would have gotten fake engaged much sooner. It was a freaking riot!
The rest of the tasting was an exercise in diversionary tactics. Every time my mother would come at me with a hard-hitting question, Marcus would find a way to refocus her on something else, dodging the more difficult subjects with strategic pauses and thoughtful delays. I imagined it was the same technique he used in board rooms and stockholders meetings. His ability to charmingly manipulate the room was truly astounding, and for the first time since this whole proposal thing happened, I felt like maybe—just maybe—we had a shot at pulling it off.
That is…until my prying mother made a fatal mistake.
It was a simple enough question, one that I should have anticipated and headed off at the pass. But I was busy focusing on not throwing up all the wine in light of my hangover, and it caught the both of us completely off guard.
“So, Marcus,” she asked, “who exactly should we be expecting from your side of the family? I wasn’t sure if I should call them to have them meet us here, or what you wanted to do.”
Even my oblivious mother, caught the middle of her manufactured whirlwind, seemed to understand that she’d trespassed where she should not. Marcus’ face locked down, the sudden stiffening in his limbs visibly apparent to everyone at the table. He opened his mouth to say something to ward her off, but for the first time all morning, he came up blank.
“The only family Marcus needs there is me.”
The eyes of the entire table looked my way, gawking, as I surprised even myself with the firmness of my tone. Marcus glanced up momentarily, but his face was unreadable. Mine, on the other hand, was not. I didn’t know if I’d ever felt more abruptly protective of anyone in my life.
“And as for the rest of the wedding details, I’ll call you tomorrow.” I pushed back my chair and got to my feet. “Thanks for setting this up, Mom. I think we have some good ideas. But Marcus and I need to be going now.” For the first time, I glanced down at his shell-shocked face and extended my hand. “Honey…will you drive me home?”
A warm flush of gratitude sparkled suddenly in his eyes, and he accepted instantly. “Of course. Thanks again, Sharon—Max, Amanda. We’ll see you soon.”
Without another word, we were out the door and climbing into a limo that Marcus’ people had provided. It was ready and waiting. It was a long drive home, but neither one of us said much of anything as we rested our heads against opposite windows and peered up at the sky. The scenery was blurred and identical, and I’d almost completely tuned out until I felt his hand close gently over mine. I glanced over, but he was still staring out the window, the traces of a faint smile softening his face. Before I knew what was happening, I wrapped my fingers through his, turning back to my window with a smile of my own.
It was a peaceful way to end a stressful afternoon…but all that shattered apart when we pulled up outside my apartment.
“What the heck is going on?” I said.
We stared out at the horde of people mobbing the front doors of the complex. Angry yells and threats shot back and forth through the air, and Marcus wrapped his arm around my shoulders protectively as we pulled closer.
“This is freaking wonderful,” I moaned. “Your place can withstand the paparazzi. Structurally speaking, mine can’t.”
“You know you’re more than welcome to stay with me.”
“That’s so sweet of you, pumpkin. But I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“You wouldn’t be.”
Marcus got out, pulling open the door but keeping his arm around me. “This isn’t the paparazzi.”
We wound our way toward the epicenter of the noise, and after a few seconds, I spotted Max and Amanda through the crowd. They were standing with Teller Hamberg, who practically bowed to Marcus like he was a god.
Amanda was unamused. “So apparently, there’s a toxic mold problem.”