Page 63 of Her Pretty Words

Macy clears her throat, pretending to look hurt. Or maybe she really is. “You haven’t read them,” she states.

“Don’t lie in front of your parents, sweetheart.”

“Why would I write a book about someone getting stabbed? I don’t write murder mystery.” She scoffs. “Do you even know the genre I write in?”

“Why are you quizzing me all the sudden? And who is this asshole to question me?” He points to me. This is all going so well. I nearly grin.

“Answer the question, Walter. What genre does my daughter write?” her dad says, the friendly tone absent from his voice.

Wally gives him a smug smile when he answers. “Fiction.”

“What kind of fiction, specifically?” Macy asks.

When he doesn’t answer, I steal a glance from her dad, who is narrowing his eyes on her ex-fiancé. “Do we need to step outside, son? Because if I’m hearing this correctly, you haven’t been supportive of my daughter’s career, and now you’re lying, and that certainly won’t do.”

Macy’s eyes widen in shock, and based on her reaction, I’m assuming her dad’s never spoken to someone like that before.

“I—I’m just so busy at work, you know how it is. Gotta keep a roof over this one’s head.” He reaches under the table to grab Macy’s hand, who quickly pulls it away. She sets her palm flat on the table.

“You think I’m not aware that my daughter bought that house? Cut the crap.”

Her mom’s looking at Wally like she’s in denial. Like everything she believed about her daughter’s perfect fiancé is crumbling to pieces and she doesn’t want to accept it.

“Did you ever tell them how you proposed to their daughter?” I ask, leaning back and crossing my legs at the ankles.

His jaw ticks. “Of course,” he says slowly, like this entire conversation is ridiculous. “They know I did it at the top of a Ferris wheel.”

“I thought you said you proposed on top of a mountain,” her mom says.

“I think I’d remember my own engagement.” He laughs.

“I remember the mountain story too,” her dad says.Can’t even remember his own lies.

Macy’s eyes are on the table, shoulders pulling forward, and I immediately feel like an idiot. She hates the story of their true proposal. I wish I didn’t bring it up.

“Enough,” she snaps, eyes flaming. “Walter’s biggest crime wasn’t that he never read my books or even that I found out he’s been cheating on me.” She looks at her parent’s angry, awestruck expressions and says, “He treats me no better than apiece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, and when I told you guys that I broke off our engagement, you sided withhim.” She points to the pathetic excuse for a man, who looks like he’s about to defecate himself. “The fact that you brought him here—” She shakes her head, full of anger. But I see through her mask. Beneath it, she’s hurt. “I shouldn’t need to tell you about the gruesome details for you to support me. Yet, here we all are, in the uncomfortable positionyouput me in.” She gets up and leaves, disappearing to her bedroom.

Her father’s face is beet red when he says to Walter, “Get thehellout of my house.”

Wally opens and closes his mouth, then looks at Macy’s mom for backup. Her nostrils flare, which is the only tell that she’s pissed. She points to the door, and whatever guard she held up crumbles. She’s livid when she says, “If I ever see you again, so help me God, I might kill you.” I guess I’m not the only one who’s murderous when it comes to Macy.

The asshole gets up to leave, but not before he knocks his cup over, spilling water all over me like a child throwing a temper tantrum. He slams the front door behind him, and several moments go by, the only sound are our angry breaths.

“I’ll leave you to talk to your daughter,” I say, and then follow Wally out the front door.

Chapter 21

Macy

Aknock sounds from the outside of my bedroom door. It slowly creeks open and carries my parents inside. My mom sits at the corner of my bed and my dad is standing in the middle of the room.

“I want to know why you allowed a random man to stay for dinner. We haven’t seen you in over a month, and you think it’s oka?—”

“That’s enough!” my dad interrupts, both our heads snap in his direction. “Let her speak.”

I dip my head and an involuntary smile tugs at my lips. I wipe the expression from my face when I meet my mom’s gaze. “Grayson is not a random man. He’s my friend, and he’s nice to me.” I shift, feeling the heat of her eyes on me, ready to pick apart and judge everything that leaves my mouth. I feel like a child. “I invited him over for dinner way before the three of you barged in here unannounced, which you already know. He wasexcitedto meet you. He was kind to you, mom, yet you sit here and call him ‘strange’.”

Her head tilts in a predatory manner. “So, you’ll spread your legs because he wasniceto you?”

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