Page 112 of Miami Ice

Beckham pretends to look horrified, which makes me smile, but then I grow serious.

“Before we go inside, I want to remind you that my mom is a challenging person. She will bring up money the entire time you’re here. She will act like she has made a tremendous sacrifice to provide this meal, and she gets everything on the cheap. I don’t have a problem with being frugal or not wanting to spend money. Especially after seeing how my dad doesn’t take care of his. But it’s very hard when someone you love holds the money over you to guilt you or use it as a position of power.”

I did not mean for all of that to come out right now.

But I find whenever I’m with Beckham, I feel safe to speak what’s in my heart. Things I have not shared with anyone for fear of what they would think of my family.

Or what they would think of me because of it.

Beckham glances out his windshield, and I see Jordan and Ella are waiting for us on the sidewalk.

“Georgie, I know we need to go in, and I want to come back to this later, when we can talk about this longer. But I want to acknowledge something before we leave this car. It had to behardto grow up the way you did. With two parents who not only had opposing views on money, but used it as a weapon against each other, and against you, too. It’s not okay. It’s not. And the fact that you’ve turned out the way you have in spite of it all says a lot about who you are.”

Tears spring to my eyes. The acknowledgement of this is huge. “Thank you for saying that,” I whisper.

Beckham’s face instantly softens when he hears the emotion in my voice. He reaches for my hand and squeezes it in reassurance. “You never have to thank me for seeing you.”

My heart leaps inside my chest.

Beckham does see me, even in a way my own twin can’t. And he’s giving me no choice but to fall head over heels in love with him.

We get out of the car, with Beckham once again picking up Winston and setting him on the ground. I take his leash, and he grabs his second set of flowers and a bottle of wine. Ella and Jordan wait for us on the sidewalk, and when we walk up to them, Ella flashes Beckham a mischievous grin.

“I’m very impressed you’re still here after that first introduction to our family,” she teases.

Beckham smiles. “I figured nobody else would be sleeping on the floor in round two.”

I groan and he grins at me. “Come on, it can’t get worse than the cat fighting in the kitchen or your uncle snoring on the floor.”

Ella and I exchange a look, knowing this dinner will most likely be disastrous in a completely different way.

“You hold on to that thought,” Jordan teases, clapping him on the back.

We head up the sidewalk, with Winston eagerly leading the way. Ella rings the doorbell. Soon it’s pulled open by Rick, who smiles brightly at us. “Happy Thanksgiving!” he says cheerfully.

Ella and I each hug Rick after we step inside, and he shakes hands with Jordan as I’m unhooking Winston from his leash. He makes a beeline for the kitchen, where he knows my mom will give him table scraps—even though I’ve asked her not to.

“I know who you are!” Rick says excitedly, extending his hand to Beckham. “Beckham Bailey. I can’t believe you’re our guest for Thanksgiving. I’m Rick. Rick Wright.”

I watch as he pumps Beckham’s hand eagerly.

“Thank you for allowing me to join your family today,” Beckham says. He presents Rick with the bottle of chardonnay. “This is for you.”

Rick looks down at the label and then back at Beckham. “I have to admit, we just get whatever is on sale for wine, but I bet you spent big bucks on this. We’ll have to make sure we save it for a special occasion!”

“I hope when that occasion arises, you’ll enjoy it,” Beckham says, nodding.

We step into the house, and just like at Dad’s, there’s an NFL game on the TV. This time, it’s the Dallas Cowboys playing somebody. Mom is in the kitchen, and she smiles when she sees us.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” she calls out. “Come see the turkey! It’s looking gorgeous!”

We all head into the kitchen, and Ella and Jordan greet her first. Then I give her a hug.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom,” I say as I embrace her.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Georgie.”

I step back from her. “Mom, I’d like you to meet Beckham Bailey.”

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