Page 48 of Rule Breakers Fall Hardest

He nods, holding out his pinky. “I pinky promise.”

“No takebacks.”

“None.”

Finally, she wraps her little finger around his.

When they let go, I elbow Daire in the side. “What does she mean by before?”

“We used to pinky promiseallthe time when I was little,” she informs me happily.

He shrugs. “Who wouldn’t pinky promise Grace? She’s the best.”

He has me there.

“How did this happen?” My mom asks, running her fingers through her hair. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled.” She gives Daire a bright smile. “I always hoped you’d be a part of our family. But I thought you weren’t on speaking terms anymore.”

Daire and I exchange a look as my stomach sinks.

“We reconnected at the beginning of the year.” The lie escapes me far too easily. “We started chatting and realized that maybe that hate was more like…” I clear my throat. “More like love.” I almost gag over the word. “We knew right away that we never wanted to be apart. And like Daire said, he just loves me so much.” I pinch his cheek a little harder than necessary. “I mean, who in their right mind could resist me?” I’m laying it on too thick, but I can’t help myself. “So he proposed, and I said yes, and we got married the next day. The end.”

My dad laughs, the sound far too loud for the quiet hospital, and there’s not one ounce of humor in it. “You didn’t think to ask her father for permission first? I’m an old-fashioned man.”

“Chandler—”

My father holds up a hand. “That’s Mr. Thomas to you.”

I have to cover my face with my hand to hide my amusement, trying to appear hurt instead. Daire’s always called my dad by his first name, so for him to suddenly demand the mister status, he must be pissed.

“You better not be snickering, Rosemary.”

I cringe.

Not the whole first name.

Sobering, I say, “Definitely not, Dad.”

“Liar,” Daire whispers in my ear.

I pinch his side.

“Oh my God,” my mom blanches, “is this why your dad had a heart attack?”

My face flames, and Daire lowers his head, kicking at the linoleum floor. “Unfortunately so, Mrs. Thomas.”

“Oh, dear.” She pats his cheek. “It’s Lydia. It always has been.”

My dad glowers at her for playing good cop.

“Remember, Dad,” I say, because apparently I have a death wish, “we’re adults. We made this decision together.”

“The wedding is going to be beautiful,” my mom says, clasping her hands in front of her chest and swooning. I have no doubt that she’s already designing the whole thing in her mind.

Now that she doesn’t think I’m pregnant, she’s thrilled.

“Lydia,” my dad snaps.

“I’m thinking white roses… or maybe peonies.”

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