Page 8 of Tangled with the Professor

Before I can utter a word, she pipes up again. “Some kind of research, right? Environmental? Don’t you shill your services to the highest bidder?”

“Aunt Mary!” Isabelle squeaks.

I’m fuming that her aunt is trying to portray me as someone who can be bought, but Isabelle’s appalled face makes me keep my mouth shut. Thankfully her mother has better manners than her aunt and she changes the subject to something more benign. Bruce is silent the entire meal, barely touching a bit of the admittedly delicious food and staring daggers at me the whole time.

Just as Mrs. Knight is bringing out an apple pie and starts to slice it, that god awful Aunt Mary speaks up again.

“So, Izzy, I thought you were bringing your new boyfriend home with you?”

My fists clench under the table as Isabelle goes white, her lips pursing before she stammers her answer. “Mark and I have been seeing each other for a little while now.”

“You know that,” hisses Mrs. Knight in a stage whisper.

Aunt Mary pretends she doesn’t hear her even though everyone else at the table is writhing with discomfort. She trains her beady eyes on me and smiles grimly.

“Oh really? I guess I was confused since you’re so much older than Izz—”

“Stop,” Isabelle cries, standing up fast enough to tilt her seat back.

Her brother makes a grab for it to keep it from falling over. Even Mrs. Knight is silent now, giving me a look of pure disdain.

“It’s only the truth,” her aunt says with so much false sweetness I want to tip her wine glass over her head.

I start to rise and reach for Isabelle’s hand to help her calm down and show her I can handle all of this and more for her, but her aunt’s final jibe is the straw that broke the camel’s back. With a huff of frustration and anger, Isabelle turns and flees from the dining room.

Before I can fully rise from my seat, her father slams his hand onto the table and with one last ultra death glare, he also bangs out of the room. I don’t bother to look to see how the friends are reacting to this nuclear meltdown, too stunned that Isabelle was giving up on us.

“Merry Christmas,” the aunt’s husband says, draining his fifth wineglass of the night. Isabelle’s brother lets out a miserable snort and her mother puts her head in her hands.

Great. Merry Christmas, indeed.

Chapter 6

Isabelle

It’s the first Christmas I’ve ever brought anyone. He’s brilliant, accomplished, gorgeous, and I’m crazy about him. I was thrilled to get to spend my favorite holiday of the year with him.

And instead of sneaking around and learning more about each other over cups of hot cocoa like I ridiculously envisioned, I’m sitting alone in my childhood bedroom crying my damn eyes out. I knew my parents would have a little trouble with our age difference at first, but their animosity toward Mark is astounding. My father won’t even look at me and my mom is being cold and distant. Everything is falling apart and I wish I had never agreed to any of this, instead staying on campus and studying straight through Christmas like it never existed.

My family doesn’t respect our relationship at all and they seem hellbent on destroying it. The thought of losing him forever because of my family’s behavior makes me sob harder and I press my face into a pillow so anyone passing in the hallway doesn’t hear. Not that any of those people who claim to be my family would come in to see what’s wrong.

I think about unwrapping the apple butter I bought at the farmer’s market last weekend for Aunt Mary, unscrewing the top and spitting in it. She’s never taken me very seriously, but she’s never been outright unkind and always had impeccablemanners. It’s like she became another person at dinner, poking at Mark and then making that final jab about his age.

Why did I ever think this might be okay? Why did I let Mark lead me to believe everything would be perfect, just because he said so. Up until now, everything between us was perfect, heading towards something even better than perfect, and now it’s all ashes.

Thinking about some of our past interactions has me calming down a bit until I’m startled by a knock at the door. My rage rushes over me again and I’m just about to tell whoever it is to go to hell when I hear Mark’s voice on the other side.

“It’s me,” he says softly. “Can I come in?”

I tell him yes and as soon as he’s in, I tell him to lock the door. He grins at me a bit wolfishly because that’s what he always tells me when we’re able to steal some alone time in his office. It always makes my heart race and now is no exception. I hurriedly try to dry my leftover tears but he’s already seen the evidence.

“Oh, Isabelle,” he says, turning the lock and hurrying to my side.

“It’s nothing,” I say, but there’s no fooling him. He can read me like a book and no amount of pretending would work on him.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells me simply, pulling me into his arms.

I rest against his warm chest, breathing in his spicy scent for a moment, then push away. “Why are you apologizing?” I ask, getting upset all over again. “They treated you like you were a criminal or something and me like I’m twelve instead of twenty-three.”

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