Page 50 of Grumpy Alien Boss

I cross my arms over my chest, my jaw tight. “You’re damn right you should’ve believed in me,” I snap, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “You walked out, Mom. You walked out and didn’t look back. And now you’re here because of what? Some guilt? Because Dar called you? What’s the angle, huh?”

Her eyes glisten, and she shakes her head. “There’s no angle, Olivia. I just... I want to be here for you. For your wedding. For this moment. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I’m asking—no, I’m begging—to be allowed to stay. Just for today.”

I stare at her, my chest tight. The anger’s there, bubbling under the surface, but so is this stupid, traitorous pit of sadness. She looks smaller than I remember, her red hair streaked with gray, her hands trembling.

Mel crosses her arms, giving me a sideways glance. “Liv, it’s your call. But... just so you know, if you kick her out, I’m totally buying you a drink later to celebrate.”

I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Thanks, Mel. Always got my back.”

Maurice clears his throat, tapping his tablet impatiently. “As much as I’d love to stand here and watch this delightful family drama unfold, we are on aschedule. So, if you could make a decision—preferably one that doesn’t involve sirens or tears—that would befantastic.”

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. “Fine,” I say, my voice low. “You can stay. For the wedding. And the reception. But that’s it. No speeches, no mother-daughter dances, no... whatever. You’re here as a guest. That’s all.”

My mother’s face crumples, but she nods, clutching her purse tighter. “Thank you, Olivia. That’s all I’m asking for. Just... thank you.”

I turn away before she can say anything else, my stomach churning. Mel gives me a quick squeeze on the shoulder, and Maurice herds us toward the cathedral doors, muttering about flower arrangements and timetables.

I don’t look back at my mother, but I can feel her standing there, her presence like a shadow I can’t shake. Today’s supposed to be perfect, but now it’s... complicated. And I hate that she’s the one who made it that way.

"I need to see Dar," I tell Mel, my hands shaking. "Right now."

"But it's bad luck?—"

"Screw luck. Where is he?"

Mel sighs and leads me down a side corridor. She grabs a folding screen from somewhere and positions it between two marble columns. "Stay here. I'll get him."

Moments later, I hear his footsteps. My heart races just knowing he's on the other side of that screen.

"Livvy?" His deep voice sends shivers down my spine.

"You invited my mother?" The words come out sharp, accusatory. "Without telling me?"

"It's tradition among my people. The mother of the bride must attend to ensure the bloodline continues strong."

I press my palm against the screen. "Bull. That's not why you did it."

A low chuckle. "No, it's not. You need this, Livvy. You need to face her, even if just to say goodbye properly."

"I already said goodbye. Six years ago when she walked out."

"Did you? Or did you just let anger fill the void she left?"

I close my eyes, letting his words sink in. Damn him for knowing me so well. "I hate when you're right."

"I know." The screen shifts as he leans against it. "But that's why you're marrying me, isn't it? My stunning insight and wisdom?"

"Among other things," I say, smiling despite myself. "Your modesty, for instance."

"Livvy." His voice turns serious. "Whatever you decide to do about your mother, I'll support you. But don't let old wounds keep bleeding. Not today."

He's right. Of course he's right. "I'll see you at the altar," I whisper, touching the screen one last time before turning away.

Maurice’s voice cuts through the air like a fire alarm. “Ladies and gentlemen, it istime! Everyone in position. Olivia, you’re up in five. Five! Do not make me come over there.”

I’m pacing in the small vestibule, the cathedral’s stained glass casting a kaleidoscope of colors on my dress. My hands won’t stop trembling. Mel adjusts the train of my gown for the hundredth time, her own nervous energy buzzing like a live wire.

“You look stunning,” she says, squeezing my shoulders. “Like, if Cinderella decided to run a Fortune 500 company. Dar’s gonna combust at the altar.”

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