Page 171 of Rush of Jealousy

“Let’s go. My mom can get pretty fiery if we ruin her dinners,” Nic says with a smirk. “And considering I haven’t been home much in the past year due to work, I can’t disappoint the woman.”

Despite the name change, he still represents the laid-back one of the brothers. I want to be mad at him. I want to scream and hit something—or him. But I am still holding out for an explanation that will make this all be okay. That somehow everything I am confused about will be worth it—with just some simple reasoning.

I walk between the men as we make our way into the house. Donna is adding the finishing touches to a beautiful table-scape. Every seat has a sophisticated gold placemat, a charger plate, and then a dinner plate. Little folded place cards are set on top of each plate, with names written in the most elegant calligraphy. A white fabric runner spans end to end of a long rectangular dark wood table. White pumpkins and huge lit candles fancy up the center with their gold painted tops.

“This looks wonderful, Mrs. Hoffman,” I say, looking at all the details that she added to make this dinner special.

She leans into me and lowers her voice. “Mrs. Hoffman was my mother-in-law and that bitch hated me. God rest her soul. So please, call me Donna.”

I laugh over her serious face that breaks out into a big smile. She is so prim and proper in her tailored ivory pantsuit that it makes it even funnier that she is breaking through the box I tried to put her in to let down her guard with me.

“Well,Donna,” I say again with a smile, “I love how you kept the decor of your table classy but still part of the theme.”

“Thank you, my dear. Come, have a seat right here,” she says, helping to pull out my chair. I already misplaced my previous wine glass or maybe I never got one. I can’t even remember. But a new one is placed in front of me and filled up high with a sparkling pink champagne.

“Graham, sometime tomorrow morning, can you look at the oven on this floor and see if you can fix it? I have to resort to using the basement kitchen because I think something is wrong with the one up here.”

“Yeah, I can see what I can do,” he answers.

“Oh, and the security system. Can you see that the outdoor cameras are working properly? I miss having you and Nic home when you guys would just be a room away to help me fix everything.”

“Sure. I can look at it in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

Germain clears his throat and holds up his glass to us. “I would like to make a toast. Thank you all for coming, especially you, Angela, and thank you to my lovely wife for making this wonderful meal. To happiness and to good health. Cheers, you all.”

We clink glasses, and Graham pulls me to his side to kiss me sweetly on the lips. “Cheers,” he says against my lips.

My own response gets stuck in my throat, as a whirlwind of emotions encompasses me. I am just so confused.

“So, tell us, Graham,” Donna says, passing out the individual mini pot pies to each of our dinner plates, “how did you and Angie meet?” They are beautifully designed on top to represent a heart shape—with the little air holes oozing out gravy and steam.

“She showed up at a social mixer that Nic and I were hosting and was the only woman there who wasn’t fawning over the elaborateness of the event. She stood out from the crowd because she was—”

“Basic.”

Graham shakes his head at me. “Beautiful.”

“That she is,” Donna agrees with a loving smile.

“In fact, I found her outside by herself, hanging out by the pool eating candy. From that moment, I knew my life would never be the same. And it hasn’t, that’s for sure.”

My eyes flicker to Graham’s, and I can see the awe he has for the moment in our past. It was the moment that changed everything. He warned me then, and I didn’t listen. We were souls just waiting to find each other—and once we did, there was no denying the magnetic force.

Donna claps her hands together and turns to her husband with a look of love in her eyes. Germain grabs her hand, kisses her wedding ring, and then places her palm over his heart.

“I love these types of chance meetings,” she says breathily. “Just meant to be.”

“But nothing is ever easy,” Graham says sternly.

“Never is, son,” Germain agrees. He smiles over at me, and I feel the warmth of a blush hit my cheeks.

I sit and eat quietly, enjoying my food and the peaceful table dynamics of watching Graham interact with his family.

“So how long can you stay?” Donna asks, turning her attention to Graham.

“Just a night. Maybe two,” he says sadly. “We’ll have to come back another time. Soon.”

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