Page 45 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
Either way, breakfast was a good idea and the perfect bribe.
“I think so.” Shane eyes my phone and the hundreds of photos I scroll through on the social media page.
The venue is a fancy garden, complete with a glass dome for dinner in the center. So different from all the churches and castles we’ve looked at.
“I really like it. I mean, yeah, it’s smaller, but how many people do we actually wanna invite?”
“With how that bitch is acting lately, the list is getting smaller.”
“Shane, I’ve told you not to speak that way about your mother.” I tuck my phone into my purse, keeping my serene potential venue from his toxic energy.
“I know, but she’s driving me fucking nuts. She’s questioned everything I spend this week because of this wedding, and it has nothing to do with her.”
“So, tell her that.”
“What, and have her sulk for the foreseeable future?”
He’s right, and usually, when I say this, he makes out that I hate her and shouldn’t have such opinions. So, I stay quiet, eating what’s left of my croissant while he huffs and puffs.
“Dollancie darling! When did you get back in town?” A waitress appears at the side of our table, placing a hot mug of coffee in front of Shane.
I wanna say I know this woman from somewhere. I vaguely remember my dad and her talking while he bought me balloons.
“We got in around a week ago.” I blink her in, feeling as awkward as I look while staring at her name tag and not her face.
Clara.
“And who’s your fella?”
“This is Shane. He’s my boyfriend—well, fiancé.”
“Are you staying at your parents’ place?” Her tone drops to one of sympathy.
“Yeah.” Shane smiles. “We’re fixing up the house to sell.”
“Oh, you don’t wanna keep it? I mean, I guess that’s understandable. But it could be a lovely home once restored.”
“We’re sure it will be, but for someone else. And the money that we make will allow me to have a fresh start and an amazing wedding.”
My smile gets lost in the distance between Shane and me. His interest in this conversation has lowered, pulling his attention back to his phone.
Please, God, don’t let him be arguing with his mother. I sigh.
“And how does your brother feel about that? It’s half his home, too.” My blood runs cold at her words.
“We haven’t spoken about it yet. I’ll get to it. I know I will have to do it sooner or later.” And it makes me feel sick.
“Yeah. Go easy. You never know. He might have his own plans.”
“Maybe.” I place down the last bite of my croissant, no longer hungry, as the sick feeling inside me swirls over Ambrose and me screwing him out of our house. “But maybe a fresh start might be good for him, too.”
“Well, I guess so. Would you like any more drinks?”
“No, thank you. Just the check.”
“Of course, hon.”
Clara drifts away, stopping by another table on her way to the register.
