Page 7 of Shameless
I pivoted and stared at her. “We can take care of that.”
She blushed. “You expect me to marry you?”
I had everything she’d said she’d wanted in life. I’d heard her and her friends talking on the phone though she’d never known I was listening from the bedroom. I took her hand and asked, “Is that hard to believe?”
She gazed around the table and said, “We’ll discuss that in private… later.”
Fair enough. I hated my life as it was, planned out to the smallest detail every second of every day.
Hope giggled and asked, “Does Britney get a title if she says yes?”
I nodded. “She’d be marchioness and a future duchess.”
She then smiled and said, “Britney, remember when you said we don’t say no to trillionaires?”
Britney lifted her head like she was the head of the table. “I was talking about you, Hope. I liked Michael as I knew him, and I’m unsure what I think now.”
Her friend Avril said, “You told me that we marry trillionaires who ask.”
Britney took a deep breath then smiled as she gazed at everyone. “Your teasing is making me… Wait… is this some elaborate joke y’all cooked up, and someone’s going to pop out and yell, ‘Surprise’?”
Wait. She wasn’t believing my intentions. I wasn’t sure how to handle that. My heart pounded. I wasn’t sure how to handle that.
Miley squashed her question. “You’re the one that surprised us with being pregnant. And, Britney, what happened to giving up the corner office if something better came along?”
“Well, I came,” I said quickly.
Britney’s eyes widened, and she pushed her chair back and said, “Michael and I are leaving now.”
I followed her lead and stood. My shoulders were tight, and I decided the time had come to clear the air.
Isabel took her hand and said, “Wait. No matter what you decide, Brit, we’re all in your corner.” Then she stood and hugged her.
Britney held her close and said, “I know that. Thank you.”
Her friend Isabel acted like she was in my class though she wasn’t British. She’d been raised wealthy. Beyond the clothes, that was in her mannerisms, which I recognized from a boarding school education where no one bothered to pick me up except chauffeurs.
Once Britney let her go, she took my arm and tugged it.
We reached the sidewalk of the bar, and she asked, “Did you mean?—“
My eyes widened. My sister wasn’t going to handle my future child with Britney well. I held her close and said, “Wait.”
Then I kissed her, forgetting everything else.
Her taste lingered. It was better than chocolate, brandy, or a biscuit. She was… delicious.
As the kiss ended, she started to ask, “What was?—”
I held her waist, then my short brunette sister was standing in front of us.
“Bernadette,” I said.
My sister stared right at me and said, “Finally, Michael, a tip I had paid off on where you were.”
Britney squared her shoulders and said, “Tip? Who the fuck is this?”
I froze. The faux pas was on me as I hadn't launched into an introduction.
