Page 5 of A Shore Fling
“Probably not. Unless you fake an illness. How about appendicitis? I can rush you out of here.”
She laughs. “Yeah, but they’d go to the hospital and we wouldn’t be there.”
“We could tell them it was just a bad case of gas that worked itself out, so we went home.”
She snorts. “I thinkyoushould be the gassy one.”
“They wouldn’t believe me. You’re the youngest and the favorite.”
“Ha! Jonathon is Dad’s favorite, for sure,” she states.
“And you’re Mom’s.”So where does that leave me?
“Oh hell. Nigel spotted us. We’re stuck now,” she says.
“Better keep the champagne coming.” I raise my glass before swallowing a gulp.
“I can do that. Just make sure your inhibitions don’t lower too much. You might end up in bed with Nigel.”
I laugh. “All the champagne in the world couldn’t make that happen.”
She snickers. “I feel kind of sorry for Nigel.”
“Why?”
“He has no idea he doesn’t stand a chance of being with you.”
“He’s bound to figure it out sooner or later.”
“Don’t be so sure. It’s been months since Mom and Dad mentioned a match between you two being beneficial, and he’s still holding out hope.”
“I assure you, it’s not because of anything I’m doing. We’ve had interactions where I’ve barely maintained civility. The fact that he’s still hanging around has more to do with our business than any genuine interest in me.”
“That’s shitty, and you deserve better. Someday, you’ll meet a man who wants you purely for your awesomeness.”
A sharp laugh falls from my lips. “How am I going to do that?” It seems like everyone assumes they know my life story as soon as they learn my last name.
“I don’t know how, but I know it’ll happen.”
Good thing I’m not holding my breath.
We’re almost to my parents and Nigel when I elbow Irene. “Quick, clutch your stomach.”
She laughs. “It’s too late for that.”
I drink the rest of my champagne. “Here.” I hand her my empty flute and snatch the almost full one from her hand. “I need all the reinforcements I can get.”
“I’m here for you.” She pats my back, and I send a glance her way.
“That helps.”
“Girls.” Dad addresses us with a nod.
“Hey, Dad.” Irene steps in for a hug.
“Hi, Mom.” Wrapping my arms around her, I squeeze her thin frame. As I draw back, my mother’s assessing gaze scrolls up and down, taking me in.
“You look lovely,” she states, and I instantly feel relieved. My mom can be a harsh critic, and it’s not easy to get her seal of approval.
