Page 17 of Win You Over
“Rem, please tell me you’ve finally chosen a plus one for the wedding? We fly out in less than four weeks,” Nadine asks as she tops up her glass of wine. Their wedding is this summer – in Sardinia, Italy – and she’s been on me about who I’m bringing for months now.
The thing is, I like people. No, Ilovepeople. I like kissing and touching and I love sex. But I don’t particularly want a committed relationship. Which makes picking a plus one for a family wedding,in another country, rather difficult. Anyone I ask to come as my date is bound to get the wrong idea.
Although…
“I was thinking I might ask Finn.” Yeah, that would work. He understands no-strings attached better than anyone.
“Definitely not.” Nadine shuts down my idea immediately. “None of your money hungry ho-bags are invited.”
“Nadine!” our mother admonishes. “We don’t speak about people like that. Finn is a lovely young man.”
“Mom,” Nadine deadpans. “If we’re not allowed to speak about peoplelike that,” she puts emphasis on repeating Mom’s words, “then we are also not allowed to lie. Finn is not a nice youngman. I don’t care how long he’s been hanging around here, he is certainly not invited to our wedding.” Nadine looks at Rupert, who nods in agreement because he wouldn’t dare argue with Bridezilla.
“So like I was saying, please do not bring any of your money hungry,” she shoots Mom a look, “fuck buddies to my wedding.”
Mom rolls her eyes. “The two of you are going to make me old before my time.”
“You’re getting older, Remington. Don’t you think it’s time to find someone who’s more than a fling?” Dad asks, not at all helping my situation.
“Dad, I’m twenty. I have plenty of time.”
He lifts his glass of wine to his lips and takes a sip before speaking. “When I was twenty, I was madly in love with your mother.” His voice is light and wispy and he looks at Mom with cartoon hearts in his eyes. It is sweet how enamoured they are with each other and I catch myself – albeit briefly – wondering if I'd like someone to look at me that way.
“I fell in love with Rupert when I was eighteen,” Nadine adds. “By our family standards, you’re lagging behind. Then again, you are allergic to commitment, so it hardly surprises me you’ve never had a serious relationship.”
“I’m not allergic to commitment,” I say, aghast.
“Okay, so when did you last date someone?” Nadine challenges. I open my mouth to respond and she holds a hand up. “If you tell me the last time you had sex, I will throw my wine at you. When was the last time you had actual, non sexual, beyond friendship, feelings for someone?”
My lips lock and I squint, thinking over her question. I’ve never dated anyone, not in the conventional way. I’ve been to clubs and bars and restaurants with a group and then taken someone home with me, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count. Plenty of people have wanted to date me, but I can never trustthat they want to datemeand not my money or my surname. Sure, most of the people in my social circle are wealthy, but none are Langford level rich.
I may be well liked in this town, but I’m not naïve enough to think my sparkling personality is the only reason for my popularity.
My silence is all the answer she needs. “See, told you. Allergic. Our sweet, playboy prince, with a big heart, but an even bigger….”
She looks at my mom, who scowls, giving a sharp nod of her head.
“Bed. That’s what I was going to say.”
“Sure you were, Nadine. You’re the literal worst,” I remark.
“Nadine has a point, Rem,” my dad adds, unhelpfully,again. “About dating, not about your…um…bed.”
Mom reaches her hand across the table and taps my arm. “It’s okay, Rem. Just ignore these two. You do things in your own time. Bring Finn if you’d like.” Mom gives Nadine a look that saysdo not start with me,and Nadine bites her bottom lip to keep from saying anything more.
Maybe it’s all the eyes on me. Or the comments about my lack of a love life. I amnotallergic to relationships, thank you very much. Or maybe it's simply to please my sister, but the next words that fall out of my mouth do so without any consideration of their impact.
“I do actually have a boyfriend.”
Nadine’s eyes narrow as she shoots me a skeptical look.
“You do?” Both she and my mom ask at the same time.
“Yep.” The room suddenly feels very warm and my palms are sweaty, my one hand still gripping my fork.
Nadine raises an eyebrow. “Okay then Casanova. Who is he? Did he just happen to slip your mind just now? That doesn’t bode well.”
“You never gave me a chance to tell you,” I say, trying to pull off nonchalant but failing miserably.
