Page 12 of Give My Everything
I just wish I could actually enjoy it.
I used to, when I was younger. Mati and I would abandon Dominic—who preferred to stand at my father’s side—and run off to the dessert table. We’d sneak champagne and dance and take turns practicing our flirting technique with the older guys. I was always much more successful than Mati, though he did learn his best moves at these functions.
This time, there’s no Mati.
And there’sdefinitelyno champagne or flirting.
Instead, my mother is glued to my side, intent on walking me around from man to man.
Clearly she’s been made aware that I’m no longer dating Lucas, even though I haven’t actually talked to her about it. I planned to sit her down and share the news at the same time I told her about the pregnancy, a rip-off-the-Band-Aid kind of moment.
But I still haven’t gotten around to it.
And honestly, it looks like I missed my chance to talk to mom about Lucas. That’s the Hermosa Beach gossip machine at work.
Nothing stays a secret for long.
“Bronson spent the last year working for his father’s company in Spain,” my mom says, gesturing to the cookie-cutter man standing in front of me. “How was it working in Seville?”
Bronson—what a chode of a name—starts sharing about his experiences working for his dad, Bronson Tinsley Sr., in Europe.
I can only feign interest for a few minutes before my mind starts to wander, along with my eyes.
The members of the board are almost all geriatric white men with white hair and white collars. I mean, I guess I shouldn’t judge too harshly. My dad is one of those men, though he’s the president because he’s the owner of the company.
Everyone present this evening is following the semi-formal dress code: cocktail dresses, high heels, dark suits.
My dress stands out, even though that wasn’t my intention. I honestly might have fit in better if I’d worn the black Gucci.
I smirk to myself.
My mother is quite the crafty one. She probably knew the Gucci dress would cause me to be lost in the sea of dressy women this evening. The green, floral, floor-length dress I’m currently wearing makes it impossible for me to be a wallflower—and I appear less like a harlot, sure—which fits perfectly into her plans to introduce me to every available or semi-available man here this evening.
“Isn’t that interesting, Remmy?”
My mother’s voice tugs my attention back to where she’s standing with a perfectly posed smile, looking at me with darts in her eyes that only I can see.
“So interesting,” I reply, having no idea what I missed in their conversation and deciding to respond with something vague enough to make it seem like I was paying attention. “Sounds like you’ve had quite the experience.”
Bronson smiles at me, and something curdles in my stomach. Though it would be fun to blame the nauseatingly charming bachelor in front of me, I have a feeling the little swimmie inside me is at fault.
“Excuse me,” I say, dashing away without a care that my mother is probably fuming inside at my incredibly rude departure.
I don’t make it to the restroom in time, instead only managing to heave my insides into a trash bin situated by the main entrance.
Thankfully, only the event coordinator is there to witness my debilitating moment, and she rushes over to help.
“Can I do anything? Is everything alright?” she asks, handing me a napkin, her voice aflutter with nerves.
I accept the napkin but wave her away, taking a deep breath and carefully dabbing my mouth.
“Just the end of a stomach bug,” I say. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
Her shoulders fall and she nods. “Absolutely. Well if you need anything, I’m happy to—”
“Remington.”
I spin at the sound of my mother’s voice hissing at me from a few feet away.
