Page 77 of The Pucker and the Princess
I shake my head, staring down at my phone, trying to make sense of what just happened. “No. As far as I’m aware, my condo building is fine. That was Dozer. He texted to call him right away, so I did. I thought …” Pressing my lips together, I shake my head and look at Gabby and Jonathan, forcing a smile. “Well, with a text like that, I thought the worst, like maybe my condowason fire.” Or that something had happened to Dozer. He’d gotten in a fight and got hurt. When I was reading about fightingin hockey, I found an article about a guy who got punched from behind and ended up with a broken neck. Even though I know that was decades ago and is definitely rare, ever since reading about it, part of me worries something like that might happen to Dozer.
“Anyway, he wanted to know where the party was, and he said …” I trail off, his final words echoing in my ears.
“What’d he say?” Gabby prompts.
I shake my head again. “He said, ‘See you soon.’”
Gabby raises her eyebrows and exchanges a look with Jonathan, but they don’t seem to have any more insight than I do.
When my phone vibrates in my hand again, I look at it immediately, hoping it’s Dozer with more explanation. But this time it really is Mom.
“We better get in there,” Gabby says, sounding as resigned as I feel. “Don’t forget the signals.” Looping her arm through mine, she starts us toward the entrance.
How awful is it that part of me wishes there had been some kind of emergency?
CHAPTER FORTY
Marissa
I pullour trio to a stop just outside the entrance, take a deep breath, remind myself thatIdumped Peter. I wouldn’t want him back, even if he came crawling on his knees and made a genuine proposal. My life is good. I have a good job, I own my own home, and I have a boyfriend who thinks I’m awesome. He doesn’t try to put me down or put me in my place or keep me from doing things I like because it might inconvenience him. He’s a thousand times better than Peter ever was.
“Ready?” Gabby asks.
At my nod, she releases my arm, instead linking arms with Jonathan, and they walk inside. I watch them for a moment, happiness for my little sister to have found someone who looks at her like she hung the moon bubbling up inside me.
This was always one of the hardest things about being home with both of my siblings, even before I finally ended things with Peter. They’re both so clearly in love with their spouses, and their spouses so clearly adore them. It was hard being aroundthem when my own boyfriend barely glanced at me and acted like I was ridiculous for wanting to have regular date nights. “We see each other every day at work,” he’d complain. “And we have dinner together pretty much every night too. Why do we need to go out on dates?”
While it hasn’t really been long enough for Dozer and I to have fallen into any sort of real routine, the time we spent hanging out as friends gives me a pretty good idea that I won’t have to have that fight with him. Sure, we spent plenty of time at his place or mine, watching TV or just talking. But we also went out pretty regularly. I don’t see that changing just because we’re officially dating now.
God, I really do wish he were here.
Once I’m inside, Mom makes a beeline for me. I brace myself for her onslaught, returning her smile with what I hope passes for a genuine one of my own.
“What took you so long?” she murmurs between clenched teeth.
“I’m here, Mom. And you can’t seriously believe I have any desire to see Peter at all, much less attend his engagement party. And why would he want me here either?”
“Don’t be silly,” Mom says, stepping back and giving my dress—a red velvet fit and flare number with cap sleeves I found on the clearance rack at the mall earlier today—a critical eye. She reaches out and plucks invisible fuzz from the skirt and purses her lips. “Of course Peter wants you here. You were an important part of each other’s lives for a long time.” She meets my eyes at last. “Aren’t you happy that he’s finally managed to move on after you broke his heart?”
I nearly choke on my response, unable to form words to counter her assessment of what happened between Peter and me. “I brokehis—” She glares at me, making me snap my mouth closed. Instead, I press my lips together and shake my head. “You were so supportive when all that went down,” I murmur. “What happened?”
She sniffs. “You’ve moved halfway across the country, Marissa, while Peter stayed here, dependable as ever, working extra hard to pick up the slack that you left when you quit working at the shop. He may not end up being our son-in-law, but we welcomed him into our home for years. Just because you don’t want to be with him anymore, doesn’t mean your father and I have to stop caring about him.”
“I’m not saying that?—”
She holds up a hand and cuts me off again. “We’re here as a family. Your absence would be conspicuous and cast more of a shadow over this event than if you stayed home while the rest of us came. You will smile. You will be polite. When the time comes, you will congratulate Peter and Anna. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I murmur, and Mom nods, satisfied.
Turning, she looks around, and I’m not sure who she’s looking for, but I take advantage of her lack of attention and step briskly away, heading for the small bar set up in the corner. There are also servers with trays of passed hors d’oeuvres. I should probably get some of those soon, especially since drinking on an empty stomach is always a bad idea. But first, I need something to bolster me for the evening.
Glancing around, I spot Jonathan and Gabby apparently deep in conversation with some people I don’t recognize. Jonathan has his hair styled differently than he normally appears on stage and in photos, which I’m guessing is to try to pull a Clark Kent/Superman type of disguise, though he’s not wearing fake glasses. Maybe he should’ve. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be worried about being recognized everywhere you go.
Maybe he’s the real reason Mom wanted us all here for Christmas and this party. She wanted to show off her famous son-in-law.
Shaking my head, I step forward and order a glass of wine from the bar, stuffing a couple dollars in the tip jar and accepting it with a smile before turning and slowly skirting the edges of the room.
Gabby’s looking around, and when she spots me, arches an eyebrow in question. I nod to indicate I’m fine. The worst encounter I’ve had so far has been with Mom, after all, and faking an emergency won’t get me out of more of those.
