Page 85 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
Today I get to explain to my family that I'm engaged—engaged to a billionaire whose name is constantly in the news. Engaged to a man famous for his terrible reputation as a playboy—the guy the tabloids call New York's most eligible bachelor.
Engaged to someone who, so far as my parents know, I've only ever done business with—and whose name I've never even mentioned in conversation, let alone as someone I was dating.
This is going to take some explaining. I figured it wouldn't go over well by phone.
Not only are my parents not going to believe me, but when they finally do, they're going to be offended that I went and got engaged to a man I hadn't even introduced them to first.
Whichever way I look at it, it's bad.
I sigh as I unbuckle my seat belt and swing my legs around to step out.
Thankfully, we're in what—by Grayson's normal standards—is a relatively normal-looking car: a Mercedes. Top of the range, sure, but not the kind of thing that makes people crane their necks like his ridiculous Ferrari or the chauffeur-driven Bentley he usually struts around in. I'd insisted he tone it down, explaining that just like dressing up was the right move when meeting his parents, slumming it a little was the right move now.
Still, even his idea of "slumming it" is a Mercedes S 680 Maybach with two-tone paint and an interior that looks like half NASA Mission Control and half English country gentleman's club.
Even so, we've been getting strange glances from pedestrians and other drivers ever since we turned off the highway into Wappingers Falls. This area is respectable but not wealthy—it's where hard-working middle-class folks like my mom and dad come to retire. It's not the sort of place that attracts people who own $250,000 cars.
It took a fair amount of courage to ask Grayson to come at all. In the end, though, when I asked, he agreed that it would look strange for my fiancé to never meet my parents. I thought he'd be apprehensive, but he just nodded and said, "Sure. Why not?"
Now that we're actually here, I can't lie—there's a lump in my throat, my heart's pounding, my stomach's twisted in knots, and I'm more than a little nervous.
"Grayson," I say, grabbing his wrist. "I need to tell you something."
"What is it?"
"My parents…" I pause, trying to find the right words. "They're really nice people, but they can be a little overbearing."
He snorts. "Yeah, don't worry. I've got plenty of experience with overbearing parents."
"No, it's different. They're never rude or anything, but my dad never stops talking, and my mom won't stop trying to shove food down your throat the entire time we're there. They'll also want to know everything about you. Since you're only the second boyfriend I've ever brought home, it's going to be even worse."
He raises an eyebrow. For a second I think it's apprehension, but then I realize it's curiosity.
"You've only had one serious boyfriend?"
I nod.
"Why?"
"Because I was busy," I say. "How many serious girlfriends have you had—like, actual wife material?"
He presses his lips together. "Fair enough."
He gets out of the car and circles around to open my door for me. He's been doing that a lot lately when we drive together. I'm not sure what that's about—he's never struck me as the chivalrous type—but maybe he's changing. Or maybe it's just part of his act.
Or maybe I read him wrong the first time.
Who knows?
"Oh, one more thing," I say before we reach the door. "You can't be rude to my parents. Ever. If you say anything foul or condescending, the deal's off."
Rather than annoyance, I see respect flicker in his eyes. "Noted. For the record, I wasn't planning on being rude to them."
"I know. But you sometimes… forget yourself," I say lightly. I'm not trying to criticize him—just setting boundaries.
"Touché," he says, pretending to wince but sounding amused.
I don't think Grayson means to be rude most of the time; it just sort of happens because he has a naturally abrasive personality, and no one's ever challenged him. Hopefully our little chat will stay fresh in his mind for the duration of our visit.
