Page 86 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
I sigh again as we walk up the path.
Well… here goes nothing.
When we reach the door, I take a deep breath before knocking. I'm still nervous—not just about my parents' reaction to Grayson, but about Grayson's reaction to them.
There's a reason I never let any of my high-society boarding-school "friends" meet my parents. My mom and dad are simple, down-to-earth Midwestern people. I didn't want them judged or sneered at by rich brats with nothing better to do.
Now they're about to meet Grayson—a billionaire and the literal definition of New York elite.
How will he see them?
It feels like our entire fake relationship hinges on this meeting. Even if Grayson isn't openly rude, if I sense he looks down on my parents, I don't think I could keep doing this. How can I pretend to be in love with a man if, every time I hold his hand, I'm silently calling him "bastard"?
Maybe I could still fake the engagement, but any real friendship we've been building would definitely be over.
I knock again.
From inside, my mom calls, "Beau! Door!"
"Why does it have to be me?" my dad grumbles from the kitchen. "You're closer than I am."
"Yes, but it's probably Mr. Thornton from down the street, and I don't want to get roped into another three-hour discussion about the differences between determinate and indeterminatetomato plants just because you were dumb enough to tell him we're growing our own vegetables."
You know, I'd never realized it before, but maybe my parents are a little rude—in their own way. Or maybe they just underestimate how thin the door is. I doubt Mr. Thornton would've been thrilled to hear that.
Perhaps that's why I've developed such thick skin—one tough enough to survive even the Wolfes.
"It's me," I call out, and I hear my mom and dad scrambling to be the first to reach the door.
It swings open, and there they are—both of them smiling wide.
"My baby girl!" Mom throws her arms open.
"Hi, Momma." I grin as she hugs me, enveloping me in the scent of nutmeg. Dad joins in, too, but I can feel his gaze fixed somewhere above my head—on Grayson.
"And who's this?" he asks.
"Grayson Wolfe," Grayson says, extending a hand. "Very nice to meet you."
"Oh, it's lovely to meet you too. Um…" He hesitates, shaking Grayson's hand. "Are you a friend of our Jen-Jen?"
"A little more than that, actually. I'm her fiancé."
My father freezes mid-handshake. Mom stops hugging me, her smile vanishing as the color drains from her face.
You could hear a pin drop.
"I'm sorry," my mother says carefully. "Did you just say fiancé?"
"Yeah." I pull back and give her a tentative smile. "Surprise."
They gape—first at me, then at each other, then back again.
And then they both start talking at once.
"Jenna, what on earth?—"
"Fiancé? What do you mean?"
