Page 39 of Marked
The chirp of the morning birds greets us as we step outside, Iver leading the way down the front walk and across the street. I’ve technically been to his parents’ house before. Never inside, but we sat on the porch together the night of the full moon, after our fated bond snapped in. Looking at it now, the memory makes me smile. I was so overwhelmed that night that I didn’t even realize what was sitting right in front of me.
The perfect man.
A whole new reason for living.
I shoot Iver a side-eyed glance, and if the goofy grin on his face is anything to go by, I’d say the sight of his parents’ porch conjured up the same memory for him. Our eyes lock, a silent conversation passing between us as we approach the front steps, his hand tightening around mine when we start to ascend them. Before we can even get to the front door, it swings wide, pulled open by a hazel-eyed brunette who I can only assume is Iver’s mom.
Shit, she’s beautiful.
“Good morning!” she sing-songs, beaming a smile at Iver before shifting her gaze to me. “You must be Cheyenne, I’ve been dying to meet you!”
“Likewise, Mrs. Anderson,” I reply bashfully, though unless she’s an anxious wreck like me, I’m betting we mean that in different ways.
“Please, call me Quinn,” she tuts as she steps aside and waves a hand. “Come in, come in!”
A flush crawls up my neck as Iver tugs on my hand to lead me over the threshold, my stomach twisting into knots as his mom ushers us toward the kitchen. The interior of their home is an open-concept floorplan, light and airy with tasteful décor and cozy furnishings. It’s undeniably warm and inviting, but the atmosphere itself does little to calm my frayed nerves. This is Iver’s family; the people he’s closest with. He may accept me exactly as I am, but that doesn’t meantheywill, too. And if they don’t…
Oh fuck, what if they don’t?
“There they are!” a male voice booms, and I snap my head up to see an older version of Iver standing at the kitchen island, grinning in our direction.
I falter a step, breath catching. The handsome blonde I’m looking at is clearly Iver’s father, and if my mate ages anything like his old man…
Yeah, I’m the luckiest.
“About time our son introduced us to his mate,” he muses, smirking as he darts Iver a glance. “It’s like he’s afraid we’ll embarrass him or something.”
“Us?” Quinn gasps, clutching a hand to her chest, mouth dropping open. “We’re the coolest parents ever.”
“Right?” he scoffs, swinging his gaze back on me. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Cheyenne. Welcome to the family.”
My stomach swoops.
This has to be some sort of trap, right?It can’t be this easy to just…joinIver’s family. The concept of family is admittedly foreign to me since I grew up without one, but every TV show I’ve watched has taught me that meeting the parents means being subjected to their judgment and scrutiny. I was expecting a barrage of probing questions, not instant acceptance.
Maybe they just trust fate, as I’ve learned to.
“It’s nice meeting you too, Mr. Anderson,” I say shyly, a blush heating my cheeks.
“Call me Jax,” he winks.
Yes, Sir.
Iver tugs on my hand, starting toward the kitchen table, and I follow his lead, pretending that I wasn’t just perving on his dad.It’s not weird if he’s practically a clone of my mate, right?
The table is already set, platters of food resting in the center and giving off the most delicious smells. Iver pulls out a chair for me like a perfect gentleman, then takes the one next to me, carding his fingers through his hair as he leans in.
“See, told you they’re not intimidating,” he murmurs in a low voice, bumping his shoulder into mine.
“Not at all,” I agree, the sarcasm thick in my tone.
Iver’s parents seem to be just as annoyingly perfect as my mate himself. Quinn is graceful and poised; Jax is charming and gregarious. The apple definitely didn’t fall too far from the tree, and I’m in a whole different orchard.
Nah, I’m not eveninan orchard, I’m just a rogue seed that sprouted somewhere worlds away.
“Are you a coffee drinker, Cheyenne?” Jax calls to me while pouring himself a fresh cup.
I will myself not to blush as I turn his way again. “Most people call me Chey, and yes, please.”
