Page 38 of The Broken Vows

“Should I bring some dessert, maybe? I could make a lemon pie?”

I grin at him and shake my head. “Just bring yourself, babe. You are more than enough.”

He looks into my eyes, hearing the words I’m not saying. He’s enough — no matter what anyone else says.

ChapterTwenty-Nine

Zane

My hands are clammy as I tighten my grip around the bouquet I crafted for Celeste’s mother, a bottle of whiskey in my other hand. I don’t think I’ve ever been as nervous as I am right now, standing in front of my girlfriend’s parents’ house.

I inhale deeply and ring the bell. It opens moments later, and Archer appears in front of me with Celeste hot on his heels. Irritation is written all over his face, and I smile at him in response.

“Damn it, Arch,” Celeste says, elbowing him hard. “I told you I’d get the door!”

“Had to see this for myself,” he snaps. “Couldn’t believe it when Mom told me to fly in to have dinner with your boyfriend. This is some bullshit. She didn’t even ask me to fly in for her birthday, but she demands it forhim?”

I sigh when Celeste pushes past him, frustration flickering through her eyes. It’s obvious her family was hoping we wouldn’t last. “Come in,” she says, grabbing my hand.

I throw her a reassuring smile, and she relaxes just a touch as she leads me into the house. Her mom smiles when we walk into the kitchen, her eyes widening when she notices the roses I’m holding.

“Thank you so much for having me, ma’am,” I tell her as I hand them to her.

“Oh, Zane,” she says, smiling in the most motherly way I’ve ever experienced. “These are lovely, but you really shouldn’t have — and how many times do I need to tell you to call me Clara?”

“They’re from his mother’s rose garden,” Celeste rushes to tell her. “Those roses… well, let’s just say that I’ve never received a full bouquet of my own.”

She throws me an accusatory look, and I shrug. “What can I say? I reserve those exclusively for my sister, my grandmother, my wife, and my mother-in-law.”

Celeste’s lips part in surprise, her eyes darkening as my words sink in. I love the way her cheeks become so beautifully pink, and she looks away, flustered.

Clara grins at the two of us, and relief surges through me when I realize she truly is the same as she has been over the phone. “How was the drive over?” she asks as I put the whiskey bottle I brought on the counter and rush to the sink to wash my hands, so I can help her.

“I live only a couple of minutes away, so it was a pleasant little drive.”

“Yeah? I’m glad. Did you have a good day at work today?”

I smile to myself, my heart warming. She’s been calling me every few weeks, and each time, she puts effort into getting to know me. It always startles me how genuine she is. Our phone calls were awkward at the start, but I’ve begun to look forward to them. I haven’t quite gathered enough courage to call her myself, but I’m getting there, slowly. My grandmother isn’t very motherly, but Clara… she’s exactly the way I sometimes imagine my mom would be.

Celeste seems to know what I’m thinking, because she gently rubs my bicep, a sweet smile on her face as I engage in small talk with her mother. “I’ll go set the table and see if Dad is doing okay,” Celeste tells us, and I nod at her, my eyes following her until the door falls closed behind her.

“You’ve got the love bug, don’t you?”

My eyes widen, and I nod. “Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid it’s incurable.”

She laughs and reaches up to muss my hair. “Come on then, we’d better go and convince my son and husband that you adore Celeste. I’ve loved everything I’ve learned about you so far, and I think they will too. But then again, I wouldn’t expect any different from Tara’s son.”

I blink in surprise. “You knew my mother?”

“We were childhood friends,” she says, her smile melting away. “I still think about her often, and I know she’d be proud to see the man you’ve become. I know I am.”

I stare at her in shock as she walks out of the kitchen, my heart overflowing with something that’s hard to define — it isn’t gratitude per se, but it’s something close to it. Her acceptance was so encouraging that I find myself smiling as I reach for the old whiskey bottle I brought with me.

Celeste’s dad is already seated at the dining table and gets up reluctantly when I walk in. He looks unhappy to see me and squeezes just a little harder than necessary when I shake his hand, but I try my hardest not to take it personally. “Thank you for having me, sir.”

He eyes the bottle I’m holding and sighs as he takes it from me. “It’s George, and I don’t like whiskey,” he says, despite the way his eyes glitter as he stares at it.

“Don’t lie, Dad,” Celeste says as she and Archer carry in tonight’s dishes. “It’s unbecoming.”

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