Page 86 of The Temporary Fiancée
At that, Shane draws a deep breath. He shoots me and Reed an apologetic sideways glance, shrugging. I’m grateful that he gave it a try, at least, and somewhat surprised that he spoke up in Reed’s defense. From what I’ve seen of the two of them, they aren’t particularly close—but they’re united in their struggles with their parents, I suppose.
Reed doesn’t argue further. Under the table, he lays a hand on my thigh and squeezes, trying to reassure me. He must be able to sense my unease.
Truth be told, “unease” doesn’t begin to describe how I’m feeling right now. The prospect of wedding planning, especially under this woman’s direction, is nothing short of terrifying.
Reed leans over to me and whispers, too quietly for anyone else to hear, “Are you okay?”
I give him a nod, but I know he can see right through it. I probably look like a deer in the headlights.
“Don’t worry.” His breath tickles my ear. There’s just enough amusement in his voice that it calms me down a little; if he finds this funny, then maybe it’s not as bad as it seems. “I know how to navigate around them. I won’t let her steamroll you.”
I blink at him gratefully, and he leans away from me again. The two of us return to eating. I do my best to copy what he seems to be doing—letting Cecily’s words wash over me without really listening.
If Reed is in my corner, I think I can grit my teeth and accept her help. After all—it’s not as if the wedding is real.
The reminder makes a bite of salad stick in my throat.
As we all finish our first course and the waiter comes to take our plates, Cecily is talking about floral arrangements and color palettes and, “of course—the dress.” I try not to let any of it bother me, even though it does, and I can tell that it bothers Reed, too.
The main course comes out, and as we all start to dig in, Cecily goes quiet—though I notice that she doesn’t eat with the same gusto as everyone else. Lionel takes up the mantle of conversation, and to my dismay, all his questions are focused on me.
“So I’ve heard your mother is unwell,” he says bluntly. I flinch, staring at him, and he meets my gaze with a coolness that sets me on edge.
“Um… yes,” I say. “She has multiple sclerosis. We’re trying to?—”
“Has your father been paying the bills, then?”
I’m taken aback by the question. Beside me, Reed goes still. A tension settles over the table, like a storm is about to break.
Desperate to keep things civil, I force a smile onto my face. “No, he hasn’t,” I say, my voice light. Trying to convey to Reed that it’s fine—that he doesn’t need to come to my defense. “I have been.”
Lionel huffs, scowling. “You have been, huh?” He shakes his head. Clearly, he’s wary of me. I start to wonder if he’s unhappy about Reed’s choice. Have they argued about it, behind closed doors? Has Reed kept this from me to spare my feelings?
“Yes,” I say quickly, recovering from my moment of doubt. “My mother requires a lot of care, and we couldn’t afford a home nurse, so my father took on the role.”
At that, Cecily and Lionel exchange their first glance of the evening—a knowing, condescending look that makes my skin crawl. Then Lionel turns back to me. “And now, I assume, my son is paying your family’s bills.”
I can’t help but bristle at that. He can insinuate all he wants, I know he’s calling me a gold digger.
I take a moment to try and let my hackles down, but to my surprise, Reed speaks before I do—and he makes no effort to hide the hostility in his voice. “What’s wrong with you?” he demands sharply.
Lionel blinks, sitting taller. “Is there a problem?”
“Hell yes, there’s a problem,” Reed snarls. “Why are you talking to her like that?”
Lionel regards Reed coldly for a moment, then picks up his fork, nonchalant, and takes a bite of fish. He swallows, then says, “Think of this like a capital venture investment. If you’re going to enter into a contract, you need to trust the situation, and trust who you’re conducting business with.”
“I’d rather not think of it that way,” Reed says, his voice every bit as frosty as his father’s. “This is personal.”
“I hope you don’t treat your work with Eastwood so carelessly.”
“Olivia is a friend,” Reed shoots back. “I trust her, and that should be enough for you.”
“You’re young.” Lionel shrugs, reaching for his wine glass. “You’re naive.”
“This woman is doing me a huge favor, and you can’t stop accusing her of being a gold digger. What’s the matter with you? Have you forgotten how to be a fucking person?”
“Language,” Cecily snaps.
