Page 121 of The Pact
“He said that with affection.”
“No, Saint, he didn’t.”
He smiles, but his grip on my hand tightens slightly.
“Still not nervous?”
His mouth tilts. “Well, I wasn’t until you just said that.”
I laugh and squeeze his hand with mine, and one of my fingers brushes over his ring.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
“Maybe a little.”
“It’ll be okay. Your dad, your parents, like me.”
But I know this matters to him. My family matters to him. Doing this right matters to him.
He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it.
Before I can speak, my mother’s voice floats down the hall.
“I can hear you whispering in the hallway. Get in here.”
I close my eyes, but smile.
When we walk into my dad’s office, my parents are sitting on the couch near the windows. My mom has a tea in front of her, and my dad has a cup of coffee he probably hasn’t touched yet. Both of them watching us.
My mom’s gaze drops to where our hands are joined, and her breath catches slightly.
My father looks at her, then follows her line of sight.
“Presley,” my mom says calmly.
I hold up my hand. “We got married.”
She doesn’t blink. Instead, she turns around and looks at my dad.
I look at my dad over her shoulder. The pieces clicking in place that he didn’t tell her about this part in the conversation with the attorneys.
My dad stands then. “So, you chose this route,” my dad says.
My mom’s head whips in his direction. “You knew about this?”
My dad nods. “I was in the meeting with them when it was suggested. I didn’t know they were actually considering it.”
“Okay, can we take a step back and fill me in on what’s going on here then?” she says, hands on her hips.
We explain the situation to my mom. It seems the only puzzle piece she was missing was the marriage part. As we tell the story, my father’s jaw hardens, the annoyance clearly visible as he takes this in.
Saint takes a step forward, as if he wants to explain more to my father, but I put a hand out and halt him.
With a sigh, I hold out my arms and face my dad. “I know this is not sitting well with you.”
He looks down, his arms folding in front of him as he walks forward. “I always told you and your sister not to get mixed up with athletes.”
“This is hardly getting mixed up,” I defend.
