Page 89 of Unbound

I shove at his chest. “You know I am.” Wriggling away, I find a fresh shirt of my own, whipping it on before running both hands through my hair. Hopefully I can make it look less like I spent a good portion of the night with my face pressed against the mattress while getting railed from behind. “Let’s go.”

Walker sighs, sounding completely put out. “You’re no fun.”

“I am very fun and I feel like I proved that shit more than once last night.” I hurry through the bedroom and out into the hall. “Poke me if I start to talk too much.”

I have a tendency to ramble, and end up disclosing more than I mean to. I hate awkward silences, so I try to fill them. Frequently by over sharing.

Or educating yet another person about Spam.

I reach the bottom of the stairs and plaster on a smile, the expression freezing on my face when I see what our unexpected visitors are doing.

“There they are.” Deidre claps her hands, leaving my mom where she’s chopping fruit at the counter. “Did you two sleep well?”

“Yup.” I bob my head, hoping it makes it look more like I did a bunch of sleeping instead of a bunch of boning. “Lots of sleeping.”

Walker pokes me in the back.

Fucking already?

“Wonderful.” Deidre turns back to the kitchen. “We thought a nice breakfast would be a good way for you to start your day, and might give us a little time to all get acquainted.”

I’m pretty sure my mom and Deidre are already acquainted, so this likely has more to do with Walker’s aunt not wanting to be stuck alone with Constance than any sort of interpersonal relationship building.

“Great.” I try to sound sincere, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t happen. I was really hoping to get some time alone with my mom this morning. Try to get a little more information out of her about the man she still very much believes is house sitting for me.

Right before I ask her the most horrible question I could possibly ever ask.

“Would you like a mimosa?” Deidre lifts up a champagne flute filled with bubbling champagne and orange juice.

“I would love one.” I take the beverage and swallow down a couple big mouthfuls. I’m going to need it to get through this meal.

“Come sit next to me, Sybil.” Constance pats the stool next to her. “We can talk while they make food.”

I went to family dinner Friday night prepared to entertain Constance most of the evening. Did a little homework on the old lady and found some great talking points. Figured it might help my cause a little bit if I kept her busy while everyone else did their thing. But I’m not feeling as inclined to try to keep up a conversation with her this morning.

Sliding into the seat, I try to look engaged. “Do you have any big plans for the day?”

Getting people talking about themselves is always easy. A few well-placed questions and most individuals can go on for hours. It’s great for two reasons. One, I don’t really have to pay attention. They’ll just keep rambling without too much encouragement. And two, if I do pay attention, I usually find out some really interesting shit since people love to trauma dump on me.

But Auntie Constance doesn’t seem interested in lamenting her grandsons’ bachelor lifestyles or the difficulty of running such a large business for the better part of fifty years. She also doesn’t want to tell me about her time as a cocktail waitress, which is a really big bummer, because I bet she has some interesting as hell stories.

Nope. Auntie Constance woke up this morning and chose violence.

“Have you and Walker picked a wedding date yet?”

“Whaaaat?” I drag the word out, because what the fuck is she talking about? “Why would we have picked a wedding date?”

“Well, I assumed that since you’re clearly sleeping together, the next logical step would be marriage.” She takes a small sip of her own mimosa. “I know young people today don’t view the institution as favorably as my generation did, but that’s a mistake. People will think you have no self-respect if you give a man everything he wants while getting nothing in return.”

So maybe I’m starting to figure out why people don’t like Auntie Constance.

Deidre slams down the spoon she’s using to stir a large bowl of fruit salad, the sound loud as the wooden implement connects with the marble surface. “Are you insinuating my nephew is using her?”

“I’m insinuating any man will get whatever he can without being confined by the binds of commitment.” Constance turns to me, holding one finger out. “And be sure you make him sign a prenup. Protect all your current and future assets.”

I’ve never considered what’s involved with a prenup. Never even considered getting married. But I don’t feel like that’s a conversation I want to have with Auntie Constance right in front of my mother, Walker’s aunt, and Walker, so I just say, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You should. With as large as your net worth is, there’s no way you should ever consider skipping it.” Auntie Constance lifts her brows as she takes another sip of her drink.