Chapter 113

The gazebo is deathly quiet and the tension promises to suffocate us. Everything is going well, if you count the curt greetings from Brandon’s snobbish parents. Queen Elizabeth doesn’t hold a candle to Brandon’s mother with her prim and proper manners, wrinkles and white hair cropped short. All she needs is a crown and I’ll genuflect before her.

Brandon’s dad is an older beardless version of him with thinning hair. He is so quiet, the kind of quiet that allows his haughty wife freedom to speak to people as she pleases. A minute after exchanging greetings and I can already tell it was a bad idea to invite them.

Seated beside Brandon, muscles tight and frustrated at my lack of release, I drum my fingers on my legs hidden under the table. He didn’t have to punish me this way. I am pregnant, he shouldn’t leave me horny. One look at him shows that’s the least of his worries. 

He is as tensed as I am, maybe even more and a wave of guilt rolls over me. I want to comfort him, touch and whisper sweet nothings to him, but I am scared of how he will react. And I want his family to believe we are a team, especially Josh watching with fascination like he’s not a member of the family. He should have given me a heads up.

“How did you two meet?” his mother asks. 

Mrs Stark was not kind enough to volunteer her name, her husband has not spoken a word except for the sound he made when I introduced myself. They don’t say it but I feel like his parents blame me for their family’s estrangement with their silent assessment that has me on edge. It’s laughable. The only reason they are here is because of me.

“Through my father,” I say in a tone that should leave her curious. I am giving her an opening for more questions, if she refuses to take it, I am not sure how I can steer the conversation. But I want her to try. Behind the thick skin, red lips and sharp eyes, there has to be a woman who misses her son. I miss my parents and we are in close contact.

She arches a brow. I hide a smile. At least I know who Brandon got that from. Her tone is sharp, accusatory when she asks, “And you didn’t think to invite us to your wedding?” 

For a moment, I assume the question is directed at me, my words fail me until I raise my head to see her glaring daggers at Brandon with that polite smile plastered on her lips. As usual, he ignores her and folds his arms on the table. She leans back into her chair, openly assessing him like one would do an opponent and I mentally prepare myself to defend my husband should it be needed. I place a hand on his knee and he shrugs it off.

Right, he’s still pissed. But we will discuss that in the privacy of our room.

“Let’s eat,” I say to break the silence and all eyes turn to me except for Brandon. Josh flashes me a small smile, I manage to return it and the three sets of eyes return to the plates at the centre of the table. God help me, I am losing it without Brandon’s support.

In our house, we bond over food but I can tell it won’t work with the Stark’s family. My hands tremble when I reach for a soup bowl, I exhale. Brandon shouldn’t have dismissed Lydia. His parents shouldn’t be so intimidating. I bring my hand to my lap, a look from his mother and I stand, only to be pulled down gently to my seat by the furious man on my right. Why can’t he make things easy for me? For God’s sake, I’m trying my best.

“Serve yourself,” he mutters through clenched teeth. His eyes narrow at his parent as if daring them to do or say otherwise. My eyes dart to Josh who offers me a polite shrug.

It’s his mother who speaks, saving us all the awkwardness. “Very well.”

Dishing out the meal for herself, her husband and Josh, I stop her from serving me and Brandon. I eye her plate as I take a bite from mine piling with food, it’s too small like she is on a diet. And she is skinny. Too bad for her, she’s missing out on this delicacy called Lydia’s food. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this on my own without her help.

We eat in silence. I have trouble swallowing each time his parent send a scowl my way. I know the chicken tastes good, I tasted it earlier. They hate me. The only person who looks happy to see me is Josh, and I wish I took a seat beside instead of opposite him.

He makes a funny face. I smile and roll my eyes. I spare Brandon a glance, a mistake on my part and my appetite vanishes. Maybe it is my hormones but tears threaten to spill from my eyes. I sniff, stabbing the chicken while chewing absent-mindedly. Maybe I do have a Messiah complex and as he said, I can’t save everyone and I shouldn’t try to.

Brandon’s hand descends on my knee, I jerk. The surprise contact sends the rice going down my throat the wrong way, I cough until tears blur my vision, hitting my chest. He offers me a glass of water. I murmur my gratitude once I empty the cup, and he refills it. Frozen under the menacing gaze of the entire Stark clan, I push my plate away, refusing to look up even when my beloved husband strokes my leg. What does he want from me?

The meal finishes in no time with my plate barely touched, the silence is suffocating. I inhale, taking a large gulp of fresh air, the only thing untainted by his family’s presence. This is the quietest meal I have ever had. The clear blue sky could have been a topic for conversation, even the glass table or bouquet at the centre. Anything but no one speaks. 

A fork appears in front of my mouth, I peer shyly at Brandon and his frown eases up. I don’t know if I would have eaten if his parents were absent since I am still mad at him but my mouth opens and the forkful of rice disappears into it. We keep at it but the eyes on me make it difficult to eat comfortably and I cough until Brandon senses my unease.

To shift the attention from me, he points to the cake caddy and says, “We have cake.” I give his knee a grateful squeeze and catch a ghost of a smile on his lips. Stubborn man.

Josh does the honours of dishing out slices of cakes in saucers. As much as I want a taste of it, I refuse it and my mouth goes dry when Brandon leans in to whisper, “Relax.”

I should be telling him that. But I welcome his hand sliding inside my gown to caress my thighs. It works, the knots in my shoulders loosen and I relax. We ended up not wearing matching outfits like I planned but my gown hides my bump pretty well. I want to be the one who announces my pregnancy to them, hopefully, it ends this foolish family feud.

“Brendan would have liked this,” Josh murmurs. Our eyes snap in his direction, he winks at me. “What?” He takes a bite of the cake and nods. “Brendan also liked chocolate cake.” I try to glare him into silence seeing how pale everyone has gone, at the same time, I am curious to hear about this Brendan who doesn’t exist on the all-knowing Google. “Oh, we are still acting like he didn’t exist?” He snickers and covers his mouth. “Oops, my bad.”

Giggles spill from me, turning into a cough at the stares simultaneously directed at me. I dive into a slice of cake. The initial plan had been to sing a birthday song before sharing the cake. But this is just fine. Brandon wipes a smudge of cake by the side of my mouth, I die and resurrect when he inserts his finger into his mouth with an appreciative nod.

“Who is Brendan?” I blurt out to break the heavy, painful silence that falls over us. But a deafening quietude replaces the former silence and I murmur, “Ignore me, please.”

For the first time, Brandon and his parents are ruffled, they share a furtive look and I feel the rice rising to the surface. The cake in my mouth lost its taste, I stand and my chair clatters to the ground but I don’t care to pick it. Enough of this. Something is going on and they won’t involve me. Maybe I should unblock curly hair David, we need to talk.

“I’m pregnant,” I say, still standing. His mother’s eyes nearly fall out, his father remains calm. I rub a hand over my belly, flash the whole table a smile and say, “Excuse me.”