Page 298 of One More Kiss
My mother pursed her lips, her gaze flicking toward Geri. A warning not to stray too far out of line, even in front of the paid help. Signing non-disclosure agreements was standard practice for employees of our family, but we all knew they talked amongst themselves. No NDA clause could eradicate gossip.
“You’ve always preferred lighter breakfasts.” My mother sniffed, her gaze falling to the steaming mug of green tea in front of her—the only breakfast she’d had for the past two and a half decades of being married to my father. “Wouldn’t want you to get sick on the plane.”
I blinked down at the glorious ensemble in my bowl. It was true—I hadn’t eaten eggs growing up. But mostly it had been due to the implicitly suggested lighter everything that my mother thought was appropriate for girls like me. Just a few calories shy of an eating disorder.
“I’ve been working on a new diet with my trainer out in LA,” I told her, which was only partly true. Really it was because my visit to meet Axel’s adoptive parents in Kentucky a year ago that had opened my eyes to the joys of fresh-laid eggs for breakfast. They’d showered me in fluffy, cheesy, hens-raised-right-there goodness. Instantly converted. “We’re doing three days a week heavy breakfasts to prep for strength training.”
“Hm.” My mother’s practiced face of mild disbelief could have been a meme. “Sounds rigorous.”
“It’s been great. New regimen, new me,” I teased.
“Just don’t bulk up too much,” my mother said between sips of her tea. “You don’t want to confuse Eli.”
My nostrils flared as I swallowed the competing reactions that threatened to surface. I wasn’t even sure where to begin. “Mother—I…Wow.”
“What?” She set her tea down, stage blinking. She was so good at playing the innocent card after the most jagged-edged barbs.
I cleared my throat, stabbing my fork repeatedly into my eggs. Comments like these made me never want to come home. If it hadn’t been for Axel, I wouldn’t have come this time. Emotion clamped down on my throat as a painful rush of memories swarmed me. Always feeling like this around my parents. Despite it all, I kept my face neutral. They couldn’t catch a hint of emotion or my father would be on me like bees on honey.
Because the faults in our family had always been crystal clear: Chris had been too queer; I was too emotional.
“I hardly think you need to be that dramatic,” I said when I was sure my voice wouldn’t betray the landslide of emotions that had pummeled my insides. “It’s literally eggs. Just in case, I’ll wear a nametag for Eli so he remembers my role within the business.”
My mother huffed, something between a harrumph and a laugh. I had to be skilled at needling her anymore, and that one had hit the mark.
“Did you have a chance to read the letter last night?” my father asked, his eyes on Geri as she moved around the kitchen.
I swallowed a forkful of eggs. “I did.”
A long silence followed. Their gazes burned on me.
“Difficult to read, to say the least,” I finally added and took a bite of my avocado toast. The movement of my left hand with my toast snagged my mother’s attention. Her pupils dilated as her gaze connected with the ring on my left hand.
Shit.
I’d forgotten about the engagement ring.
Shit shit shit.
My heart rate quadrupled, and I almost choked on my toast as the tension drew tighter between us.
“Ooh. Honey. What’s the newest flair?” Her pinched smile looked strained as she brought the mug of tea to her lips once more. My father’s gaze finally landed on the glittering ring. I cursed myself for the oversight. Cursed the brain fog that had allowed me to wander out of my bedroom with the ring in plain sight.
I’d planned to tell them. Just not now. Not on the heels of the letter. Not when I didn’t have my plan in place.
“I didn’t realize you’d gone shopping while you’ve been here,” my father muttered.
“It looks like an engagement ring,” my mother said on the heels of a fluttery laugh.
I couldn’t lie about this. “It is.”
My mother’s eyes flashed wide for the briefest of moments before she swung her gaze toward my father. He shifted, the wood chair creaking.
“Geri, can you please give us a moment?” my father asked, his eyes lasered in on me. A forest sage tempest swirled there.
“Of course! I’ll pop these muffins in the oven when I get back,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel as she dutifully left the kitchen. My parents waited a few moments after Geri left before launching the assault.
“Who gave you that ring?” My father’s schooled voice couldn’t hide the quake of anger.
