Lydia
HONESTLY, I WASN’T nervous to meet Marcus’s parents.
That is until we pull up to their house.
Correction: Mansion.
“Holy shit,” I whisper to myself. “You said we were having dinner at your parents’ house, not compound.”
His muffled chuckle hits my ears. “Would it have mattered?”
“Well . . . yes.”
He turns in his seat to better face me before saying, “How?” It’s not his question that annoys me, it’s his amused expression.
“I—I don’t know. I guess I’d be more prepared.”
Old insecurities inch up my spine. My mother’s words replay in my head from all those years ago.
“You’re wearing your hair like that? I mean, I guess it’s good enough if you don’t want people to think you care about your appearance.”
I swear it’s like she’s right here, whispering in my ear. My hands smooth down any flyaway strands of hair that may be sticking out as I try to shut down the self-doubt my mother instilled in me from an early age. Feelings of not being good enough make me sweat. It’s easier to relate to others who run in the same circles as you. They clearly don’t.
I fidget with my hands as we walk to the door. I might as well be walking the plank with as much dread that’s taken over my body. He must sense my internal freak-out because he stops us, grabs my shoulders and turns me toward him.
“My parents are normal people just like you and me. Don’t let this,” he says as he waves his hand at the house, “make you nervous. I promise they’re down to earth people.”
“When you said your dad was in the banking industry, I figured he was a branch manager or something.” My tone is more clipped than I intended, but I’m panicking. What if they expect him to be with some socialite and a lowly decorator doesn’t meet their expectations?
Marcus’s deep chuckle brings my focus back to him. “He’s the CEO of Bank of the States.”
I stare at him blankly. Bank of the States. As in one of the largest banks nationwide. Yeah, I’m definitely not ready for this.
He grabs my hand and leads us the rest of the way to the front door. “It’ll be fine, okay?” he whispers in my ear before giving me a kiss on the temple.
Marcus rings the doorbell and my heart hammers against my chest. It feels like years when in actuality it was probably only seconds, but his mother finally comes to the door. She’s not at all what I expected and doesn’t look old enough to have a son who’s twenty-seven years old. With platinum-blonde hair in a perfect bob just below her chin, her face is flawless with a few fine lines but nothing defined. Marcus has her eyes and smile as she flashes her pearly whites.
“Christopher, you made it.” She holds her arms out and gives him a big hug.
“Didn’t think I had a choice.” I can tell from his tone he’s giving her a hard time. Seeing the affection they have for each other makes me smile and eases my nerves a little.
“And you must be Lydia,” she says to me once she releases Marcus.
I hold my hand out to her. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Riley.”
“Same here, dear.” She puts her dainty hand in mine and shakes it.
“Come on in. Dinner is almost ready.”
Marcus gives me a reassuring smile before we cross over the enormous threshold. If I thought the outside was impressive, it pales in comparison to the inside. The interior decorator in me is salivating. This house belongs in a magazine with its rich fabrics, stunning light fixtures, gorgeous colors, and perfect staging.
“Your father is in the study. Go say hello and tell him dinner will be on the table in about ten minutes.”
Marcus leads me up this grand, spiraling staircase and down a hall to the right. Before he goes through a door, he takes a deep breath. “Just a heads up, he’s a little on the grumpy side,” he warns.
“I heard that,” a voice says from the other side. Marcus grins and opens the door. “You forget how well your old man can hear.” Sitting in an oversized chair, his dad does not give off the persona of a big CEO. I expected him to be in dress slacks and a button-down shirt, but he’s dressed casually in a pair of jeans and polo shirt. His rosy cheeks and bright eyes are welcoming as he stands.
“Hi, Mr. Riley, I’m Lydia.” I hold my hand out to him.
He matches my gesture, exchanging a firm handshake with me. “Mr. Riley makes me feel like I’m at the office. Please, call me Phillip,” he says.
“Thanks for having me over for dinner, Phillip.” I won’t lie; calling him by his first name is a little awkward. Maybe that’s because my mother would never allow someone to address her so informally upon first meeting.
“That was all the missus, but I’m glad you could join us.” He turns his attention back to Marcus. “How’s work treating you?” He squeezes Marcus’s shoulder affectionately.
“It’s good. Keeps me busy and on my toes, but good.” He flashes his dad a tight smile and I know it’s because he’s been keeping certain parts of his job from them.
“Yeah, well, I worry about you.”
Marcus brushes off his dad’s concern. “I’m fine, Dad. No need to worry.”
“You could’ve gotten a nice desk job working for me . . .” There’s a lightness to his tone, telling me he’s giving Marcus a hard time.
“Where’s the excitement in that?”
Phillip rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you’re not getting too much excitement.” He slaps him on the back a few times before walking toward the door. I step aside to let him lead the way. “I’m sure your mom has dinner just about ready. Let’s head down. I’m starving.” He rubs his round belly before going down the hallway.
Holding my hand, Marcus gives it a gentle squeeze. I look up at him and smile, feeling way better now than I did ten minutes ago when we were walking up the driveway. Hopefully this trend continues throughout dinner as well.
“You have a lovely home,” I say once we’re all seated in the dining room. “I love the open floor plan, and the amount of natural light you get throughout is amazing.”
Mrs. Riley arches her eyebrow in curiosity. “Lydia is an interior decorator,” Marcus chimes in. “She’s actually the one that redid my living room. You should see some of her work. She’s amazing.” I hear the pride in his words, and it makes me beam on the inside while blushing on the outside.
“Is that right?” she questions. “What would you change if you were to redecorate my living room?” Why does this feel like a trick question? Mrs. Riley is a very hard woman to read. She doesn’t wear her emotions on her face and it makes me incredibly nervous.
I dab at the corners of my mouth with my napkin to buy some time. “Your home is stunning the way it is, so I don’t know that there’s much I’d change. But the one thing my eye gravitated towards were the window treatments. The color works perfectly, but I’d choose a different fabric that wasn’t so heavy. The room is bright and open, and the heavy curtains are conflicting with that. So maybe a thinner, lightly woven fabric would fit better.”
She’s quiet for a moment while she studies me and I want to kick myself. I should’ve told her I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Now I look like a judgy bitch.
“See, Phillip,” she says to her husband. “I told you we needed new window treatments because those didn’t work!”
“With what you paid for those, they’re fine,” he grumbles.
Mrs. Riley turns her focus back to me, ignoring his remark. “Good call, dear.”
“Thank you,” I say modestly with a smile. And just like that, I feel like I’ve been accepted into their tribe.
“Now tell me; how did the two of you meet? You’d think I’d know these things, but for whatever reason, my son over here has kept you a secret.”
“I picked her up at a bar,” Marcus answers. His response garners a less than appreciative glance from me.
“We met at a bar while I was in Myrtle Beach for the weekend,” I clarify, “but didn’t see each other for a month after.”
“How did you guys run into each other again?” his dad asks.
I glare at Marcus. “He pulled me over for speeding and wrote me a ticket.”
His dad’s laughter draws my attention. “Did I not teach you anything, son?”
Marcus shrugs and holds his hands up. “What? It was the only way I could make sure I saw her again.”
His parents laugh lightly while I shake my head at Marcus with a small smile on my face. I take in this moment and have a sense of envy. This feels so normal and natural and everything a family should be. Everything I never had.
“So after he wrote you the ticket, what happened next?” Mrs. Riley asks.
Marcus and I fill her in on how we finally ended up together, and it’s interesting to hear Marcus’s take on things. For example, I had no idea he was across the parking lot the morning I found that first note on my windshield. It was kind of nice to take a trip down memory lane, but it’s also a reminder of how far I’ve come in letting the past go.
The rest of dinner is had over light conversation and I’m enjoying the many stories she tells of Marcus as a child. It’s so interesting to hear what’s shaped him into the wonderful man he is today. He sits quietly, a grin on his face the whole time as his mother and I chat. His dad chimes in from time to time, but he wasn’t kidding when he said he was starving.
“Have you met Lydia’s parents yet? Or are they in the dark like we were?” she lightly admonishes once dinner is done.
“Not yet,” Marcus answers. His eyes cut over to mine briefly, and I know he picks up on the shift in my body language as my spine stiffens slightly.
“What do your parents do, dear?”
“My mom is a dental hygienist, and my dad’s in sales.”
“How nice. Do you get to see them often?”
“Uh, not really.” I squirm in my seat, knowing this is touching on things I don’t want to discuss.
“That’s a shame. Are they far?” I shake my head. “I would love to invite them over for brunch sometime. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other.”
“That’s really kind of you to offer, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her head tilts to the side and all of her questions are written clearly across her face, so I attempt to curb some of her curiosity. “My relationship with my parents is . . . strained, to put it mildly.”
Her face gives way to sympathy, and I kind of hate it. “I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay.” I offer her a tight smile because it’s not okay. Over the years I had gotten used to my mother’s constant judgment and ridicule, but I figured with something so important, she would support me. It’s not like I was making a decision to drop a class or quit some stupid thing she had signed me up for. I was choosing not to marry someone I would have to spend the rest of my life with. Maybe her opinion would’ve changed had she known the truth, but I doubt it.
Even though I did try.
“Have you tried to reach out to them? I’m sure they miss you,” she says.
That would be the normal thing to assume, but that’s not the case here. “Yes, I went to see them once, but they made it very clear where they stood, so I haven’t tried since. That was almost two years ago.”
“Oh, honey. I hate to hear that, but know that you are welcome back here any time, okay?” Her kindness toward me has my nose stinging as I swallow back the tears that threaten to surface.
“Thank you, Mrs. Riley,” I reply sincerely.
“Now you stop it with all that Mrs. Riley nonsense too. Call me Marie.”
With a grateful smile, I say, “Thank you, Marie.”
“I don’t know how you did it,” Marcus says once we’re back at his place.
“Did what?” I set my bag on the counter and take off my heels, letting out a sigh of relief.
“Got my mother to like you so quickly.”
“I told you parents love me,” I reply with a smug smile.
With a predatory gleam in his eyes, he stalks toward me. “Is that right?” When I nod, he leans down and kisses me. No, he makes love to my soul, diving his tongue in and expressing exactly how he feels with nothing more than his lips.
I’m the first to pull away. He knows all about my family issues, now it’s his turn. “Your dad seems to want you to work for him.”
He sighs. “Yeah, and part of the time I feel like I let him down, but he’s supportive. I think he knows that the whole office job thing just wasn’t for me.”
A small smile forms on my lips as I look at him in admiration. I love that he forged his own way and pursued his goals versus what his family may have expected from him. “Are you happy?”
“Before? I was content, satisfied even. Now? I’m more than happy. I’m fucking elated.”
My head tilts to the side and my eyes squint slightly in confusion. “Before what?”
He grabs my hand while staring deep into my eyes. “You.” It’s such a simple statement and on its own it carries a simple meaning. But in this context, it carries the weight of my world.
Standing up on my toes, I close the distance between us. His strong arms wrap tightly around my body, pressing every hard inch of him into me. I’ve never felt like a man was able to kiss my soul, but that’s what it feels like each time our lips touch. It goes way beyond a physical connection. It’s mental and emotional.
It’s everything.
As we shed our clothes and become one in the most intimate way, I know we both feel it. I’m drowning in him, and I never want to be saved.