Everyone sits down, and a cold cucumber soup is served.
Wife Number Six looks at Bethany and her husband. “So,” she says perkily. “Did you just recently get married?”
“Three years,” Oliver says with a smile.
“That’s a long time. Don’t you get bored with shopping all day while your husband works?”
Paige and Maggie sputter. Simon hands Maggie a glass of water, and I rub Paige’s back.
“I’m not at all bored. I have a fulfilling career, and soon we’re going to have a child.” Bethany reaches over and squeezes Oliver’s hand.
“Congratulations.” I make a mental note to send some nice baby things to them later. I hold Paige’s hand, making sure everyone can see what I’m doing. “We’re hoping to have one soon also,” I say, laying the groundwork for Paige’s pregnancy. We’re going to have to announce that sometime soon after we’re married, depending on how early she shows. “I’d like at least two children.”
Mom chokes on her soup.
“Is it wise to get pregnant yourself?” Number Six says.
Maggie blinks. “Um… How else would you get pregnant?”
“A surrogate, of course. You know, just pay somebody else to carry your baby so you don’t have to. It’s a perfect solution.” Number Six turns to Paige. “You should think about it. Everyone gains weight during pregnancy, and it’s soooo hard to lose it afterwards.” She frowns then leans closer like she’s about to hand over the Key to Life. “Much harder than regular weight.”
The dining room plunges into dead silence. Even Mom stops coughing.
Red blotches Paige’s cheeks. My hand tight around the spoon, I scan the crowd, taking in their reactions in a flash.
Mom’s eyes are round, which would be almost comical if Julian’s little trophy bitch hadn’t insulted Paige. His expression stony, Dad reaches for wine, while Maggie, Bethany and Oliver glare at Wife Number Six. Simon is watching me and Paige with speculative eyes.
Hot fury sears through me. The only thing keeping me from knocking Number Six’s perfect teeth out is the fact that I have a penis and she doesn’t.
I turn my gaze to Dad’s latest Barbie. “In case you aren’t aware, I’m very much in love with my fiancée. I hate the idea that even an ounce of her would vanish from this world to suit some bimbo’s idea of ‘beauty.’ So no. I don’t think she should ever worry about pregnancy weight. Maybe guys who don’t love their women as much as I love her would be bothered by such a trivial thing, but I’ll love and honor her more for giving me the most perfect child any man could ever ask for.”
Number Six’s mouth opens and closes, then opens again. It’s all I can do not to grab a baguette and make her choke on it.
My tone takes on a nasty edge. “Just so we’re clear”—I let my gaze sweep over the guests meaningfully—“Paige and I are engaged. About to become family. Any insult to her is a direct insult to me. She may be sweet and forgiving, but I’m not.” I let my eyes rest on Number Six’s face, which is Ferrari red at the moment.
Good.
Her throat works as she swallows. “I didn’t mean it that way. I was just worried—”
“Then worry with your mouth shut.” I twist my lips into a cruel line. I can’t hate my father and Number Six more than I do at this moment. If he absolutely has to get a new wife so frequently, can’t he at least pick somebody with more than one brain cell? “I’ll personally destroy anyone who upsets Paige, even if it happens to be my father’s sixth—or is it seventh? So hard to keep track—wife.”
Paige squeezes my hand. “It’s all right.”
Her small voice makes me even angrier. This whole damn dinner’s supposed to be about me getting to know her family and her being happy that she got to spend time with them. But no, my fucking family has to ruin it.
If I were a woman, I would run like hell the other way if I had to marry into a family as fucked up as mine.
“No, it isn’t,” I say. “You are the love of my life. As we like to say in our own family, don’t let anything excuse others’ poor breeding.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Mom says, picking up her wine glass.
The muscles in Dad’s jaw flex, and Number Six looks down in her lap, her eyes cloudy with confusion.
Since I can’t actually punch her, I signal for scotch.
* * *
Paige
Ryder shouldn’t have said those things like we are crazily in love.
It was too sweet, and it made my heart flutter like this whole farce is real rather than make-believe—a means to an end for both of us.