Samson returns a minute later, with my family hot on his heels, each with a dish in hand.
“Let’s eat!” Dad says, taking his place at the head of the table.
We all gather around the table and pile our plates high. Mom really outdid herself, with a massive lasagna, sautéed green beans, a fresh salad, and garlic bread.
“Smells good, Mrs. C,” Samson says, shoveling a bite of ooey-gooey-cheese pasta into his mouth. “Tastes good too.”
I watch, entranced, as he licks his lips. How is it he can make something as mundane as eating look like a sexual act?
He catches my eye from across the table and winks.
Mom thanks him and then hums thoughtfully. “You know what you boys need?”
Orion groans. “Not now, woman.”
Dad reaches over and smacks the back of his head. “Don’t disrespect your mother.”
“What’s that?” Samson asks.
“You boys need to settle down with a good woman.”
All eyes fly to me as I choke on my bite of bread.
“You okay, Smalls?”
I nod, my eyes watering as I reach for my glass of tea.
“You sure?” Mom asks.
Another nod.
“Well, if you’re sure…”
Dad waves off her concern. “Stelli’s fine. Just swallowed wrong, right?”
“Mmm. Yup, great.”
“I think I can speak for both of us, Mrs. C, when I say we’re not looking to settle down quite yet.”
Orion snorts out a laugh. “What Samson actually means is I’m not ready to settle down. He’s apparently seeing someone on the down-low.”
Samson cuts his eyes at my brother and my heart thunders in my chest.
Somehow, the dinner I was looking so forward to has turned into my own personal hell.
My mom—the unknowing traitor—is trying to set Samson up, and according to my brother, he’s already seeing someone.
I chance a look in Samson’s direction, only to find his eyes already on me. They’re hard, begging for me to understand.
But I don’t. I don’t understand at all.
Every single time I think we’re nearing a turning point something happens and my hope is decimated.
It takes every ounce of self-respect, courage, and willpower I possess to not run from the table crying.
“Let the kids eat in peace, Lizzie,” Dad says and I swear, he just became my favorite parent.
“I’m just saying.” Mom waves her fork in the air. “Maria—my hairdresser’s niece—is a sweet girl. A looker too.”
“I’m sure she is, Mom,” Orion says in a placating tone.
“Well, one of you boys has to take her out.”
I focus on my food, sawing my lasagna—which now tastes like ash—into neat bites. This conversation isn’t one I want to participate in. Not in the least.
“Why?” my brother asks, placing his silverware down on the edge of his plate.
Mom sighs. “I already told her you would.”
“When?” Orion grits the question from between clenched teeth.
“Saturday.”
“I’m busy.”
“Samson?”
“Ah, Mrs. C, I really am seeing someone.”
“Is it serious?”
My breath stalls in my chest as I wait for his reply. I guess if nothing else comes from this dinner, I’ll officially know where we stand. If he says it’s serious, I’ll know his promises to win me back were nothing more than meaningless words.
Well, I guess that’ll be true if he says no as well. Because either way, if he’s seeing someone else, he’s definitely not serious about me.
“It’s, um…” Samson’s eyes dart to mine, but I look away. “It’s new.”
“I’m full.” I shove back from the table. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Stella!” Mom shouts after me. “Where are you going?”
“I-I forgot, um. I forgot about a thing. I’ll call… later.”
I take off for the door like my feet are on fire, willing my tears not to fall until I’m in the privacy of my car.
“Stella!” Samson yells after me, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
Not until I’m safely back in my dorm, where I can let myself feel the hurt of yet another betrayal at the hands of the man I love—no matter how much I wish I didn’t.
Chapter Seventeen
Samson
Talk about a shitshow.
Last Sunday at the Cartwrights’ was one of epic proportions and it had a domino effect on my entire damn week.
I’m sure this fucking blind date won’t be any better.
I check my phone—again—hoping for a text from Stella. But she hasn’t replied to me since Sunday night when I tried telling her it was all a misunderstanding.
The middle-finger emoji she sent back said she didn’t want to understand.
I don’t know how I keep fucking up with this girl; it honestly feels like I’m shooting myself in the foot. Over and over.
But I’m going to fix this—fix us—again. Even if I have to limp my way down the path to making her mine.
“Are you Samson?” I glance up from my phone to see a woman standing in front of my table.
She’s petite with golden skin, pale green eyes, and caramel-colored hair. By all standards, she’s beautiful. But she’s no Stella.
“I am.” I stand to greet her. “You must be Maria.”
There’s an awkward moment where I’m not sure if I should shake her hand or hug her; luckily, she decides for me by sitting down in the chair opposite of mine.