“Congratulations,” his father says, giving me a friendly hug. “It’s so wonderful to meet the woman who’s stolen our son’s heart.”
“Thank you, it’s nice you meet you, too,” I say politely, in shock at how nice they are.
“You ladies go in, and Lachlan and I will grab your things.”
The second we’re through the front door, I can hear all the voices. I must’ve been too nervous to notice the cars in the driveway, but just as Lachlan said, everyone is here. One by one, they each introduce themselves to me, and I take a deep breath when I don’t see Shea here.
Evelyn tells us they were just finishing getting brunch ready and everyone is heading to the dining room to eat. Since it’s the next room over, I don’t get a good look at the house, but I do notice the striking crystal tear-drop chandelier hanging in the foyer. The living room is to the right, and looks like it’s never even been sat in. The dining room is to the left. In the center is a large sweeping staircase, which leads to the second floor. When we enter the dining room, the huge rectangular wood table takes up the majority of the room. Intricately carved wood bench seats run down the length of the table with a matching armchair on each end.
As if Lachlan can sense how nervous I am, he pulls me to sit next to him and starts making me a plate of food. He’s naming each of the foods, asking if I would like some, since I have no idea what any of this is, when the sound of the front door shutting, reverberates through the room, and in walks Shea. She’s dressed in an adorable yet sexy olive-colored romper with her perky breasts peeking out on the sides. Her blond hair is down in perfect beach waves, and she’s wearing cute nude heels.
She walks around the table with a bright smile on her face, greeting everyone with the confidence and self-assurance I wish I had. You used to, I remind myself. You just have to allow yourself to get back there.
When she gets to Lachlan, who has an empty spot next to him—although, it’s not the only empty spot—she leans down and gives him a chaste kiss on his cheek. I can see him give her a disapproving look out of the corner of my eye, but he doesn’t say anything to her.
She also makes it a point not to say anything to me. Simply sitting down next to Lachlan and making conversation with Riley, who is sitting across from me, as she loads her plate up with food. When Lachlan asks me if I’d like cheese on my eggs, Shea’s eyes swing over to us, her brows knitting together as she watches us.
“That’s sweet, Lach. You’re making your girlfriend a plate.” She says it softly, so only Lachlan and I can hear over the chattering that’s going on all over the table. And then she adds, “But wouldn’t it make more sense for her to make yours?” She grins evilly, looking right at me. “You are young enough to be her second child.” She snorts at her own joke, and I want to hide, because just as she said the last part, the table got quiet and everyone heard.
My heart starts picking up speed, my fight-or-flight kicking in. Of course flight wins out—it always does—only I’m stuck on this bench between Lachlan and his mom with no way to get out without asking Lachlan and Shea to move.
Just as I’m seriously considering jumping over the back of the bench, Lachlan’s hand lands on mine, squeezing it tightly. Calmly, yet loud enough for everyone to hear, he says, “I will not tolerate you speaking to, or about, my fiancée negatively. This is my home, and I will ask you to leave. I don’t care who your mother is.”
Without waiting for her to answer, he leans in so only I can hear and whispers, “I’m sorry.”
Unable to speak without risking my voice cracking with emotion, I nod my okay, refusing to look over at Shea, then reach over and grab my plate Lachlan’s still holding. There’s only a couple items of food on there, and I know I’m still going to be hungry later, but I hate what she said about him making my plate. I shouldn’t let it bother me, but she hit on one of my biggest insecurities about us—our huge age difference.
Lachlan’s brows furrow, knowing he wasn’t done making my plate, but I ignore him and start eating. The entire time we’re eating, his gaze flicks over to my plate. I know he wants to add more to it, or tell me to, but he also knows it will only embarrass me.
His mom tries to make conversation, asking me various questions, but I’m too closed off to converse. I answer her every question, but they’re short and cut off. The worst part is I know what I’m doing, and I hate it. I hate being weak. I want to be strong. I want to snap back at Shea and tell her to fuck off. I want to display my engagement ring, so she can stare in envy. And in my head, I totally do. Too bad, in my head doesn’t count. It’s moments like these I’m reminded of how much further I need to go to get back to being the person I used to be. The person I was before Rick. And then I curse Rick for doing this to me, and myself for allowing him to do this to me. And then I chastise myself for once again letting Rick into my thoughts. It’s really a vicious cycle that needs to be stopped.