The Ex (The Boss 4)

“Who’s Emma?” Leanne pushed her gum from one side of her open mouth to the other.

“Emma is Neil’s adult daughter,” Mom said with a forced smile. “Who is exactly the same age as Sophie.”

“Okay, we’ll put a pin in that and come back to it later.” My own smile was just as forced. I opened the door to Emma’s room. The queen-sized bed was big enough for sharing.

Leanna looked up for the first time and wrinkled her nose. “Wow. Frilly.”

Emma’s room was pretty frilly, but nothing like the bright pink nursery in the London house. She’d lived out the last of her at-home years in the New York apartment, so the pale pink walls and rose-colored carpet weren’t quite as little-girl obnoxious as they could have been.

“Come on, Mom, Grandma. You’ll be down here.” I waved them on to the guest room, which was a lot less pink and had a king-sized bed. Neil had argued that we couldn’t have so many people sharing rooms; he clearly didn’t know country families that well.

“Where’s the bathroom? My back teeth are floating,” Grandma said, dumping her duffel bag on the bed.

“It’s over there.” I gestured to the en suite restroom and put my hands on my hips as I faced my mother. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her forehead crinkling in mock confusion.

“The crack about Emma’s age,” I hissed in a low voice. “What happened to, ‘I see you as an adult getting married to another adult?’”

“I still mean that,” she insisted. “I was just trying to be funny.”

“Well, it wasn’t!” I pressed my fingertips to my forehead. “Mom, Neil is really stressed out about the wedding. I’m really stressed out about the wedding. We’ve been sniping at each other, and… I just don’t need the little digs, okay?”

She sighed. “Sophie, you have to give me some leeway here—”

“No, I don’t.” Having the same argument over and over was tiring. I deserved a candy bar after this. “I’m getting married. You’ve known this was coming for a while now. If you needed to come to terms with it, that’s on you, not me. I’m sorry you didn’t take care of whatever this is that you’re feeling until right this very moment, but this wedding isn’t about you. It’s about Neil and me, and us merging our families together. Don’t ruin it for me by putting this…parental disappointment or whatever all over it.”

I turned and stomped out. The rest of the family staying with us had come off the elevator, and I gave quick hugs and pretended that I needed the bathroom to quickly excuse myself. Once I was safely closed behind my bedroom door, I let myself rage-tremble.

“Hey, Soph?” Marie called through the door. “Are you okay?”

I opened the door a crack and peered through. “Not really.”

She pushed her way into the room and looked around. “Wow, this is nice.”

“Thanks. You should see the closet.” I gestured toward it.

Marie went over and gave herself a quick tour of the dressing room then came back and said, “Your mom driving you nuts yet, or what?”

Marie looked a lot younger than her late forties and masked her gray hairs with a blonde dye job. She had a way of asking a serious question while still smiling that had always put me at ease.

I flopped down on the couch in front of the fireplace. “Yes. Hello, my wedding is not about her issues—which, by the way, she needs to get the fuck over.”

Marie sat beside me. “She needs to take a little chill. How about I shadow her and provide a buffer?”

“Don’t you guys want to go out and see the city and stuff?” I asked. “You don’t want to be stuck here with us.”

“Nah. Jacob and Leanne and them can go out. Besides, we’ll be here until Tuesday. And thanks for letting us all crash here, by the way.” She nudged me with her shoulder. “You weren’t afraid we’d steal the silverware, huh?”

“No. But thanks for coming.” I blinked my eyes and stretched the skin beneath them. “I can get through this. I can survive this wedding.”

“I hope so,” Marie deadpanned. “You can’t afford this place on your salary.”

* * * *

I breezed into Friday night thinking, yeah, this is okay. Just the rehearsal. Nothing to get nervous about.

I needed to stop listening to myself. When we went to the Plaza, I was woefully unprepared, emotionally, to act out every detail of our ceremony.