Screwed (V-Card Diaries 2)

She stops, turning to frown over her shoulder as we join her in a space between the other tables.

“Harlow wanted to call you last week and ask your advice on the best way to break the news to everyone,” I say with a self-conscious smile. “I told her I’d rather keep it a surprise, but now I wish we’d asked for help. There are a lot more Raines at that table than I was anticipating. And they’re…very loud.”

Carol’s gray eyes soften the slightest bit. “Well, we’re Irish. We love loud and fight loud, but we’re harmless. Well, except Evan, but he’s a good man as long as you keep him away from whiskey and baseball games.”

“Uncle Evan is very passionate about the Yankees and how much they suck compared to the Mets,” Harlow supplies.

“The Yankees are an abomination,” I agree, earning a smile from Carol.

“You’ll get along great with Evan, then,” she says. “Just win over Donald, and you’re golden. I suggest you show him the ring right away and ask his permission to stay engaged to his daughter. Prove to him that you respect him even though you didn’t ask for Harlow’s hand before you proposed. It’s not too late to show you value tradition.”

I nod seriously and reach out to give Carol’s arm a light squeeze. “Thank you. That’s a great idea. I appreciate the perspective.”

“Me, too,” Harlow says. “And I promise I wasn’t trying to make the week about me, Auntie. I just thought the engagement would be a nice surprise for Gram. She’s been waiting for me to find a great guy and…” She beams up at me, a warmth in her golden-brown eyes that makes my heart do a weird, squeezing thing in my chest. “Well, Derrick’s the greatest. He’s so good to me. I couldn’t ask for a better partner.”

Aunt Carol sighs happily, her face positively pleasant looking now that she isn’t pruning in disapproval. “That’s the most important thing. I always say, pretty is as pretty does.” She chuckles before lifting a pointed brow Harlow’s way and adding in a faux whisper, “But he’s certainly pretty, too. Good work, honey. Much better than that beanpole with the sweater vests you dated in college.”

Harlow laughs. “Amen. Trip was a disaster in so many ways.”

Still chuckling, Carol lifts a finger in the air and whispers, “Just give me a second to get settled and then come break the news. I promise to cheer loud enough to drown out any naysayers.”

“Thanks, Auntie,” Harlow says, her shoulders relaxing away from her ears as Carol’s fuzzy head bobs away. When she’s out of earshot, Harlow grins up at me. “Good work, mister. You may not think ahead, but you play a damned fine game of catch-up.”

“Thanks,” I say as we start slowly after Carol. “So, why were you dating a disaster with a fucking stupid name?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a sigh. “Trip looked good on paper, I guess. From a great family, wealthy, cultured, knew how to sail, enjoyed math nearly as much as I do. But he had a few major flaws.”

“Sweater vests?” I say with a shudder.

She laughs. “Um, yeah. Lots of sweater vests. And snobbiness and accusations that I was a gold digger since I’m from a relatively poor family. At least compared to his.”

“Asshole.”

“Yep,” she agrees. “And he was obsessed with those, too. He was always begging to put weird things in my back door. I never let him, but the asking was off-putting enough. And don’t ask what sorts of weird things, you don’t want to know.”

“No, I don’t,” I agree, enraged at the thought of some sweater-vested loser making Harlow feel like a peasant and being creepy about her ass. If I was lucky enough to have access to that ass, I would be nothing but grateful for the opportunity.

But now isn’t the time to think murderous thoughts about Trip or fantasize about how much I’d like to watch him fall into a lake filled with raw sewage. Now is the time to charm the hell out of Harlow’s family and make sure she doesn’t regret trusting me with this job.

I’m more nervous than anticipated, but as soon as we stop behind two empty chairs and all eyes shift our way, I’m overcome by the feeling that everything is going to be all right. Hell, more than all right. Aside from her parents, who I know from dropping Evie off for overnights at their house when she and Harlow were kids, these people are strangers, but it doesn’t feel that way.

As thirty faces turn to us, with expressions ranging from expectant to surprised to already giddy with excitement, I feel like I’m surrounded by friends, people who only want the best for me and the beautiful girl on my arm.

“Mr. Raine, I’m hoping it’s not too late to ask permission to marry your daughter,” I say, not feeling as guilty as I expected, either. “She said yes, but we’d still love your blessing.”