“Well, are you going to answer my question?”
He stood up straighter, “Do I really need to point out that I basically just told you I’m in love with you? I thought you got it. Fucking Christ, Grace. I have a raging hard-on and I’m trying desperately to defile you against the wall of a disgusting shed in my mother’s backyard. I thought actions speak louder than words?” We glared at each other and then he lowered his voice. “The other night was easily the most enjoyable night of my life, I swear to you. I doubt anyone else could ever top it. You are so uniquely beautiful and sexy, and you moved so perfectly that I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.” He looked down at his pants and laughed. “Which has made life on airplanes and in Aletha’s house extremely awkward.”
Heart slayed. He owned me.
He grabbed my hand. “Come on, silly girl. I want to take you over to my dad’s for lunch, and it’s already getting late.”
“Really?” I looked at my watch. I didn’t realize Matt wanted to see his dad on such short notice. “Oh shit.” I ran through the door of Aletha’s house like a whirling dervish, spinning in frantic circles. “I don’t know what to wear,” I moaned.
Matt trailed behind me and sat back on the guest bed, watching me, hands propped behind his head, a satisfied, smug grin on his face. “Just pick something. You look great in everything . . . and nothing.”
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Clothes went flying out of my suitcase and across the room. “I have nothing!”
“This,” Matt said, picking up an item of clothing from the floor. “Wear this.” It was the dress, the one with the black little flowers and a cut out in the back. “With tights and your boots. You look amazing in it.”
Grabbing it from him, I scanned the wrinkled material. “Throw it to me,” came a voice from the doorway. Aletha held her hands out. I almost started to cry when I looked up to see her warm smile. When I was at my home, I was expected to iron not only my own clothes but my dad’s and my siblings’, too. My mother always said it was about doing my part. Even when I was home from college on holidays, I would spend hours doing chores and ironing. I despised ironing. The mere sight of an ironing board made me angry. Aletha’s small gesture reminded me how much I yearned for a nurturing mother—one who didn’t let my father’s drinking rule our lives. One who sounded excited, who wanted to know me when I called. One who wasn’t spread so thin.
“Thank you, Aletha.”
“My pleasure, sweetie.” I think she meant it. Like ironing my dress actually made her happy.
Within twenty minutes, I found myself fidgeting in the passenger seat of Aletha’s van while Matt blared the Sex Pistols and banged on the steering wheel to the beat, weaving in and out of traffic, totally oblivious to my nervousness.
“Hey!” I yelled over the music.
He turned it down and glanced at me. “Don’t freak out, Grace. They’re a bunch of pretentious assholes. Just play a song for them. They’ll all be totally impressed. Monica will be jealous. Alexander will be a douche. My dad and his wife will be cordial but smug. They’ll all talk about how some famous chef cooked our meal and then my dad will remind you how much he paid for the wine.”
“I feel bad for showing up empty-handed.”
“My mom gave me a bottle of Prosecco to bring.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s sparkling wine, like champagne.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Perfect.”
When we pulled into the driveway of what I would modestly call a mansion, my eyes bulged out of my head. The house was decorated in white Christmas lights and there was a grand Christmas tree in the center of the circular driveway, covered in large, extravagant bows and huge ornamental glass balls.
“My stepmom loves this shit but she doesn’t do any of it herself. She just hires people.”
I spotted the wine behind his seat and grabbed it. We both shuffled toward the door apprehensively. Matt pressed the doorbell; I thought it was strange that he couldn’t just walk into the house he grew up in.
A plump woman in her midsixties, wearing an apron I thought only people in movies wore, answered the door. She was Alice from Brady Bunch, but not cheery.
“Matthias,” she said. Her accent was thick and obviously German.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Naina, this is Grace.”
“Nice to meet you.” She shook my hand firmly and turned. We followed her through an entry and down a long hall.
Who is that? I mouthed.
“Housekeeper,” he whispered and then leaned in toward my ear. “She’s mean.” My eyes grew wide.
Naina turned around and stopped midstride. “I can hear you, boy.”