Plus, she’s nice to me, so bonus.
I knock on his door, then push open the frosty glass, poking my head in.
He looks up from his desk, and when he spots me, his face completely lights up with a smile.
“Lia,” he says as he stands. “What a great surprise.” He walks over to me, takes my hand, and pulls me into his office while shutting the door behind me. Before I know what’s happening, he has his hands on my cheeks and tilts my head as his lips land on mine. I place my hands on his chest for balance while he kisses me deeply like we haven’t seen each other in days. Not sure if his mother has talked to him yet. Not sure I would receive the same welcome. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says between kisses.
I move my mouth along with his, sink into his hold, and let all the stress and concerns fall to the side as I allow myself to be right here, at this moment.
After a few more seconds, he groans and pulls away, his eyes looking heady and his breath labored. “Okay, things are going to get out of hand if I keep kissing you.” He smiles and strokes his thumb over my cheek. “Why am I so lucky to see you this afternoon?”
God, he’s being so sweet, I almost feel bad about bringing this up, but if I don’t, it’s going to thoroughly bother me, which will turn into resenting him, and I don’t want to resent him.
“Have you spoken to your mom yet?”
“No, I’ve been busy. She’s called twice, though. Why?”
“Uh, I went to look at the church with your mom this morning.”
He pulls me toward his desk, and he takes a seat on the edge while pulling me between his legs. “How was it? Beautiful, right?”
“Very,” I answer. “But I think we might change it to the gardens at the club.”
“Oh wow, that would be . . . that would be perfect.” He smiles so lovingly that I question myself and what his mother said earlier.
“I think so.” I want to tell him thanks to Breaker but decide that’s probably a sore subject. The last thing I want to do is make him mad or defensive, especially when I’m about to have this conversation with him. “But something happened when I was there at the church.”
“Okay . . . what happened?” he asks skeptically.
“First of all, it was an accident.”
“Now you have me worried. What happened?”
“Well, your mom made me try on her wedding veil because she wanted to see me walk down the aisle wearing it. I was wearing those shoes you got me that are a touch too big, and long story short, I slipped out of them when walking, tumbled into a lit candle, and it rolled off the holder and right onto the veil. It caught on fire, and the only reason I still have hair at this point is because Breaker doused me in holy water.”
Brian doesn’t initially react.
He just stands there, a confused look on his face. After a few moments, he says, “Are you being serious?”
“Yes, I wouldn’t lie about this. Trust me.”
“So you set my mom’s veil on fire?”
“Not on purpose,” I say quickly. “It was all an accident. And that, uh, that wasn’t the only thing that happened.”
“What do you mean that’s not the only thing that happened?”
“Well, you see, after the church, I went and changed because the holy water soaked me, but we had another appointment to pick out invitations, and well, I got a paper cut while flipping through the paper, didn’t realize it, and ended up flicking my blood on your mom’s face and all over the paper.”
“What?” he asks, his eyes wider than ever now. “You flicked your blood at my mom?”
I tug on the lapels of his jacket. “Once again, not on purpose. All a mistake, but I thought I should tell you because I’m sure she called you to beg you to end things with me.”
Brian’s expression lightens as he pulls me into a hug. “Lia, she wouldn’t do that.”
“I don’t know. She was pretty upset.”
“She was probably upset, but she does like you. I’m sure an apology is all that’s needed.”
Yeah, that’s what I thought too.
“Either way,” he continues. “I’m sure it’s fine. Are you okay, though? Almost setting your hair on fire and bleeding heavily doesn’t sound like a fun day in wedding planning.”
“Yeah, pretty traumatic, but that wasn’t the real reason I came over here.”
“It wasn’t?” he asks. “Jesus, if that’s not the reason, then I think I should mentally prepare myself.”
I slip one hand under his jacket as I say, “Uh, probably.” I’m not a confrontational person, but I know this needs to be addressed. “So when we were at the church, before the fire, your mom said something to me that didn’t really settle well.”
“Whatever it was, I’m sure she didn’t mean it,” he says, jumping to her defense right away. Needless to say, it bugs me that he never jumps to my defense, especially not in front of my future mother-in-law. “She’s stressed with all the planning. I’m positive she’ll say a lot in the next coming weeks that won’t settle well. Don’t take offense to it.”
Lovely.
Can’t wait for that.
“No, this was something you said . . . about me.”
His brow furrows, and he tilts his head to the side. “What did she say?”
I drop my hands from his and say, “Well, she said that you don’t like my glasses and that they’re childish, that I would be better without them.”
I wait for his backtracking.
For his denial.
For any sort of indication he didn’t say that.
But he doesn’t.
“Did you . . . did you say that to her?” I ask.
He glances away and then nods. “I did. She was talking about the wedding pictures and how your glasses might mess them up, and I said that maybe you’d consider contacts since the purple glasses were kind of childish.”
“Oh,” I reply, feeling really stupid. It’s not every day your fiancé tells you you’re childish. It’s not something you want to hear either.
“Lia, I don’t want you to take offense to that.”
My head snaps up. “How could I not take offense to that, Brian? I’ve had these glasses forever. They’re the ones my mom helped me pick out. They’re special to me. They mean something.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that,” he says. “I just thought it was one of your . . . quirks. You know, like how you ironically wear shirts with characters from Harry Potter.”
“I don’t wear those ironically. I wear them because I like them.”
“Well, either way, I didn’t realize there was any meaning behind the glasses. I’m sorry, Lia.”
I don’t know what to say.
Thank you for apologizing seems so sterile and robotic.
It’s okay is not appropriate because it’s not okay.
So instead of saying something, I just stay silent.
“Lia.” He tugs on my hand. “I said I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” I say, staring at our connected hands. “Just embarrassed, I guess.”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed. I should never have said anything. That was really shitty.”
“Do you think they make me look ugly?”