The Write Off: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy (Love In 2C Book 3)

Chapter 34

Rilla

I don’t know what fork to use.

The salad has arrived and I don’t know what I’m supposed to eat it with. I stall, taking my time to place my cloth napkin on my lap, hoping someone else will start eating before I do. Both Logan and his father ordered the soup, so unless his mom decides to stop talking long enough to put something in her bird-like mouth, I’m out of luck.

The small one? It’s probably the small one, right? A person wouldn’t eat steak with that tiny pronged device. But is it too small? Maybe it’s there in case we order dessert later. Or perhaps you’re not supposed to use that one at all. It’s a decorative fork used to identify people who shouldn’t be here.

Unable to delay any longer, I pick up the small fork, waiting for some kind of alarm bells to sound, alerting everyone in this over-priced restaurant that I don’t belong here. When nothing happens, I breathe a sigh of relief. With the delicacy of a surgeon extracting an appendix that’s about to blow, I pierce the fork through a slice of tomato and bring it to my mouth, making sure to chew with my mouth closed.

I know Logan told me to be myself, but from the moment he introduced me to his parents I’ve been desperately trying to be anything but. His mother looks like she could be on European currency. Given Logan’s age, I think she should be nearing sixty like my mom, but she could easily pass for someone in her forties. Her skin is smooth and taut, no trace of laugh lines. Considering she hasn’t smiled once since we’ve been introduced, maybe that’s not so surprising.

His dad, on the other hand, looks like I imagined. He’s not quite as tall as Logan, but he has the same strong features. His hair, though peppered with white and gray, looks as though it was once the same dark brown. His eyes are also similar, but colder than his son’s.

“The ballroom was already booked, but Marguerite–you remember Marguerite Rutherfurd, Logan. You went to school with her son, Patrick. Marguerite was able to persuade the hotel to cancel the other event and give us the room instead. The whole thing would have been an unmitigated disaster, otherwise. I mean, can you imagine? Being forced to change venues on such short notice?”

“Where did you say you were from, Ms. Pine?”

I’d like to reply that I didn’t because they have not asked Logan or me a single question since we sat down, but something about this man’s demeanor tells me that would not turn out well.

“I grew up in Maine. Portland.”

“What do your parents do?”

“My father was a partner in a law firm. He retired last year. My mother was an elementary school teacher before she had my brother and I.”

“And your brother? Is he a lawyer as well?”

“No, Josh went into education. He’s a teacher here in Boston.”

He fixes a pointed stare at Logan before raising his wine glass to his lips. “Your father must have been disappointed.”

That’s putting it mildly. My father told Josh that he was throwing his life away and things between them were strained for years. It wasn’t until Dad’s health scare that they talked things out and mended their relationship.

“He did expect him to study law. But once my Dad saw how happy teaching makes him, he understood, and now he couldn’t be more proud of him.”

The cold eyes settle back on me and I hold them, refusing to be the one to look away first.

“Well, tradition is more important to some families than others.” He looks back at his son. “Perhaps Travis will understand that like his father did.”

“Or, maybe,” Logan looks to the ceiling with a humorless laugh. “Just maybe you could restrain yourself from saddling a child with your unrealistic expectations.”

“How can you call them unrealistic? Your brother had no trouble meeting them. He set a perfect example that you refused to follow.”

Logan tenses, but his mouth forms a small, forced smile. I’m not sure how he’s staying so calm, especially as I feel my own anger building on his behalf. From what he’s told me, I really wouldn’t say that Eric was a perfect example of anything except a complicated and deeply flawed man.

I can practically see his mother’s pulse jump in her elegant neck and her perfect facade slips as she tries to change the subject.

“You’re an author, Rilla?”

“Yes. My debut is set to come out early next year.”

“It’s exceptional,” Logan says, placing his hand over mine on the table. The warmth from his hand travels straight to my heart because I know that he means it. “It’s the first in a six-book series.”

His father’s eyes narrow at me. “So I take it you have no plans for children anytime soon.”

My chin drops to my chest, but I close it quickly, attempting to mask my shock at his bold assumption. Logan opens his mouth, but I squeeze his fingers and say, “No. No plans for the near future.”

“Forgive me if that seemed intrusive, Ms. Pine. But we already had one son get trapped by an opportunistic social climber. You understand our trepidation.”

I feel Logan tense and deep down I know that this is about them and not me. That I should keep my mouth shut and let him deal with the arrogant asshole who raised him. But staying silent is not my forte and, as usual, I react.

“Forgive me if I’m making assumptions, but from what I understand your son married Shannon because he wanted to. Though, given how loosely he took his marriage vows, he didn’t sound like much of a prize to me. And that opportunistic social climber made you a grandfather, so maybe you should show her a modicum of respect.”

His face darkens, turning a shade of purple I’ve never witnessed in nature.

“How dare–”

“How fucking dare you. I have no idea how you had a career as a doctor because your bedside manner absolutely sucks. You think your career makes you better than everyone else? That those two initials that come after your name mean you can treat people however you want and get away with it? Didn’t you take an oath to do no harm? And yet here you are, hurling insults and hurting people like that’s your true vocation. In the few sentences you’ve spoken to me, you’ve insulted me, my family, and, worst of all, your own son, who I happen to love. He has more talent, strength, and compassion in his left thumb than you have in your entire soulless body and I’m half-tempted to spread my legs and let him breed me in this tacky-ass restaurant just to piss you off.”

I push myself back, grab my wine glass, and, without a backward glance, storm off towards the exit. I down the wine on my way, handing the empty glass to the speechless hostess before pushing open the door.

My throat burns as I inhale. I almost feel like I could open my mouth and breathe fire like the dragons in my books. It’s an unseasonably cold May night and the brisk air assaults me, clearing my head and my senses. The gravity of what I’ve just done sinks in, the weight of it almost bringing me to my knees. My eyes fill with tears and I start to walk, not sure where I’m even going.

How? How did Logan, my Logan, come from that? That man is so hateful, so cruel, one would think any of his offspring would have horns, or at least a tail.

And how is it that I was only able to finally say the words I’ve been holding back for weeks in the same breath I used to implode our relationship?

All I had to do was get through one meal. One stupid meal with his stupid parents and I couldn’t even manage that. I couldn’t sit there and say nothing while that man tore down the best thing that’s ever been mine.

“Rilla!” I hear Logan yelling at me, but I don’t turn around. I’m not ready to face him after my outburst. I quicken my pace, but I can’t possibly outrun those long legs, especially in these stupid high-heeled boots.

He catches up to me in moments, but I can’t look at him.

“I’m sorry, Logan.” I stare at his chest. His coat is unbuttoned, his dark blue shirt looks almost black in the moonlight. “I’m so sorry. That man is something else and I just couldn’t swallow his specific brand of bullshit. I guess I was right. I knew deep down that I was going to fuck this up and I succeeded, spectacularly.” My teeth chatter violently as I stand there, waiting for him to put me out of my misery and end this.

He drapes my coat around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest, his hands rubbing my arms in an attempt to warm me.

“How did you grow up with that poor excuse for a human? That’s the kind of parent that creates serial killers. Wait: Are you a secret serial killer? Is this some sort of long con where you make your victims fall for you and then you cut their hearts out? I saw something like that on Dateline once.”

Logan’s body shakes against me and I assume it’s from the cold, like me. But then I hear his deep laugh coming from above me. He tightens his arms around me almost as if he’ll fall to the ground laughing if I’m not there to steady him.

Irritation needles me. He can’t possibly be enjoying this.

“If you’re going to break up with me, I’d appreciate you at least doing it with a straight face.”

This sobers him up a bit. He pulls back, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. “Break up with you? Why would you think I’m going to break up with you?”

“Maybe because I just told your father to fuck off in a very loud, very rude, very me way?”

The confusion on his face clears and he runs his fingers over my hair, smiling at me.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone stand up to him. For me, anyway. Every time he’d come down on me, tell me what a disappointment I was, no one was ever there to take my side. Not my brother. Sure as hell not my mother. The only thing you succeeded in doing was making me fall even harder for you.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Really. I mean, how could I not when you declare your love for me in the same breath as threatening to let me breed you in a crowded restaurant?”

I laugh into his chest. I’m unsure if my shivering is from the cold or just my body’s response to this emotional overload. He opens his coat, wrapping one side around me then the other. A giggle rises from my chest as I realize what he’s doing.

“We’re really having a Bridget Jones moment now,” I say, smiling up at him with wet eyes. “Though in the movie she’s not wearing any pants.”

“I have a solution for that,” he says, playfully hiking my dress up. I slap his chest, laughing harder. He holds me so tightly, but I hold him even tighter.

“I love you,” I say, my voice clear and sure. “Just as you are.”

“I love you. Just as you are.”