Chapter 31
Meirna
“Not cake. Not cookies. Nothing,” Bronte’s mother, Eleni, affirms, kneading handmade dough on her wooden countertop.
“My husband loved everything in the dessert category. You couldn’t keep him out of the kitchen when I was baking something.
But this—” She smiles warmly, as if divulging a huge secret—“my son will eat in groves.”
Maybe it is, after all.
“What is it called again?” I ask, needing to write this down because I may have found Bronte’s kryptonite.
“Bougatsa,” his sister, Callie, replies, making her own creation of classic chocolate cookies at her mother’s side. “I’ll spell it out for you so you can make it at home.”
She winks at me, and both Bronte’s mother and sister have been nothing but hospitable and welcoming since we arrived.
Callie is beautiful with long, black hair and stunning green eyes. She’s petite, in a red dress-sweater that goes right above her knees. She swims in it, but her accessories really made it adorable and comfortable.
Eleni is no different, small in stature with the same gorgeous features and pleasing smile. A completely different greeting from Catherine and Alan when I was first introduced to them.
They looked me up and down, clearly weren’t impressed with what they saw, and when they figured out that I worked, I won the gold medal for not being good enough for their son.
Bobby must’ve convinced them otherwise, or Catherine knew her son was only going to think with his dick when it came to me, so they caved.
If you want to call it that.
“Semolina Custard is the traditional way,” Eleni informs me, reaching for the bottle of wine at her left and refilling my glass without my asking. “But sweet Mizithra cheese is Bronte’s favorite.”
I have zero clue where to get that, but I’m hoping I don’t need to ship it straight from Greece or wherever it’s made.
“We’re also making Vasilopita,” Callie says. “It’s a sweet bread reserved for New Year’s Day, baked with a coin inside. Whoever finds it has good luck for the rest of the year. Bronte got it this year, and now he has a new wife.”
Ompfh.
Yeah.
Still getting used to being one, with a man that wasn’t the man I was supposed to marry, but I can’t really complain.
He’s been…amazing.
“I made roast pork and turkey,” Eleni states. “I hope either one is okay. I forgot to ask Bronte if you were a vegetarian.”
“I’m not,” I confirm. “They both sound amazing.” I watch both the women work side by side while I sit on a stool from across the kitchen island when I ask, “Can I help with something—”
“No,” they both answer at the same time.
“You’re our guest,” Eleni adds. “We just want you to relax, let us pepper you with questions, and enjoy the next couple of days with you.”
Okay, then.
I’m used to being Catherine’s bitch when she needs something moved or found, so this is different.
“Do you have any pictures of your wedding?” Callie asks, reaching for a pair of scissors when the answer is no.
Unless Bronte hired someone, but I highly doubt it since seconds after our “I do’s” he was wanting to fuck me.
“It was so unexpected,” I mutter. “I didn’t even think about it.”
Callie and Eleni share a look and both appear unpleased.
“Just another thing I’m going to chide him about,” Bronte’s mother grumbles. “That boy is normally so organized and particular about things. The one thing I need him to be on top of—the biggest day of his life—he forgets.”
“I feel awful,” I blurt out, not knowing exactly how much they know or don’t. “I would love to—”
“Don’t,” his mother quickly assures me. “You had nothing to do with my son’s inability to operate.”
“He must’ve been so excited,” Callie claims with a huge smile, seemingly thrilled that Bronte’s normal self didn’t function properly. “Or nervous. We’ve only met one of his girlfriends, and she was…something.”
Intrigue sparks inside my brain, and I find myself already leaning over the counter. “Really? What was her story?”
“Complete bitch.”
“Callie,” her mother immediately scolds, knocking her arm with her elbow. “Manners.”
“She was,” his sister extolls with a lift of her shoulders. “Girl thought she was the best thing next to microwave mac and cheese.”
“She was educated.”
“Really? Because I didn’t know they taught how to be a royal cunt in college. I must’ve missed that class.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, stifling a laugh, while Eleni elbows her daughter again.
“Obviously, both my children are suffering from a breakdown because both of you have lost your damn minds lately.”
Callie steals a glance at me, clearly not sorry for what she said, and I’m very curious to learn more about this so-called girlfriend.
I’m just gathering intel like I’m going to be able to use it against him in no capacity other than I know.
I’m not going to ride him about his dating life.
However, I’d love to know how he managed to bring a woman like that to meet his family.
“I’ve noticed how you haven’t denied it, mother,” Callie taunts with a smile. “You knew she wasn’t right for him and you know it.”
“Who?” Bronte’s voice drifts through the kitchen, causing me to glance over and find him striding in my direction.
“Sophia.”
Bronte actually slows for a fraction of a second, causing one of my brows to raise because well, well, well.
Busted.
Bronte sends an unamused look in his sister’s direction as he comes to my side. “A little too early to be airing out my dirty laundry. Let me be married for a year first so Meirna’s stuck with me.”
“She’s not stuck with you when you’ve hit the year mark,” his mother lightly chides. “She can leave your sorry butt whenever she likes. Especially if you plan something and don’t invite anyone she loves to—”
“Mama,” he drones, and rightfully so. His mother has truly been on his case about our secret wedding, as he stated before, and she hasn’t let off the gas. I don’t hate it. Because I’ve gotten a front row seat. “I’ve apologized a million times.”
“Fifteen,” his mother corrects. “And you’ll do it until I feel like it’s been enough.”
“So eternity,” Callie quips, dropping a bagful of chocolate chips in her batter. “Enjoy.”
Bronte grumbles something inaudible under his breath before his arm comes around my waist. “I have a surprise for you, Daydream.”
Glancing back up at him, he’s void of any bothersome thoughts when it comes to his mother’s chiding and solely focused on me. “What is it?”
“Why don’t you come look and see?”
Sliding off my stool, Eleni and Callie are already smirking like they’re in on it, and I highly doubt they’d spoil it for Bronte if I ask.
So, I allow Bronte to guide me out of the kitchen, underneath the garland and white Christmas lights over the doorway, and into the foyer.
And then I’m hit in the face when I see my parents standing near the door, shaking off their coats from all the snow falling outside, and immediately sprint to them.
I’m received with tight hugs every which way and my mother and my mixed tears of joy.
I haven’t seen my parents since last March, when my dad wasn’t feeling well and my mom was overwhelmed with what to do.
The doctors said he was doing too much and to take it easy.
Bobby didn’t come, I remember that, and I’m happy he didn’t.
Now I have his lookalike behind me.
Shit.
This is karma at her finest because I was just enjoying Bronte’s sister and mother riding him about us being married and not telling them.
Now, I have to tell my parents that I married my ex-fiancé’s brother—randomly and without their knowing—and I’m in for my own version of remorse hell.
“We missed you, Meirna,” my mother coos to my left, squeezing me harder for added effect when my father adds in, “You look older.”
“Dad,” I drone, pulling away from him and receiving a teasing smirk from his face. “It’s been nine months, really?”
“Really,” he replies immediately. “We live in upstate New York not LA. I haven’t seen my daughter in over a year.”
“Nine months,” I remind him. “Twelve is a year.”
“Nine too many.” My mother pulls me in for another warm hug. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. You been okay?”
Uhh…sure?
“You’re married,” Dad recites casually, not sounding upset at all.
“Yeah,” I deadpan, moving away from Mom to look at him. “I’m married.”
“To Bronte.”
Shit.
“Yep.”
“Is that a nickname?” Mom asks even though he’s standing right behind me. “I thought he only went by Bobby.”
Okay, I want to die now.
“Bronte is sophisticated,” Dad says. “Strong.”
“Historical.”
My brows furrow at my mom’s weird adjective. “What?”
“Congratulations,” Dad gushes, yanking me into his stocky frame. “We’re happy for you, kid.”
“Thanks, Dad—”
“Welcome to the family, Bobby.”
Damn it all to hell and back.
I feel my dad extend his hand to Bronte, and I don’t know where to begin. How to explain—in less colorful terms—how I ended up with Bronte and not Bobby. How much information I should tell them so they don’t go running to the cops and make this into a whole big fiasco.
“Dad,” I begin, straightening my spine and stepping out of his grasp as a wave of almost crippling anxiety courses through my veins. “This…isn’t Bobby.”
My father’s head snaps to me like I’ve lost my mind, but he doesn’t say anything.
My mother doesn’t either.
The last thing I want to do is ruin this reunion and Bronte’s family’s beautiful dinner they have planned tonight.
However, I didn’t know they were going to be here, so I didn’t plan this out yet.
“This is Bobby’s brother…Bronte.”
I can’t explain the looks on my parents’ faces, but I’ll settle for puzzled and pending a full-blown explanation.
“Um…” I press my lips together because this is more than a two-sentence explanation. It’s a crazy oops just kidding kind of thing. “Well, you see, I met Bronte first. And—um, well…I accidentally messaged Bobby, instead.”
Dead silence.
Hesitating, I add, “And I realized my mistake…recently. So—um, we got married. Bobby…wasn’t the man I thought he was.”
More silence.
Exhaling because my lungs demand new oxygen, I’m about to break under the pressure when I feel Bronte’s palm resting on the middle of my spine for strength.
“I think if you don’t tell her,” I hear him say. “She’s going to stroke out.”
Both my parents balk out in laughter and, obviously, I’m the butt of the joke here.
“Bronte explained everything, sweetheart,” she coos, seemingly okay with it—if she knows all of it. “What your husband did was more than heroic and chivalrous. We couldn’t ask for anything better for you, hun.”
How would you know that?
You don’t know anything about him.
I eye my own mother suspiciously because I know he left out the kidnapping, not-telling-me-until-we-were-on-the-plane thing about who he was and what was happening before he married me.
I’ll give him that.
Because I don’t want to explain it either.
“He’s great,” I blurt out because, well, he is. “I’m so happy you guys are here.”
“I’m starving,” Dad says because, I mean, being hungry all the time doesn’t fall far from the tree. “Can I have some water, Bronte?”
“Of course,” he says, striding for the kitchen without another second to spare.
Then my parents immediately jump me.
“You good?” Dad quickly asks in a low, muttered tone. “He said he didn’t tell you until after you got married.”
Bronte…he’s dead.
Dead.
Deader than dead.
I hope he doesn’t have plans for a long life because he is so dead!
“I—yeah, I’m…fine.”
“Say it more confidently,” my mother lightly chides under her breath. “This isn’t ideal and when we got the call—”
“Oh my God,” I moan, bringing my hand to one of my temples. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”
“He wanted to surprise you.”
“And he was honest with who he was and how things came to be,” Dad inserts simply. “I can respect it.”
“Question is, that was a lot,” my mother notes. “So, we just want to make sure you’re alright and we don’t need to hire a lawyer—”
“I’m okay,” I quickly reply before Bronte comes back. “Everything is fine.”
“But you’d tell us, right?”
I nod. “Of course.”
“Because you didn’t tell us yet,” Dad lightly accuses. “And if he has something he’s blackmailing you with—”
“It’s not like that. I promise.”
“Meirna, we’re a bit worried. We…had in our heads that you were marrying Bobby. We’ve met Bobby. But…his brother told us about some shady dealings and attempts to get you involved. We’re concerned.”
Shoot me now.
“It’s been handled,” I vouch simply. “Bronte’s great, Mom. You’ll love him.”
She presses her lips together and bobs her head, looking as though she agrees, but her expression still holds that motherly unease. “I’m sure we will.”
Right.
However, am I staying married to this man for her to get a chance?