Twenty-Nine
Oliver
I’m pouring a cup of coffee when I hear a car door close outside, followed by soft steps and knocking on my front door.
I pad through the kitchen and open the door to find Mia with her hands completely full standing on my porch.
“Hi.” She huffs out as she pushes past me to somehow make her way down the hall while barely being able to see over the stuff in her hands.
“Hi.” I close the door and follow after her.
She opens up the bathroom she prefers and has somehow collected some of her things throughout the times she has been in the house.
She tosses a bag and a bunch of random things in the sink.
Underneath it all is a bag I assume is holding her dress that she hangs up on a hook on the wall behind her.
“I’m going to get ready here. AJ isn’t home. My apartment is cold and the bathroom didn’t sound right. And this way, you don’t have to come and get me.” She takes a deep breath now that she isn’t holding everything.
“The bathroom didn’t sound right?” I ask for clarification.
“Yeah. Like my music didn’t sound right. This bathroom sounds perfect. So I’m going to get ready here.” She looks up at me with soft eyes and even softer lips. “Is that okay?” Something warm floods my chest as I look down at her. A sense of home fills the air and I nod faintly between us.
“Want coffee?” She’s always bringing us coffee, it feels satisfying to offer it to her instead. She grins and kisses my cheek before pushing me out of the door.
“Extra cream!” I hear her call after me.
Two hours later. We are both showered and I am finishing tying my bowtie and checking that everything is buttoned properly.
I spray cologne on before going to check on her in the other bathroom.
The closer I get though, I slow my steps.
This feral, chaotic, ball of sunshine is singing “Smack That” while dancing in the mirror.
The door is only slightly cracked but I get the full image.
Her hair is down. All her wild curls are on full display with the front pieces pinned back perfectly.
She is finishing up a layer of her deepest shade of red lipstick when her eyes catch me watching her and she smirks.
She opens the door fully and does a quiet spin in her dress and heels.
The full effect of how beautiful she is shows on my face when she stops in front of me.
Her dress is a deep red to match her lips and shoes.
It’s fully open in the back and held up by two strings that lay over her shoulders perfectly and tie at the back just below where her tattoo ends.
The sides of the dress are loose and showcase the sides of her ribs and breasts.
Two splits are cut out over her hips and are so thin that only her leg is showing, but the allure of all the bare skin underneath is there.
Her viper is peaking out of one side, the script tattoo on the other.
The necklace that Melinda got her falls down the opening of the dress in the front.
She walks the line between sin and elegance.
She holds out the stray strings and props her chin on her shoulder as she turns around peeking up at me.
“Tie me up?” Her lips twitch at her own words and I shake my head at her as I take the strings between my fingers.
I run a knuckle down her spine softly. Her tattoo is healed but the new ink is a stark contrast to the smoothness of her skin.
I drop my head letting my lips tenderly graze her shoulder.
I feel goosebumps appear on the spot under my lips, causing me to smile.
I fully kiss the soft spot on her neck before whispering, “You’re too pretty to ruin right now, but later…
you’re mine.” I tie up the strings and will my body to take a step backwards from her.
I clear my throat, “We should probably get going.” It’s roughly an hour away, and she warned me it would be an all day event.
“Wait!” She stops me from walking past her.
“AJ made me promise to take a picture of us because she still doesn’t believe you are wearing a tux.
” She runs to get her phone from the bathroom, cutting the music off too.
She drags me to the living room. “Lighting is best here.” She pulls me up against the brick wall and tries her best to take a picture but she is much shorter than me.
I take her phone from her and take several pictures.
The last one ends with me tucking her closer to me and my head falling into her neck.
I pull the car up to where she said the gala would be taking place and I’m immediately reminded that wealth is real.
This isn’t a cute house that is hosting a birthday party.
It’s a mansion. One that you just know has an on-call gardener.
Men dressed in all black meet us as I pull up.
They take my car after I help Mia out. We stand staring at the old building for a few seconds.
Her hand twitches in mine and I can feel the anxiety vibrating off of her.
I squeeze her hand affectionately and joke, “Damn,” whistling slowly.
“Maybe I should be calling you Princess…” She pulls her hand from mine so quickly that my hand is still lingering in the air by the time I realize it.
“Don’t ever call me that.” She says harshly. I know she is stressed about having to be around her family tonight, but there is a darker meaning lingering in her words. I swallow, nodding my head in understanding.
She starts walking down the decorated path and I follow, like I always do.
There are already a good amount of people congregated inside, huddled in different groups admiring the art showcased around the floor.
There is a large room off to the side that has tables decorated to fit royalty and the lighting makes it feel like you’re in a movie.
Everything is set in a perfect place. There are waiters floating around seamlessly, offering drinks and mini desserts.
One stops in front of us, and I recognize that tiny square from somewhere.
Mia claps her hands and pops one in her mouth, eating it all in one bite.
All eyes are slowly taking her in. She does a small happy dance after swallowing the dessert.
She smiles over at me, but it’s tighter than I’ve ever seen it.
“Cherry lemon squares. My grandmother actually makes them herself but pretends she doesn’t.
She makes them every year for my birthday.
” I reach out to take one when Mia dips under my arm and the tray before jumping into the arms of an older woman dressed in a floor length red dress, the same shade as Mia’s.
Her hair is the same shade, and just as wild, but pinned elegantly up.
The long sleeves of her dress envelope Mia in a tight hug and I can feel the love of the embrace from where I stand.
The waiter dips slightly before walking off, leaving me standing watching these two hold their hug for a few seconds longer. Mia pulls away and the other woman finally comes into full view.
“This is my grandmother.” Mia motions next to her, while holding the older woman’s hand. “Gigi, this is Oliver.”
I’m suddenly thankful they interrupted me trying to snatch up one of those cherry lemon squares because I would have either choked, or it would have fallen out of my mouth with the way it is still hanging open.
“This is Cheryl.” I correct her. The same woman that Dad introduced me to months ago at that Scrabble tournament.
There is no way. Although seeing them both stand before me, they are identical.
Only there’s roughly forty to fifty years between them.
“Yeah, but I call her Gigi.” Mia waves me off, not catching on that I recognize her grandmother right away, blinded by her clear excitement at seeing her.
“The girlfriend you told Pru you had better be my beautiful and perfect granddaughter, or this is going to be very awkward.” Cheryl, Gigi, smirks at me. Of course she would bring that up in front of Mia.
“For fucks sake.” I look over at Mia, then back at Cheryl. There’s two of them. I decide that honesty is my best choice here. “Mia is definitely the girl I was referring to… I just might have exaggerated the girlfriend part.” I wince.
Mia finally catches on and her mouth drops.
“Eddie! The Scrabble tournament… oh this is incredible!” She throws me a smirk that matches the one still resting on her grandmother’s lips, “You called me your girlfriend?” She raises an eyebrow at me, not caring about the title at all, which does weird things to my beating heart right now.
They are both staring me down, waiting for my answer.
“Pru was relentless!” I throw my hands up in defense with a lack of better reasoning.
“She kept trying to set me up with her granddaughter. You were texting me and flirting and it just came out.” I take a step forward and lower my voice, “Why didn’t you tell any of us?
” I don’t have to clarify what I’m talking about.
Her eyes shift and her shoulders slump. I try to not feel so hurt that she has hid such a big part of who she is from all of us, but I hear it come out in my voice anyway.
“None of you asked.” She clips.
“Your grandmother owns half the historic district. You’re basically southern royalty.
Why are you working multiple jobs like you don’t have money?
” I accuse and question her at the same time.
I’m not mad, but I don’t understand why she didn’t tell any of us.
It’s not like we would have cared. Did she think we would expect more from her?
Did she not trust us? Trust me? I trusted her with the most precious thing to me in my life, my mother’s home.