Chapter 31 Best Decision, DrunkSober
BEST DECISION, DRUNK OR SOBER
DAVINA
Three weeks of marriage, and I still wasn't used to the way Dallas looked at me across a room.
He was doing it now, that slow, heated sweep of his gaze that started at my heels and traveled up.
“I can feel you looking at me,” I said, adjusting the placement of a cheese board for the fourteenth time as I cut him an amused glance.
“I like the view.” He leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest, biceps straining against the fitted black button-down he'd rolled to his elbows.
I cut him an amused glance, and his grin was slow.
The doorbell rang, interrupting our moment, and nerves bunched in my stomach as I glanced in the direction of the front door and then back to Dallas, who was already moving.
This was it. The moment we'd been building toward for weeks.
Both sets of parents. All the siblings who already knew and had been keeping secrets for us.
Brooke and Matt. Kali and James. Everyone we loved gathered in one house, about to learn that Dallas and I were madly in love and got married in Vegas.
No pressure.
“Breathe,” Dallas murmured, suddenly beside me, his hand warm on the small of my back. “We've got this.”
“Easy for you to say. Your mother isn't going to ask if you’ve had your hormones checked.”
“Has your mother asked that?”
“Multiple times. She's convinced my life choices are the result of a thyroid imbalance.”
The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time.
Dallas dropped a kiss on my temple, soft, grounding, before heading toward the door. I took a breath, smoothed my dress, and prepared to announce my accidental marriage to everyone I loved.
No big deal. Totally normal Friday evening.
Brooke arrived first because Brooke always arrived first. She swept through the door, her arms already extended for a hug that was more tackle than embrace.
“You survived!” She pulled back to study my face. “I was convinced you'd flee the country before tonight.”
“The thought occurred to me.”
“And yet here you are. Facing your family. Like a grown-up.”
Matt appeared behind her, filling the doorway. He pulled Dallas into a hug that was more shoulder-clap than embrace, the kind of greeting men exchanged when words felt insufficient.
“You ready for this?” Matt asked, low enough that only Dallas could hear. Or so they thought.
“Born ready.”
“Liar.”
“Absolutely terrified.”
“That's more like it.”
Kali and James arrived next, still wearing that newlywed glow.
The next twenty minutes were a blur of arrivals. Dallas's brother, Austin, a slightly shorter version, strolled in with a bottle of wine. His sister Cheyanne followed, all wild curls and high energy.
Delilah arrived in a black dress and killer heels.
And then… the main event.
The doorbell rang, and my stomach dropped to somewhere around my ankles.
“Parents,” Dallas and I said in unison.
His mother appeared first. Linda Morrison was a petite woman with silver-streaked hair swept into an elegant twist.
“Sweetheart!” She pulled Dallas into a hug, and he returned it without hesitation, melting into her embrace. “You look thin. Have you been eating? Those protein shakes don't count as meals.”
“I've been eating, Mom.”
“Vegetables?”
“Some vegetables.”
“Green ones?”
“A concerning number of green ones. Davina's been cooking.”
Linda's gaze swung to me with laser precision. I felt myself being assessed, cataloged, and, based on the smile that spread across her face, approved.
“So you're the woman who finally got my son to consume produce.” She crossed the room and took both my hands in hers. Her grip was warm and surprisingly strong. “I've heard so much about you.”
“Good things, I hope?”
“Mostly good things. Some terrified things. A few things that made me question whether my son had finally lost his mind entirely.” Her smile widened. “But the way he talks about you? That told me everything I needed to know.”
Behind her, Dallas's stepfather emerged, Richard Morrison, a quiet man with kind eyes and the patient demeanor of someone who'd spent years managing the chaos of the Dodger family.
He shook my hand firmly, said Welcome to the madness, and immediately sought out the cheese board like a man who understood his priorities.
My parents were... my parents.
Mom swept in wearing a floral dress. She surveyed Dallas's house, our house, like someone cataloging reasons for concern.
“Interesting choice,” she said, which could have meant anything from lovely space to I'm calling the health department.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“The kitchen is nice.” Her gaze landed on Dallas, traveled the full length of him, and returned to me with raised eyebrows. “And this is the man you've been hiding?”
“I haven't been hiding anything.”
“You've been hiding something, Davina. You always have that look when you're hiding something.” She turned to Dallas. “I'm Margaret. Davina's mother. I assume you know who I am.”
“I've heard wonderful things,” Dallas said smoothly.
“Lies, probably.” But she was almost smiling. “You're very large.”
“I get that a lot.”
“I imagine you do.”
My father, bless him, simply shook Dallas's hand, said “Nice to meet you, son,” and joined Richard at the cheese board. Men of few words, united by their love of aged cheddar.
Dinner was an exercise in controlled chaos. I'd made pasta because pasta was safe. Everyone loved pasta.
“So,” Linda said, setting down her wine glass. “Is anyone going to explain why we've all been summoned for this dinner party with such urgency?”
Silence fell like a hammer.
Across the table, Delilah's expression remained carefully neutral. Austin had suddenly become fascinated with his napkin. Cheyanne was attempting to communicate something to Dallas through a series of eyebrow movements.
Dallas's hand found mine under the table. Squeezed once.
“We have an announcement,” he said.
My mother's face cycled through seven expressions in approximately two seconds, landing on something between hope and horror. “You're pregnant.”
“What? No…”
“I knew it. I knew there was a reason you've been glowing. The glow. I told your father about the glow.”
“There's no glow, Mom…”
“There's definitely a glow,” Kali contributed unhelpfully.
“There's no baby glow,” I clarified, feeling my face heat. “That's not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?” My father asked the question calmly.
Dallas and I exchanged a look.
“We got married,” I said.
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear Ricky breathing from his position under the table, where he'd been systematically stealing scraps.
Linda spoke first. “I'm sorry, could you repeat that?”
“We got married. Three weeks ago. In Vegas.”
My mother's wine glass tilted dangerously. My father caught it before it could spill.
“Vegas,” Linda repeated slowly.
“There was an Elvis impersonator,” Dallas offered, as if that explained anything.
“An Elvis impersonator married my son.” Linda pressed her hand to her chest. “I... I need a moment.”
Richard simply refilled his wife's wine glass. “I think we all need a moment.”
“You got married.” My mother's voice had reached that dangerous octave that preceded either tears or violence. “My daughter got married in Las Vegas to a professional wrestler and didn't tell me until three weeks later.”
“Mom…”
“I didn't get to see you walk down the aisle.”
“There wasn't really an aisle…”
“I didn't get to cry into a tissue and tell everyone how beautiful you looked.”
“To be fair, I don't remember how I looked. There was a lot of tequila involved.”
“Tequila?”
Dallas winced. I winced. Across the table, Brooke was intently studying her pasta as if it contained the secrets of the universe.
“Maybe we should back up,” Dallas said, deploying that charm he saved for press conferences and parental confrontations. “The tequila wasn't the cause. The tequila was... adjacent to the cause.”
“Adjacent,” Linda repeated, the word dripping with maternal skepticism.
“We were in Vegas for Brooke and Matt's wedding,” I explained, finding my voice somewhere beneath the mortification. “And somewhere between the arrival and the I dos, we decided, in our very impaired state, that we wanted to be married too.”
“Because you were inspired by love?”
“Because we were inspired by...”
“Tequila.” My mother's diagnosis was firm.
“And… something else,” Dallas said quietly.
The table went still. Even Ricky stopped his under-the-table campaign to listen.
“I've wanted to be with Davina for longer than I was willing to admit to myself.” His voice was steady and certain in a way that made my throat tight.
In a way that made me believe every word he said as he hand squeezed mine.
“Vegas wasn't a mistake. It was messy and spontaneous and definitely involved too much tequila, but it wasn't a mistake.
Marrying Davina is the best decision I've ever made, drunk or sober.”
My mother's expression shifted from outrage to skepticism as she looked at Dallas. “You mean that.” It wasn’t a question.
“Every word.”
Linda made a sound, half laugh, half sob, and pressed her napkin to her eyes. “Oh, for heaven's sake. Couldn't you have given me a warning? I would have worn waterproof mascara.”
“Surprise factor was part of the charm.”
“The charm of giving your mother heart palpitations.” But she was smiling now, watery and bright. “Come here. Both of you.”
We stood, and suddenly Linda's arms were around both of us, pulling us into a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and acceptance. “Welcome to the family,” she murmured against my hair. “Officially. Finally.”
“Finally?” I pulled back to look at her.
“Oh, sweetie.” Her smile was knowing. “Matt told us about you ages ago. Said Dallas was hopelessly gone for some woman who called him a 'testosterone-poisoned man-child' within five minutes of meeting him.” She patted my cheek. “I knew then you were perfect for him.”
“That's... oddly specific criteria.”
“My son needed someone who wouldn't put up with his nonsense. You clearly don't.”
“I really don't.”
“Perfect.”
My mother had risen from her seat and was making her way around the table. She stopped in front of Dallas, studying him.
“You love my daughter?”
It wasn't a question, but Dallas answered anyway. “More than I knew I was capable of.”
“And you'll take care of her?”
“She doesn't need me to take care of her. She's the most capable person I've ever met.” He paused. “But I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of her anyway.”
My mother was quiet for a long moment. Then, to my absolute shock, she pulled Dallas into a hug.
“Welcome to the family,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “If you hurt her, I know people.”
“You know lawyers.”
“Same thing.”
The tension broke like a fever, and everyone was talking at once—congratulations and questions and Cheyanne demanding to know if she got to be an aunt soon. Austin was shaking Dallas's hand. Delilah was explaining the surgical instruments threat to Richard, who looked impressed.
And in the middle of all of it, Dallas found me. His arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. His lips brushed my ear, breath warm against my skin.
“We did it.”
“We did it.”
“Your mom hugged me.”
“I know. I think I need to lie down.”
His laugh vibrated through both of us. “Later. Right now, I think we need to toast.”
He was right. Austin was already raising his glass, calling for attention. The room settled, all eyes on us.
“To Dallas and Davina,” Austin said, his grin all sharp edges and genuine affection. “Who have collectively decided that normal dating timelines are for the weak and that sometimes the best decisions are made at 3 AM in Vegas.”
“By Elvis,” Cheyanne added.
“By Elvis,” Austin agreed. “May your marriage be filled with passion, partnership, and significantly less tequila than its origin story.”
“Hear, hear,” echoed around the table.
Glasses clinked. Wine was drunk. And somewhere in the chaos of family and love and the beautiful mess we'd created, Dallas kissed me.
It wasn't for show. Wasn't for the cameras. Was just for us.