Chapter 21
Fancy Snacks
Mateo
I’m in the driver’s seat tonight. It’s a good thing because it’s forcing me to take my eyes off of my wife in her stunning gown.
Holly dresses professionally and conservatively daily, preferring long sleeves over sleeveless outfits when going out on the town.
She has the most stunning lilac-colored gown on, and it perfectly complements her curvaceous figure.
My thoughts about my wife are interrupted by a growling noise coming from said wife.
I glance at Holly. “Did you skip lunch again?”
Holly folds her arms. “Are you stalking me and my eating habits, Mateo?” I don’t miss how she’s avoiding eye contact with me.
“Yes, I have been, considering I didn’t see you all weekend and was concerned about you eating when you didn’t leave your room for any meals on Saturday and Sunday.”
I see her wince out of the corner of my eye. “I forget to eat lunch a lot when I get caught up in my work.”
“That’s not good.”
She shrugs. “Eh, it doesn’t hurt me any to skip a meal, anyway.”
Hold up. Did the words I think she said just come out of her mouth?
No way.
“Holly, you’re beautiful. Please don’t skip meals. You need food. Food is energy.”
I see her face in the window’s reflection. Her eyebrows are pulled down, and the frown on her face hurts my heart.
“I know food is energy, farm boy.” I can practically hear her eye roll.
“Do you know you’re beautiful?”
The other side of the car is silent.
This gets fixed now.
“Holly. You’re gorgeous. Please tell me you know that you’re attractive.”
Holly’s shoulders hunch. “I know I’m at least kind of attractive. Mainly, I know men think my bank account is attractive.”
I wave my hand in the air, battling the rage at all the men who made her feel like the only thing attractive about her was her money.
“Forget your bank account. This is about you.” I wish I could pull over and look her in the eyes for this conversation, but we’ve hit traffic on the way to the venue and there is nowhere to get off.
“You are stunning. You are gorgeous. Your curves draw the eyes of every man in the room and I’ll probably have to fight them off tonight because of how good you look in that dress.
You are just as gorgeous in that dress as you were in the sweats you wore yesterday.
You are beautiful all day, every day. You don’t need to lose weight.
You don’t need to change. You are gorgeous. You just are.”
Traffic is at a standstill and red brake lights are all I see. I throw the car in park and turn to Holly. Her hands are tightly folded in her lap. A tear falls onto the top of her fingers from her bowed head.
“Holly?” I whisper.
“Why do you have to be so nice?” She mutters. Her words sound harsh, but a myriad of emotions lace themselves beneath the surface.
“Come again?”
Holly throws her head back, spearing me with her gaze.
“You. You’re perfect. You’re kind, considerate, and you say the most heart-melting things.
Meanwhile, I feel like a broken wreck. This marriage isn’t fair to you.
You should be with someone who is confident, put together, and who loves dirt, living in the country, and all the things you love.
” She wipes her tears away and pulls a tissue from the glove box.
She dabs her eyes, avoiding eye contact with me.
I reach out and grab Holly’s free hand, squeezing it tightly in mine. “Holly, I’m not perfect.”
She scoffs.
A horn blares behind us. I turn back to the road to see cars moving.
Of course I’m having a heart-to-heart with the woman I’m falling in love with in the middle of stop-and-go traffic. I have great timing with such things.
I close the distance between me and the car in front of us and keep my eyes on the road as I let out a little of my heart.
“Holly, I’m not perfect. I have issues too.
Over the next year, you’re going to discover a lot of them.
I’m very impulsive and I make cringy dad jokes.
I can take some things seriously, but most of the time I dodge hard conversations with humor.
I’m a momma’s boy, and you’ll hear me call her daily.
The point is, we both have things we’re working on and improving at.
I’ll probably leave messes around the house that will drive you crazy.
I’ll make a lot of noise with my tools that will become annoying at some point, I’m sure. The point is, I’m not perfect.”
She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Yeah, but you don’t have a bunch of emotional trauma from your parents to deal with.”
I hold in a sigh. “My parents aren’t perfect either.
It was different being raised in a half-white, half-salvadoreno home.
I’ve got weird traditions, and my family had to figure out how to balance their different cultures and parenting styles.
I’m the guinea pig as the oldest. I’m sure I have a lot of weird habits.
It might not be emotional trauma like what you and Alex have dealt with, but I can understand having to work through habits and hardships of the past.”
Silence is our companion. We get through the traffic and to our destination without saying another word. The tension in the car is making me itch, and I pull at the collar of my tuxedo, careful not to mess with the bow tie that took way too long to tie.
I pull up to the valet service and hand the young man the keys as I get out of the car. I go around and open Holly’s door. Since our shopping trip yesterday, she’s been willing to wait for me to get her door.
I’m counting it as a win.
We walk up to the entrance; a small red carpet lines the way into the corporate-looking building, its wall of glass windows reflecting the flashing lights outside. We pose for the event photographer on the steps before entering arm and arm.
Holly’s stomach growls, severing the tension between us like a knife.
I chuckle. “Before we talk to anyone, we’re getting some food in you.”
Her smile is hesitant, and her grip on my arm loosens. Maybe my words did get through to her a little bit.
We walk in to a sea of men and women in black tie clothing.
My height comes in handy as I look for a server.
I spot one handing out hors d’oeuvres in the middle of the main floor.
We weave through sharply dressed men and women until the server holds his tray out to us.
I pick up several of the tiny food items, holding them in my palm for Holly.
The server arches an eyebrow and I give him my goofy smile and thank him.
I’m rewarded with a small nod and another raised eyebrow before he moves on.
Holly tugs on my arm and I lean down as she goes up on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “You’re only supposed to get one at a time, Mateo.” She steps back down and looks around at the people around us, who are giving me the side eye.
Well, messing this up didn’t take long. I shrug. “Guess I’ll have to eat these until there’s only one left for you.” I’d wink at her, but she’s not making eye contact with me. Her eyes have focused on the food in my palm.
She grabs two of the little snacks. I’d prefer she take them all, considering they’re barely even bite-sized. I don’t know how people think microscopic snacks can even be good, let alone satiating.
I shove one in my mouth.
As soon as the cold dead fish taste hits my tongue, I gag. The small shrimp topping a cucumber slice is not a combo I’d have ever chosen. My taste buds are revolting.
This cold and rubbery piece of meat should not be called shrimp. The cold cucumber underneath it has a creamy sauce with a strong garlic flavor. It’s all the wrong flavor notes combined, and I don’t know if I can force myself to swallow it.
Holly has not stopped giggling since I put this microscopic gag food in my mouth. The pleasant sound is the only thing keeping me from spitting the food out in a napkin.
Finally, I’m able to swallow, and it's a miracle I don’t even dry heave. I cover my mouth, because I don’t know how long that atrocity will want to stay down for.
“Still want to eat all of those by yourself, farm boy?”
It’s a good thing I like my wife.
Especially when she’s laughing and sassy.
“Anything for you, Buttercup.” I move to put another cucumber shrimp abomination in my mouth, just to see how she reacts.
“No, stop,” Holly says as her hand wraps around mine, pulling it away from my face.
“As you wish,” I say as our eyes meet.
A blush spreads across her cheeks and I’m dying to kiss every spot of her pink-tinted skin.
I will have the records note it is very hard to be married to a woman you’re practically in love with, and for her to not return your affections.
Being a gentleman has never been so hard. No wonder so many men don’t do it. It takes an inordinate amount of self-control.
But Holly is worth every agonizing second and all the patience I’m cultivating.
Holly finishes the few shall-not-be-named hors d’oeuvres. After taking the last bite, she pulls out a breath mint from her clutch, pops one in her mouth and offers one to me.
It’s official. My wife is an angel.
Next, she pulls out her lipstick, quickly swiping it across her lips, touching up their raspberry tint.
It’s as if that swipe of lipstick gives her an extra dose of confidence.
Her shoulders straighten and she surveys the room like she owns the place.
Her smile is confident, and I’m wondering if it’s real or if this is the facade she puts on when she needs to conquer the world.
She loops her arm through mine. “Ready to mingle until our feet hurt and our cheeks are strained from fake smiling?”
I straighten my bow tie before tucking my free arm behind my back. “I’ve trained my whole married life for this. Bring it on.”
Holly smiles up at me before scanning the crowd. “First order of business: to see who I need to avoid and who I need to talk to.”