3. Rule #3 When at family dinners, avoid topics like your career, your love life, and that obsessive crush you’ve had s
Amelia
“Oh, I’m stuffed,” I complain as I lean back in my seat and pat my stomach. On the open rooftop terrace of my best friend’s restaurant, I stare up at the faint night stars, drowned out by the city lights.
These weekly family dinners here have become a tradition, every Wednesday night. My parents are sitting at the end of the table to my right and my brother with his family to my left. Even Matis joins us, sitting in the middle of the table across from me, the two singles left.
“Once again, delicious, Chef,” I say.
My best friend, Freya, beams with a proud smile. Holding a glass of wine, she fiddles with the gold band on her left hand. Ever since Archer put that thing on her finger, she’s been playing with it. There’s a matching one on my brother’s finger as well.
“I’m glad you liked it,” Freya replies.
“I wish I was half as talented as you.”
“Oh, stop,” she scolds. “You are very talented, Amelia.”
I scowl at her because she knows I hate compliments, but she does it anyway.
“She loves to do that,” my brother says flatly. “She’s allergic to praise.”
“Well, too bad,” my mother teases. “Because we’re never going to stop telling you how talented you are, Melly.”
As my cheeks burn, I cover them with my hands. “Please stop.”
“I mean, look at what you did with that club,” my dad adds.
“I gave it a fresh coat of paint,” I reply.
Across the table, Matis grins as if he enjoys my torture before deciding to join in the fun. “It was far more than paint, and you know it.”
“Not you too,” I whine.
“Sorry, Trouble. Besides, I saw you working hard in your studio the other night. Whatever it was, it looked good.”
“Ooh, tell us,” my mom says with excitement as she leans forward to hear the details of my current project.
With a shake of my head, I grab the wine bottle from the table and refill my glass. “It was nothing, really. I’m just working on a spring line for a program I’m trying to get into. I’m not going to actually make it.”
“Boo,” Freya says as she wads up her napkin and throws it at me.
“What was that for?”
“Do you remember when I was opening this place, and you bullied me into believing in myself?”
“Yeah, because you’re actually a kick-ass chef. I’m a barely trained designer with no fashion experience.”
This time, the entire table boos me at once, and I’m assaulted by flying napkins from every direction.
“Amelia Shannon Kade,” my mom scolds me. “You take that back right now.”
“You are going to make that program, and you’re going to be a star,” Freya says firmly.
With that fierce expression on her face, I really have no choice but to surrender. Putting my hands up, I let her win this one.
“Fine, geez.”
The table falls into casual conversation, finally taking some of the attention off me. Clutching my necklace between my fingers, I spin the charm around the chain to busy myself.
For a while, it’s just nice to listen to everyone else speak without feeling their eyes on me. As my parents tell us about their latest trip to London, I notice Matis watching me for a moment.
I glance his way briefly, and our eyes meet. The way the corner of his mouth lifts makes my stomach somersault with butterflies. It’s a completely innocent smile, and it ends far too soon.
“Traitor,” I mouth, making his shoulders shake with silent laughter.
“Sorry,” he mouths back.
When I glance at my best friend next to him, I find her and Julian kissing quietly and her leaned up so close to him she’s practically in his lap.
I make a look of disgust. “Get a room.”
Everyone laughs, except for my brother, who simply rolls his eyes. At the end of the table, my mom has her hand linked with my dad’s.
“Amelia never did like PDA much,” my mom says before leaning over and giving my dad a quick kiss.
I make another gagging expression and turn away. “Because you two are always doing that.”
“What’s wrong with public displays of affection?” Matis asks from his seat across from me.
“Nothing, when they’re not your parents,” I reply before taking another drink. “Or your brother,” I add when I notice Julian getting a little too cozy with Archer this time. I wish they’d keep their hands where I can see them.
“She’s just jealous,” he murmurs before practically sucking his fiancé’s face off right here at the dinner table.
Picking up the many napkins now in front of me, I toss one back at the both of them. “Knock it off. Our parents are here!”
But they’re not much help. They’re practically doing the same on the other side.
Yuck.
The only two left not sucking face are me and Matis. With a disgruntled humph, I cross my arms over my chest and pick at the last bits of rice on my plate. I can feel him watching me though, with that stupid, handsome smirk on his face.
“You wouldn’t mind it so much,” he says with his sexy-as-sin accent. “If it was you.”
Down, girl. He doesn’t mean him and you.
My mouth goes dry, but I play it off with a sarcastic smile and avoid his eye contact at all costs. “I beg to differ, mon vieux. PDA is gross. Romance is overrated, and love is a trap.”
He chuckles at the slightly taunting nickname, unbothered by the fact that I always call him old. If only he knew it was all lies. Lies, lies, lies. I adore the idea of PDA and romance and everything that comes along with it…but only with one person.
“Someday, Trouble. You’ll see.”
Someday. Someday, I will find someone who distracts me enough to tear my heart away from the man across the table. I have to believe that. I can’t possibly be this lovestruck forever.
“Trust me, Mel,” my brother adds while running his hand through his perfect blond hair. “If I could find it, I have no doubt you will too.”
At that, I have no response. Honestly, that’s what probably hurts the most. Julian, my taciturn, bristly, unlikable big brother, found love before me. And not just any love. Epic, all-consuming, ground-shaking love with two people.
It’s not fair.
“That is…” he adds before pressing his lips to the rim of his whiskey glass. Something about the mischief on his face tells me I’m not going to like what’s about to come out of his mouth.
And I am right.
“If you ever give up that obsessive crush of yours.”
My eyes widen and my cheeks grow hot. “Julian!”
He only laughs while I stare daggers at my best friend. She puts up her hands in surrender. “I didn’t say a thing.”
I was aware my brother knew I had a major crush—just not on whom. I mean, we did grow up together, and in my teenage years, I didn’t keep much held in. When I was obsessed with something, I made it my entire personality for months.
But the only person at this table who knows the subject of my infatuation is Freya. And if she promises she didn’t tell, then I believe her.
“What crush?” Archer asks. “Is it on me?”
“You wish,” I snap back.
He laughs, and Julian only scowls. “Both of you stop it.”
“Who is the crush on?” Matis asks. The sound of his voice even asking that makes me want to crawl under the table and never emerge.
“No one,” I answer flatly.
“Julian, don’t tease your sister,” my mom scolds us like we’re five again.
“Thank you.”
“Who is the crush on?” Matis asks again, the genuine curiosity on his face making me realize this won’t be that easy to drop. I should throw my brother off this roof right now.
“Seriously, no one,” I say without looking him in the eye. “You don’t know him.”
I feel Freya watching me with wide eyes across the table.
My brother leans back, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. “It wasn’t no one when you stole his scarf in twelfth grade.”
I could scream, but he wouldn’t get it anyway. Julian has no idea the owner of that scarf is sitting at this very table. But Freya shoots him a terse glance for me, which I hope conveys to him to shut the hell up.
“You stole his scarf?” Matis asks.
“Yep,” Julian replies.
“No,” I say at the exact same time.
“Yes, you did,” my brother persists. “You still have it back home. I see it hanging on the back of your door.”
“It’s a good thing you’ve got two fiancés, Freya, because I’m about to kill one of them.” My fist clenches around a harmless butter knife, and I glare daggers at my smug, blond target.
The rest of the table chuckles while I continue plotting murder.
“That sounds pretty romantic to me,” Matis adds, stealing my attention for a moment.
As I turn toward him, I wonder if he’d think it was so romantic if he knew the scarf was once his, and when I took it, I was eighteen and he was forty-six.
He left it in the back seat of my parents’ car one night, and I’ve held on to it ever since.
It’s lost its scent over the years, but I still keep it as a memento. Neither of my parents come into my room anymore so neither of them has noticed it concealed behind my door.
I hide my beet-red face in my hands.
“I had a crush once,” he says with a reminiscent look on his face.
“You did?” I ask.
“Yes. I was only seventeen.”
“Did you tell them how you felt?”
Matis only laughs while gazing longingly at his wineglass. “No. I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“She was a nun.”
“Oh.”
Everyone breaks out in laughter, and I try to imagine what Matis would have been like as a teenager. Was he always so suave and charming? I bet he could have had every girl in his school if he wanted them.
“And now, here I am…thirty-six years later and still alone.”
The sullen expression on his face takes me by surprise. Matis, alone? It seems unfathomable. He exudes confidence and swagger. He’s never alone unless he truly wants to be. He is the life of the party and the easiest person to be around. How could he ever feel alone?
My dad claps a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “You’re not alone tonight.”
“No, I’m not,” Matis replies with a gracious smile. Lifting his glass, he clinks it against my dad’s.
“I didn’t know you were…” The words come out of my mouth before I even realize what I’m trying to ask.
“What?” he replies.
“You know…dating? Or looking? I mean, I guess I just thought you wanted to be alone.”