Her palms raised in the air, and her eyes were a rare shade of gold. The tears and disappointment in them made them look even more lovely, and I didn’t know how it was possible. “You have nothing to say?”
“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.
“I want you to take me back to my dad’s. I can’t even look at you right now.” She’d said it, but her eyes were still on me, not only staring at me but expressing love and devotion no matter how hard she tried to fight it. Sure, she was terribly angry, but her eyes anchored to mine, already regretting saying to take her back. But Mia was too stubborn for her own good. She wasn’t going to change her words although she’d already changed her mind.
“All right, if that’s what you want.” I know you like a book, love. “But, I do have one thing to say.” I stood and took a step forward. Her hands clenched into fists, and I wanted to reach out and take them in mine. “I wouldn’t have changed a bloody thing.”
The drive back to Bruce’s was silent. She hadn’t said a word, not even when I pulled into the driveway and noticed Bruce returned from work early, exiting his truck. After turning off the engine, I got out to shake his hand out of respect.
Bruce greeted me in slacks, a button-down shirt, and a laptop bag crossed over his chest. Mia blew past us like a child and I shook my head and held out my hand.
“What did you do?” Bruce asked with a laugh.
“Only love her. Too much, apparently.”
He nodded, confused by my vague response. I wasn’t about to tell him that his future son-in-law had done odd jobs for a gang to find his daughter. Perhaps after the wedding.
“Why don’t you come by for dinner? It would be nice to have another guy around for once.”
“A home-cooked meal? I haven’t had that in … I can’t remember how long. What time should I come by?”
“Oh, man. Six. It’s Italian night, and Diane makes a mean Lasagna.”
Lasagna had been invented and claimed by the British, not the Italians, but now wasn’t the time to educate him. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“YOU HAVE HORRIBLE TASTE IN FASHION,” Bud stated from the chair, flipping through my book. “I remember the days we’d show up for dinner with the parents wearing a suit and tie.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I suppose it’s better than those rags you usually wear,” he tsked, “millennials.”
“Go to work, Bud.” I shoved my foot inside my boot, wondering why he was still here.
Bud stood and adjusted his blue vest. “I’m five hours early. But you know what they say. If you’re on time, you’re late, and If you’re early, you’re on time. Well, I came up with that one all on my own. It’s what got me the job thirty-two years ago. That and my charming smile.”
“Surprised they didn’t let you go for talking the guests out of the building.”
“Someone’s cranky.”
Exhaling, I sat back over the bed with my other boot in my hand. “I got myself into a mess to get Mia back, and now I’m terrified it will be the very thing that will take her away from me.”
“Quite a pickle you’re in.”
“Come on, Bud. It’s not a bloody joke. Can you be real with me for five seconds? Be useful for a change?” Usually, I didn’t talk to elders like this, but Bud was a cross between a fairytale character and Mr. Rogers.
“Advice is what you’re looking for? All you had to do was say so. Take it from me. I was married for over fifty years, wanna know why?” I lifted my hands in a get-on-with-it gesture. “Most women want a man to take care of them, but the wild cards want to be treated as equal. Whatever it is, don’t fight the battle apart. Fight together. Don’t make decisions for her; make decisions together. Be the OG’s, Bonnie and Clyde. Fast driving, guns blazing. You two against the world.” He nodded and held up a finger. “Yup, I am one percent sure, that’s what she wants.”
My brows snapped together. “One percent? And what about the other ninety-nine percent?”
“Mia sounds like a wild card, and you wouldn’t have fallen in love with the other ninety-nine percent.”
You could tell the dining room hadn’t been used in a while. Bruce was back in his relaxed attire, wearing loose jeans and a t-shirt, and he offered me a beer. I accepted to get me through dinner. Stepping into their home was like being locked inside a coffin six feet below ground. It was suffocating, hostile, and nerve-wracking, and no one has yet to say anything. No one had to. Diane’s eyes were invading Mia’s and my space, judging every bite, sip, and where our hands were.
Bruce cleared his throat. “Where were you born in the UK?”
“About an hour outside of London, but I don’t live there anymore.”
“No? Where do you live now?”
“Right now? Old Mill Inn.” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. No one else laughed.
“You should stay with us. There’s no point in wasting money when we have an extra bedroom.”
“He’s not staying here,” Diane snapped. “You can’t just invite people to stay here without talking with me about it.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t come here to intrude. I only came for Mia.”
“Well, I’m ready for another beer.” Bruce stood from the table. “Oliver?”
“Yes, please.”
Diane glanced over at Bruce. “Haven’t you had enough?”
It was amazing, really. Twenty minutes into dinner, and I’d learned more about communication and marriage than I would have from a counseling session. I slid my hand over Mia’s thigh under the table, and she threaded her tiny fingers in mine. Regardless if she was mad at me, I’d never had to doubt we were in this together. Bud was right.
“You two have been together for what? Two years now?” Bruce asked, handing over an already opened Bud Light.
“Yes, sir.” We cheered before he sat back down. Bruce wasn’t so bad. He just had no more fight in him any longer.
“You should run now,” Diane said through a small chuckle. “Do yourself a favor.”
My knee bounced. I looked over at Mia. Her eyes locked on the untouched lasagna before her, and I offered her a few seconds to stand up for herself. She didn’t. I looked over to Bruce, and he remained quiet. Mia’s faced this kind of bullying for over ten years, and I leaned back in the chair. “You know, taking Mia and running far away from here doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”
A laugh cracked from Bruce, and Diane rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“I know what you’re implying. I’m just not entertaining the ludicrous suggestion.”
Diane’s eyes narrowed at me. Mia hadn’t been kidding, she was more vindictive then Dex Sullivan, and there was something dark and buried behind those eyes. “You’re the only fool at this table, Oliver. She’ll do nothing but lie, cheat, and steal from you,” her eyes darted to Mia, and Diane grimaced, “but only after she sleeps with half of your friends.”
“Diane!” Bruce pounded over the table, and the beer knocked over.