Grey hoped he didn’t betray any of the sick edginess that was wreaking havoc within him. He’d never done it before, and was discovering that it was no small feat to meet a young lady’s father for the first time. Sweat was dampening the inside of his collar at the back of his neck and the muscles in his face were beginning to ache from holding them in a forced-neutral mask. He had the feeling that the man would very much like to take him outside and castrate him.
Perhaps this encounter was especially brutal because he’d eloped with the man’s daughter without ever having said so much as a ‘hello’ to the man before. Or perhaps it was because this marriage was only for show and Grey had the uneasy feeling that her father suspected as much. It took all of Grey’s willpower to remain steady, mild and unblinking when Mr. Ramirez looked at him. He had the strangest urge to hang his head in shame, to back down and retreat.
“Magalita, why would you do this thing?” Hector’s gaze finally broke from his and Grey was grateful for the chance to close his eyes. He was surprised at what an effect the man had on him. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He felt exhausted and taut and ready for a physical altercation, yet he also seemed somewhat frozen where he was, in a sapped state of limbo.
What had he just called Maggie? Grey re-opened his eyes and looked from father to daughter and back again. Maggie was apparently at a loss for words. Grey’d promised himself he wouldn’t do anything openly antagonistic or vindictive, but he’d also vowed to let her fend for herself. She’d made this mess for herself by trapping Grey in this marriage, by blackmailing him, and he wasn’t about to come to her rescue for anything. Perhaps that’s why he was so surprised when the next words out of his mouth were “If you prefer sir, we can be married by a priest as well.”
What the mother-fuck? Why the fuck would he say something like that? What a joke.
Grey mastered his face and body, managed to remain the image of calm, collected humility. His heart was beating more rapidly than normal and he didn’t dare look at his parents. He stayed focused on Ramirez, who sat back in his chair, a skeptical look on his face. Grey guessed Maggie’s Father might be affronted by that half-assed offer he’d just made about the priest. It had been a fairly arrogant asshole thing to say, to tack-on there.
Because of course if he’d given two shits for the man’s religion, given a fuck about the man’s good graces then Grey’d have gone to him and asked him, old-school style, for his daughter’s hand in marriage. But that hadn’t happened. Instead it had been all haste and secrecy and City Hall and now a last minute brunch.
“Do you love this boy Magalita?” His voice broke slightly. Grey swallowed. He hoped the man didn’t have a break-down. ‘Magalita’? Grey almost felt compelled to smile at the endearing little nickname.
‘Fuck my life.’
Half nervous, half curious, Grey found he wasn’t able to look at Maggie while he waited for her to answer, but was very intent to hear how she’d reply. He stared at his Bloody Mary and waited for her to speak.
It came out as a meek little whisper, a strangled “yes.”
Grey wondered, for half a moment, if it was true. She’d told him she loved him, and he’d used it to get her into his bed. But she’d also been very adamant that she hated him when he’d broken it off with her, she’d been furious and bitter and fairly eloquent in her expression of odium. Could she still harbor that feeling for him? Love? He furrowed his brow. He hoped not. That would make his life a great deal more difficult than it was already rapidly shaping up to be.
Then it occurred to him that it was very likely the next question out of Hector’s mouth would be: ‘do you love my daughter?’
‘Oh fuck me sideways. Don’t ask me that.’ Grey was certain he wouldn’t be able to meet the man’s eyes and lie point blank about his feelings for the man’s daughter. ‘Don’t do it padre.’
“And you young man?”
Goddamnsonofableedingcunt.
Grey waited. Eyebrows raised, he stared at the drops of condensation on the outside of his tall crystal glass, watched one fat droplet finally give way and slide thickly down the smooth, clear surface. A darkened halo was forming at the base of the glass where it sat on a chocolate brown cocktail napkin. He could smell the sweet-acrid sting of tomato juice and the clean, sterile smell of the celery between his fingers. He wanted the drink but was unable to move to lift it at that moment so he contented himself with slowly, methodically stirring the cool, fresh stalk in the garish red-orange pool of tomato drenched vodka.
He’d told Maggie that he loved her. He’d said it easily, without blinking, and he’d sounded sincere. But that had been for one reason only. He was skilled at telling pretty young virgins that he loved them, had fallen in love, was a new man and all that other horseshit that seemed to melt their girlish hearts and inhibitions. He’d told her he could see himself with her for the rest of his life. But he hadn’t meant any of it, hadn’t believed it even for a moment. It had all been a practiced, deliberate, well-rehearsed charade.
The irony of it was kicking him in the fucking balls.
He was an excellent liar. But somehow he knew the words would ring false if he were to answer Mr. Ramirez in that moment.
“Can you provide for my daughter?”
Grey let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He met the man’s eyes squarely.
“Absolutely sir.” And Grey wished he could add: ‘you beautiful mother-fucker!’
He was relieved and grateful and filled with a respect for the man. Grey decided Hector Ramirez was a class act. Looking at the man now it was obvious to Grey that they both recognized what an absurdly unnecessary question that had been. Grey had more money tucked away in his trust fund, he was sure, than this man had ever seen in his life. Yet he’d asked that question because that’s what a father was supposed to ask, and he’d deliberately left the ‘love’ question out of it. He was avoiding a scene.
There was a long moment of quiet at the table as it seemed everyone was waiting for Hector’s verdict. From the other side of the restaurant Grey could hear the tinkling of the baby grand; someone was playing one of those old fashioned tunes, those classics that find their way into every other chick-flick romantic comedy on the market. He thought his dad might have a recording of Louis Armstrong singing this one.
Hector had broken his gaze with Grey and was now staring past him to the view of the falls at Grey’s back. Grey knew that his marriage to Maggie was binding, no matter what Hector had to say about it, but also knew the man’s words had the power to devastate his daughter and he hoped, for the sake of convenience, that the older man would give his blessing, however begrudgingly it may come.
“What’s done is done.” Hector said at last, sounding weary but resigned.
Grey closed his eyes for a long moment. If he was feeling this relieved he could only imagine how Maggie was feeling. Not that he cared.
“Shall we have a toast?” hi mother asked sweetly, and signaled for Jonah to resume his work with the corkscrew.
Grey wasn’t sure if he should say something more. He felt a tightness across his ribs and a squeezing in his throat but couldn’t dream up an appropriate response.
The light, hollow pop of the cork made him jump and he felt an irrational irritation with his fucking father.
He automatically picked up the crystal champagne flute as Jonah neared with the champagne and accepted the pour, though he’d have rather punched the smiley fucker in his fucking gut. His old man was loving every minute of Grey’s misery. Smug mother-fucker.
When all the flutes had been filled with pale fizzing wine, Jonah remained standing and held his aloft. The sun from the windows was reflecting off Jonah’s glasses and Grey couldn’t see his eyes. “To My son and his beautiful new bride—“ Grey grit his teeth while Jonah grinned warmly. “May your marriage be a rewarding one, and may you love each other more every day.” What a fucking wise ass. “Maggie—“ Jonah’s grin softened and a misty note colored his voice. Give me a fucking break. “We are so thrilled to welcome such a beautiful, intelligent, captivating young woman into our family.” Grey heard his mother sniffle and saw Mr. Ramirez shift in his seat slightly. “And Grey?” Grey’s mouth was set in a firm line as he forced himself to look at his dad. “I’ve never been prouder of you than I am today.” Jonah extended the glass toward the center of the table. “To Mr. and Mrs. Delaney!”
They all touched glasses, soft clink after soft clink, cheers and salut, and finally drank to the couple. Grey glanced sideways at Maggie. She’d only taken a very small sip. He finished his own and picked up the Bloody Mary.
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