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Chapter 55

CHAPTER 55

SPENCER

" W e're going to be late," Marlow said, her naked body pressed against mine.

"I don't care," I muttered. "I like this better."

She laughed and swatted at my chest. "I'm going to have to wear the other dress. The red one is too wrinkled. And I'm going to have to redo my hair and makeup. You've made a mess out of me."

"Oh, baby, I haven't even started to make a mess out of you," I growled and reached for her.

She laughed again and squirmed away, slipping out of my grasp. "Behave," she chided playfully.

I propped myself up on one arm and watched as she gracefully moved around the room, collecting her clothes. She was so effortlessly beautiful, it made my heart ache, and not for the first time, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that she was with me.

"Could you grab my hairbrush?" she asked, pointing toward the vanity table.

I got up and retrieved the object. As I handed it over, our hands brushed, and a jolt of electricity passed between us. She looked at me with those mesmerizing eyes, tempting me to throw her right back on the bed and have my way with her.

But I knew we truly needed to leave. My mother would never let me live it down if I stood them up.

My gaze lingered on her as she quickly dressed and reapplied her makeup. I started to get dressed too. In no time at all, she looked absolutely stunning.

"Okay," she declared finally, standing back and appraising herself in the mirror.

"Gorgeous as usual," I said, stepping beside her to put on my tie.

She turned and straightened my tie, her fingers brushing against my collarbone. "And you're looking quite handsome yourself," she replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

I buttoned up my jacket. "I happen to think we both look better naked."

She responded by playfully sticking out her tongue. How was it that she could switch from seductive vixen to playful in the span of seconds?

"And we're late," she said, a sigh escaping her lips. "Your parents are going to be upset with me. Do you think they'll remember me?"

"Honestly, I don't know. They are kind of self-absorbed. They remember Rhett but that's only because we were always around each other."

"Hopefully, they don't," she said. "I'd like to get off on the right foot."

"You could get off on twenty right feet and they will still find a reason not to like you," I told her. "Promise me you won't take it personal."

"I won't," she said. "Trust me, I can handle them. I know people."

"I believe you. It's them I don't trust."

She gave me a quick kiss. "Let's do this. Try and stay positive."

"Easier said than done."

We left the apartment. The temperature had dropped, and it was officially cold. My mom was not going to appreciate the weather.

"Is it bad I hope the cold will make my parents cut their visit short?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.

"I'm sure the luxury hotel room you've put them up in has good heat," she teased.

"Maybe I should rethink their lodgings."

"Stop." She laughed, putting her hand on my leg.

Seeing her so at ease, I couldn't help but feel reassured. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She was going to make this okay.

"I still think you're crazy for wanting to meet them," I said, my voice softer now. "If I had a choice, I wouldn't subject myself to this hell."

"Every relationship requires sacrifices, right?" she replied, squeezing my hand reassuringly. "I'm willing to meet your parents if it means making you happy. Technically, I've met them."

I loved her for saying that. "True, but you're not a kid anymore. It's different. You are associated with me, which makes you fair game."

"Bring it on," she replied.

I pulled up outside the restaurant. The valet took my keys as I stepped out of the car. Marlow stepped out, using the windows of a neighboring business to fix her hair. I stepped up beside her. "You look fine," I said.

"I have sex hair," she muttered.

I couldn't help but grin sheepishly. "Sorry about that," I said, half-apologetic, half-amused.

She gave me a playful glare. "You should be."

"Shall we?" I asked.

We headed inside the restaurant, the dim lighting creating an indulgent ambiance. Naturally, my folks had chosen one of the poshest restaurants in Manhattan, knowing full well that I'd be the one picking up the bill. They would order the most expensive meals, request the most expensive bottle of wine, and of course, they wouldn't hesitate to order dessert.

As we walked through the entrance, I spotted my parents already seated at a table. The hostess led us toward them. I could hear my mother mid-argument with a waiter, requesting to move to a window seat that clearly had a reserved sign on it.

"Here we go," I muttered, bracing myself.

Marlow looped her arm through mine. "We've got this."

She had no idea how much that meant to me. We approached the table, stopping my mother's argument. The waiter saw his chance to escape and ran.

"Mom, Dad, you might remember her, but let me reintroduce you to Marlow Graylan," I said.

"Well, hello!" Mom smiled, making a big deal of the introduction.

"It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Kane." Marlow smiled.

"You're a Graylan," Mom said. "I don't think I remember you, but it doesn't matter. It's just so nice to finally meet a girl Spencer is dating. He never introduces us to anyone."

I cleared my throat and pulled out a chair for Marlow. My father, predictably, was more interested in the menu than in putting any effort into paying attention to Marlow.

We all sat down.

"I can't believe Spencer didn't tell us about you sooner," Mom said. "He never tells us anything."

"Have you ordered drinks?" I asked.

"We just got here," Dad said.

"I'd like a nice white," Mom said.

I nodded and signaled the waiter over. "Can we please get a bottle of the Sauvignon Blanc?"

"Of course, sir," the waiter replied, scribbling down my request.

As he scampered off to fetch our order, I turned my attention back to my mother, who had that look on her face. I could just see her dying to say something. I didn't know how to head off what was sure to be yet another rant about something else.

Marlow effortlessly took over the conversation, asking my mom about living in Florida.

"We're just loving it there," my mother gushed. "The beaches, the sunshine. It's like being on a permanent vacation."

"I've always wanted to visit Florida," Marlow chimed in sincerely, catching my eye and smiling at me. I smiled back, instantly feeling relieved. I could see that she was genuinely interested, and my mother was soaking up the attention.

"Oh, you must come down sometime!" my mother exclaimed gleefully, far too quickly for my liking. My father merely grunted his agreement without looking up from the menu. "We have a lovely guest room that's just been redecorated."

At my expense.

"I might just have to take you up on that offer," Marlow said. I couldn't tell if she actually meant it.

The waiter returned with the wine, pouring us each a glass. We placed our orders and the waiter rushed off again before Mom could attack him about something else.

"So, how was your flight?" Marlow asked, smoothly keeping the conversation running.

I knew what she was doing. She was keeping the pressure off me and my mother from bitching about whatever.

"Smooth enough," Dad finally said, his eyes never leaving the menu. "First-class, of course. The man next to me snored like a freight train, though."

"At least he didn't drool on your shoulder like that woman on the way to the Bahamas last year."

"True enough," he admitted.

Marlow was laughing along with them now, her hand resting lightly on my knee under the table. I reached down and gave it a reassuring squeeze, grateful for her ease in navigating the choppy waters.

"I just love your bracelet," Marlow said to Mom. "It looks beautiful, especially with your tan."

"Oh, this old thing?" Mom smiled coyly. "I got it from a little boutique down in Miami. It was quite a steal."

Marlow's eyes twinkled as she complimented my mother further on her exquisite taste. I had to give it to her, Marlow was a master at redirecting the conversation and easing any tension. I marveled at how she made it seem so easy. I'd never been able to get along with my folks like this.

"So, Marlow, what do you do?" my mother asked, clearly interested.

"I'm in marketing," Marlow replied. "I work with Spencer at his firm. It's been an exciting journey so far."

"Oh, that sounds fascinating," my mother said, genuinely intrigued. "Spencer's never mentioned much about his work. He's always been so secretive."

I chuckled awkwardly. "Just trying to keep my work and personal life separate."

"Well, it's good to hear you're doing well," my father said, finally looking up from the menu. "But let's get to the real question. How do you like your steak cooked, Marlow?"

"Medium rare," she answered without hesitation.

"Good choice." My father nodded approvingly. "Nothing worse than an overcooked steak. It's a damn shame a horrible cook will ruin a good piece of meat."

Marlow laughed. "Agreed. A good steak is an art form. It's all about the balance between temperature, seasoning, and cooking time."

"She's a keeper, this one." Mom winked.

Marlow blushed but returned my mother's compliment with a gracious smile. "Thank you."

The conversation then flowed seamlessly into other topics. Marlow kept the attention on my mother, which she loved. Mom was more than happy to tell her all about her rich friends and many groups she was a part of. I stayed quiet, sipping my wine and just waiting for the next shoe to drop.

Soon, the waiter was coming back. He quickly served our meals. I held my breath. I could feel the waiter holding his as well.

"Anything else?" the waiter asked.

My mom got that look on her face. I sent up a prayer for patience.

"I'm sorry, but we ordered our steaks medium rare," she said in a haughty tone with her disgust thinly veiled.

My father, acting like a diva, chimed in. "Yes, I agree with my wife. This is medium well at best." He prodded the steak with his fork as if it were an alien specimen. I could see the edges of the waiter's polite smile start to wane.

"Of course, I apologize for the inconvenience," the waiter said. "I'll ensure that your meals are redone immediately."

"And while you're at it, bring me a fresh wine glass," my mother added curtly. "This one has a smudge."

Marlow tensed next to me. This was so typical of them.

"I'd like to speak to the manager," Mom insisted.

"I think this deserves compensation," Dad added. "We'll be forced to wait while our meals are cooked again, and I can't say I'm confident it will be done correctly."

I could feel my patience wearing thin. "Mom, Dad, can you stop acting like red carpet celebrities and get a grip? It's just dinner. The steaks are fine."

My mother acted deeply offended by my accusation, gasping dramatically. "Spencer, how could you say that? We're just asking for what we deserve."

"Don't talk to your mother like that," my father scolded, his voice stern. "You're hurting her feelings."

Marlow squeezed my knee under the table and smiled. "Let me see what I can do." She got up and left the table.

I watched her go, feeling a mix of admiration and frustration. How did she handle everything so effortlessly? And why couldn't I?

"She's a keeper, that one," my mother remarked, sipping her wine. "Very poised."

"Yeah, she's something special," I said, my eyes still on Marlow as she spoke to the manager. "You two are seriously overreacting, though."

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