Page 20 of Savior
“Fine. But you look hot no matter what you have on.”
“I’m not trying to look hot for my parents.”
“Well, you look perfect then, too.”
“Yeah. You haven’t met my sister yet.” I mumble under my breath, walking off towards the bedroom.
I emerge from our closet a little while later, wearing what I think, is a flattering black lace, wrap dress. It’s a casual type of fancy, in my opinion. When I walk back to the front of the house, Dean’s seated at one of the bar stools at the marble kitchen island, picking at some of the wrapped platters of food I have set up there for my family.
“You actually made scones, Vanna?” he sighs, turning to look at me. Whatever his expression was, instantly morphs into a pleasant smile as he looks me over.
“Does this dress look okay?” I ask. “I mean, I haven’t worn it in a while, and I’m wearing black flats, but I figured that’s okay since we’re just staying here and…”
“You look beautiful, baby.” He interjects, putting an end to my anxious rambling. “I love that dress on you. You were wearing it the night we met.”
“I can’t believe you actually remember what I was wearing that night.” I smile, having thought the fact that I literally threw up in front of him, would have overshadowed everything else about the night we met. My nerves still have me feeling like I could throw up, even now.
“You underestimate my obsession.” He teases me, and I can’t help but shake my head at him, before glancing over at the digital clock on the oven. It’s ten forty. They should be here any minute.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” I jokingly ask. I already know it is, and he looks fine. More than fine. I happen to share the same opinion he seems to have of me. Dean looks good in everything. His sculpted body also looks great wearing nothing. Right now, he’s perfectly handsome in a pair of jeans and a button down, long sleaved flannel shirt. He doesn’t bother answering me, he simply snatches a rolled-up slice of Proscuitto from a tray of Antipasto, shoving it into his mouth. As he gets up to retrieve his leather cut, I watch him slip it on and stand in front of the door, peering out down the driveway.
“Fuck. They’re already here. Early.”
I nervously smooth out my long skirt. “With my father, early is on time. On time is late. And late… Well, that’s just not acceptable.”
“He sounds like a ton of fun.” Dean’s sarcasm is palpable. I walk up to stand beside him to greet them at the door. “Didn’t know your Daddy was rich.”
“My father. And he isn’t rich. He’s… comfortable.”
“We’ll see.” Dean chuckles darkly, in a way that has my anxiety rising again.
“Please, behave yourself, Dean.” Slipping my hand into his, I look up at him as he glances down at me, giving my fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“For you, Vanna. I’ll mind my motor mouth.” He promises.
Shifting my focus back to the driveway, my younger sister, Giuliana, is the first to exit my father’s forest green Jaguar. As I really should have expected, she’s dressed to the nines. I fight the impulse to abandon Dean and rush back to my closet to change. There’s really no point. I don’t own anything on par with her style.
She’s wearing tight, light blue designer jeans, tucked into her knee high, brown leather boots. Perfectly acceptable tight jeans, since she’s probably only a size six, at best. Her white cashmere sweater, hugs her slight curves in a complimentary way, and makes her long, chestnut, perfectly smooth and silky hair, really stand out. It even shines in the sunlight. Her makeup is flawless as well, which only reminds me that I forgot to do my own.
My little sister could give Lucinda a real run for her money in the looks and style department. Though, unlike Lucinda, Giuliana doesn’t dress to rub labels in anyone’s faces. She’s more subtle. She’s more subtle about a lot of things…
“That’s my sister.”
“Giuliana…” I can hear it in his tone, he’s already wishing this was over. “She seems nice.”
“She is.” I agree. That’s all I say for now.
Awkward, forced pleasantries on both sides. That’s how this visit with my future in-laws is panning out. I could tell by the expression on their faces as I watched them take in the stacked stone and plank exterior of my ranch, the farm land, the sizable detached garage, that they really did expect the very least of me. Perhaps a single wide, dated tin trailer, surrounded by scrap motorcycle frames and dry-rotted tires.
Now, having been seated in the living room by the large fireplace, among my rustic style leather, wood and stone furniture, repurposed barnwood floors and rafters, and the French country style kitchen in my open concept home, their opinion of me seems to have at least elevated, slightly.
I’m no longer an amoeba on a flea on a dog to them. I’m just a dog, with a bone for their daughter.
“Your home is lovely, Dean.” Giuliana smiles at me over her mimosa. I simply smile back. “All this, from a biker bar?”
“Dean also owns and runs a very successful repair shop, as well as the farm stands in the late spring, summer and fall.” Vanna says, her left hand softly rubbing my back. She may be wearing the ring, but she’s still doing her damnedest to avoid them seeing it just yet.
“You manage all that, on your own?” Her father sounds skeptical.
