Getting by (A Knight's Tale) (13 page)

“We paid for half of this, right?” Mitch asked. Liam nodded, and I shook my head.

Originally, Dad paid half the cost of the rooms for the guests, because it was very expensive for each guest to come to the wedding. Then the Clements complained and he footed the bill for most of them. I cringed.

“If so, why didn’t they do it in New York, and cut their list?” Mitch suggested, just as I had. Mom wouldn’t have it, if Cade wanted a big wedding, he’d get it. We were his only family and had to support him. I wanted to point out that Cade’s family was composed of the five Knights. And he only invited ten other guests from the hospital, where he worked in New York. But knowing Mom, she had made up her mind, so I let it go.

One quick search and I found them. Dad stood up from the table where he and Mom sat, and walked toward us. “Morning boys,” he said, and patted each one of us on the shoulder. “Please be on your best behavior today. Emma’s joining us and we don’t want her to feel uncomfortable among us.”

After dropping the parental warning, he continued toward the buffet bar to grab some food for him and Mom. I followed him with my gaze, amazed at how after all these years he continued pampering, loving and idolizing Mom. I shrugged and headed toward the buffet, for food to keep me going for the day. It didn’t take me long to spot Emma wearing a pair of jeans, a navy blue cardigan and flats—what happened to her heels? Not that I cared much about shoes, but it seemed so unlike her to be wearing those flats. Yet I was happy to notice some wavy hair between her ponytail and the frizzy aura around her head.
Pretty.

Looking closer, I noticed she wore her silver glass shades; either she had a migraine or a hangover. The latter most likely, and I feared the first would mix with it. Either way, it meant a foul mood. Unfortunately, the only way I appeased bitchy Emma, included lots of condoms, a bed and excluded clothes. Not something I was allowed to do with her in our current situation, or during the festivities.

I took a deep breath and decided to continue my morning routine, when I noticed that a man cut the line in front of her. I rushed over, thinking that was rude, and not a smart move when Emma was bitchy. As I reached her, I lightly touched her on the arm and shook my head. She literally growled and stomped her foot like a three year old. That’s when I saw the fork in her hand.

“Were you going to stab him with it, baby?” She rolled her eyes when I pointed at the utensil she held. Once she nearly stepped on a lady with her needle high heel. My girl was a savage when unattended in a big crowd and moody. Manners went out the window. God, I needed to stop calling her mine. Politely, and with a murderous face, I requested the man to move since he cut in line and it was Emma’s turn. As her turn came, I ordered her usual egg whites with mushrooms, onions and broccoli with a sprinkle of cheese on top.

“Seriously, Em, a fork?” She raised her hand holding the weapon and gave me a weak smile. “Silly girl. I don’t want to end up bailing you out of jail. Go to the table, babe, I’ll bring your food.” Slumping her shoulders, she walked toward the fruit station to get her fix for the morning and a glass of grapefruit juice.

Only Emma would drink something bitter at eight in the morning. When she approached our table, Dad pulled back the chair for her and thankfully she didn’t bite his head off. The girl set her self-reliance crap aside for another morning, when only a lecture would come, and not her bitchiness. When the chef handed me her order, I walked to the table, slid the plate in front of her and went back to grab my breakfast; lots of bacon, scrambled eggs, fruit and yogurt.

“You don’t eat any meat?” I heard Mom ask when I approached the table, and Emma shrugged and continued eating without acknowledging Mom that much. “You need protein.”

“I do,” she answered, and continued eating.

Miss Anderson was a modified fruitarian; she ate like a bird. Fruit, veggies, seeds, cheese and selected fish. Except when it was breakfast time and she had eggs and a few stripes of bacon—my bacon. I recalled when she reached onto my plate and began to grab it. Politely, I wanted to point out to her that she was invading my space, but desisted because it felt normal. I wanted to explain to Mom that Emma would eat a nice juicy steak when I made her—cooked medium. And she never ate pork, because bacon wasn’t pork in her book. Chicken was edible when included in tacos, enchiladas or nuggets. In truth Emma was a picky eater to a fault, and she only ate what she liked.

“I eat fish.” Emma scratched her nose and crinkled it, then stole some more bacon. “Steak, if it’s good. But I prefer to eat fruit, salads, almonds or nuts in general,” she said, and pulled a bag from her magic tote with assorted seeds and nuts.

“Well its sea food all week, boys,” Mom announced, and the grunts began. “Find the girl a good steak and then we’ll switch the menu.”

My brothers stared at me and silently pleaded for a solution. This week we’ll eat fish and Mexican. It was the story of my life. When Mom and Dad stood to grab another round of hash browns and ham, I made Emma take a couple of aspirins. She never failed to have some available. Her tote had everything—including condoms. I refrained from counting them to make sure she didn’t use any since the last time we were together. Though, it drew my attention that she only carried the condoms, but not the artsy pill case container with her contraceptive. The one she began to take a month or two after she realized it wouldn’t be easy to get rid of me.

Fuck, was she pregnant, what other reason would there be to go off the pill? In only three months I’d lost track of her daily activities outside the office. I did the math and checked her stomach—flat. But twelve weeks, she would’ve told me about a pregnancy. No, definitely not pregnant, unless the baby wasn’t mine. Is that why she ended our relationship? Because she—no, that wasn’t it either. Why would she decide on complicated with another guy?
Am I not enough?

“Don’t get mad.” Her glare about killed me when I said those words. She hated sentences, like “no offense, or “don’t get mad” and so on. When you say them it implies the other person will get mad, that you’ll offend them, etcetera. “Fine, you’re going to be upset but try to keep it low. Are you off the pill? The little artsy container wasn’t there.”

“None of your business, Jacob Knight,” she huffed, switching the tote bag from one side of her chair to the other. “I’m not in the mood.”

Not my fucking problem,
I crossed my arms.

“If you must know…I’m off. Drop it and get off my case.”

“Hangover or migraine?” The tone of her last words were out of character.

“A mix, stress is hitting me hard. Not sure….” She squinted through her sunglasses. Then, uncharacteristically, she gave me an assignment for the day. “Want to be all hero-e?” I nodded, knowing it was code for “help me please”. “You’re in charge of me today, Pretty Boy. I won’t be able to last long.”

“I’m aware, Pretty Girl.” I tried to tame that aura of hers, which was spilling off the ponytail. “You’re two seconds away from blowing up the entire place. They’ll cancel the wine tasting for you.” My brothers nodded. “Say the word and it’s done.”

“Dress fitting first, then we’ll reconvene,” she said, and stood up not waiting for any queue. I was in charge, which meant guessing her mood seventy five percent of the time and making decisions for her. Not that I was in charge of said department, but I’d sub for the day. With a tilt, I signaled Mitch to handle my parents, and followed her. Emma was fast when her head wanted something. The hotel shop came into view and in three more strides she was inside.

“H2O?” I guessed. I was conditioned like one of Pavlov’s dogs. She nodded and showed three fingers. “Did you bring your migraine medicine?” A slight head shake gave me the answer, and I extended my hand wiggling my fingers. “Give me your phone, I’ll call the doctor and get the prescription sent to a pharmacy around here. This is more than a hangover.”

She closed her eyes and mouthed,
so freaking hard.
I didn’t understand what it meant and avoided asking. Emma surrendered her phone, narrowed her eyes and switched her gaze to the floor. We both knew that I wouldn’t give it back until she felt better—or tonight. With the help of Google, I found out which pharmacy was the closest and had the doctor’s office arrange the details with them. I kissed her forehead, headed to pay for the water and was done before Mitch texted me that they were waiting for us in the lobby.

“Emma has a headache,” I announced to my parents. Concerned, they both asked her if she wanted to stay.

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you,” she said, not even trying to give them a fake smile. We made our way to the car. Emma went to the third row with Mom, and Dad rode with Liam in the second row.

Pulling out of the parking spot, I checked for the last time with Emma that she didn’t want to stay for the day. Then I headed toward the pharmacy before hitting the highway that would take us to San Francisco. Mom didn’t ask questions, and it alarmed me to see her quiet. Was she hiding something under her sleeve?

I handed Mitch the bag with the medicine while I paid the drive-thru pharmacist. My twin bit his tongue, but those eyes said that I had an earful coming about how whipped I was, and they reminded me of the late night conversation we had. Ignoring everyone inside the car, I headed to San Francisco, following the route the GPS gave me.

I parked the car a block away from the bridal shop. Downtown San Francisco boomed with the same amount of tourists, executives, women shopping around, and dog walkers; more than any other big city. Once I made sure of my surroundings, I got out to take a second glance at the streets; then I opened the back door. Liam came out first to give way to Emma. Dad had opened the other door, gotten out and helped Mom.

“You sure about being here?” She nodded, answering my question. Then I slipped one of the migraine pills in her hand and opened a bottle of water. I noticed that Mom and Dad had walked over to Gaby, who waited for them on the corner of the street. After gulping her medicine and water, she handed the bottle over to me. “Text me if you need me to pick you up earlier, Pretty Girl.” She nodded again and I kissed her temples. “Liam, can you walk her to the shop, please?”

Mitch couldn’t hold his tongue any longer, and spoke up, saying, “What was that about?” I glared at him. “Mom being too quiet is scary, right? You want to throw her at her own game? Am I next to be extremely nice with Emma, as if she was my girl?” I grinned, he got me. “Pointers for it to work. Try to change your concerned look, stop drooling and perhaps Mom might believe you.” I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah, it was that obvious since we hit the hotel restaurant at eight this morning, Jay. You were too couple-like. Let’s run you through the breakfast highlights.

“You spotted the girl and ran to her whispering in her ear, giving her a stupid smile I’ve never seen you wear before.” I smirked, remembering the fork, and snorted. Ignoring me, he continued, “At breakfast you two were sitting too close for comfort. Not even Mom and Dad were that close. The best part wasn’t the medicine errand you ran for her. No.”
No?
I put a hand on the back of my neck and continued listening to the play by play that made me look like a moron in love. “The freaky part, where everyone dropped their jaw at the table, was when Emma reached toward your plate and grabbed strips of your bacon.” I shrugged, what was wrong with it? “Not once, but several times. No one is allowed to touch your food, Jake. Ever since we were little, you hated it. Yet, Emma touched your food, and while she was doing it, you were a millimeter from kissing her. You two are too comfortable with each other, and the daunting part, Jake, is that the two of you fit so well that you don’t realize how wrong everything looked for the ones that don’t know about your relationship.”

“Or for the ones that know you two broke up,” Liam added. I didn’t notice when he came back. “The parental units are suspicious, Jake. Come clean and put some space between you and Emma before Mom chooses the wedding location and makes Dad buy the two of you a house next door to theirs.”

“Did you have to deal with the TMI all the time, Li?” Mitch shivered after Liam nodded with a blank stare. “I never checked to see if the girl I slept with used the pill or not. Add to that the hot factor that she carries condoms in her magic bag.”

“It’s different when you’re with a girl for more than one n—” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Can we not talk about my girl?” I gulped after uttering the last two words and began to think about some form of rehabilitation to move on.

Chapter 16

Jake

“DAD’S COMING,” MITCH said through clenched teeth, avoiding Dad’s lip reading abilities.

“Mom wants us back at noon,” Dad said, when he reached the car. “Mitch, go to the back with Liam, son. Do you want me to drive, Jake?” I shook my head. “Ready to go show the planes?” I nodded. “We don’t have to sell them, Jay. I like your idea of creating a fleet of private jets and renting them.”

“Those planes need to be replaced either way, Dad.” I started the car once everyone was secured. “They’re in great condition, however, if we’re going to start a business I’d like to do it with new planes. But we should keep the three custom built ones we’re getting, for the exclusive use of our family. I maintained the others well enough, despite using them for my missions too. I’d rather sell them to a business man who’ll jump from one state to another in this country. That’s why I’ve been screening the prospective buyers.”

This made sense to me, they were good for millionaires who thought owning a jet was important for their status, but would fly first class to Paris, afraid to use a small plane while crossing an ocean. I went through lengths to choose my buyers. It was mentally worth it for me.

“Fish…only fish and fruit?” Mitch broke the silence after I’d driven more than ten miles and no one had said a word. “I won’t survive. One week eating like a…who eats like that, rabbits?”

“Birds,” I answered. “She calls herself a fruitarian; though, in reality she eats what’s convenient. Bacon is a fruit, not meat made out of pork, which she hates. Ease your mind, any establishment has a combination of sea food, poultry and meats, right?” I sneered, and paused a little to emphasize the stupidity of his comment. “Mr. Restaurant owner, you’ll survive the week. She’ll eat chicken if there are tacos or enchiladas involved. Know any good Mexican places?” I put on my signal to turn left and continued explaining the complicated life of Emma’s menu. “Don’t count on steak. She eats one in a blue moon. If you eat at her place, then you’ve got a problem. Poached fish, pan seared fish, gluten-free pasta with shrimp…any seafood combo and the choice of veggies, fruit for dessert and organic wine; unless she’s on her vegan week.” Liam grunted, that was never his favorite.