“Precisely. Do you at least have a date for the wedding?”
“Negative.”
“That’s unacceptable,” Mrs. Fowler piped up from a sectional near the fireplace.
“My dear, you can’t attend your sister’s wedding without a date,” Grandma chuckled. “Do you need me to find one for you? Perhaps Thaddeus Branson Jr.?” My mouth popped open. “Yes, I saw you speaking to the governor hopeful. You would look lovely on his arm, and he’s very wealthy, and—”
“And married,” I said, cutting her off.
She rolled her eyes and whispered, “Bless your heart.”
“He is married, Kiyah, but in name only. The wife is a vegetable due to the accident.”
“Yeaaaaah, I think you might need to move into Granddad’s unit because empathy doesn’t seem to be in your wheelhouse any longer.”
She sighed. “I’m empathetic, Kiyah. It was a horrible situation, and I hope whoever ran over the poor lady is brought to justice. However, I’m a realist. Look at the statistics of men who stay with their severely injured or sick wives.”
“They’re dismal,” Ms. Lily mentioned. I smiled at her sympathetically. She had an adoring, loving husband, or so she thought when she was diagnosed with breast cancer at 43. The man cut out as soon as she denied the breast reconstruction surgery after her double mastectomy.
“A man like that doesn’t stay on the market long. If it’s not you, it will be someone else. Kiyah, the man, may be President of the United States one of these days. First Lady Kiyah Branson has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it, girls?”
I sat through two more minutes of the seasoned women trying to convince me to poach a married politician to let them get it out of their system before I changed the subject.
There were five significant flaws in their plan:
I have some morals and values despite what some may think.
I’m not interested.
I refuse to have this woman haunt me if she ever leaves this world.
I refuse to be viewed as a homewrecker.
I’m married… at least for now.
Chapter Twelve
Grant
I parked in the garage and took a minute to decompress. The death toll did, in fact rise, and I spent the better part of the afternoon holding sobbing mothers and attempting to soothe angry fathers. Despite the text message fiasco, I was grateful to have Mom present. She filled in where needed—making coffee runs, picking up food orders, and conducting interviews. When we returned to the office, I checked in with her and asked if she was okay after such a stressful day. She denied but urged me not to worry because Dad would take good care of her. She reiterated that I needed to dump Clitasaurus Rex and find a suitable partner who could take away my stress at the end of the day. Finally, she roped me into attending a spa day with her. The word ‘no’ was at the tip of my tongue before she fixed me with the “this isn’t up for negotiation” gaze she and Kiyah shared.
My phone buzzed with a group chat message from my brothers.
Little Bro:Did you guys get your gifts yet for Daisy and Nori?
Whore:A month ago.
Little Bro:What did you get them?
Whore:Some VIP wine and food tour bullshit.
Little Bro:You stole my idea!
Whore:Doubt it.
Little Bro:Big Bro? What did you get them?
Me:We got them several items off their wedding registry.