Page 90 of Things I Overshared
“Uh, hello.” She’s beautiful, I’ll give her that. And demure. In her fitted white eyelet dress with elbow-length sleeves, she’s giving serious Kate Middleton vibes, only with striking red hair and sharper features. Tension mounts for a split second, so I squash it.
“Of course, Chelsea! I’ve heard so much about you. I can’t wait to swap stories about this one.” I pretend to elbow Emerson in the side. “I’m sure you have so many good ones.” I decide to go in for a hug. She’s surprised, but since she’s some sort of billionaire-princess-in-training, she adjusts quickly and embraces me back.
“I guess I do,” she agrees timidly, looking to Emerson.
He sighs with a nod.
“Like that! Which sigh do you think that was? I figure he has about ten different sighs, which are basically the cornerstone of his communication skills, right? That one wasReign It in, Samantha!” I give an Emerson impression. Everyone laughs, I think mostly from surprise that I am just steamrolling right on through this family dinner with absolutely no filter and no shame. “Was I right, Em?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he jokes as he pulls me in and kisses the side of my forehead. My heart stops at the feel of his cool lips on my blushing skin. How many tiny happy deaths can a person survive in one evening?
“All right, enough faffing—let’s eat already!” Joe pleads loudly. Everyone mumbles in agreement as they turn to head back toward where the dining room must be.
I turn to Emerson and say loudly, “Babe, can you show me where to wash up before we eat?”
“Of course,” he says.
“Take your time, loves. Anya is still working on the main course anyway,” Evelyn calls to us as she makes her way to the kitchen. Emerson leads me by the hand back to the front of the house and down a short hall to a powder bath roughly the size of my apartment in Brooklyn. I tug him inside, and he shuts the door with a giant inhale as if he’s been holding his breath for thirty minutes.
“Well? How am I doing? Because honestly, I think I’m crushing it out there.”
“You didn’t have to . . .” His voice trails off as he shakes his head.
“I know, but aren’t you glad I did? Did you see Chelsea’s face? Utter devastation. She wanted back in your pants tonightbad.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Okay, I need the lowdown, stat. What is she doing here?”
“I’m sure my father invited her.”
“Ugh, not cool, William. And why did you break up? What are her insecurities? Tell me how to really stick it to her.” He lets out another small laugh but puts a hand to his forehead. I pause. “Oh, unless you don’t want to stick it to her?”
My heart plunges into the shining marble floor under my heels. What if he still loves Chelsea? What if he can’t be with me because he wants to get back together with her? My pulse is racing, but I straighten my spine and hide behind my confidence as a wing woman. “Do you want to get back together with her? Because we can make that happen too—I just need to adjust my strategy. Maybe I could come out of this room crying, like a massive breakup just at the sight of her, or—”
“No! No, definitely not.” He cuts me off with finality.
“Oh, thank goodness,” I say as I almost collapse with glee, and then realize I just said the words aloud. “I mean, um, only because that would be a lot harder to do now that this fake Sammerson Ship has already sailed, you know?”
“Sammerson?”
“Yeah, you know, Kimye? Bennifer? Brangelina? I tried to make Skatthew happen, but Skye and Matt were lame about it. Anyway! We don’t have time to come up with a better name. I need more prep fast. Wannabe Kate Middleton out there really upped the ante. Also, Haymitch Wittington? Is that not the most pompous British name you’ve ever heard in your life?” That earns me another hearty, precious laugh from deep in his chest. “C’mon, anything you think I need to know about Chelsea? Or your family? Any topics to avoid? Anything you want me to bring up?”
He shakes his head with a smile.
“You’re smiling. Soooo me basically jumping on you was okay? You’re on board?”
“Don’t have much choice now, do I?” he asks in a low voice, but he’s still grinning.
I wash my hands at the white marble pedestal sink. “Your words are grumpy, but your smile says,Thank you, Samantha, for saving my tight behind.” I can’t help but imitate him again.
“It says no such thing.”
“It does, and in that exact accent. The accuracy is uncanny. I should go into acting, seriously.”
“Bloody hell.” He smirks as he leads me out of the bathroom.
“Uh-huh, you keep griping all you want, Frosty, but your smile and I are having a separate conversation.”
“About my tight behind,” he says softly as he links his fingers with mine. I turn fuchsia and forget how to words for a second. He chuckles as he leads me through a new hallway toward the sounds of voices. I can’t believe I let that slip about his amazing ass.Zip it and skip it, Sam! You’re supposed to beactinghere!
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