Maybe we’ll be able to pull off this year of pretend.
Finn’s phone rings, and when he looks at the screen, his face drains.
He shakes his head and gives me something that resembles a smile. If one hasn’t seen many of them. And if one is in the dark. “Want to meet your in-laws?”
FINN
Noah nods, because he’s brave, and I lead us to the tiny couch on one side of the hotel room and answer the FaceTime call.
My mother’s face pops on, freshly moisturized face glowing. White furniture, arranged by a topdecorator, appear in the background. I can practically hear the classical music playing, though my mother is sufficiently technical to tell Alexa to turn it off before she gets on a call.
“Finn Percival Carrington,” my mother says, her voice loud and barreling.
My mother studied opera at her fancy boarding school, and she is fully capable of making herself heard to thousands of people.
Noah’s jaw drops, and his skin pales, and he sends me a scared look as if he thinks teleportals might have become a thing and we’ll find my mother in this bedroom.
“You’re married.” Her lips twist, as if she can’t decide whether she’s amused or angry. “You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone.”
“No.”
“And you also didn’t tell me you have a fondness for men.”
“No.” The pounding of my heart increases as I stare at her. Guilt courses through me, as if I’ve kept a secret from her for years. I slink my arm around Noah, relieved that he is here. “I have a fondness for Noah.”
That does not feel like a lie.
“In fact, he’s beside me. Would you like to say hi?”
“That would be highly appropriate,” my mother says, her voice cool and crisp. “An etiquette must.”
I glance at Noah. Worry darts over his face, and his green eyes are rounder than before. I trail my fingers around his arm, running up and down his muscular frame.
“Don’t be scary,” I tell my mother.
She rolls her eyes. “You both face off against strong men on the ice.”
Noah’s face is in one corner of the screen, and I make sure he’s okay.
He looks nervous, and I squeeze his shoulder.
“My mother isn’t actually scary,” I tell him.
My mother clears her throat. “A healthy fear of in-laws is desired.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m told it assures a more hasty answer of phone calls. And making sure I don’t hear about major life events about my only child from my next-door neighbors.”
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
“I don’t even like my next-door neighbors. Now they think I don’t speak with my son, or that I’m homophobic and he was scared to tell me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You know I don’t care,” my mother says, and her voice wobbles.
“I should have told you,” I say. “We thought the ceremony was secret, but the tabloids found out. Now everyone knows.”
