Page 28 of Sliding into Love
I can think of several—distant, abrupt, frustrating, aloof. I feel like a damn thesaurus.
Then again, I've thought of a million ways to describe my parents through the years—between my own inner thoughts and my work in therapy. I've narrowed it down to the fact that they're simply not emotionally available.
I was their ticket to continuing the family lineage—another child to make them look good among their peers. Love isn’t something they truly understand. Not in the way most people do.
Knowing how tenacious Royce can be, I decide it’s time to tell the truth.
"My relationship with my family is strained," I admit. "Unlike the Bellports, who are very close and understanding,mine are not. They’ve never understood me—and quite frankly, don’t want to. I keep the peace with them by doing as they ask when I can. Other times, I avoid them. It’s easier that way."
Royce’s shoulders rise. I feel the anger rolling off them.
"I just don’t understand why. You don’t have a close relationship with them at all?" they ask.
I shake my head. "No, not at all. They hated that I bought a baseball team. They hated when I played and was trying to go pro. If I would just fall in line and keep to the path they planned for me at birth, then I’d be perfect for them."
"But you can’t do that," they finish my thought.
I nod.
The waiter appears again with my juice, this time in a glass similar to the one I had before, which makes what’s inside it less obvious.
"Thank you," I tell him as I lift the glass and take a big sip.
It’s so refreshing that I let out a sigh and close my eyes, savoring it on my tongue.
When I open my eyes again, it’s to find Royce staring at me with a heated sort of gaze. At least, I think it’s heated. I hope it is.
It’s the first true sign that there’s more here than meets the eye. Maybe I’m not alone in my desire. Maybe all those moments when I’ve felt tension between us were real.
Or maybe I’m just delusional and hopeful.
Dinner is a grand affair. The minute someone realizes Royce Bellport is in the building, they pull out all the stops for us.
We get served course after course, and the chef even comes out to greet us. Royce thanks them, and they chatter briefly about the Bellport Foundation and the plans that will be put in place.
While they speak, I pull out my phone to check messages. I want to be sure I haven’t missed anything. My inbox is barren, and I don’t have any texts from anyone.
I decide to play a couple of rounds of a game on my phone to pass the time.
It’s only when there’s silence around me that I realize they’re done.
Royce is staring at me again. This time it's not with heat. More like amusement.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out as I tuck my phone away.
"It's okay," they tell me. "You seemed entertained. I apologize for getting caught up with the chef. They’ve helped us with a few catering events, so it's always good to keep up a good rapport."
"I understand," I tell them quickly. "It's no problem at all."
Our dessert arrives, and in the irony of all ironies, it's a single piece of cookie cake topped with ice cream and two spoons.
"Looks like we'll be sharing," Royce says, voice laced with humor.
I gulp, nodding along as I reach for my own spoon.
The food is probably delicious, but I can't taste a single bite—not with the way Royce keeps their gaze locked on me.
Their eyes flit from my mouth to my eyes to my hand, watching as I scoop up each bite. They neglect their own dessert in favor of keeping track of what I’m doing.
