Sweet Surrender (20 page)

“Greasy burgers!” This came from Desiree, the friend from Italy. “You mean like a Big Mac?” She shuddered with revulsion. “It’s no wonder you got, uh, plump is the word, I think. Twenty pounds, did you say, Giada? Or maybe it’s the, uh… cravings, yes.” She looked at Jessie as she patted her flat stomach, asking, “
Siete incinta, forse?
”

She had no idea what the words were, but the gesture was clear. All eyes turned to her, his mother horrified, his sisters looking concerned or surprised. As one, they stared at Jessie’s belly. Obviously, Desiree had implied she was pregnant.

Dear God, where was Marc? She’d had all she could take. Dropping her napkin on the table, she twisted in her chair, looking for him. Just before she pushed to her feet, Giada’s whisper behind her stopped her dead.

“That would explain the sudden engagement.” Said behind her hand to her mother, it was hardly whispered. Did Giada think she was deaf? She didn’t stop there, adding, “It must be a trap. If she’s expecting, he’ll marry her for sure.”

“Maybe it’s not his,” Mariella suggested, not even attempting to lower her voice.

“True. He should ask for paternity testing to be certain.”

To Jessie, it was the last straw. She erupted from her chair, the force sending it flying across the floor and banging into the wall behind her. All conversation ceased.

“That’s it!” she cried, glaring at Mariella, then Giada in turn. “There is nothing wrong with my hearing. It’s excellent, in fact, and I won’t sit here and listen to any more of your insults or be a chew toy for a pack of vile, hateful bitches.”

“Jessica! That’s quite enough.” Her eyes flew to the hallway, where Marc and David Trent stood wearing equally astonished expressions.

Marc strode to her side. With his long fingers wrapped around her upper arm, he spoke low and urgent in her ear. “Apologize, right now.”

She looked up at him, her indignation spiking instantly to outrage as she heard giggling behind her, the cousins most likely. “No! You didn’t hear what they said to me.”

She jerked her arm away, whirling around and moving toward the door. She’d had quite enough Trent hospitality for a lifetime.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving. Whether in your truck or by cab is up to you.”

“You’re not going anywhere until you apologize.”

“I won’t. This happens every time I come here. When you turn your back or go hang with the boys watching hockey or football, they spew their hate-filled venom at me. Well, not anymore.” Turning embittered eyes on his shrewish sisters, she hissed, “I’m done with the lot of you.”

David spoke up at that moment, his eyes zoning in on his wife. “Mariella, what’s going on here? We were gone all of five minutes.”

“Mom merely expressed her concern over Jessica’s health, dad.” Giada’s smug gaze shifted to her. “We all offered a few tips to help with her headaches, nothing to get upset over, surely.”

Jessie fumed. Giada was the ringleader. Her gaze swept around the room. “They called me pallid, pasty, and ugly.” Casting a fulminating glare toward Desiree, she pointed accusingly, “and she called me fat.”

David and Marc looked to the two men, who sat in stunned silence at the end of the table. They shrugged, apparently oblivious to the altercation going on beneath their noses.

“This is unbelievable.” Marc muttered, as he wrapped his hand around her arm again. “Excuse us.”

He guided her from the room, accompanied by Desiree and the cousins’ hushed whispers and titters, quite obviously delighted by all the drama. She ignored them, relieved that he was finally taking her side. She became confused the next moment when they passed the front entryway and proceeded down the east hall. “Aren’t we leaving?”

Stopping at one of the guest rooms, he nudged her inside and closed the door with a decisive thud. She whirled around to confront him.

“Not a word, unless it’s an explanation for that outrageous outburst.”

“You’re siding with them over me?” Tears stung her eyes.

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. I am asking you to explain.”

“I already did. They hate me and are intolerably mean, but you clearly don’t believe me. I’m going home and don’t intend to come back.” She made a move as if to stomp past him. He blocked her easily.

“We’re not leaving until this is settled.”

“Try to stop me.”

She tried to push past him, but he captured her shoulders, holding her still.

“You have a choice. Discuss this calmly like an adult or over my knee like an ill-tempered child.”

“You’re not being fair.” A tear escaped and she dashed it away in frustration. Her hand went uselessly to her head. The pain had localized, like always behind her eye.

“Fair! You called my mother a bitch. Be thankful I don’t get dad’s old strap.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You know that I would. Your behavior was inexcusable.”

“My behavior? You didn’t hear the ugly, vicious things they said. What was I supposed to do, let them talk to me as if I’m dog shit on the bottom of their shoes? I thought you wanted me to be more assertive.”

“Assertive, yes, aggressive and rude, no.”

“Well, you certainly didn’t step up to help me out. You left me alone with them. That’s when they really got vicious.”

“I didn’t know anything was going on. Why didn’t you get my attention?”

“I tried. You were too busy talking about the big game.”

“You didn’t—”

“I squeezed your hand.”

He stared at her, mystified. “You squeezed my hand? I remember you held my hand under the table, was that some sort of sign?”

“Yes… clueless!” Jessie cried, smacking her palm against her forehead in frustration. She regretted it immediately as the icepick jabbed in further.

“You’re digging yourself a hole,
cara
. Now explain what happened.”

“I told you. They called me fat, ugly, and lazy. And that shrew Desiree said I’d gained twenty pounds and I think she accused me of being pregnant.”

“You think?”

“Forgive me for not being fluent in Italian. You tell me. What does
incinta
mean?”

At his frown, she crossed her arms angrily. “That’s what I thought.”

“Desi’s jealous. She’s had a crush on me for years. I find it hard to believe that my mother and sisters called you ugly to your face or discussed a suspected pregnancy at the dinner table.”

“Because you don’t believe it, doesn’t make it untrue. Giada was whispering to your mother that I was trapping you and that you should get paternity tests.”

“If they were whispering, maybe you misunderstood.”

“For crying out loud, are you serious? Do you know these women? They wrap their insults in some kind of pretty compliment, lull you in, then—BAM!—comes the sucker punch with cruel criticism and contempt. They despise me, Marc, especially Giada and your mother. Right now, I’m not feeling particularly fond of them or of you for that matter.”

Jessie was hurt and angry. When the tears began to fall, she felt worse. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. She wanted to maintain her outrage and indignation. Turning her back to him, she wrapped her arms around her middle. She needed a hug more than anything, even if she had to give it to herself.

“Jess, the girls can be a handful, but I’ve never know them to be intentionally cruel.”

“Those
girls,
” she began, the derision in her tone unmistakable, “are mean, contemptuous women who have you and your dad bamboozled. Why do you think I never want to come to these family dinners? You visit with the men, drink beer, and hole up in the den for a game, while I’m the pariah left to fend for herself, which isn’t particularly fun for me.” She knew she shouldn’t push him any further, but she couldn’t help it; someone had to defend her. Pulling away emotionally, as if she could form a barricade to any more pain, she said coolly. “I want to go home.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

A wave of pain struck behind her eye. She grabbed her head, rubbing her forehead as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Can we talk about this later?”

“Did you take your medicine?”

“I’ve got some Excedrin Migraine in my purse. My prescription is at home.”

“Jessie…”

“Can we go, please?”

“Alright, but we’re not through with this by a long shot. Will you be all right for a few minutes while I go back for a quick word and tell them we’re leaving?”

“Yes. I’ll wait here where it’s quiet.” No way was she going anywhere else except out the front door.

His strong hand stroking over her head and down her hair startled her. She hadn’t heard him approach. For a big man, he moved quietly.

“I don’t like to see you this way,
cara
. It’s been a long day and you’re tired, and with your headache…”

“Please don’t patronize me. I know when I’m being insulted.”

Marc sighed in exasperation. “Stay here and rest. I’ll be right back.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head, lingering for a moment before he turned to go. He moved to the door, where he paused, glancing back at her with concern. “Why don’t you lie down for a bit? You look exhausted.” Then he was gone.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Marc thought she looked like crap too. She crossed to the vanity style dresser to see what they saw. She gaped at her appearance: pale skin, dark circles, dull eyes, like she hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Okay,” she said aloud, “so maybe I look tired, but I’m not fat.” Turning sideways, she assessed her profile, pulling her top tight across her belly—still flat. Turning a bit more, she twisted, looking over her shoulder at her always ample ass, was it bigger? Growling in frustration, she flopped down on the bed. It was actually more like a belly flop, as she fell face-first, her planked body sending the decorative pillows flying every which way, as she bounced off the springy mattress.

Jessie lay there reliving the horrific dinner scene. She was ashamed that she’d let them break her. Not liking conflict, she usually avoided confrontation; however, they had all ganged up on her and with Marc being no help, what choice did she have? Marc’s dad had suspected something was up, she could tell, especially when he instantly asked Mariella for an explanation. Did he question his wife’s lame-ass explanation?

As she pictured her future father-in-law, she had to admit that although he was approaching sixty, David Trent was still an extremely attractive man—active and fit. Marc had inherited his mother’s Italian features, but he closely resembled his father. The only real signs of his aging were a few laugh lines and an occasional thread of silver in his dark brown hair. If Marc took after his dad in the aging department, she’d be a very happy girl.

What she couldn’t figure out is how David, a very intelligent man, who’d been nothing but kind to her, could have married such a nasty woman. They were a mismatched pair if she ever saw one. Inexplicably, their marriage had lasted over thirty years. He couldn’t have become as successful as he was by being stupid or by taking crap like his wife dished out, particularly if his wife’s recent behavior was the norm. So why did he put up with it from Mariella and Giada? Was he as blind to her malice as Marc seemed to be?

Sighing heavily, her head pounding, she wondered for the hundredth time what she’d done to deserve such mistreatment, from not only the Trents, but so many others throughout her life. It seemed perpetual. At work, at home, while growing up and in high school. Was it something she was doing, or something she said? She didn’t think it was her clothes. She dressed conservatively, not dowdy by any means, and she didn’t blatantly flaunt her assets by letting her boobs and ass hang out or wear anything too tight or garish.

She rubbed her temples to ease the worsening pain. It did no good. What was keeping Marc? Surely more than fifteen minutes had passed. With a pain-riddled sigh, she rolled out of the bed, announcing to the empty room as she pushed to her feet, “I’m not staying in this house another minute.”

Catching the reflection of her tear-stained face in the mirror, she made a quick detour to the bathroom to try to do some repairs. As she stood at the sink, cooling her cheeks with a damp cloth, a wave of nausea struck. While the pain behind her right eye foretold the onset, her stomach forecast the severity. She needed to take her medicine now or she’d be in bed, laid up within the hour.

Quietly opening the door, she made sure the hall was clear. She wasn’t up to speaking to anyone; not Marc, and definitely not any of his family. As she approached the entryway where she’d left her coat and purse, she found her efforts at stealth unnecessary as raised voices drifted out from the dining room. Marc’s low baritone stood out amongst the high-pitched tones of his mother and the shrews.

“You don’t get to choose who you love, mom.” Marc’s words staggered her, quite literally as she reached for the wall to keep from collapsing. What did that mean—choose who you love? It wasn’t as if she’d twisted his arm or held a shotgun to his head. In fact, he’d pursued her. He’d had a choice and he’d chosen her. Did he feel trapped somehow and regret his proposal? What else could he mean? Whatever it was, it hurt, and throwing in the word love didn’t make it any less painful.

“More’s the pity, son. Christina Barlow would have been a perfect choice. At least get a pre-nup, I’m begging you.”

“Mariella, stop it. Marc has made his decision and the girl is going to be our daughter soon. I can’t believe you are being so nasty after the way my mother treated you. She thought you weren’t quite up to snuff yourself, if you recall, and something about you needing a green card was mentioned. Untrue, yet hurtful all the same. You will apologize to Jessie and I expect you to treat her with kindness and respect. Do you understand?”

“What if I don’t feel either toward the girl, David?”

“Then suck it up and fake it!”

There was a long silence. Jessie stood frozen. David sounded exactly like Marc, the same deep voice, the same no-nonsense manner. She held her breath waiting for Mariella’s reaction. She answered in a too-familiar sickly sweet tone, “Of course, David, I have no idea what came over me today.”