ADDICTED

67

JAMES

Leah and I stood in the kitchen. I leaned against the island while she leaned against the fridge. Dinner boiled on the stove while we talked softly to each other from across the intimate space.

"Is she going to put a hit out on me, or something?" she asked. Her fingers anxiously spun the engagement ring around her finger.

I set my mug of tea aside and crossed over to her. Engulfing her tiny hands in mine, I brought her knuckles to my lips. Her vibrant eyes stared worriedly up into mine.

"She might be extreme, but she's not a killer," I said. "Now, my father on the other hand . . ."

"Don't tell me that!" she gasped. "Shit. I'm so dead."

I chuckled and tried to pull her into a hug. "Oh, come on. I was kidding!"

She squirmed stubbornly in my arms but resigned with a loud huff. "You can't kid about that stuff when I am legitimately at the top of your mother's hit list!"

"I'm sorry, baby." I chuckled, holding her against me.

She felt so warm and soft. I could squeeze on her all day and never grow tired.

"I'm at my wit's end with all of this," I went on. "I'm just trying to cope with humor. It's a new technique for me."

"Yeah, okay." She snorted but some of the tension leaked from her posture. "I think that's something all of your family has in common." 

"Humor is the language of the tormented, right?" I said, shrugging.

She didn't respond, though, and I knew right away her thoughts had already drifted back to my mother.

I inhaled deeply to control my agitation.

I hated that my mother made her feel this way. My fiancé should be overjoyed and planning our wedding with my mother's help. Not trying to prove that she was a suitable match for me.

It was an absurd notion. Anyone with two eyes could tell that Leah and I were made for each other.

I decided to give her some space and returned to the stove and stir the stew I was working on. If I didn't stir it every so often, the rice would stick and the beef would get chewy. 

"I know we don't have a date picked," Leah mumbled, "but do you think we should postpone wedding planning? For now, at least?"

The ladle dropped out of my hand as I turned toward her. She bit her lip, struggling to meet my eyes.

Her words left me with a distinct sense of unease. I detested everything about that.

"Why?" I demanded. "We can't let her win, Leah. She's being horrible to you, and I'm not going to tolerate it. Not in any capacity."

"No, I just . . . I don't want you to do something you regret. I know you want your mother at our wedding. I know you want her support. Her opinion means a lot to you, and I don't want to ruin your relationship."

"She ruined my relationship with her all on her own." My gaze narrowed. "Are you sure this is about my mother? Or is there something else you're worried about?"

Her brows scrunched. "What? No, there's nothing else. You know I love you and want to marry you."

"I know. I hope you understand how much I believe in those things," I said, approaching her again. My thumb tilted her chin up. "I'm sorry my mother is being like this. Please trust my judgment. I wouldn't have proposed if I wasn't willing to fight for you on every level. Even if that means putting space between me and my parents."