“We’ll do the same,” Cortland says. “Our children will never see the inside of some government funded, institutionalized, Godless public school.”

I’m sure his parents put those words in his mouth.

“I loved attending public school.” I shrug, my eyes darting from Walter’s to Judy’s. “I think I turned out all right. You should see my sister, Waverly. Little Miss 4.0. Never so much as a tardy on her record. Gets to school early every single day. Epitome of responsible and intelligent.”

I wish my sister were here, or one of my mothers. Someone who could back me up.

“I’m going to stir the punch,” I say, stepping away and realizing Walter never did pull me aside like he wanted to. No telling what he was going to say to me, but I can only imagine it wasn’t going to be anything that might make me feel any better about the direction this situation is headed. “Be back in a bit.”

Offering a wave, I slip out of their little circle and make a beeline for the food table where Waverly’s already stirring the murky contents of the punch bowl.

“Scoot over,” I whisper, taking the ladle out of her hands.

“Huh?” She scrunches her nose but steps aside.

I glance around to make sure our immediate vicinity is clear. Dad’s several feet away, but the sizzle of the grill and the carefree shrieks of children should drown out anything I might say right now.

“I had to get out of there,” I mutter.

“Must be pretty nerve-wracking.” She nods, watching me carefully, “wanting your in-laws to like you and all.”

I laugh, tucking my chin against my chest. “I don’t care about that.”

“Cortland being too clingy today?”

“That’s everyday.”

“You don’t even act like you like him half the time.” Waverly’s statement sends a shock to my heart. I’ve been trying my damnedest to act like I like him, but if she sees through me, I’m a goner. “I mean, you act like it around them. But with me, you’re a totally different person when you talk about him.”

Thank God.

I release a harbored breath and nod. “It’s just not all raindrops on roses all the time. Relationships are challenging. They’re a lot of work. I just don’t want to give our parents any reason to worry about any of this.”

“They really want you guys to work out.”

“I know.”

“Just promise me you won’t marry him if you don’t love him.”

“I promise.” With my pointer finger pressed hard into my chest, I draw a slow ‘X.’

“Punch looks good,” she says.

When I glance down, I see I’ve created a mini tornado in the bowl. I stirred so hard it’s swirling.

“Guess so.” I tap the ladle on the side and set it down. On the other side of the yard, all the sister wives have gathered around a picnic table and are apparently ignoring the major kid fight going on over some bright green kickball. “I think your negotiating skills are requested over there.”

Waverly spots the fight and exhales loudly. She’s better equipped to deal with those things than I am with her saintly patience and sweet demeanor. I glance around to make sure I’m still alone and use the opportunity to finally check my texts from Dane.

TEN HOURS. DON’T BE LATE.

I scroll down to read his second message, the one he sent when I didn’t answer the first right away.

IGNORING ME, ANGEL? TSK. TSK. YOU KNOW THAT’S NOT ALLOWED.

I’m grinning hard on the inside, trying to think of something clever to respond with, but before I get the chance, I spot Cort walking my way. I shove the phone away again, envisioning a bathroom break in my immediate future. It’s going to be the only way.

“Burgers are ready,” Dad calls out before Cort has a chance to make any snide remarks.

“Oh, good, I’m starving.” I slip past the punch bowl and past Cort and help my sister round up our younger siblings. I’d rather be put to work than spend another moment by his side like some doting fiancé. Any other day I’d have no problem pretending, but my patience is paper-thin today.

“Let me help,” I hear Cortland say, assuming the spot next to my dad. He grabs a pair of tongs and a plate of patties, and my father splits the buns.

What a team.

“Aren’t you going to sit with Cortland?” One of my younger sisters, Gretchen, asks when we settle down at one of the tables a few minutes later. She’s only six, but nothing gets past her. She knows he’s a mainstay in our family.

“Yeah,” Gideon, her twin brother, echoes. “He keeps looking at you. I think he wants you to sit by him.”

I spin around and catch his glance. He’s sitting next to Summer at another table, but the spot next to him appears to be reserved for me.

The show must go on.

“You two are right. I should sit by him, shouldn’t I?” I climb out of the designated kid table and trek over to my rightful place, my reluctance in hand. “So sorry. I guess I’m just used to sitting with the kids when we eat outside.”

I choke down my burger in silence, focusing on the chirp of the birds in the trees and wishing they were loud enough to drown out the dreadfully boring conversation my father and Cort are having from opposite ends of the table. My father doesn’t have many friends, and most of his connections are AUB-related, but Cort has, without a doubt, secured his spot as his official best bud.

The sun peaks in the sky, and I glance at the clock on the pool house. Maybe another hour, two max, before the McGregor clan gets out of our hair.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

My mind drifts to a faraway place, one where I’m some sophisticated courtesan about to get all dolled up and spend a night ravished in some castle by some arrogant prince who could have any woman he so desired, but he chose me.

And I then I flood with electric warmth when I realize my fairytale is one-hundred percent reality.

***

It’s almost seven.

They’re still here.

Evidently the McGregor family has never heard of outstaying a welcome.

They’ve been here since noon, and no one’s showing signs of leaving anytime soon. I haven’t seen a single yawn or heard anyone utter an “It’s been fun!” or a “We better head out now.” Dad and Walter are yapping away like two long-lost friends, and the sister wives haven’t moved from their spots around their picnic table. The children are on their second wind, and no one’s so much as mentioned anything about taking them inside for baths and bedtime routines soon.

This was supposed to be a simple cookout. A get-to-know-you lunch. Now it’s about to turn into a backyard camping extravaganza if they don’t leave soon.

I should be soaking in a hot bath right now, lathering myself with rose-scented bubbles and daydreaming about the look on Dane’s face when he sees me tonight. He’ll get that flicker I’ve seen in his eyes a couple of times, and his full lips will twitch just enough for me to catch the promise of his dimples.

Something tells me I haven’t seen anything yet. While our moments together have been bordering on intense, at least in my naïve little book, I know I’ve yet to see the full extent of his dominance.

My cheek rests against my hand as I peel chipped paint off the top of the picnic table. The hot slickness between my thighs mixes with the sudden realization that if the McGregors don’t leave soon, tonight might not happen.

Dane would be furious, and that would be an understatement.

I’m not sure how I’d even explain something like that.

And he buried his uncle today. The man needs a release. I bet he’s craving me just as much as I’m craving him right now.

I spring into action and trek over to the sister wives.

“Should we get the kids ready for bed soon?” I deliver my suggestion gently, resting my hands on my mother’s shoulders like some dutiful daughter before turning to Kath. “I’m happy to run a bath for the twins.”