He's a Prince. She's a journalist.
They have a complicated relationship. More like he's into her but she hates his guts.
He needs to behave. She needs to let loose.
He's interested in her because she's the last girl interested in him.
Both of them n...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Mom is a great cook. Dinner is great, but a bit awkward. For me.
Mark seems to be having a blast. He's been talking non-stop to Mom about...everything and anything.
The fact that conversation flows easily with my mother is a bit unnerving. I mean, why do I sometimes find it so hard to strike a conversation with him? It's not like he's shy or anything.
I blame it on Mark.
I blame everything on him.
He makes everything more difficult, and that's it.
I take a deep breath as Mom asks if anyone wants coffee. "I'll make it Mom." It's not like I have anything to talk about. I cringe inwardly. Boy, do I sound sour.
I stand up before she does, and I can feel both pairs of eyes on me as I step inside the kitchen. Despite the fact that I haven't lived here in years, I know where everything is. I set the coffee machine in less than five minutes, and just as I'm pressing the on button, I hear Mom's laugh. I roll my eyes. Glad they're having fun.
My brows furrow as I lean against the counter. Wait a minute. Am I jealous of my mother?
I don't even have to be jealous!
Mark and I are just friends! He's been quick to remind me that for the last ten hours, or so!
And I don't mind.
I'm not even sure I can date anyone. Men are so freaking complicated. They complain about women, but in truth, who the hell knows what they really want?
The coffee machine starts to gurgle and I take out three mugs. My hand freezes as I see what used to be one of my favorite mugs. I stare at it for a moment. It's white and has four pictures of when I was dating Hugh's cousin, Scott. Slowly, I grab it to gaze at the pictures, while my heart tightens. Scott gave it to me as a Christmas present when we came over for the holidays a few years back. I didn't know Mom still kept it.
Twirling the mug, I see the pictures. We're smiling and holding hands in most of them. The one I gaze the most at is when we're looking at each other, with one of Barcelona's plazas on the background. I was sure he was going to propose when we were there. But he didn't. In fact, things cooled off after that. Pressing my lips together, I put it back in the cabinet.
Things happen for a reason, right?
He is gone and life moves on. I mean, I'm still stuck on that shitty job at the newspaper, and my social life is pretty much nonexistent...
Okay. Where the hell is the sugar?
I don't want to think about Scott. It always makes me double bitter because I know he's doing great.
