Two Can Play (Celeste and Dominic) novel Chapter 500

"I have a man for that. The man is me, and I fixed it." Dominic retorted.

"See?" I spread my hands at my mother. "Flawless."

My mother laughed until her eyes watered, and I watched the years fall off her face, and I thought that this was what I had wanted when I said yes. Then she folded her hands on the table and looked at Dominic with a softness that tightened my throat. "My Celeste tells me you have something to say to me. So say it. But keep eating. Good news sounds better on a full stomach."

Dominic set down his spoon. Under the table his hand found mine, and I let him hold on because his palm was warm. He reached into his jacket with his other hand and set a midnight blue box on the table between the salt and the pepper.

My mother stared at it like it might bite her.

"Mrs. Adams." His voice had lost its easy charm. It was low and serious and a little unsteady. "I am in love with your daughter. I have been in love with her longer than I ever had the courage to tell her, and I intend to spend the rest of my life making sure she never doubts it for a second. I am here tonight to ask for your blessing, and to request the honour of your presence at our engagement party, because I cannot imagine starting the rest of my life with Celeste while the woman who raised her is not there to see it."

My mother did not move. Then her hand came down flat on the table and she let out a sound that was half gasp and half laugh. "Open it," she said. "Open the box. I need to see it."

Dominic opened it. The diamond caught the kitchen light and threw a dozen small rainbows across the ceiling, and my mother made a noise I had never heard a human being make.

"Celeste Adams," she breathed, "you have been holding out on me."

My mother planted her hands on her hips. "That girl you just put a ring on is my princess. She has been my princess since the day she was born, and she will be my princess until the day I die, and I am telling you this so you understand what you have signed up for.

She acts tough. She has acted tough since she was a child, because life made her tough and she did not have a choice. But underneath all that steel she is soft. She is the softest thing I have ever raised. She cries at weddings and at sad songs and at documentaries about animals, and she cries even harder when someone she loves hurts her or betrays her, because she feels everything twice as deep as normal people. Do you understand what I am telling you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"It is not yes, ma'am. It is yes, Mom, because if you are going to marry my daughter then you are going to call me Mom, and I am going to feed you, and you are going to come to Sunday dinners whether you like it or not."