Smitten with Travel Romantic Comedy Collection by Ellen Jacobson

Author:Ellen Jacobson [Ellen Jacobson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ellen Jacobson
Published: 2022-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

9 - Sweating in a Snowsuit

Pierre’s mother crooks her perfectly manicured finger at him, then turns and walks briskly back into the ballroom. Lyonette trots along next to her, the toilet paper stuck to her paw flicking back and forth.

Pierre loosens his bowtie, then runs his fingers through his sandy-brown hair. “I better go talk to her. Wait for me here?”

He doesn’t wait for my response. To be honest, I don’t know how I would have replied.

I could have said something like, “Sure, no problem. I’ll stay here and twiddle my thumbs while you explain to your mother why you’re making out with an American girl who is clearly unsuited to your social standing.”

Or maybe something along the lines of, “You don’t seriously expect me to wait around while you run off with your tail between your legs like some sort of mama’s boy? No way, buddy, I’m out of here.”

I’m torn. Should I stay or should I go? With an old song from the punk rock band, The Clash, playing through my head, I weigh up the pros and cons.

If I go, then Pierre will know that I’m no pushover. He’ll get the message that I’m a strong woman who does just fine on her own, thank you very much.

I smooth down my dress, straighten my shoulders, and inhale deeply. Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to march on out of here, head held high.

But as I turn to leave, my stomach starts growling. “Hey, wait a minute, Mia,” it says. “If you leave, you’re going to miss a seriously good meal. Lobster bisque to start, followed by steak au poivre, and finished off with apple tarte tatin. You don’t want to skip that, do you? You can swallow your pride and stay, can’t you? For little old me, please?”

I pat my tummy. “With all the pastries I’ve been eating, you’re not all that little anymore. Besides, we don’t want Pierre to assume he has me wrapped around his little finger, do we? He didn’t even wait for my answer. He just assumed that I’d stay here, fixed to this spot, waiting for him to return.”

“Well, I guess you do have a point,” my stomach says, in between loud gurgles. “But, if we go, can we stop at that kebab place on the way back to the hotel?”

My heart decides to intervene. “Enough with this food talk. We’re talking about how Mia feels, not how hungry you are.” Beating rapidly, it adds, “This is exactly like what happened at that Halloween dance Mia and her ex went to.”

I put my head in my hands, flashbacks to that night flooding my brain.

Naturally, the Halloween dance had been held at the country club. No surprise there. Folks like my ex don’t exactly rent out the high school gym and rely on the local sub shop for catering when they have a party. Nope, they need valets to park their cars, attendants in the restrooms to hand them towels, and waiters to ensure the champagne keeps flowing.

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