Chapter Fifteen

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Ivory

"Mom, I'm home!" I call through the house while entering the living room with Hunter on my tail.

"How was your date? That man sure was hot! I can see why you talk-" my mother's words are cut short when she enters the room and sees the man she is complimenting in the room standing beside me.

"Hi, Mrs.Crawford," he greets with an underlying tone of amusement.

Mom's cheeks redden, but she brushes her embarrassment off. "Oh, call me Grace," she commands politely. "Please, come sit," she welcomes hospitably. Mom leads us to the couches, and Hunter sits next to me, but not close enough to raise Mom's warning flags. After we are settled, Mom inquires, "When's the wedding?"

I am too red in the face to answer, but I don't know whether to be thankful that Hunter answers for me or scared as to what can come out of his mouth. "Less than two weeks away. There's no reason to delay the occasion," he states matter-of-factly.

"True, but when do you think Ivory will be going dress shopping?" she asks him as if I wasn't a few feet away.

"I was hoping tomorrow we could search for a dress," Hunter answers.

Mom shakes her head no and scowls at him. "The groom is not allowed to see the dress," she vetoes his idea. Mom is a traditional woman that has high morals that are to be followed. She's sweet and nice, but you will be appropriate, and you will have values, or she will be mad.

"But how will she know if I approve?" he incredulously asks, obviously not seeing the point.

Yet again, Grace shakes her head, but this time with a faint smile. "If it makes her happy, then it will make you happy. Y'all should decide on the main idea of the dress. Do you want a ballgown, silky fabric, fit and flare? You at least should be on the same page," Mom advises us.

"I want a ballgown," I mumble. I won't do a mermaid, anything but a mermaid.

Hunter flashes me a smile before saying, "Okay, a white ballgown. You can decide the details." I return his smile, but it falters when his description sinks in.

I sheepishly stare at my fingers in my lap, and I murmur, "Not white." Mother knew it was coming, but Hunter is shocked. From the corner of my eye, I can see his brows furrow, and when the meaning of my two words registers in his brain, his navy eyes turn to an almost black. He's angry. I hang my head, ashamed.

"Ivory, what do you mean, not white?" Hunter asks. His voice is calm and collected, but his eyes betray him.

Mother sits uncomfortably quiet on the seat across from us, letting the scene unravel itself. It would've happened sooner or later. He needs to know, but I'm not ready.

As tears brim my eyes, I look up at him and, not too kindly, say, "I'm not pure!" In a fit of humiliation, I rush out of the room, and I quietly shut my bedroom door, leaving a stunned fiance and mother behind.

I try to distract myself with useless things. Cleaning my room, straightening my desk, making my bed. Small tasks that could fight the tears. All hopes of keeping the pools of water at bay are demolished when my door opens to reveal a confused but wary Hunter. "Hey," he offers a small smile as he shuts my door.

"Hi," I sniffle, but don't meet his eyes, knowing the floodgates will break if I do.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes softly, as if walking on eggshells. Not knowing if he can, he stays by the closed door.

I continue to pick up clothes that are scattered around my room and return them to their correct place. "I'm fine," I lie. As I pass by him to hang up a shirt, Hunter firmly but gently grabs my arm.

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