BEY
New life. New job. New home. New goals...
I vowed to make drastic changes and to never fall back into old habits. But then Shawn Carter showed up and blew all my good intentions to hell. I should have stayed away. I shouldn't have played his ga...
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SHAWN
“So you’re a nurse?” my father asks as Beyoncé shifts awkwardly in her seat.
He’s been silently studying her since he joined us ten minutes ago—late. Considering Beyoncé knows about the fact he has a bad heart and can’t run a company anymore, I think she was expecting a meek old man. Instead, my father is just as tall and broad-shouldered as I am, though he’s lost most of his muscle due to the fact his exercise options are a little more limited than they used to be.
He chooses not to get out as much, since everyone always insists on asking how he is.
“Yes,” Beyoncé says, swallowing around a mouthful.
Mom beams at her, and considering she hugged her for five straight minutes when we arrived, I’m fairly positive she’s already getting measurements for her wedding dress. Fucking eh.
Dad coolly assesses Beyoncé for a few more minutes that seem to make Beyoncé uncomfortable. Casually, I stretch my arm over the back of her chair and give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Dad’s just observant. If he didn’t like her, he’d have already said as much, because he’s as blunt as I am.
“So where are the others?” Beyoncé asks when the silence stretches on.
“I told them not to come,” Mom boasts, as though it’s a great thing.
My lips twitch when Beyoncé noticeably grimaces, realizing the full weight of everyone’s attention will continue to stay on her. She shoves another forkful of fish into her mouth before giving me a sidelong glance of annoyance for not warning her.
We’re almost finished eating, and she’s just now gathered the courage to even ask why no one else is here.
I just grin like the asshole I am, knowing there will be hell to pay for this later. Angry sex with Beyoncé … Yeah, it’ll be worth it.
“I really wanted to spend the evening getting to know you a little better,” Mom goes on, still beaming with bright eyes.
My father shakes his head, but his lips twitch knowingly. Poor Beyoncé .
“How many kids do you want?” my mother asks Beyoncé , who chokes on her fish.
This time, my father turns his head so that no one sees him containing his laughter.
Usually, Mom’s interrogation tactics really grate on my nerves, especially since there’s no way in fucking hell I’m ready to get married and do the kids thing anytime soon.
But I love watching Beyoncé blush furiously while trying to think of anything to say.
“Four,” she answers seriously, and this time I’m the one to choke and jerk my arm back from around her.
