My eyes widen at the revelation, "Excuse me?"
"They have ten percents of the shares but they only join the annual board meeting so uhh, that's why this month we have a week long meeting instead of the one day meeting. All the partners joined, including my parents."
"Why are you telling me?" Is this his subtle way to introduce me to his parents?
"There's gonna be a brunch this Sunday so..."
"Owen, I'm not gonna meet your parents," the tone might have come out stronger than I intend it to be but I can't help it, "I told you I'm leaving next week."
I might have a pregnancy scare a few hours ago but I'm not gonna meet his parents this soon. There’s a chance I might not be pregnant at all.
Though however the outcome is, I've decided I will be leaving in four days.
We'll deal with it when the time comes. For now, we're definitely still going. That what we decided before the girls went home.
"They know about you."
I stop breathing altogether, "What do you mean? You told them I'm your sugar baby?!"
"No, God no," he seems surprised himself, "I told them you're my girlfriend."
"Why would you do that? I told you this is ending."
"They saw you in my instagram-"
"I told you not to post those pictures!" I whisper-shout at him as I grab the glass of water in front of me, sipping the whole thing to cool off.
"You didn't say anything when I posted the first one. You never say anything when I post each one of them." He argues as I eat him up with my stare.
"You never say anything when the tabloids post articles about us. How do you expect the rest of the world to know but not my parents? For God sake, Elle." He sounds so frustrated as he drinks his water, an effort on his side to calm down as well.
"I never say anything because I was proud to have such a sweet boyfriend who posts sweet photos with sweet, funny captions, I'd be mad if I ask him to delete those! That's like the ultimate boyfriend goals." What am I becoming that I spurt words directly from my heart without filtering through my brain?
"And those articles in the tabloids? I couldn't care less since we're not bounded by Cupcake anymore. I don't care at all because we're a real couple, not a sugarbaby-sugardaddy couple. I love you, you love me, who cares about the tabloids!"
His smile grows from the ultimate-boyfriend-goals to the end of my speech. We're definitely mad at each other but we are also mad with each other.
"If you don't wanna go," he takes my hand that's been placed on the table, "You don't have to, okay? I'll figure it out."
I sigh, "They'll think I'm some kinda snobby girlfriend."
"No they won't."
"Yes they will. I'm here in London, sleeping with their son at his penthouse. What reason can it possibly be for not showing myself at the brunch besides for the fact I'm one snobby bitch?"
He chuckles as he taps my hand, "Believe me, they won't."
He suddenly gets up and kneels next to me which freaks the hell out of me, "What are you doing? Please get up. Please." Don't you fucking dare propose to me!
He laughs knowing what I meant so he gets up, but takes me with him. With my five inches heels, we're almost at the same height.
"They love you, baby. As much as I love you." He says with my hands still in his. The way he says it makes me believe he's telling the truth.
"You're the only woman I've ever loved, and they're really happy knowing there's a possibility their son might marry a woman instead of a man."
I don't mean to laugh but I did, "That's why they'll like me no matter what? Because I have a vagina?"
"They support me whoever I choose to be with but I can tell they're especially delighted with this one."
I grin with pride swells in me. His parents like me, even before meeting me in person.
"But I'm still not going." I narrow my eyes when we're seated again.
"I'll think of something, no worries." He winks as the waiter stops at our table, delivering a bottle of red wine he ordered prior our argument.
Just when I'm about to breathe in relief, the waiter pours the wine into my glass. Oh shit.
"This will be excellent with our steak." He puts the glass down after taking a few sips.
There's a possibility I'm not even pregnant but what if I am? I'm not willing to risk it eventhough I had a negative today. So how do I spin this?
"I drank too much today with the girls." Maybe this excuse will work.
"Yeah I can see an empty bottle on the kitchen counter." Oh thank God they finished it before they went home. Thank God for alcohol-loving friends!
"Baby," he calls me from the kitchen when I'm watching my favorite trashy reality show at the living room.
"Do you want me to get you a glass of Rose?"
"No, thank you," I answer politely as I munch on my chips.
A minute later he appears with a glass of my usual, putting it on the coffee table in front of us as he takes the seat next to mine. He pulls me with his left hand so I'd lie on him, in our favorite position whenever I'm watching tv as he plays with his phone.
"My precious baby," he calls me in the sweetest voice once we're settled in.
"Tell me," he kisses the back of my head, smelling my hair, "Why are you not drinking while watching this?"
Damn it. Why does he know me so well? Why do I always harass him into serving me my favorite drink every time I watch this. Why, why oh why.
"I don't feel like drinking tonight."
"Just like you don't feel like telling me something?
I keep quiet, pretending I'm too engrossed with this show that I didn't hear him. For the fact my brain is working to the max thinking on how to deal with this. How do I spin this.
Last night was a close call but tonight, urghh why did he have to be so sweet not to go to his restaurant for the reason he wants to spend the last few days with me instead of working. If he's away, at least I can lie I drank when he wasn't home.
"Are you hiding something from me?"
I remain silent as he hovers his palm from my chest towards my middle, "Here?"
I totally forgot this handsome, charming, rich, playful millionaire is also an intelligent one, always quick at catching things.
"Is there something hidden in here?" He forms a full sentence as he moves his hand at the same area, caressing it gently.
"Estelle." He calls my real name instead of a Sweetheart or Baby or Precious or anything else. Damn it, he's serious now.