Where We Come From
By Misha
Disclaimer- Not mine. I’m just borrowing them for a little while and will return them when I am finished.
Author’s Notes- This is set immediately after “Acceptance” and is also a follow-up to “Black Sheep”. The ending is a little negative and also open because I may follow-up on this at some point. I have a lot of complicated feelings about Amelia’s feelings towards her parents (especially her mother) and I do want to explore them in depth at a later date, for now, though we get a glimpse into the Grant family dynamic.
Paring- Drake/MC
Rating- PG
Summary- Drake meets Amelia’s parents.
Words- 805
“How many brothers do you have again?” Drake asked me as we stood on the door-step of my parents home.
“Three,” I answered, “but don’t worry none of them are as big as you.”
“Maybe not individually,” Drake muttered, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“Drake Walker, you are afraid to meet my family?”
“Maybe a little,” he admitted.
I was going to tease him some more, but the door swung open.
“What are you doing standing on the doorstep?” My mother demanded, “have you been away so long that you’ve forgotten how to use the door like a normal person?”
“Hi Mama,” I greeted, kissing her cheek.
She glared at me. “Hi, Mama as if you haven’t been gone for months, barely calling and making us worry.” She switched from English to Italian, continuing to highlight my failures as a daughter.
“Maria!”
I let out a little sigh of relief as my father stepped into the room, “give the girl a moment to breathe before you berate her.” He opened out his arms, “hi Pumpkin.”
I went into them willingly. “Hi, Daddy.”
He hugged me tightly. “It’s good to have you home,” he told me with a smile.
As soon as he released me, my mother swooped in and hugged me as well. “You’re too thin,” she complained, “don’t they feed you over there.”
“Not really,” Drake muttered.
My mother pursed her lips, “well, don’t worry, I’ll feed you. Your Nonna and I have been cooking all day.” She looked at Drake for the first time. “How do you feel about homemade ravioli?”
Drake’s eyes lit up. “I feel very good about it.”
My father narrowed his eyes at Drake, “Amy, who is this?”
“This is Drake,” I answered, taking his hand, “the man I’m in love with.”
I’d told my parents that I wasn’t in love with Liam and that while I wanted to clear my name, I didn’t want to become queen but I hadn’t really mentioned Drake before, mostly because things had been so unsettled between us but we seemed to have come to an understanding earlier and the fact that he’d come with me was a good sign.
“So Drake are you the reason my daughter won’t come home where she belongs?” My father demanded in a deceptively casual voice.
“Daddy!” I scolded, glaring at him.
“Joseph!” My mother said at the same time, her hands on his hips as she glared at him. “Be nice to Amy’s young man.” She sniffed. “it’s bad enough that she ran off to a foreign country, we don’t want her to get it into her mind to elope.”
“Mama!”
Drake looked a little pale at the exchange and I was sure that he was really starting to regret coming with me.
I was starting to regret it too. “Daddy, why don’t you take Drake to your study and give him a glass of whiskey,” I suggested.
Drake looked torn between gratitude at the suggestion of whiskey and terror at being alone with my father.
“That sounds like a splendid idea,” my father said, far too cheerful.
I winced, wondering what I had set Drake up for.
My father clapped Drake on the shoulder. “Come with me, son, I’ve got a nice Lagavulin that my son Antonio gave me for Christmas.”
“Which Amy did not come home for,” my mother added, giving me a reproving look.
Drake suddenly seemed more enthused at going with my father and the two disappeared down the hall, leaving me alone with my mother.
“Come,” she beckoned, “you can help me cook. Unless you’ve forgotten how in all your running around with nobility.”
“No Mama,” I said meekly, sighing as I followed her into the kitchen, “I haven’t forgotten how to cook.”
As I stepped into the kitchen, I was suddenly aware of how little I’d forgotten, because it all came rushing back at me, the pressures, the feelings that I wasn’t good enough. For six months I’d been Lady Amelia Grant and I’d managed to hold my own in the Cordonian royal court, but stepping into my mother’s kitchen, I felt like Amy the screw up once more.
Apparently, no time away could fix that.
As I greeted my Nonna with a kiss on the cheek and then tied an apron around my waist, I repressed a sigh and said a silent prayer that Drake’s meeting with my father was going better. If not, at least he was getting whiskey and he’d enjoy the food.
As for me, I just kept reminding myself that in a few hours we could leave and in a few days I’d be back in Cordonia. I couldn’t wait. Because while this was where I came from, I preferred who I was in Cordonia to the person I had left behind in Brooklyn.
- End
