Familiar Strangers

Marissa

“It doesn’t matter,” Grandpa Johnson cut in, waving off every bit of tension with a grin. “We can have the wedding later in the future. What’s important is you’ve agreed.” He clapped his hands together. “Now let’s have lunch.”

Lunch was served in the grand dining room—long table, too many forks, and way too much silence.

Grandpa Johnson practically floated to his seat, humming like he’d just won the lottery. Mr. and Mrs. Joel sat stiffly across from each other, still recovering from the shock. Antonio took his place with the same cold, unreadable expression he wore like armor.

And Marissa… well, she dropped into the chair beside him with the elegance of someone who absolutely did not want to be there.

The clink of plates and the soft shuffle of servers filled the room until Grandpa finally broke the quiet.

Then, out of nowhere, Mrs. Joel’s laser-sharp stare fixed on her daughter—as if she could burn manners back into her by sheer force of will.

“Marissa,” she said through a tight, polite smile, “why don’t you serve us?”

Marissa’s head snapped toward her mother. Their eyes locked like two lions deciding who owned the savannah.

No one at the table breathed.

Finally...finally,Marissa blinked first.

With a stiff inhale, she stood, plastering on a brittle smile. “Sure. Why not.”

She waved the hovering helpers away with a flick of her wrist and started dishing out food, her movements neat but carrying the passive-aggressive energy of someone who was two seconds from snapping a fork.

She served everyone… and “accidentally almost” skipped Antonio.

Her mother’s throat cleared—loudly.

Marissa rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn’t see her brain, then placed a serving on Antonio’s plate with the grace of someone placing evidence at a crime scene.

Finally, she slid back into her seat.

“For your health,” she told Grandpa, nudging a bowl of vegetables closer. “You should eat more protein and greens.”

Grandpa burst into a warm, delighted laugh, patting her hand. “I should! Finally, a daughter-in-law who’ll take care of me unlike someone…”

His eyes cut pointedly toward Antonio.

Marissa smirked.

Marissa leaned in, completely encroaching on Antonio’s space as she turned toward Grandpa Johnson. Antonio caught the faint scent of alcohol on her… mixed with something sweet and ridiculously addictive drifting from her hair. He tried to ignore it. Failed.

“And it seems I like you more than someone,” she said lightly. “If I’d been born earlier, I would’ve married you.”

Grandpa Johnson exploded into laughter, slapping the table.

“Oh, please! My wife would’ve chased you around this house with a broom. Fierce woman, that one.”

Marissa grinned, eyes bright. “Well, that makes two of us.”

The two of them shared a moment—easy, warm, genuine.

Meanwhile, the rest of the table sat stiff and forgotten, like furniture that could breathe.

“At least I’ve gotten one good thing out of this whole farce,” Marissa muttered under her breath just loud enough for Antonio to hear.

He didn’t look at her.

But his jaw tightened—sharp, controlled, irritated.

Then, without warning, Antonio pressed a hand to her shoulder and nudged her firmly back into her space. No gentleness. No apology. Just that cold, precise boundary of his.

“You reek,” he muttered under his breath, voice low enough for only her to catch.

Marissa scoffed, turning her head just enough to meet his eyes.

“Relax,” she whispered back, sweet as poison. “It’s not the smell, you’re just allergic to people getting too close.”

She offered him a tight, mocking smile.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep my distance, Mr. Sunshine.”

Grandpa cleared his throat loudly, cutting through their quiet bickering.

“Alright, alright. Let’s eat.”

Marissa grabbed her fork, took a bite, and her eyes widened. “Hmm…” She swallowed dramatically. “Okay, wait...who cooked this?”

Every head snapped toward her.

Her parents glared daggers, silently screaming behave for once.

She ignored them completely.

The kitchen doors swung open and the chef hurried out. “I...I did, Miss. Is it not to your liking?”

“What do you mean?” Marissa said, eyebrows shooting up. “It’s amazing. If Grandpa here didn’t need you, I’d steal you for my house right now.”

She gave the chef two enthusiastic thumbs up.

The chef actually blushed. “I’m glad you like it, Miss.”

Grandpa beamed like the sun. “Ah! A girl with taste. Good!”

Meanwhile, Antonio stared at the dishes in front of him with the expression of a man confronting a tax audit.

He poked at the food once. Twice.

Then, without a word, he set the cutlery down, reached for his wine, and took a slow, unimpressed sip like he was silently distancing himself from all this chaos.

And Marissa?

She just grinned and took another bite, enjoying every bit of the food… and every bit of Antonio’s annoyance.

Grandpa nudged him gently. “Eat more, Antonio. You’ll need energy.”

Reluctantly, Antonio picked up his cutlery again, eyes scanning the table as if evaluating the chaos in front of him. Finally, he settled on a dish and Marissa noticed immediately: the spice on his plate was noticeably milder than what everyone else was eating.

Hmm… he doesn’t like spice, she thought, raising an amused eyebrow. Shaking her head, she refocused on her own meal.

After barely five minutes, having taken only three or four bites, Antonio dropped his fork with a soft clink. He swirled his wine, took a slow sip, and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

“I’ll communicate the time and place of the wedding to you,” he said, glancing at his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.”

Without waiting for a reply, he stood and walked out, leaving a trail of stunned silence—and a not so annoyed Marissa—behind him.