He gives me butterflies in my belly

George intertwined his fingers with mine.

"Take a deep breath; just remember what I told you," he cautioned. I nodded in agreement, but the sweat that treks down the back of my neck and my racing heart weren't in agreement.

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Just like he instructed, I took a deep breath in and out just to calm my nerves before heading inside the unfamiliar building.

Sorry, I didn't get to introduce myself. My name is Mia, and I am a slender and tall woman. With my dark brown long hair loosely falling on my shoulder, it gives more beauty to my oval-shaped face. I had strikingly bright eyes and full eyelashes, making my eye shape perfect. I was a beauty to behold, even without makeup and fake lashes.

This was my first time meeting his parents for dinner; you know, that's the reason for the whole drama. I have heard a lot about his parents seeing them on TV, and lots more. They were classic billionaires, while I came from an average family. The wealthy family usually goes for their class, you know, to strengthen their business alliance.

But George was different; even the first time we met at the gallery, I felt those butterflies in my tummy. Knowing who he is, I thought I was never going to get a chance. I'm a painter, and through his influence, I got stuck on my canvas, making my imagination come alive through the use of colors and lines.

Let me give you a little peek about George. He is a sweetheart. I never thought I was going to meet one in my life. Like the knights of shining armor. I have loved him even deeper since I got to know more about his personality. He wasn't an arrogant jerk like the others.

"Ready, babe," he said, taking my hands as we got out of the car. I have rehearsed almost every day the possible questions I will be asked when I first meet them. Family, school, career, and more.

As I moved my steps further into the explicit building, the architectural design was so amazing. George tightened my hand when we came into view with his parents sitting on the sofa, giving me an encouraging look that spoke. "I'm with you, babe."

"Hey dad, hey mom," he greeted.

"Hello, son," he replied while his mother scanned me from head to toe with her eyes. I felt uncomfortable, and her eyes weren't friendly either. Don't I look okay? Is the slit too revealing? Why did I pick this dress? I guess she doesn't like it. I began to peek at the dress I wore; it was specially given to me by George along with others, but this was my favorite among all of them.

I wore a red gown with a slit that stopped on my laps; the sleeves were a tiny cross across my neck; and I wore a pair of black heels to complement.

"Is she the one?" She pointed with her finger, looking at George. George nodded, and she stood up to hug me.

"Come here, honey," she gestured to me. Smiles creeped out of my face. I guess she liked me, so we began to chat. It was like I was speaking with my own mother.

"Dinner is ready," a man who wore a white apron said before he disappeared. We went over to the dining room, and George brought out the chair for me to sit in. So sweet of me.

We started eating all together. I enjoy the dish a lot.

"So, Mia, tell me, how did you both meet?" His father asked. George slipped his hand on my mind, encouraging me with his eyes.

"We met... at the gallery," I sloaned to my words. Fucking shit, I thought I had worked on those nerves.

"Where did you go to school?" I took a deep breath before answering.

"Oxford University." This time it was clear. Imagine seeing the person you see on TV become your father-in-law.

"Do you think my son is a jerk?" I looked at George. This wasn't part of the questions I rehearsed, but something struck me. I had memories of this handsome man in front of me. I looked deep into his deep ocean eyes and answered.

"George is one of the sweetest men I have ever met. If love is this intoxicating, I will love to have more of it." George gave me a peek.

"A toast for the lovebirds," he said, raising a cup, which we all raised, hitting each other's cup with giggles and smiles planted on our faces.

"What am I missing?" A voice asked, and I turned around to meet gray eyes, his gaze on me. My cup fell from my hand, shattering on the floor.

"Tristan, "I called silently. What is he doing here? My heart sucked deep into my stomach, and my hands began to shake. Why does my past have a way of showing up again? Tristan was my ex. He is just the opposite of George. I never knew George and Tristan were related. Tristan is his cousin. My heart yawned for revenge; our relationship was sour and bitter, and I was the to-be wife of George. I guess I'm going to make him pay for what he did to me.