Logan laughs at my innuendo. “That’ll make for an interesting mid-ride photograph.”

I nod again and wink at him in response.

“Logey,” Mary-Gene intercepts him, “who was that man you two were talking to just now?” she asks.

After giving me a knowing look, he tactfully walks with her and Rupert a few paces away from Taylor, so that he won’t overhear the whole story; Logan doesn’t want him to find out either. Not here, not now.

My mom emerges from a crowd of people and joins them, eavesdropping, and a few seconds later her face lights up. Oh, no! Mom, don’t say it, please, don’t say it! “You punched Jerry last week?” she shrieks happily.

Fuck!

My eyes fly to Taylor. Everything about him tenses; his body becomes rigid, his eyes flash with anger, and if the vibes coming off of him were visible, they’d be like barbed-wire headed straight in Logan’s direction. “You punched someone recently?” he asks his big brother, his disgust evident.

“Jerry,” my mom tells him with a broad smile on her face. She’s totally clueless to the war she’s starting. “He’s Gemima’s despicable ex-boyfriend.”

Piping up, I say the first defensive thing that comes into my head, “Jerry deserved it,” but I instantly regret it. Taylor turns to scowl at me like I’m the most insensitive person that he’s ever laid eyes on. That’s the last thing that a victim wants to hear, I realise too late. I buckle with guilt under his gaze. I really shouldn’t have said that.

“No one deserves to be physically assaulted,” he leers at me.

“Easy, Taylor,” Logan says with a hint of condescension. “Don’t take everything so damn personally.”

“Why was Jerry apologising to you, Logan?” Mary-Gene asks.

“That’s just the kind of warped power-play Logan is into, mom,” Taylor tells her.

My mom narrows her eyes at Taylor. It’s starting to dawn on her that he’s not as gentlemanly as his big brother.

“I was just about to explain that,” Logan says evenly, his levelheadedness impressing me. Perturbed though my mother’s unintentional outburst may have made him, he remains his cool, calm self. I realise that his not wanting Taylor to find was not about protecting himself, but rather saving everyone the drama of another Taylor Tantrum. “You can listen to my explanation, or you can fuck off,” he tells Taylor clearly, “I really don’t care which.”

“I think I’ll stay right here,” Taylor says, reminding me of a stroppy teenager.

“Whatever,” Logan shakes his head at his brother and turns his back on him. He reengages his mother, father, and my mom with his story about Jerry once more while walking a few more steps away from Taylor’s seething rage.

To my right, Buddy, Abigail, and Karen are laughing about something unknown to me, either unaware or purposefully ignoring the animosity that’s risen over the last few minutes, leaving Taylor and I standing together in the middle of everyone, a terse silence between us.

“So…” Taylor says, striking up an unwanted conversation, “what do you do for work?”

“I’m an interior designer,” I tell him curtly.

“Oh…” he nods, clearly holding something back, and I know he wants me to ask him what, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. He’s fired up and looking to pick a fight, I know he is. Eventually, he continues anyway, saying, “I thought maybe Logan kept you, you know?”

I instantly feel like I’ve been slapped around the face. There’s an insult I’ve never been dealt before, I think. Gemima Samuels: Gold Digger. “Like a harem of one?” I ask.

“Exactly,” he laughs callously. “I saw the pair of you sneaking off earlier. Does he often summon you like that?”

I ignore the second slap in the face, and instead I say, “Your brother doesn’t need to buy love, Taylor.”

“Doesn’t he?” he laughs again, indicating the room around us.

“Logan didn’t organise this event, it was the PBA,” I say, as if I know them personally. Then repeating Logan’s earlier sentiment, and selling it well, I tell him, “You’re not worth knowing if you’re not a part of the PBA.”

“I don’t know what that stands for, Gemma.”

Gemma? OK, now he’s really starting to shit me! “Hmm,” I grin sourly, “it’s Gemima, not Gemma.” He knows that already.

“It’s Gemima this month,” he says, quite openly considering our close proximity to the rest of his family.

He’s goading me, I know he is, it couldn’t be anymore obvious and yet I can’t rise above it. My resolve has crumbled. “Pardon me?”

“It’s Gemima this month. Next month, who knows who he’ll have,” he says cruelly.

Urgh! He has no idea how awkward his current words will make every family function in the future. He has no idea that he’s talking to his future sister-in-law. My heart is pounding in my chest and heat prickles underneath my skin. Staring at him I think I might actually have found someone that I like less than Jerry! I didn’t think that was ever going to be possible, and yet… “You really know fuck all about your brother, don’t you?” I say quietly.

“Excuse me?” he asks, as though I’ve insulted him.

Anger rises within me. I loosen the reins on my American Mouth. “I said you know fuck all about your brother.”

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, Gemma. That’s probably why he likes you,” he says euphemistically.

Slap number three, I count, feeling dumbstruck. I stand, gaping at him, entirely speechless. I fail to register that the family members around us have all gone utterly quiet.

Wow! Just…wow! The gold digger jab I can let slide, but that? That’s offensive and demeaning and I won’t be spoken to like that! He may have used a mild alternative, but there is no mistaking his vulgar meaning. “You think Logan has a problem with indecency? Yet you utter that to me? That crude, disgusting comment?” I shake his words off instantly. I will not be made to feel worthless by the likes of him. “You’re a hypocrite as well as an asshole, Taylor,” I tell him, my hands practically shaking from the amount of adrenalin coursing through me.

I’d like nothing better than to take that adrenalin and slap him stupid. This evening was supposed to be about appreciating Logan, not defending him, and certainly not about defending myself. How did everything go so terribly wrong? Logan told me that he wasn’t going to let Taylor dampen the mood, and yet I’ve fallen head first into Taylor’s ploy to do just that. Shit, Gem! I remind myself on the spot that I’m not entirely to blame though. Sure, I let Taylor goad me, but he’s the cruel one, he’s the delusional one and his next words prove it beyond all doubt.

“My brother has the personality of an addict. You’re just his latest fix,” he says to me, and it’s clear that he truly believes that his words are the truth.

The silence in our immediate vicinity quickly becomes deafening. Everyone — Logan, Karen, Buddy, Mary-Gene, Rupert, my mom, and even Abigail — is staring at Taylor and I.

“What the fuck did you say to her?” Logan demands to know from his brother. His eyes are dark and dangerous and his voice is cold as ice.

“Taylor…” Karen breathes, her face pale and horrified, “why on earth would you say that?”

“I said you have the personality of an addict,” Taylor says, ignoring his wife, and instead looking Logan straight in the eye, goading him as well, unfazed my Logan’s threatening demeanour.

Logan shakes his head. “What did you say before that, Taylor?” he wants to know. He’s pissed, really pissed! Shit, I think again. If anything is going to cement their acrimonious relationship for Logan, it’ll be Taylor insinuating that I’m a slut.

My mother, who by the look of fury on her face might be more of a threat to Taylor’s personal safety than Logan is, also picked up on the insult. “I believe the fucker as good as called my daughter a tramp,” she says, seething.