CHAPTER EIGHT

Mia

The past, six months ago…

I pull up to the curb a few blocks from the Hamptons church and park the rental I picked up to get here from the city since I don’t own a car that I’d never drive anyway. No one owns a car in Manhattan who doesn’t have parking money to blow, and after growing up in a poor area of Brooklyn, I’m pretty sure I’ll never feel I have that kind of money to blow. It’s why I declined the car Grayson tried to buy me way back when. I didn’t need it and his money was never what we were about to me. I always wanted him to know that. I always felt he needed to know that.

I breathe a heavy breath and kill the engine, my hands gripping the steering wheel. I want to be here for Grayson, no matter what has transpired between Grayson and I, but I don’t know if I’m making this pain better or worse for him. I still love him. I don’t want to make it worse, but this was not expected. A heart attack is never expected. I need Grayson to know that I wanted to be here, even if he rejects me. Even if he has someone else by his side now.

I swallow against the dryness in my throat and step out of the car, slipping the slender black purse I’m wearing over my black dress, across my chest. I shove the door shut, and damn it, my knees are wobbling. I push forward and start walking, along with a good ten other people parked nearby. I can feel eyes on me, surprised eyes that know I was with Grayson and I’m not anymore, but I don’t care. I’m not here for them.

Once I reach the gorgeous white church, which ironically has three steeples just like Grayson’s father’s house just down the road does, I stand on the sidewalk and just stare at the door. It’s almost time for the service and there are no people lingering here or there, as I’m certain there would have been earlier. I make my way up the concrete path and then travel a good twenty steps. I enter the church, and as soon as I’m inside, Eric, dressed in a black suit, is standing in front of me, as if he’d seen me approach.

“Did he tell you to send me away?”

“No,” he says. “He doesn’t know you’re here, but he won’t send you away. He needs you.”

My eyes are already starting to burn. “Take me to him,” I whisper.

He motions to the left, and I follow him down a hallway to a doorway where we stop. “He’s alone.”

I nod and he opens the door. I inhale and shut my eyes, deep breathing for a few beats. I haven’t seen Grayson in six months which feel like a century. I have so many hurt feelings with him but now is not about those feelings. I open my eyes and enter a compact prayer room to find Grayson standing in front of a cross with his back to me.

“Grayson,” I say softly.

His shoulders flex, his entire body tensing before he slowly turns to face me and even today, in a black pinstriped suit, his face etched in grief for a father he loved dearly, he is beautiful. “Mia,” he breathes out as if he’s seeing an illusion.

“Yes. I—I wanted to be here for you and him. I hope it’s okay. If it’s not—”

He’s across the room in a matter of two blinks and pulling me to into his arms, his hand cupping my head, his mouth closing down on mine, and I’m consumed by his grief and need, by his hunger for something that is both physical and emotional. There is no part of me that holds back. No part of me that doesn’t want to give him what he needs.

“Don’t leave,” he whispers. “I need you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “I’m right here. I wanted to call sooner. I just didn’t know if I would make it worse.”

“I need you,” is all he says, his forehead resting against mine, and he doesn’t speak or move.

We just stand there holding each other, time ticking by—seconds, minutes, I’m not sure how long—until Grayson breaks the silence.

“I golfed with him that morning. I was there when it happened. I couldn’t save him.”

I pull back to look at him and there are tears in his eyes. I reach up and stroke away the dampness on his cheeks, more in love with this man in this moment than I ever have been. He is strong, powerful, and wealthy, and yet, he is human, he is vulnerable. “Did you get to tell him you love him?”

“Yes. Over and over. I’m not sure he heard, though.”

“He knew. He knew.”

The door opens and Eric says, “It’s time.”

Grayson pulls back and looks at him. “We’ll be right there.”

Eric nods and exits. Grayson takes my hand. “I’m giving the eulogy.”

“As it should be,” I say.

He bends our elbows and pulls me close, his eyes meeting mine. “As it should be,” he says. He’s talking about me by his side.

“Yes,” I say, without hesitation. “As it should be.”

He brings our joined hands to his lips and kisses them before he guides me forward and we exit the room. Hand in hand, we enter the church, which is packed with hundreds of people and we walk down the center aisle with all eyes on us. We sit in the front row, and Leslie, his godmother, his second mother, who was his mother’s best friend, reaches around and squeezes my leg, her long dark hair pulled back at the nape, her blue eyes pained. I realize then that Grayson is alone but for her. His mother has been gone for five years. Now his father is gone as well.

Grayson doesn’t let go of me until it’s his turn to speak. He looks at me when it’s time and I cup his face. “As it should be,” I whisper, and he kisses me before he stands.

I listen to the heartfelt words about a man who inspired him, a man who was hard on him, but only because he wanted the best for him, and every word is true. “He was a hard man who expected honesty and ethics. He expected that I be the best and I do it with hard work and integrity.”

When Grayson is done there isn’t a dry eye in the church and the minute he’s seated again, he’s holding onto me, his grip so tight it hurts, but I don’t care. The rest of the ceremony is over quickly and it’s not long before I’m in the front seat of Grayson’s Porsche for the ride to the cemetery. He cranks the engine but doesn’t place us in gear. “It was perfect,” I whisper when we’re finally alone. “And true. He was a good man.”

“He asked me every time I saw him when you’d be back.” He looks at me, his green eyes bloodshot. “Every time, Mia. For six months.”

“I’m here now,” I whisper. “I’m not leaving.”

I mean it when I say it. I never wanted to leave in the first place.

He reaches for me, his fingers tangling in my hair. “We’re going to the house,” he says. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“On one condition,” I say, my hand covering his. “We don’t talk about why I left. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want us to be us right now.”

“We never stopped being us, Mia,” he says, pulling my mouth to his and kissing me. And in that kiss, I taste the truth. He’s right. We never stopped being us and while I’ve questioned if I knew what that meant over the past few months, I don’t now. Right now, us, is what it always was before: everything.