Chapter 7

Grayson

DAY 5

A HAPPY HOME, the sign reads. What a load of shit.

Isabella looks up at it with a bit of a snarl, too. But her eyes are sad. Fuck knows why. She’s got her curls piled up on top of her head. No makeup. She’s actually very pretty without it. Just jeans and a top today, not that figure-hugging dress. No dance in her eyes. No hair-flicking and smiles and flirty voice.

She told me I gave her the best sex of her life last night. She was sitting on my lap, her hair wild, her eyes alight. It was great. But when I agreed, her eyes changed, and she told me we’ll never do it again. I don’t get it. But anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’re here to call Mr. Fink. That’s all.

“Let’s get this over with,” she says.

“That’s what we’re doing.” I get a cart and push it through the automatic doors. “This will be too heavy for you when it has stuff inside it.”

“Stuff inside it? What money do you have to shop?”

“It will look more realistic when I call Mr. Fink. We’ll tell him we’re bringing it all back to England with us.”

She sighs then marches over to a shelf. She pulls off a trash can, then marches a little farther on and pulls off some storage boxes.

“What on earth would I buy those for?”

“I know it must be an alien concept to you, Grayson, but people have to actually do life stuff. You know, like organize things. Store things. Actually run their own life. Instead of having housekeepers to do it all while you drink and flirt.”

She starts to load them into the cart but I rush to do it instead. “I don’t just drink and flirt. You make it sound so shallow.”

“It is shallow. You’re the shallowest person I know.”

“What? Just because I’m not a human rights lawyer or something.”

“No.” She leans against the cart with one hand and plants the other on her hip. “Because you have no concept of responsibility, or… look, we don’t need to do this. Let’s call Mr. Fink, and then I can go back to my paperwork. There’s still a lot I have to do before we fly out.”

“We need towels first.”

“Geez.”

I swerve the cart into the next aisle and spot the towels. I grab some red ones and put them in the cart. “We can call him now.”

“Yeah,” she says, disinterested, looking over the towels. “Out of all the colors there, why did you pick that bright gaudy one? It’s not exactly relaxing.”

I tap Video Call and wait for a response. It just rings and rings. “It caught my eye. It’s bright. What does it matter?”

“This is exactly what I mean. You don’t put thought into anything, do you? Whatever catches your eye, you go for. No planning. No consideration. Nothing. Just ‘I like that one, I think I’ll have it.’”

“I get what I want. Nothing wrong with that.” It goes to voicemail, and I hang up. “Finky’s busy.”

“Ugh.” She walks along the aisle.

I watch her. I seriously don’t get it. I gave her the best fuck of her life last night. Now she’s acting like I’m her enemy. My phone vibrates and I check it—Finky. I’m with a client. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.

“Cheer up,” I say. “Remember I am giving you fifty million dollars, after all.”

She turns. Her eyes flare. She makes a deep bow with a flourish of her hand. “Oh, thank you, King of the Universe. May I kiss your feet?”

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” she says and turns back to the shelves. She smells all these different colored candles, one after the other. “Where do you find these women?”

“Everywhere.”

“What is it they see in you? Seriously. I’m not seeing it.”

A slow grin spreads over my face. “You weren’t saying that last night.”

Her head whips in my direction. “I told you that never happened,” she says with a dark glare. “And if it did, it’s never happening again.”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

“Yeah, yeah, and you’ve weaseled your way back into their pants again. Well, you know me, Grayson. You know when I say something, I mean it. And I mean this. I will never do anything like that with you again for as long as I live.”

I feel something in my chest. It’s not nice. But I shrug. “Plenty more fish in the sea.”

“Yeah, plenty more fish to hook on your line to nowhere.” She plonks two candles into the cart. “I’m actually buying these. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for them. I know you don’t have…”

A couple passes us, arm in arm, and she trails off. She watches them intently. I turn to see what’s so interesting about them. Nothing out of the ordinary. A downtrodden man pretending that one woman can satisfy him. She has a nice body, a nice face, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, not a scrap of makeup on but still pretty. But even so, poor guy. What a jail to be trapped in. He has a gold shackle around his finger. They stop a little farther up and start going through the whole candle-smelling ritual. She’s placing them up to his nose and asking his opinion.

Isabella turns and sighs. She sees something I don’t see.

“What?”

“If only there were more men in the world like that,” she says.

“I feel sorry for him.”

“What?” she says. “Look at him. He’s so attentive. He’s completely in love with her. Look at the way he looks at her. Like she’s the only woman in the universe.”

“Well, then, he’s delusional.” I push the cart on. “That’s all there is to it. A poor, delusional, miserable fool.”

She grabs my arm. “Look at him, Gray.”

I turn. He’s smelling a candle his woman holds out to him. His hand rests on her lower back. She’s looking at him like he’s God of the Universe. He has a gentle look on his face, his eyes full of love.

Isabella sighs again. “That’s a real man. Look how happy he looks. Look how happy she looks. It’s like they’re in their own little bubble.”

He does look a bit happy, actually. Weirdly. He must be getting great sex. I look the woman up and down. She looks like a regular, not-gorgeous-but-still-attractive, woman. Nothing special about her, really. But he’s gazing at her like she’s Beyoncé. She must be a freak in bed. I look at her face and wonder what she looks like when she’s in pleasure. Maybe he’s addicted to that. Or maybe he cheats. But when he passed Isabella, he didn’t give her much more than a glance. Other guys’ eyes get glued to her. They turn their heads over their wives’ shoulders to take a longer look.

“Anyway,” Isabella says, a businesslike look on her face. “That’s nice for them. It won’t be something I ever have.”

“Me neither. Thank god.” The idea of being tied to one woman for life? Terrifying. But as we turn out of the aisle, I give them one last glance. Maybe he enjoys having her all to himself. Like her sexuality is hidden from the world, and he’s the only man who has the privilege of watching her come and scream and maybe even squirt. That’s kind of hot. Maybe marriage has that advantage. But I couldn’t stick to one woman. Maybe I’ll have a few wives. That would be kind of cool.

“Thank god?” Isabella questions. “You know how amazing it would be to fall in love?”

Yeah, it feels good at first. But then it’s like a thousand knives stabbing away at all your insides. I never blamed Lillia, though. I was just furious with myself for not sticking to my code—fun and enjoyment and nothing serious. That’s not just for relationships. That’s my life code. “I’ll pass.”

“When I fall in love for the first time, I want it to be forever. That’s why I haven’t allowed myself to yet. I want it to be for the right man.” She tosses a thumb back, indicating the next aisle where the couple are. “A man like that.”

“You’ve never been in love?” I’m surprised.

“I just explained that. I haven’t wanted to. I haven’t found the perfect person yet. I don’t want a divorce. I don’t want an unhappy marriage. I don’t want any of that. I want it all to be perfect.”

“And they all lived happily ever after in a castle.”

“Something like that.”

“Castles are shit. My mum’s side of the family have one in Wales. Her brother lives in it. It’s cold and it stinks of dust and rats breed in the attic.”

She laughs and looks relaxed for the first time today. “Trust you to put such a romantic spin on things, Gray.”

My phone rings. “It’s Finky. Oh, shit, take this. I forgot.” I get the ring out of my pocket. It’s just 9k gold plate with zirconia, but it looks like the real deal. It’s for Finky’s benefit, and he’s a solicitor, not a jeweler. He’ll never know.

Isabella slides it on her finger quickly and puts her arm around my shoulder.

“Finky!” I say when I see his gray, tight self come up on the phone screen.

“Gray,” he says. “How are things?”

“Great! Isabella and I are just here in A Happy Home, picking up things for the house. I was thinking I might move out of the mansion and stay in one of the gardeners’ cottages instead, with Isabella. So we’re getting things to make it like home.”

“Hi, there, Mr. Fink,” Isabella says. She smiles at him, a lovely, genuine smile, and puts her hand on my neck. It feels warm, gentle. I like it a little.

“Hello, Isabella.” His voice is suspicious.

“I’m so looking forward to meeting you,” she says. “Gray has told me so much about you, his old family friend. I can tell you some funny stories about him back in school. You know, I always had a crush on him, but I never plucked up the nerve to do anything about him. It was like fate, us meeting again here. I really believe it was meant to be, Mr. Fink.”

He looks a little more relaxed. She aced it. “I’m looking forward to meeting you, too,” he says. “Anything else, Gray? I have another client coming, and I need to prepare.”

I grin. “No, that’s all, Mr. Fink. Just so excited about my new love and our new house.”

Isabella plants a kiss on my cheek. Why does that feel so damn good?