Chapter 12

Grant

“Abby’s gone.”

The moment I entered the room, I felt something was wrong, the hotel bathroom slippers lying inches from each other on the floor and the robe a heap on the couch. Now, after searching the room and finding no sign of Abby or any of her things, I know what’s wrong or rather, what’s missing.

Abby.

She left. In a hurry. And judging from the pile of used tissue in the garbage can, she was upset. Since the phone receiver was on the floor, it must have something to do with that last conversation she had.

The question is… who was she talking to?

“I should have stayed at the hotel,” Roger says, frowning.

I shake my head, looking at the handset in my hand. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have been able to keep her from leaving.”

I press the redial button, my jaw clenching when I see an overseas number on the small screen. And not just any overseas number.

Lindsey’s.

My jaw clenches. I thought something was bothering her. I thought it was just something that had happened at the mansion. I should have known it was something else. I should have known a smart woman like her would not be kept in the dark forever.

Not that I was planning to keep her in the dark forever. I was going to tell her someday when it no longer mattered, when we’ve been together for a long time, when I’ve become more certain that I wasn’t going to lose her.

And now, I’ve lost her.

I toss the phone on the bed and take mine out from my pocket, calling her.

“The number you are dialing is…”

I end the call then go over to the table where my laptop is, thinking of getting information on which plane she’s trying to get on in hopes of catching her before she’s on it.

In front of the table, I pause.

Wasn’t the lid of my laptop open earlier?

Lifting the lid, I see the wet drop on the keyboard. A tear. Quickly, I open the minimized window, feeling like throwing the mouse in my hand when I realize that it’s the message from my grandfather, the one with all the profiles of the women he wanted me to choose from for my wife.

“Fuck.” I beat my fist against the table, ignoring the pain.

“Fuck is right,” Roger says as he looks at my screen. “Your grandfather sure has a knack for complicating things, doesn’t he?”

“I’ll go after her.” I head toward the door. “I’ll go to Heathrow and look for her. I’ll pay people to help me find her if I have to.”

“Grant, wait.” Roger places a firm hand on my shoulder. “I know you want to make things right, and I really hope you do but you can’t do it right now.”

I turn around to face him. “Why not?”

“Because there’s something more important you should do.” Roger points to the screen of my laptop. “Even if you talk to Abby now, it won’t change the fact that your grandfather still wants you to marry someone of his choosing, which means the two of you still can’t be together. If you’re going to chase after Abby, you have to make sure first that nothing will get in your way.”

“What are you suggesting? That I talk to Grandfather? There’s nothing for us to talk about. I’m not going to marry someone he chooses for me.”

“But if you don’t, he’ll disown you,” Roger reminds me.

“Then let him disown me.” I turn toward the door. “He never thought of me as his grandson anyway.”

“And what about your promise to your mother?”

I stop in my tracks.

“You did promise her that you weren’t going to turn your back on your grandfather, didn’t you?”

I clench my shaking hands into fists, remembering when she lay on the hospital bed, a few days before her death.

“I know your grandfather is selfish and proud. I know that better than anyone. But he did have a heart once. He loved me once, and he was kind and happy then. I can’t win back that love anymore but you can. Promise me that you’ll try. That you won’t let him die cold and lonely. Only you, Grant, can undo what I have done.”

And I did promise her. I gave her my word that I’d try.

If Grandfather disowns me, I’ll never have the chance to fulfill my promise. But what should I do? If I follow my grandfather’s wishes, I’ll never see Abby again. I’ll never be with her again.

“Fuck!”

I bow my head in anguish, beating my fists against the wall.

If only I knew what my mother was asking of me then, I wouldn’t have made that promise. I can’t turn back time, though, and she’s gone, which means I can’t ask her to release me from my promise, from this sentence to a lifetime of suffering.

Mom, how do I get out of this mess you got me into?