In the truck, which only took a momentary stare down between us before her curvy ass sat in the passenger seat, I look over at her.

“You and I need to get some shit straight.”

She starts to say something, but I hold my hand up, stopping her.

“I’m not good at this. You aren’t much better.”

I wait for an argument, a sarcastic response. I don’t get it. I get a nod.

Thank God.

“I’m not going anywhere. I made a decision based on something fucked up in my chest.”

She bites her bottom lip, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m dedicating two years. This works—”

“This meaning what?” she asks.

“The business, you and me—all of it,” I clarify.

“You’re assuming I’m not going back to New York, and that I want to ‘put in two years,’ as well?” She uses air quotes.

“For fuck’s sake, Paige, no games. You want me. Clearly, you fucking want me—”

She reaches out and playfully smacks me in the chest.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You think you’re God’s gift to women, don’t you?”

“Never had a single woman look at me without fondness or desire; your Babička included.”

To that, she looks out the passenger window and smirks, thinking I don’t see her. I do.

“Also, because of how I look, I’ve been able to be choosy. I fuck what I want and—”

She turns and glares at me. It’s hot. I like it, but I know it can get out of hand, so I clarify.

“I choose you. I bought a fucking company to show good faith.”

“So, this is all business, is it?”

I shrug. “You got me in a position I didn’t think I’d be in. So, if you and I can’t come up with a plan for us, then yes, it’s one hundred percent business. We do, then we’re most definitely going to mix business with pleasure.”

She shakes her head at me with a smirk on her face. Her face is art, beautiful fucking art.

“I’m not fucking around about this. You so much as look in Warren or anyone else’s direction, and I will sell the whole thing off.”

“Oh, my God, Vincent,” she gasps.

“Tell me I’m an asshole. I don’t care. That’s how this is gonna work.”

Get pissed, lady. I fucking want you to so badly.

“Then the same goes for you,” she demands.

“Done.”

“It’s that easy, is it?”

“The way I see it, relationships, personal and business, fail because people don’t have three things.” I hold up one finger. “Honesty.” I hold up a second. “Loyalty.” Then I hold up a third. “Respect.”

I watch her eyes narrow, but not in anger; in thought.

“I’ve already given you those. Give them to me and we’re golden.”

“What about attraction? That’s pretty important.”

I nod. “We’re obviously already attracted to one another. And Paige, you’re gonna have to get over that I’m not like one of your exes. I’m not intimidated by your looks. I know damn well I’m equally as attractive as you.”

She blushes and looks down at her phone. “We’re already late. We should go.”

I hold out my hand. “Do we have a deal?”

She closes her eyes and slowly nods once. “Yes.”

“Good. It’ll be a hell of a lot easier on your family if they see you trust me.” I thrust my hand out farther. “Your word and a handshake—I want both.”

She reaches out slowly, cautiously, and I take her hand and shake it. And no, I don’t let go.

She’s quiet. I get it. She’s had hours, not days or weeks, to wrap her mind around this.

I have.

“Vincent?”

I squeeze her hand. “Paige?”

“How do you know where you’re going?”

I look at her out of the corner of my eye as I pull down her road. “Really?”

She shrugs.

“What?” I half-laugh, knowing she’s smart, inquisitive, and this question is leading to something.

“I know nothing about you, aside from what I’ve seen over the past nine years.”

I pull into the paved driveway of her family’s ranch-style home that has gray wood siding with an attached garage. The yard is landscaped beautifully. It has a nice beach feel. The pictures actually did it no justice.

I put the vehicle in park and turn to give her my attention. “What would you like to know?” I ask, knowing full well what she wants to know. I wanted to tell her earlier, but then she started throwing up down the side of my boat.

“Who did that to you?” Her eyes narrow, then she adds, “And why?”

“Several people, and because I fought back.”

Immediately, tears spring to her eyes.

“Paige, I don’t think you walking into your family’s home in tears will make me any more marketable to them.”

She sits back and pulls her phone out of those ridiculous overalls and starts sending a text.

“What are you doing?”

“Telling Pace that tonight’s not a good night for dinner.”

I take the phone from her. “If I have two years to win them over, we’re going to need all the time we have.”

“What?” She laughs.

“I’m on my best fucking behavior, lady. It won’t last. Soon, they’ll see the me you saw for over nine years—the real me.”

She smiles sadly. “I like this you better.”

“It’s the same me; you’ll see. Your views are just now tainted by my tongue and cock.” I wink then jump out of the truck before she has a chance to continue. At her side, I open the door and hold out my hand, “You ready?”

She is.

As we walk up the sidewalk, I look beside me to see Paige is staring at our hands.

“Make you uncomfortable?” I squeeze her hand.

“Bringing a boy home?” she jokes.

“Right. How many guys have you lived with?” I ask, trying to rein in the bitterness that thought brings, for no fucking reason other than I hate any motherfucker who’s had her.

“Lived with?” She scratches her head as if she’s thinking about it.

When it takes too long, I can’t hold back. “Four. The answer’s four.”

“Seven, actually.” She shrugs like it’s not a big deal.

“Seven?”

“You’re jealous.” She smiles then shrugs. “I should ask how many women you’ve shacked up with.”

“That’s easy. None.” I know at thirty-two—her age—and twenty-eight—my age—people have a past, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

When we stop at the door, she pokes me in the chest. “You’ve lived with three.”

The front door opens when I am about to tell her that was work then demand to know who the other three were.

“You’re late,” Pace says. “Dinner’s ready, and if you don’t get in here and eat, Babička is likely to fall asleep in her potatoes.”

As we are walking in, she whispers, “That’s one of the three you missed while digging around in my past.”

I realize now the other three she’s shacked up with—her term, not mine—are her brother, father, and her grandfather who lived with them while she was growing up.

I take in the surroundings as we walk in. I could blame it on occupational hazard, but it isn’t. I want to know what’s important to her, aside from her family’s business, that she was willing to do whatever she could to save.

“Come on in,” her mother says, smiling.

Entering the kitchen, I immediately see Babička, and she sees me.

“Stephan, come sit.”

I’m already aware of how fond Paige is of her, and from what I’ve experienced in the short time since I met her, I’m going to like her, too. Even if she hasn’t got a fucking clue who I am.

I let go of Paige’s hand and walk over to sit beside her. As soon as I sit, she grips my knee, which shocks me.

I immediately look at Paige, who is biting her lower lip to stop from laughing. She obviously saw what just happened.

When Babička begins smoothing her fingers up and down my kneecap, I look over at her, and she grins.

I hear Pace laugh as he walks behind me, carrying two large bowls that he sets down on the table.

I reach under the table and hold Babička’s hand to stop her caresses. She sighs and rests her head on my arm.

Paige walks over and takes one of the large, ceramic bowls, carrying it back behind me and Babička. When she’s next to her, she scoops out some of the contents of what I now know is a pot roast and puts it on the plate in front of Babička.

“Oh, I’m not quite that hungry,” Babička tells her as she hands me the bowl.

I set it on the table, unwilling to release Babička’s hand, fearing where it may lead. Then I scoop some of the contents out and onto my plate before setting the wooden spoon back in it. I start to pick it up to pass it to Pace when he takes it.

“You’ve got your hands full enough; I have this.”

“Just five bites, Babička, okay?” Paige holds up the spoon for her to eat, and she does. After each bite, Paige stops and uses the cloth napkin to dab the corner of her lips as Babička eats slowly. I see Pace scooping some of the roast onto his mother’s plate as she looks at him with adoration in her eyes.

There isn’t a whole lot of conversation around the table, so I concentrate on Paige feeding her grandmother. This is another side of Paige Arnesen; a sweeter, kinder, gentler side. I like it.

After Babička’s fourth bite, she rests her head against my arm again, and I feel the weight of her head becoming heavier.

Paige sighs. “She’s asleep.”

“You won’t have to fight to get her to bed tonight, Pea,” Pace says, pushing back from the table to stand. “I’ll get her.” Pace picks his grandmother up out of the chair beside me then begins to walk out of the kitchen, Paige following.

I see their mother watching them, tears filling her sad eyes, but none spill. She looks away and at me, smiling sadly. Then she looks at my plate then up at me, shocked.

I eat quickly, realizing I haven’t touched my food. I don’t want to offend the woman. I was too preoccupied watching her daughter.

“Would you like more?”

“It was delicious, but I’m full. Thank you, Mrs. Arnesen.”

She nods then slowly stands.

I see her hand shake as she begins to clear the table and stand up to start helping her, grabbing Paige’s empty plate.

“Should I make her a plate?”

Her mother smiles and nods. “That’s very thoughtful, Vincent.”

After making her plate, I take the two ceramic bowls and stack the empty plates on them before carrying them to the sink. Paige’s mother slowly walks around, collecting the silverware.

I scrape the plates into the garbage as she walks over to the sink and starts rinsing the utensils.

We both look up at the sound of Pace’s laugh.

“Well, that’s certainly great news. I’ll be there within thirty minutes.” He pauses, a phone held to his ear. “As a matter of fact, the new owner is here.” He chuckles. “It’s a long story, Dad.” He pauses and listens. “Of course.” He hangs up, smiling at his mother. “Dad can come home.”

“What? I thought … they said a couple more days.” She smiles as tears roll down her cheeks.

“Should we let him stay?” Pace jokes.

“No, of course not.” She laughs. “Let me get my things. Let’s go get him.”

“Mom, I was thinking maybe I’d take him.” He points at me.

“Why would you do that?” she asks.

“Because I think Dad may have a few things to say to him.”

“No,” Paige says as she walks into the kitchen. “I’ll talk to Dad.”

“Paige, I’d like to,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “It’ll be best if I do.”

“It’s not about what’s best. It’s about what’s right.” I look at Pace. “You ready?”

He nods.

“I’m going,” Paige insists.

I look at her, trying to keep my calm, though she can clearly see I’m not. “Paige—”

“I’m going.”

“Why don’t you all go?” her mom steps in.

“Someone needs to stay here,” Paige tells her.

“I’m perfectly capable of being alone, Paige.”

“And I’m perfectly capable of—”

“Paige, a minute?” I walk out of the kitchen and to the front door where I wait for her.

When she comes out, she stands in front of me, arms crossed over her tits, pushing them together and causing them to spill a little out of her tank top. She snaps her fingers in front of my eyes, and I look up.

“I’m going to pick up my father with Pace. We’ll drop you off at your ship—”

“Boat,” I correct her.

“Whatever.” She rolls her blue eyes. “If he wants to talk to you, we’ll stop. If he needs a day or ten to process, he can have that, too. He’s healing; coming home for the first time in weeks.”

“Paige …” I begin.

“No, this isn’t up for discussion, Vincent. This is my father.”

Before I can argue, she yells for Pace, “Let’s go.”

“I’m not okay with this,” I hiss at her.

“Try harder to be, Vincent.”

* * *

Not one word is said while I ride, not drive, in a vehicle with Paige and her brother to the marina where I get out and shut the door behind me, angry, so fucking angry that this isn’t going as planned.

I walk down the dock toward my boat, thinking about the words she may have thought were encouraging or may have been used as her way to put me in my place. I’m not sure which.

I step onto the boat and immediately walk down the stairs, grab the bottle of Dominic’s award-winning Greco do Tufo, named Alesstina after his and Valentina’s mother, the wine Paige seemed to enjoy the most while in Italy, and pop the cork. I don’t bother with a glass. I just sit on the leather corner couch and drink from the bottle.

Try harder, Vincent.

My earliest memories of my father was when he used to tell me that I wouldn’t speak with the women he brought in and out of his life when I would go to work with him. The women who told him I was strange.

I wasn’t strange. I was a kid who knew his father was fucking around on his mother. The woman he would tell he loved most mornings before he left for work. It was confusing.

I was trying hard, too hard to understand what the hell was going on around me.

Try harder, Vincent.

He would say that when I would beg him not to leave me with my mother after he no longer lived with us and she cried too much, drank too much, and slept too much.

When he was killed in a car accident, I was forced to try harder.

Try harder, Vincent.

My mother would slur that when I tried to carry her up the stairs after she had fallen asleep on the stoop outside of any given shitty apartment we happened to live in with her man of the month. Men who used her body while she used them for whatever they had to offer. It didn’t take long for me to figure out it was drugs.

Try harder, Vincent!

She would shout that when I tried to get her to understand that she didn’t have to live like that. She just needed to get a job and a place for us.

I was trying harder, and it wasn’t doing a damn thing.

Try harder, Vincent.

My mother cried that the first night she snuck out of her bed to come find me after her boyfriend had beaten me with a leather belt so badly I bled.

Try harder, Vincent!

She would scream that at me when I fought off the next five who came at me with intentions of harm, and I did the same.

Try harder, Vincent.

She would whisper that when I was old enough to realize she was selling her body and, in that last year, trying to sell mine, as well.

Try harder, Vincent!

She would shriek that when she was no longer mentally capable of realizing how fucked up it was that she couldn’t break me, bring me to a level of understanding that that kind of life was acceptable. It wasn’t.

Try harder, Vincent.

She would beg that when we lived on the streets because I wasn’t just going to save myself, but her, too. I wasn’t going to allow her to be broken anymore. When I would find her trying to score, I would fight one man or ten, holding my own either way, but not without physical scars.

For sixteen years of my life, I tried harder than any human possible to help someone who didn’t want to be helped … before I walked away, deciding to never do it again, without it being something that would help me, too.

Now, here I was again.

In the brief time I considered buying the marina, the boats, the home, that was used as collateral for the loan, I had an inner struggle, trying to figure out if I was repeating my past mistakes. Paige hadn’t asked for help.

I concluded it was a chance I was willing to take, and unlike the situation with my mother, I could take care of myself. And if this ended badly, I could walk again.