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I hate reading Twitter conversations because you get the last message first, so you never know what the fuck is going on until you hunt down the original message. Which doesn’t seem to be included in this set of tweets.

I close out of that one and go down further, to tweets more than fifteen minutes old. I swear. I must look through a hundred messages before I find the one that sparked this convo. It was five hours ago and it came from @Buzz1Hollywood. That right there should tell me to leave it alone, but I’m human. If people are talking about me, I need to see it.

Editor @Realreporter00 - 5 hrs

Who wants to see @FilthyBlueBird doing the dirty solo for her man? We got the goods. Twitter pics are not private, Blue Bird.

Holy fuck. I want to stop myself, but I can’t. I have to know for sure. I scroll through every single notification looking for the “goods” but after hours of searching—like seriously, it’s after eight and the only reason I stop is because I hear the garage door open—I don’t find anything.

I do find several dozen references in the Buzz Hollywood feed to the Black Bash, which is happening this Friday.

Were they lying? Do they have these pictures or not? I’d forgotten all about that night we were phone- and Twitter-sexing back in Denver. It feels like years ago. How could I have known back then what my life would become in a few short months?

“Grace!” Vaughn calls out as he enters from the garage. I slap the cover closed on the tablet and stick it behind a cushion. He rounds the corner just as I cross my legs and look guilty. “What’re ya doing, Princess?”

“Waiting for you to get home.”

He grins widely at me and then joins me on the couch. “I missed you so much today,” he says, drawing me into his arms and nuzzling my neck.

Aww.

And before I can even tell him I missed him more, he’s got his hand up my shirt.

I should tell him about the pictures, but hell, I just want to soak up his attention. I’m so ready for company.

“Wanna go out to eat tonight? I got us reservations at Mastro’s.” He kisses me, his tongue doing a twisty little dance inside my mouth.

“Please, get me out of this house.”

He scoops me up and carries me to the garage door, then bends down. “Grab those flip flops.”

“I can’t go like this!”

“Hell, yes, you can. I’m starving for steak. And you, sweets. I need nourishment and girly conversation right now, or I might die. Grab them and let’s go.”

I grab the flops and he sweeps me into the garage and places me in his 911, dragging the seatbelt across my lap as he kisses me.

When he closes my door I sigh. He’s so perfect.

And I don’t want to ruin our night with talk of the media, so I’ll tell him about the tweets tomorrow.

I just want to enjoy my fairytale life for now.

Chapter Fourteen

#ThisCastleIsMine

“YOU’RE nervous?” Vaughn asks as we drive through the gates of his parents’—my in-laws’—palatial Beverly Hills estate.

“Of course I’m nervous. Your entire family is here.” Thanksgiving at the Chambers house was a low-key affair. It was buffet-style. We ate on the couch some years. They didn’t have a lot of family, and what they did have lived on the East Coast. It was not extravagant.

“Yeah, but they are pretty cool, Grace. We’re all close. And besides, you saw most of them at the wedding.”

“Oh, God. Please tell me all those people won’t be here.” My stomach twists from my nerves.

“Of course not, sweets. Only about a hundred or so.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding.” He reaches over to squeeze my leg as he pulls in the circular driveway and waits for the valet to come.

Vaughn exits the car while my door is opened for me. I’m just about to take the offered hand of the valet when Vaughn sneaks his hand in. “Princess,” he says with a grin as he helps me out of the low-riding sports car. “Welcome back to the castle. No film crews are here this time.”

I roll my eyes at him and we walk towards the front door. It’s already open, there’s a butler-looking man in formal attire standing guard, and his mother. He says she meets him at the door whenever he comes over, and he was not kidding. Who knew Vaughn Asher was a mama’s boy?

She kisses him on the cheek, then me, chatting about food and family. I swallow hard and cling to Vaughn’s hand as I’m led into the expansive living room. It’s got a huge cathedral ceiling with dozens of windows covered in elegant draperies. The back yard is not a water park like ours. It has a pool, but it also has manicured gardens, and of course, the pool house where Felicity is staying.

There are children running everywhere and double the amount of grown-ups.

“How are you feeling, Grace?” Vaughn’s mother asks. He calls her Mom. I know her name is Dana, but somehow I can’t bring myself to call her either of those things.

“I’m much better, thank you.” That’s about all I can manage.

“Well, we’re ready to eat now that you’re here. So let’s go get settled in the dining room.”

“We’re late?” I ask in Vaughn’s ear.

“On time for food and conversation, darling. I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed, so I said we’d only come for dinner.”

Well, that was thoughtful.

Mrs. Asher takes my arm and leads me forward. “The children are all eating outside, it’s a tradition, so don’t worry. It will be a nice calm experience for you.”