Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
GRIFFIN
When she swayed slightly, I nudged my knee against hers. “It’s okay to go to bed. We stayed up pretty much the entire night.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I only get you for a few more hours. I can sleep once you drop me at my apartment.”
She laid down the phase—seven cards of one color—an adorable smirk tugging at her mouth. I stared at the ceiling of the tent. She threw her fists in the air, her shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of stomach—and her belly button.
I couldn’t resist. I squeezed her sides.
Then we were in a full-fledged tickle fight.
I learned that Juliette became violent when tickled.
She shrieked, probably waking half the campground, flailed uncontrollably, and nearly kicked me in my manhood.
Naturally, that meant taking her down to the sleeping bag and pinning her wrists above her head.
“Careful, woman,” I said, low and husky, my face close to hers. “Or there won’t be a Weston.”
She nibbled her bottom lip. “We definitely wouldn’t want that.”
We inhaled and exhaled as one, the space between us shrinking with every breath.
I traced a finger over her forehead. “How can I be this comfortable with someone so quickly?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” Her hands slipped under the back of my T-shirt and her fingernails skimmed up my spine. “Promise we won’t hurt each other,” she whispered.
Huh?
I pushed up onto my elbows. “Why would we hurt each other?”
“Because that’s what couples do. Things start off good—great even—then it turns ugly. Except on TV or in the movies.”
Was that how her parents’ marriage was?
I brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “Not the couples I know.”
“You know a couple who are still happy years later?” she asked, a small catch in her voice. “Like truly?”
“Lots of them. My parents, grandparents, all my aunts and uncles, Anna and Blue.” Over the course of the night, I’d told her about everyone in my family. She already had them memorized.
Her head cocked, expression skeptical. “They don’t just put up a good front and fight behind closed doors?”
“Definitely not. They’re crazy about each other.” I snorted. “So much flirting happens at a Dupree family gathering. Winking, butt grabs, bedroom eyes, and promises of later.”
“Butt grabs?” She cackled.
Her laugh was infectious. “An alarming amount of butt-grabbing. It’s so embarrassing for the rest of us.”
“When we get married,” she said, her whole face lighting up. “Will we be butt-grabbers?”
“Absolutely. We’ll be banned from school events. PTA moms will start petitions. Weston will need years of therapy.”
“Tell me how much they love each other. Who loves each other the most?”
“My parents for sure. Though every aunt and uncle I have would riot if they heard me say that. They all swear theirs is the greatest love story of the family. But my dad would fight an army for my mom, blindfolded, one arm tied behind his back—and he’d win.
” Her eyes glowed at that. “Growing up, if we ever backtalked Mom, we’d better hide before Dad got home because we were going to wish we’d never been born.
” Jules giggled while I fought off a PTSD reaction just thinking about the wrath of Silas Dupree when you disrespected his wife.
“And they still make out like a bunch of teenagers. All the time. We’re constantly telling them to take it to the bedroom.
Which they gladly do. Dad chases her down the hall, growls, and locks the door with so much gusto. ”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“So they never fight or argue?”
“Of course they do. But it never lasts long—and trust me, they love making up.” I grimaced. “They love it way too much.”
She burst out laughing. “How long have they been married?”
“A billion years.” I chuckled. “Seriously, like twenty-six, I think.”
“Twenty-six years? Sounds like a fairy tale.”
“How long have your parents been married?” I asked. She hadn’t mentioned them once. Nothing about siblings or cousins, aunts and uncles.
She traced over my knuckles, not quite meeting my eye. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to think less of me?”
“I’m not going to think less of you. No matter what you tell me.” Every layer she peeled back felt like an invitation into a world she didn’t show anyone else, and I couldn’t get enough.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”
My stomach twisted, my mind spinning in all kinds of directions. None of them good. “I promise.”
“Okay. Here goes…” She drew a breath. “I don’t know who my dad is,” she whispered.
I waited, sure there had to be more. “But you talk about your dad all the time in your interviews.”
She frowned. “It’s all fabricated. My whole backstory. My parents. Their marriage. My upbringing. My name isn’t even Juliette Serrant. It’s Julie. Julie Margot Skinner.”
I studied her face, waiting for the smile that said she was kidding. Five seconds of silence passed. She was serious.
Holy…
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I rolled off her. I pulled her up to a seated position. “What parts are made up? Boarding school in France?”
“Made up. I actually went to four different high schools.” She looked away. “I never even graduated.”
She never graduated? “Did you get your GED?”
“No.”
“Prom queen?” That had to be true. If she’d been at Seddledowne High, she definitely would’ve won—Prom Queen, Homecoming Queen, all the queens, all the years. No contest.
“I didn’t even go to prom,” she said.
My mouth fell open. “I know you’re crappin’ me now. There’s no way you didn’t get asked.” If she’d been at my school, we would’ve been brawling in the parking lot over who was going to ask her.
“Oh, I got asked. At least my junior year.”
“Did you say yes?”
“I did.” She winced like she didn’t want to tell me. “But by the time the dance rolled around, I’d moved. So I didn’t get to go.”
I shook my head. “But there are photos of you with a crown on your head, and you look smokin’ hot.”
“They’re photoshopped. That guy I’m with doesn’t even exist. He’s AI.”
I tried to keep the disbelief off my face, but I felt like I was on a rope bridge, and each confession knocked another board loose under my feet, leaving me swaying over empty space.
“Your mom didn’t give up a modeling career for motherhood?” I asked.
“Crackhead who overdosed when I was ten—catapulting me headfirst into the foster care system, where I would spend the next two thousand, five hundred, and twenty-seven days being moved from home to home, until I emancipated myself at the age of seventeen.”
My lungs tightened. “You were in foster care?”
“Foster care,” she whispered.
“You don’t have parents?”
“Nope.”
“No family of any kind?”
“Nope.”
“No one wanted to adopt you?” I felt nauseous. “How is that even possible?”
She twirled a stray thread on her sleeping bag. “When you look like this, foster dads tend to notice.” She inhaled. “Which really, really pisses off their wives.”
Her words knocked the air out of me. I sucked in a breath. “Did any of them… touch you?”
“No,” she said, eyes fierce. “The minute anything felt wrong, I told Astrid, and she got me out of there. Astrid was my caseworker.”
I exhaled. “Well, that’s something.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “What else don’t I know? If you were a foster kid, how’d you wind up at DayGlow?”
“I dunno. Lucky break?” She didn’t sound grateful, though.
She sounded a touch bitter. “The local community college was holding a one-day career fair. I was too young to be there, but I went anyway. Brought along a couple of ‘headshots.’ Anyone with a clue would’ve known a friend took them—but apparently, they were good enough.
The following week, I got a call from Cecil Waterson, the owner of DG.
They brought me in for a couple of interviews.
Presented me to the board.” She shrugged.
“Changed my name, created a fake backstory, and the rest is, as they say, history.”
“Sounds like a miracle,” I said.
“No.” She popped the stray thread loose. “I’ve only ever experienced one miracle in my life.”
“Tell me,” I said.
“Easy.” She looked me in the eye. “You.”
“Okay.” I scrubbed a hand over my face… floored.
“Yeah. I’ll be your miracle.” I hurt for her.
For the life she’d lost. The years she’d had to do it alone.
I wished more than anything I could’ve known her back then.
I would’ve brought her home with me, and my mom would’ve taken her in.
Without a second thought. Because that’s what Duprees do.
I forced an exhale. “So am I calling you Julie or Juliette?”
“Jules,” she said. “It’s what I heard when I was under the water and you were looking for me. It was the first time in my life I knew someone cared whether I lived or died. Really, truly.”
“That’s… terrible. Yeah. I care.” I tucked her bangs behind her ear. “I didn’t know what I was going to do if I lost you.”
“I know. I could feel it.”
“Jules, it is then.”
“Griffin?” she asked, barely a whisper. “I want to be your wife.”
I nipped her nose with mine. “Then be her.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
She pecked me on the mouth, light and happy. “When?”
I laughed, overwhelmed in the best way. “Well, we’ll probably date for a while. Maybe a year or—”
”No,” she said.
“Okay, well—”
“I can’t even wait a month or two. If I’m going to be your wife, it needs to happen now.”
I stared into her eyes, searching for any sign that she was kidding. She wasn’t. “Now?” I asked.
“Now,” she said.
“Like today?”
“That would be ideal. Yes.”
“You want to run back to Vegas and say ‘I do’ at a drive-thru chapel like every bad romantic comedy I’ve ever mocked?” I chuckled, waiting for the haha, just kidding.
“Doesn’t have to be a drive-thru,” she said.
I fell back against my hands, mind swirling.
“But you’re Juliette Serrant. Don’t you want six months at least to pick a venue, invite three hundred guests, and get the perfect wedding dress?
Give People magazine an exclusive?” I was no stranger to celebrity weddings.
Cash and Charlie’s had been over the top, what with Opal and Ivy, the nation’s favorite jewelry company, footing the bill.
“No. None of that. As a matter of fact, I don’t want any pictures taken, except a couple of selfies on our phones.
Don’t want to tell a single person for as long as we can get away with it.
” She lifted my hand and looped the stray thread around my ring finger.
“I just want it to be you...” She tucked it under, tightening.
“And me...” Then she pulled it into a snug knot and smiled.
“And, of course, the Elvis impersonator who officiates.”
Could I do this? Did I want to?
My mom would be hurt. Granny might remove me from her will. Cash would tell me I was insane, and Liam—the tool that he was—would heckle me online once the news broke.
But the only thing I actually cared about was this: Juliette Serrant… No, Jules—my Jules—wanted to marry me. Today.
No more getting dumped for Bowen. Or getting catfished on dating apps.
Or spending hundreds of dollars on first dates.
No more wondering whether to text tonight or play it cool and wait until tomorrow.
I’d be eternally yoked with someone. With Jules.
For better or for worse. Adios, singlehood. ?Hasta la vista, baby!
Nothing had ever sounded so freaking good.
I looked at Jules, her expression soft and so full of hope. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was also funny, and brave, and not afraid to be vulnerable.
And our connection…
Suddenly, all my past relationships made sense. They hadn’t failed because I’d tried too hard. They’d failed because I was meant for Jules.
So this is what Bowen felt for Maggie. This is why they had such a hard time staying away from each other.
Though it pained me to give those two any grace, if roles were reversed, and Bowen had dated Jules, I wouldn’t have been able to stay away from her either.
Jules’s hands pressed against her cheeks. “What do you think? Yes? No? Am I completely insane?”
“Jules, I only have one question.” A massive grin spread across my face. “How fast can you pack up?”