Chapter 12
Grayson
Looking at Jenna, I see in her eyes the exact moment she realizes what she's gotten herself into.
She turns her shocked eyes slowly toward me, questions and accusations in her gaze.
Told you so.
She didn't heed my warning, and she chose to wear that ridiculous pink pantsuit anyway.
Now she has to pay for her mistake, and I'm not going to speak up in her defense either—not today, I won't. If I shield her now, I'm going to have to do it every single time.
She'll never earn their respect, and most importantly, my parents will never believe I could love a woman like that.
At my silence, Jenna finally pivots her heated face back to my parents, more specifically my father, who's staring at her like she's a specimen under a magnifying glass.
She recovers from her shock, clearing her throat. "I understand this probably comes as a surprise to both of you, and you're understandably taken aback. But you should probably give me a chance first before you show me the door. Who knows? You might like me in the end."
"What's that slight accent I detect?" Dad asks.
"Probably the southern twang. My parents are from the South."
"Sounds plebeian," Mom says without looking up from her magazine. "Were they poor?"
Jenna stiffens.
"No, my parents aren't poor," she responds slowly, a sure sign that she's getting annoyed.
"They're working middle-class people. My father used to be a farmer, but then he sold his farm when we moved to New York and started working as an accountant instead.
Mom was a full-time, stay-at-home mother. "
That last detail seems to get my mother's attention. She finally looks up.
"And what do you do?" she asks.
"I own an event planning agency."
"Event planning?" My mother purses her lips in thought while my father fires out with a, "How much does your father make a year, on average?"
"Oh, um… I'm not sure. Somewhere around sixty to eighty thousand dollars, I guess."
My parents share a look. They're both snobs, and sixty to eighty thousand to them is poverty.
"What school did you attend?"
"Hanesfield Preparatory Academy."
For the first time, the pressure lifts. My parents look surprised.
"How could you afford that?" my father asks. "Hanesfield costs about a quarter of a million a year."
"I was given a scholarship," she says, "and I graduated top of my class." It's clear she mentions that last part to win them over, but my father shakes his head.
"That's not hard," he says. "Franklin's son goes to that school, and the boy is as dumb as a sack of rocks. They'll let anyone in for the right money."
Jenna's face falls.
"Sorry to be rude, dear," my mother says, even though she doesn't look sorry at all.
"It's just that our dear son sprung this on us, and so I haven't had time to order the routine background check we run on any potential family members.
" She places careful emphasis on the word "potential," as if to make sure I know that my candidacy for the role of wife to her darling son Grayson is by no means a settled matter.
"We'd rather get the basics out of the way first, and decide whether or not you're suitable, so we don't waste all our time. "
"Of course." Jenna's smile tightens at the corners.
"What's your opinion on prenups?" Dad asks.
"Love them," Jenna responds without missing a beat.
I raise my eyebrows because I'm not sure if she's just saying that for their benefit, or if she truly believes in them.
Sounds convincing, though. "Around fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.
It's only smart for both parties to have an agreement ready, so that the couple can split as amicably as possible without dragging expensive lawyers into it any more than necessary. "
"Divorce?" Disapproval drips from my mother's voice. "You're not even down the aisle yet, and you're already talking about divorce."
My father grins smugly, and Jenna's eyes flare, stunned at falling into their trap.
She blushes, and I'm tempted to step in to defend her, or somehow tell her not to be embarrassed.
My parents used to set me up like that all the time, too.
It's their favorite pastime. Jenna hesitates for just one second, but before I can say anything, she recovers herself and goes straight into the attack.
"Actually, Mrs. Wolfe, it was you who brought up the topic of prenups, not me.
You asked me a question, and it would have been rude of me not to answer.
" My God, this girl has balls! "And of course, it's no good thinking about prenups after marriage, is it?
That's the whole point, of a prenup, right?
You agree to it before you get married, not afterwards.
So yes, I have thought about it, but no, I don't dwell upon it.
In my opinion, it's good to think about these things ahead of time, and it's not a sign that you're not committed to the relationship or that you want it to fail.
No one wants to get into a car accident, but we still have car insurance.
Hopefully, you'll never have to use it, but just in case, it's–"
"Practical," Dad nods, looking amused.
"It's not practical," Mom counters. "It's pessimistic. She's already thinking about what she's going to get out of this marriage when she abandons our son."
"I'm not planning to abandon anyone," Jenna clarifies, "I love your son very much." She's a better liar than I thought, because she doesn't even flinch when she says it. Her eyes don't twitch, and her expression remains smooth, not showing any of the telltale signs of a clear untruth.
I definitely picked the right woman for this. So far, she's handling herself with aplomb. I'm almost proud.
"I'm not leaving him," Jenna says, with just enough firmness and eye contact to make it clear that that was a statement, not a plea.
"We'll be the judge of that." My mother narrows her eyes at the challenge.
The gauntlet is thrown.
Usually, my father is the harder one to persuade, mostly because my previous dates, apart from Marina, have been the type of high society women my mother likes.
But today, my mother's the disapproving one while my father seems not to be taking this whole thing seriously. That's the part that makes me worried.
Does he know it's fake? Are we not acting convincingly enough?
Maybe I need to be more affectionate.
I take Jenna's hand, brushing a kiss over her hair, closing my eyes to inhale the scent she's wearing. I don't recognize it, but it's delicate, floral, with overtones of amber and silk. It suits her.
God, the things that scent does to me…
I force myself away from her and hear myself saying, "Well, shall we go for breakfast?"
I lead Jenna into the dining room, where a table has been laid for four people, and I pull out a chair for her, before taking my own seat opposite, Father on my left and Jenna's right, Mother the opposite side of us, acting all stiff, upright, and disapproving.
As the servants bring our first course—a delicious fruit salad accompanied by miniature croissants—and pour coffee for us, my mother keeps glaring at Jenna like she's trying to will her to burst into flames.
Jenna, for her part, looks unfazed, playing it cool.
"What a lovely home you have," she says, smiling widely at my mother, then she gestures to a large oil on canvas painting in a huge gilt frame, hanging above the fireplace. "Is that a Pareja? It must be worth a fortune!"
"You know who Pareja is?" My mother asks.
"Of course. Art history is one of the topics I find fascinating, especially paintings from that era. If that's a Pareja, then I'm even more impressed. He's a truly underrated painter."
My mother straightens haughtily. "Well, I've always thought the same. The painting was a gift from her Royal Highness the Prince of Liechtenstein, during our visit to the palace some summers ago."
"Wow." Jenna's eyes widen like she's impressed. "I've always wanted to go there. Is the castle as beautiful as they say?"
"Yes," my mother says. "Truly, and the grass is so green, so much wonderful nature—the rivers and forests…
and His Highness took us to his private gallery for a very enriching experience.
" This leads my mother to list every painting she saw there, regurgitating for us the story behind each piece.
Jenna listens intently, her expression appears fascinated, and she asks all the right questions.
She's clearly a skilled conversationalist.
With anyone else, I'm pretty sure she would have charmed them already.
But my parents aren't quite so easy to please, and my father breaks into the conversation with his own question.
"How do you plan on balancing a family with a job?" he asks. Jenna hardly hesitates, just wipes the corner of her mouth delicately with her napkin, fixes my father with her most honest gaze, and launches into her reply.
"Well, my work is important to me, so I don't see myself giving that up," Jenna says.
"I will, of course, cut down on my hours and delegate more.
Perhaps I will take on a business partner who can handle most of the everyday running of things while I spend time with my children, especially during those formative years. "
Nice response, I think to myself. Bringing in the children motif too… very clever. She's a natural at this. But Mother's not admitted defeat yet. There's plenty of fight still left in her.
"Children need their mother for far longer than that," my mom says disdainfully. "Any woman who doesn't plan to be around and make the necessary sacrifices for them shouldn't have them in the first place."
I can tell that gets to Jenna. Her eyes twitch, and her hand, the one on her lap, squeezes into a fist.
I reach over and fold my hand over hers.
"Thank you for your advice, I'll certainly take that into consideration," she says.
My mother harrumphs and nods.
Jenna checks her watch, putting down her fork. "Actually, speaking of work, I do have a work meeting in a few minutes, so I'll have to take off. It was nice meeting the two of you."
"Likewise," they say.
"I'll walk you." I get up and take her hand, walking her to the door.
When we get to the limo, still parked out front, she turns to me, and I raise an eyebrow, sending the signal with my eyes to warn her that my parents are still watching from the dining room window, and to prepare her for what I'm about to do.
Then I lean in and kiss her.
It's a short kiss—nothing excessively romantic or passionate—but it still hits me like a punch in the gut.
I almost forget myself and where we are, but, reluctantly, I make myself pull away before I get hooked.
"Your parents are assholes," she whispers, her eyes dropping to my lips.
"Yup."
She releases a breath. "But overall, it wasn't so bad."
"You did well, but it's going to get worse." At her alarmed look, I let my lips spread into a smile. "This is only the beginning."
"How many times do we have to do this?"
"We'll meet with them at least twice a month."
She inhales. "Okay. I can manage twice a month."
I open the door of the limo for her myself, shooing the driver away to his front seat. "See you."
"Yeah, see you." She gives me a semi-awkward wave and a wink as she climbs in. I chuckle. It was adorable, and it left a pleasant feeling in her wake. Almost feels like the two of us have our own little inside joke. A conspiracy of sorts.
I watch her car drive off, then return to the dining room to face my mother's disapproval.
"Really?" she asks sarcastically. "That's the woman you've chosen to bring home to us?"
"Mom—"
"No. Absolutely not."
"I knew you would react like this," I say. "Which is why I didn't want to introduce you to her earlier."
"On the contrary, you should have introduced her to us in the beginning, so we could have shown you all the things you're clearly too blind to see."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"Her father was a farmer, Grayson. Need I say more?"
"So? My father's father was a farmer too."
She looks at her husband—who gives her a pointed look—and throws her hands in the air. "That's not the point. Your grandfather was a farmer during a different time, and your father worked hard so he didn't have to live the same life. We're supposed to move forward, not backward."
"Jenna's doing the same. Her company is very successful."
"That's another thing. Did you hear her say she plans to keep running her company after she marries you? Why would she want to do that?"
I shrug. "She's good at what she does, and she enjoys it.
Everyone needs some meaning in their life.
" Actually, that's one of the things I like most about her.
It's rare to meet someone who has that much ambition and drive.
Not only that, she's smart and talented enough to grow her company from practically nothing to what it is now.
I did a little research on her yesterday and what she's managed to achieve—it's amazing. Especially given her upbringing.
If she were really my fiancée, I would be so fucking proud of her, so honored to have her on my arm...
"That's all very well, my dear, but what will happen to your children—my grandchildren? They'll just be left with nannies, I suppose. Is that your plan?"
"We were left with nannies a bunch of times, and we turned out alright."
"No. I don't want that. I'll introduce you to more respectable and eligible women. Women who know how to prioritize their lives around raising our grandchildren properly."
"I don't want a more eligible woman. I want Jenna." I think about Jenna's eyes when they turn fierce. How they flash so prettily when she's mad, and how they darken when she's deep in the throes of desire. "I'm serious about her, Mom. I wouldn't have introduced you to her if I weren't."
"But Grayson—"
"But nothing. I'm a forty-five-year-old man. You can't tell me who to date."
"I don't want you making another mistake againnd that girl—"
"Woman," Dad says. "She's a woman."
"How old is she exactly? She looks awfully young."
Shit. I almost forgot about her age. Truthfully, I don't typically date women that young, and I won't lie, the age gap does make me feel a little uncomfortable.
But she just feels so... mature. She doesn't act her age at all.
"She's old enough to be the CEO of her own company." My father comes to the rescue. "Not bad."
I raise an eyebrow. "You actually like her?"
"Well, I wouldn't go that far," he says. "I don't know her well enough. She has scheming eyes. I think she's hiding something."
I cover my smile by sipping my coffee.
Oh, you have no idea.