Chapter 11 – Daisy
F irst impressions are often lasting.
I’ve barely recovered from that final heated glance when a tall, suited man with a receding hairline storms into the office on Hadley’s heels. His features remind me of one of those crusty-looking grumps in the portraits hanging on the walls of Barclay Manor.
“Cousin, what a surprise,” Grant deadpans. “No calls,” he adds for his assistant.
As soon as Hadley’s gone, Lincoln’s eyes slide over to me. “Aren’t you going to dismiss this one as well so we may speak privily?”
This one? I’ll bet him and Old Vinegar Fish, the estate manager, would get along great. He’s close to Grant’s age but the snootiness level on him makes Grant seem like the most down-to-earth guy around. Which is saying something.
Grant’s mouth tightens. “Why would I do that when I assume you flew down here unannounced today expressly to meet my bride?”
“She’s your bride?!” he gasps. I’m not sure if the utter shock is more amusing or humiliating. Am I so different from the sort of woman he’d picture Grant marrying?
He recovers enough to give me a clipped “Charmed” before turning his attention fully back to Grant. “Where did you find her? Or, should I ask where you hired her?” Wow, one barely- there glance and he’s onto us, huh? “If you think I won’t contest the will just because you’ve married some trollop…”
Grant’s eyes glitter menacingly as he moves closer to me. “Do not make such a gross allegation about my wife again. You will greet her properly, speak to and of her respectfully, or you will leave my sight at once via the elevator or that window over there. The choice is yours.”
Holy shit. I’ve seen him angry but he’s absolutely enraged at the moment yet still in that controlled way of his. My pussy has decided it’s hot as hell.
He slips an arm around my waist as though it’s something he does every day. It makes goosebumps rise all over my body. “Daisy, allow me to introduce my second cousin who struggles to remember his good manners at times. Lincoln, this is my beautiful wife.”
The way he rasped that last bit leaves me breathless… and with panties that are even damper than they were a moment ago.
“Hello, Daisy,” Lincoln manages to say with barely there politeness.
I force myself to accept his feeble, chilly handshake as if we’re going to be friends. “Hi.”
“Forgive my assumption but, considering Grant was in Vancouver two weeks ago offering me a hefty sum if I would allow him to buy the estate back so he wouldn’t be forced to marry, and flirting with married women while he was at it, you can understand my skepticism.”
My cheeks flood with color. Grant hadn’t told me about that. He’s not told me nearly enough about himself or his family or anything. And what did he mean by Grant flirting with married women? I can’t picture Grant flirting at all unless you call that sexy interrogation we were engaged in over Mad Max earlier flirting.
“The haste of the ceremony is not grounds for contesting the will and, for the last time, I was not flirting with Emilia, Lincoln.”
“Another honest mistake, was it?”
Grant’s jaw clenches and Lincoln’s bitter tone makes my stomach hollow out. What the hell is that about?
“I met Daisy shortly before that visit but feared she wouldn’t accept my proposal so quickly.” My, my, my, my husband is quite an accomplished liar when he needs to be.
“You worried she wouldn’t want to be a billionaire’s wife?” Lincoln asks, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.
Grant carries on, ignoring the question. “My birthday isn’t that far off and the conditions of the will forced me to act swiftly but, luckily, I managed to secure Daisy’s affections and she agreed to give me a chance.”
“Yes. Luckily. What plans have you made to celebrate his birthday, Daisy? Surely, you must know about his favorite holiday spot for that.” Grant bristles beside me. “Speaking of which, where was the honeymoon? It must have been brief.”
I feel like I’m facing a firing squad with the way his questions whiz past me. I don’t even know when his birthday is, let alone what he’d like to do to celebrate it and we haven’t had a honeymoon. We’ve barely interacted at all.
But, I didn’t make it through the past couple of years without being quick on my feet. “Well, as the wedding was rather sudden, we’ve been enjoying our honeymoon time as a couple at home until we have time to plan something longer.”
“Which home? His penthouse or the estate?”
“Bit of both.” Me at one and him at the other , I add silently to myself. I hope he doesn’t ask me what the penthouse looks like. Or where it is. “And, I can’t repeat what I have in mind to celebrate his birthday but I don’t believe Grant will complain.”
My sultry tone gets the message across because Lincoln looks disgusted and Grant… Grant smiles . I just made my husband truly smile for the first time.
“I would never object to anything you had in mind for me,” he murmurs in my ear. Oh help, he’s a little too good of a liar when necessary.
“Well,” Lincoln sniffs, “news of your wedding just reached us yesterday. Not a word in the press yet. Our great aunts are in a dither over not being informed beforehand or being allowed to host.”
“Our great aunts are in a dither?” Grant snorts back in obvious disbelief. “Are you suggesting they’ve lowered themselves enough to acknowledge my existence?”
“Don’t be so heartless, Grant. Imogen, Ida and Isabelle are quite fond of you.”
Who the hell are these people? I wonder. I’ve got a lot to learn before we go to Canada from the sounds of things.
“Fond of the estate in Napa, you mean.”
“Was your family present at the ceremony, Daisy? Grant’s obviously wasn’t. Who is your family for that matter? Anyone we would know?” Lincoln sneers.
Mimi and Jewel are all I have now and my family is no one the Barclays would claim to know.
But, that isn’t what hurts.
Three years but grief has its own way of measuring time. Mom wasn’t at my wedding and never will be. One careless question and the sense of loss feels as profound as ever, swallowing me whole in a heartbeat. “No, they weren’t… she’s not… my mother isn’t…”
The veil of tears, hot and thick, clouds my vision. Then, Grant turns into me, pulling me into his arms, blocking me from his cousin’s view. He’s actually hugging me. I’ve not been hugged by a man in so long. I’m surprised by how Grant’s intoxicating fragrance paired with that fearsome scowl leaves me decidedly… comforted.
“You’ve officially worn out your welcome, Lincoln,” he mumbles over the top of my head. “Elevator or window, your pick.”
Dashing my tears away, I hear Lincoln’s unexpectedly soft words before he goes. “I sincerely apologize, Daisy. I did not intend to wound you. Emilia and I will look forward to seeing you at New Year’s, along with the rest of the family. Good day.”
I’d love to stay right where I am, where the raw and vulnerable feelings are muted but reality sinks back in and so do the words ‘paper marriage.’ Grant doesn’t know and maybe doesn’t truly even care about the circumstances I’ve known the past few years. I’m doing him a favor and he’s doing me five million of them.
Shakily, I push at his chest, needing space. He takes one step back but his warm hand cups my elbow. “Do we really have to go up there for New Year’s?”
He sighs, looking uncomfortable. “It would be best not to give my family any cause to contest our marriage and my inheritance this early on. Plus, it’s expected.”
“I understand. A necessary duty. I’ll manage. I guess I ended the questions for now with my breakdown. Sorry.” I attempt to summon a smile but fail miserably.
“Don’t apologize. How long ago did she die?” he asks and I recall something I actually know about my husband, that his mother died when he was ten.
“Almost three years ago,” I whisper. A slow nod. “I don’t know if I can do this, Grant. I don’t think I can convince your family of anything if they’re all like him.”
“Yes, I fear I miscalculated when I set out the terms of our arrangement. It will be necessary to change them.”
Oh no, he won’t divorce me already will he? Is he going to find another wife? One with better acting skills perhaps? “What do you mean?”
“If we’re going to be married for a year, if we’re going to make people believe this is real, you should know my birthday and I should’ve already known your mother has passed. I’m sorry for that, Goldilocks.”
The nickname makes my lips twitch despite the lingering sadness. “So, what do we do?”
“Make flash cards of our personal history for each other? I don’t know. More than my distant relatives will be curious about our marriage. There’ll be a public announcement made tomorrow in the paper and I expect it to spread elsewhere like wildfire.”
Of course, it will. He was one of the last remaining billionaire bachelors in San Francisco.
“There’s a company charity ball coming up soon and I told my partners I had married earlier. It would be strange if we didn’t attend together.”
“I don’t have a dress for a ball.”
His lips twitch this time. “I believe you’re becoming familiar with how my card works. Four thousand dollars at Foot Locker this morning? How many pairs of sneakers does one trophy wife need?”
I roll my eyes. He thinks I bought four thousand dollars worth of shoes for myself? “A pair for every day,” I say sarcastically but he simply brushes it aside. Maybe he really thinks I’d buy that many for myself.
“There’s something else. Me staying in the city all the time would be suspicious. I’ll need to start commuting regularly, spending my nights and weekends at the estate as much as possible.”
“Oh.”
Charity balls and dress shopping? His relatives and who knows who else possibly digging into my past? Grant staying over at the estate and possibly sharing my bed? I’m not sure what to think of any of this. Alright, that last one makes me horny.
But, I want this marriage to work and pass pleasantly. I don’t want him to regret choosing to marry me even with an expiration date on it. I want that money. He’s going to change my life even if we’re going to go back to being strangers someday.
“Very well,” I say, resolutely. “I’ll see you at home later. I’ll start making flash cards for us to practice learning each other’s important facts.”
He chuckles and the sound warms my heart as readily as that rare and wonderful smile from him did earlier. So, rising to my tiptoes, I kiss his cheek, just a soft peck. My aim is a little off and I catch the corner of his mouth. His eyes widen and I can feel myself blushing to the roots of my hair as he immediately scowls again. “Sorry,” I murmur, fearing I’ve overstepped.
My finger gently wipes his bottom lip before I make my hasty departure. Back to Anders, back to the estate and back to my busy, busy role of a trophy wife in a paper marriage.