Chapter 31 - Daisy
I n good times and in bad, side by side.
Whatever I was doing on this day last year, I doubt I was having fun like this. My cheeks hurt from grinning so much as Kiara suggests our next round of Pictionary should be girls versus guys. “There’s an uneven number of couples so this splits up better.”
“You just want the only artist among us on your side.” I love the way Grant’s arm around my waist tightens with his words.
“Well, we love Daisy and we love winning, don’t we, ladies?” Tabitha says, tugging on my hand.
“Grace can draw quite well.”
“You thought my rocket ship was a condom, Anthony.”
“Only because I’ve not seen either up close for a long while, honey.” A pregnant Grace blushes and her husband… Well, damn . That smoldering smirk could burn down this cabin.
Kiara and Jameson’s dogs decide to join in the noise and laughter by barking. They’re huge but friendly beasts and, when we first arrived at the cabin this afternoon, they were frolicking around Jameson as he carried in firewood. I jokingly asked my husband if he owned any flannel shirts and could wield an ax like that. He gave me a dark look and promised he’d show me his mountain man side later. Sounds like my spicy fantasy flash card is getting fulfilled.
“I wish Callie and Ezra would have joined us,” Remi laments, passing me a delicious cup of spiked peppermint mocha once I’ve officially joined the ladies’ team after Grant reluctantly relinquished me.
“We’ll see them over New Year’s.”
“But, we won’t,” I say, trying to hold in my sigh. “We’ll be in Vancouver the day after tomorrow.”
“Ooh, it’s gorgeous up there. Will you go skiing?” Tabitha asks.
“Not this trip,” Grant answers, cutting in. “The sooner this trip is over, the better.”
I would regret he feels that way about it except I do, too. More and more, I fear this journey to meet the other Barclays will end in some sort of disaster. I worry about facing Lincoln again, about meeting Emilia and about Grant being embarrassed by me in some way.
“Why go if you don’t want to?” Dean asks Grant.
“Like you’ve never answered your family’s summons even when you didn’t want to?” his wife challenges.
“Not anymore, Spitfire.”
My eyes widen at Dean’s unusually fierce tone and I look toward Grant. He mouths one word my way – Later .
Harmony ensues once more and we ladies are victorious. Of course, the men all claim they would rather see us winning anyway but Samuel’s pitiful stick figure drawing and the other men’s exasperated shouted guesses at what it might be were hilarious.
Before the next round, I spy my husband standing alone with Dean, talking quietly. They both glance my way, both smiling, and I think I’m being discussed.
“He’s so different since he married you. Still Grant but… different.” Turning, I find Kiara beside me. I give her an inquiring look and her smirk softens. “It’s a good sort of difference, I promise, Daisy.” I think she might be right. I hope so.
Hours later, the party’s breaking up. Grace and Anthony are staying the night but everyone else is leaving. Samuel and Remi flew Dean and Tabitha in their private helicopter from the city and they’re all heading back, the pilot and co-pilot looking adorable in their matching pilot helmets.
“Adorable?” Samuel scoffs at me when I say as much.
“We can give you a lift if you don’t want to drive,” Remi sweetly offers.
“I stuck to one drink for the express purpose of getting us home in one piece rather than taking you up on that offer, Remi. No offense,” Grant replies.
More laughter and, after promising the ladies we’ll get together again soon, I sink down into the Aston Martin’s plush leather, more than ready to go home. “It’s so nice having a home to go to,” I murmur.
My cheeks flush when I realize I said it out loud but Grant softly strokes my face. “You’re always going to have a home, Daisy. From now on. I swear it.”
I’d love to always call Barclay Manor home but that five million will ensure what he’s saying is true either way. Deciding I’d rather not think about our future divorce, I ask about Dean as we pull onto the main road. “So, what was that about Dean’s family? His brother seems nice.”
“He’s still close to both his brothers but, after he got together with Tabitha, his parents made asses of themselves about their relationship.”
“They didn’t approve of Tabitha?” I can’t see how anyone wouldn’t when she’s an intelligent, kind-hearted and perfectly lovely woman but I’ve heard how snobby the Culvers can be. Like the Barclays.
“I don’t think his father has ever approved of anything Dean’s done. I don’t know all the details but I know Dean told them where they could stick it. He hasn’t spoken to them since and doesn’t sound like he’s in any hurry to.”
“Oh.” I wonder how Grant would react if his family all took exception to me. I have a feeling Lincoln’s opinion wouldn’t matter but what about the others? And, what if they found out he’d married a girl who was living on the streets?
That’s a problem for another day, Daisy , I tell myself, not wanting to spoil our night.
“So, about those flannel shirts, Mr. Mountain Man…”
My husband chuckles and guns the gas.
∞∞∞
There’s a chilly rain falling when we land in Vancouver but it’s undeniably beautiful with the snow-capped North Shore Mountains dominating the cityscape. Grant directs Anders to drive us to his second cousin’s Shaughnessy Heights address but we pass a gallery and I turn toward him with a pleading look. “Before we leave, Goldilocks,” he promises, amusement lacing his words.
I catch Anders staring at us in the rearview but Grant is kissing my cheek so I focus on that to calm my nerves. “Remind me again about your great aunts.”
Linus Barclay had eleven siblings, including the brother who was Lincoln’s grandfather. Only three unmarried sisters remain of that eleven and, according to Grant, they’ve been ‘visiting’ Lincoln and Emilia the past two years.
“So, they’re basically squatters at this point?”
Grant laughs heartily at the notion. “I dare you to call them squatters to their faces.”
“I would never! And, coming from someone you’ve labeled Goldilocks, I don’t blame them for settling in if your second cousin is allowing it.”
“Only because he wants to be their sole heir.”
“As opposed to you?”
“I don’t want any part of their money. Not after the way they treated my mother years ago though they’ll tell you how much they miss living at Barclay Manor if you give them half a chance. It was their childhood home.”
The car comes to a stop and I glance out the window, feeling both daunted and surprised. The house is gorgeous but not grand in the same way Barclay Manor is.
“Lincoln’s in development and Emilia comes from money but the Barclay Family fortune no longer equals its level of snobbery,” Grant explains, noting my expression.
“It’s a good thing you married me for the huge dowry I brought you then.”
He chuckles and nods. “It’s a good thing I became a partner at Golden Gate a couple of years ago. Otherwise, you would’ve been forced to suffer the ignominy of being a mere millionaire’s trophy wife.”
“Oh, the tragedy.”
We share a laugh but, again, I realize Anders is watching us, soaking in every word. After my time sweeping floors at Golden Gate, I should remember how impossible to ignore overheard conversations can be.
As we walk up the front steps, I can feel the tension mounting in Grant. A butler opens the door with a stuffy greeting, ushering us inside to a sitting room. A tall, slender beauty waits for us there. I’m stylishly dressed but the clothes Efrem helped me choose don’t feel like they’re part of me any more than the huge rock on my left ring finger does. This woman, however, looks as though she left the womb in her couture frock with her perfectly blown out platinum blonde hair. The manicured nails wrapped around the stem of her martini glass are painted dark red with not a single chip in sight.
There can be no question who she is. This is the sort of woman Grant’s family would’ve expected him to marry. And, this is the woman Anders claims Grant had an affair with.
“Grant!” she cries, rushing forward with a bubbly laugh as she kisses him… right on the mouth!
It was just a peck. Just a thing rich people do. Nevertheless, my jaw has dropped as Grant steps away from her. “Emilia,” he clips, “may I introduce my wife?”
I’m still gaping when she turns toward me, a sly look in her eyes. “Yes, of course! What a delight! I can see how this beauty captured even your cold, dead heart, Grant,” she exclaims.
She sounds friendly but I’m not so certain as she glides toward me, kissing both my cheeks as I stand here, flushed and fumbling for words. “I wouldn’t describe any part of Grant as cold or dead.” Her peeling laughter rings more than a little false but at least I made Grant smile.
“Oh, she’s quite smitten, isn’t she? Not that any woman could blame her. Would you care for a martini after your journey, Daisy? Or something else? Grant, you’ll take a Rusty Nail, won’t you? Or would you like it straight?”
“It’s eleven in the morning, Emilia.”
“Darling, it’s always scotch o’clock when we get together.” There’s something intimate about her tone as she gives him a burning look. I hate it. “I’m not sure what he’s like at home but, when Grant’s on holiday, he can drink anyone under the table. But, I suppose you’re learning that, aren’t you, Daisy?”
“I…” Was I supposed to make flash cards about our drinking habits? He’s said he doesn’t like to overindulge because of his father. He’s always been very controlled about how much he drinks beyond our wedding night.
“Is Lincoln here?” Grant asks, obviously annoyed.
“Yes, I am,” a very displeased voice answers.
It is indeed Lincoln who I haven’t missed since our first and only encounter weeks ago. He’s glaring daggers at Grant and I have the sinking feeling that Anders wasn’t completely off the mark with his gossip as I’ve been hoping. Still… It's not like Grant kissed her just now.
Beside him, there are three women, hunched with age and dripping with jewels. “May I introduce our great aunts, Daisy?” Lincoln asks, still glaring at Grant. “This is Isabelle, Ida and Imogen Barclay.”
“Yes, we three triplets, born to die old maids,” Isabelle says, laughing with her Shirley Temple curls.
“Hush, sister. Who wanted a man anyhow? It’s how we’ve lived so long,” the second sister, Ida, argues. She is nearly as tall as Grant.
The third sister, Imogen, reminds me of the step-mom from Cinderella and her beady eyes keep flicking to Grant with irritation. “How do you do, Daisy?”
“I’m well, thank you. It’s nice to meet-”
“If you ask me, it wasn’t fitting that our father left Linus the entire estate down south just because he was the eldest but no one ever asks me.”
A round of squabbling ensues among the matriarchs of the Barclay clan and I can see how they were very likely responsible for some of Grant’s mother’s intense unhappiness.
I’m soon subjected to my own ‘friendly’ inquisition from the trio. As I answer questions about college - no, I did not attend a top school nor did I graduate - and my family - no, we do not own any estates in Northern California - and what hobbies I enjoy - no, I’ve never tried falconry but I do love our ducks and the swans are warming to me - I’m aware of the awkward silence radiating from the other side of the room. Emilia has moved to her husband’s side but her alluringly mischievous smile is directed at my husband. I do not like that one little bit.
Thankfully, Grant is oblivious to her smiles. He joins me, wrapping an arm around my waist and whispering, “Christ, I most sincerely apologize for this,” in my ear, putting some of my misgivings about this day to rest.
Grinning, I give his hand a squeeze and focus on what I’m here for, to ensure Grant’s family has no legitimate cause to question our marriage or his inheritance. We just have to get through the next forty-eight hours, including the party tomorrow night, and we can fly back home. I can do this.
Anders passes by carrying our luggage and, for a split second, I’m so glad to see a familiar, friendly face that I forget all my discordance with him lately. He gives me one of his cheeky winks and I feel my lips tugging into a smile in return.
But, when I glance back toward Grant, I see him glaring as harshly at Anders as Lincoln was just doing with him.
∞∞∞
“I should’ve insisted we would stay at a hotel suite.”
“It’s perfectly fine.”
“What are you doing?”
“Making an amendment to my kink flash card.”
“Oh?” I love how quickly his annoyance melts into a sexy grin.
“I’ll need to visit the Well-Dressed Man site again.”
“You’re not buying another Max.”
“No, Max wouldn’t be quite right.”
“What do you mean…” He leans over to look at what I’ve written. “Pegging? Jesus,” he gulps as I cackle.
“I’m teasing you, Grant.” His visible relief makes me laugh harder. “It truly is fine that your family wanted us to stay with them.”
“My family wants entertainment to fill their spoiled, boring lives. Emilia wants parties and drama, Lincoln hopes that he can convince everyone our marriage is a sham even if it won’t change anything and my great aunts crave something new to dissect and argue about.”
I can certainly see Emilia liking drama.
“They all wondered how I’d handled my grandfather’s condition for the inheritance. I think they were hoping I’d lose the estate to Lincoln, a true Barclay. When we first married, I thought it would be best to play along for this party but… I hate being here. I should’ve taken a page from Dean and told them all to fuck off years ago.”
He sits down heavily on the end of the bed, weighed down by burdens I can’t see but want to understand. Kneeling beside him, I stroke his hand, pleased to see a small smile forming. “You have every right to feel that way but your great aunts are elderly. Will burning bridges now really make you happy?” Reluctantly, he shakes his head. “Deep down, you’ve always wanted to please your grandfather and the family.”
“But, it didn’t matter what I did. I was never going to be a real Barclay to their way of thinking.”
“You didn’t have to be anything other than yourself, Grant. A name doesn’t make us who we are.”
“I know you’re right. And, for all their moralizing, it’s funny that they’ve only become accepting of me since I became richer than any of them.”
“Then, let’s show them how happily married you are and add some salt to their wounds.”
Chuckling, he pulls me into his lap so that I’m straddling him. “That sounds downright devious coming from you, Goldilocks.”
“Don’t tell Mimi. She thinks I’m perfectly sweet.”
He traces the shell of my ear and along my jaw with a finger, his eyes darkening. “You are perfect, my little wildflower,” he husks.
“Am not,” I protest, feeling that familiar swooping sensation in my belly as heat pools between my legs.
He nuzzles my throat, his hot breath making my nipples pebble. “Yes, you are and I am happily married.”
My heart pounds with hope but my fear speaks louder. “Are you sure? Your wife is not as sophisticated or educated or as stylish as a Barclay wife is expected to be. Not like Emilia…”
He kisses my neck, hiking my skirt all the way up to my waist. “I wouldn’t want you to be anyone other than who you are, Daisy.”
“But I wear the wrong clothes and-”
“You wear what you like,” he tells me, unbuttoning my blouse. “I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable here but I was wrong to make you feel like you weren’t good enough just the way you are. You could wear overalls at tomorrow night’s party and I wouldn’t care.”
I giggle at the thought but my insecurity isn’t finished with me yet. “But, Emilia…”
“You have no reason to feel inferior to that woman in any way. No one can hold a candle to you.”
“Anders said-”
“I don’t want to talk about Anders,” he growls, angrily, causing my mouth to snap shut.
And, when his hand finds its way inside my panties, insecurity is the last thing I’m feeling. His thumb deftly rubs my clit and he pulls my bra down with his teeth. Desire thrums all through my veins when he captures a nipple and fingers me. My hands grip his muscular thighs as he edges me closer toward bliss. “Grant… we’re supposed to join everyone for dinner soon.”
“I feel like eating in our room,” he rumbles, darkly. “It was an early morning with little sleep.”
“Little sleep was your fault. Do you really drink everyone under the table when you’re on vacation?”
“No, not in years. I told you I’m careful because of my father.”
“But, what did she mean by-”
He stops my words with a fierce kiss, blasting through the last of my stubborn concerns and turning me into the needy creature who lives for his touch. Every kiss gets me hotter, every touch has my body screaming for more.
He stands with me in his arms and then strips me completely naked. He’s still dressed but his arousal is evident poking against the front of his trousers. “Kneel on the bed for me,” he commands, turning me away from him. “I want to taste my wife.”
Shuddering with anticipation, I do as he says, knowing he’s standing behind me, studying my body with that hungry look burning in his eyes that I love.
He unbuckles his belt, pulls it through the loops and lets it fall to the floor with a thunk. My breathing speeds up. I hear the hiss of his zipper and I grasp the delicate and incredibly pristine white duvet covering our guest bed. He palms my ass cheeks, giving one a firm swat, chuckling when I clench and moan. “My sweet juicy peach is ready to be eaten,” he murmurs, running a finger through my soaking wet slit.
“Fuck, Grant…”
“Yes, Daisy. I’m going to fuck you and I want you to enjoy it. In fact, I may fuck you so long and so hard that everyone in this goddamn house will soon know how much you enjoy being taken by your husband.”
His words make my pussy even wetter and I wonder if I could come from that alone. “But… you… you can’t do that.”
“I can though and you’ll let me because we both know you need all these silly worries inside your pretty head fucked right out of you. Speaking of which, head down and ass up, wife.”
Whimpering with desire, I lower my shoulders to the mattress and I’m panting when he kneels behind me. The first lick has me utterly unable to hold back a single moan. The tenth has me coming so hard I scream and rip the delicate duvet. “Oops.”
Chuckling, he strokes my ass and keeps licking up my arousal. “We’re not sorry for that.” Then, he starts the beautiful seductive dance all over again.
I’m still breathless and cresting from a third orgasm when he flips me over, ready to take me with his cock at last. I’m squirming and desperate for it when there’s an unexpected knock on the door.
“Grant?” a feminine voice calls – Emilia. What the hell? “Dinner is served. Shall we wait for you or begin?”
My husband ignores her, fluttering his tongue over my tender clit again. “Grant, it would be rude not to… shouldn’t we at least… oh, God.”
“She’ll get the damn hint,” he promises.
By the time he’s finished with me, I think the whole neighborhood might get the damn hint.