29. Twenty-Nine
Twenty-Nine
Quinn
The sound of Reenie’s arrival echoes through the house like a hurricane making landfall—designer luggage thumping against hardwood, jewelry jangling, and that unmistakable voice calling out demands before she’s even fully through the door.
“Vincent Alexander Savage! Where is my great-grandbaby? And don’t tell me she’s napping because I’ve just flown six hours to see her and I won’t be denied!”
I can’t help but smile as I emerge from the kitchen, wiping my hands on a dish towel. In the months since I first met Vince’s grandmother, I’ve grown to adore the force of nature that is Reenie Savage—all five-foot-two of her, today dressed in a flowing caftan that probably costs more than I care to imagine, her silver hair cut in a sleek bob that frames her still-beautiful face.
“She’s in the living room with Vince,” I tell her, accepting the whirlwind hug she sweeps me into. She smells of expensive perfume and adventure—a scent that seems to follow her from the Mediterranean cruises and exotic locales she’s always jetting off to.
“Quinn, darling!” She holds me at arm’s length, those sharp blue eyes—so unlike Vince’s green ones—assessing me thoroughly. “You look...satisfied. Good for you.”
I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. “It’s good to see you too, Reenie.”
“Oh, I bet it is.” She winks, linking her arm through mine as she steers us toward the living room. “Now, catch me up on everything. How’s my disaster of a grandson doing with fatherhood? Has he had any more surprise offspring show up?” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “And how are things in the bedroom? Don’t spare the details—at my age, one lives vicariously.”
“Reenie!” I choke out, even as I laugh. “I am not discussing—“
“Fine, fine. Be boring.” She waves a dismissive hand. “But the way you’re glowing tells me everything I need to know anyway.”
We enter the living room to find Vince sitting cross-legged on the floor, strumming softly on his acoustic guitar while Jasmine crawls around him in excited circles, occasionally pulling herself up on his knee before plopping back down.
“There’s my princess!” Reenie exclaims, dropping her designer purse on the nearest surface and swooping down to scoop up Jasmine, who blinks in momentary surprise before breaking into a delighted grin. “Oh, look at you! When did you start crawling? Vincent, you didn’t tell me she was mobile already!”
“Tried to,” Vince says dryly, setting aside his guitar to stand and kiss his grandmother’s cheek. “But someone doesn’t check her voicemails.”
“Voicemails are for people with nothing better to do,” Reenie dismisses, nuzzling Jasmine’s neck and making her giggle. “I was too busy charming that silver fox from Monaco.”
“Is that the prince or his cousin?” Vince asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Both, darling. I’m nothing if not efficient.” She settles onto the sofa, arranging Jasmine on her lap. “Now, I come bearing gifts.”
She gestures imperiously toward the entryway, where a collection of shopping bags has appeared alongside her luggage. Vince dutifully retrieves them, setting them at her feet with an exaggerated bow that makes me smile.
“This,” she says, reaching into the first bag, “is from Paris.”
She pulls out a tiny dress in the softest-looking cashmere I’ve ever seen, butter yellow with delicate embroidery.
“And this is from Rome.” A small, handcrafted wooden toy emerges.
“And these I collected on my last trip,” she continues, producing books, toys, and a pair of impossibly small leather moccasins.
“Reenie, this is too much,” Vince protests, but there’s fondness in his voice.
“Nonsense. What’s the point of having money if you can’t spoil your only great-grandchild?” She cuddles Jasmine closer. “Besides, I have years of spoiling to make up for since you denied me grandchildren for so long.”
“I’m thirty-two,” Vince points out. “That’s hardly—“
“Ancient, by rockstar standards,” she cuts in, then shifts her attention to me. “Quinn, darling, could you be a love and make us some tea? I’m parched after that dreadful flight. First class just isn’t what it used to be.”
I recognize the dismissal for what it is—Reenie wants time alone with Vince—but I don’t mind. Their relationship is one of the things I admire most about him.
“Of course,” I say, standing. Vince catches my hand, pressing a quick kiss to my palm that sends warmth spiraling through me. Still, after all these weeks together, the casual intimacy of his touch makes my heart skip.
In the kitchen, I start preparing the tea when I hear Jasmine start to fuss.
“She’s probably tired. I better put her down for her nap,” Vince says.
“I’ll come with you,” Reenie declares. “I want to see this nursery you’ve been bragging about.”
Their voices fade as they climb the stairs. I finish with the tea and carry the tray to the living room, setting it on the coffee table and arranging the cups. My mind wanders as I hear the murmur of their voices through the baby monitor on the side table.
I’m not really paying much attention until I hear my name, and I freeze.
”—about Quinn?“ Reenie is asking.
“What about her?” Vince’s voice guarded in that way he gets when he’s defensive.
“Don’t play dumb, Vincent. I raised you better than that. You’ve never had a woman living with you before.”
There’s a pause before Vince responds, his voice lower now, making me strain to hear.
“It’s complicated, Reenie.”
“Relationships usually are,” she returns promptly. “But that’s not an answer.”
Another pause, longer this time, followed by a sigh. “My lawyer called yesterday. About Daisy.”
My heart seizes at the mention of Jasmine’s birth mother, even though Vince mentioned that she had been found.
“And?” Reenie prompts.
“And he suggested that I should consider proposing to Quinn.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I sink onto the sofa, my limbs suddenly heavy.
“For the custody case,” Vince continues. “He thinks it would look better to the courts—stability, a traditional family structure. Especially after those photos from Nashville hit the internet.”
I can’t hear Reenie’s response, just the low murmur of her voice followed by Vince’s.
”—not like that,“ he’s saying when I can distinguish words again. “Never. I wouldn’t—“
But whatever he wouldn’t do is lost as they leave the nursery and start down the hallway to the steps. I try to arrange my features into a neutral expression, but from the way Reenies’s eyes narrow, I know I’ve failed.
“Tea’s ready,” I say, my voice mercifully steady despite the chaos in my mind.
Reenie sweeps forward, settling beside me on the sofa with a rustle of silk. “Perfect timing, darling. I was just telling Vincent that he needs to lock you down before someone with better sense snatches you up.”
Vince’s gaze sweeps over me. “Everything okay?”
I nod, reaching for the teapot with hands that only tremble slightly. “Fine. Just tired. Got up early today.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. I pour tea into delicate cups—the ones Reenie sent from England last month—and let the conversation flow around me, contributing just enough to avoid suspicion.
But inside, my thoughts are spinning. Is Vince considering proposing to me? For the custody case? For Jasmine? For legal advantage?
Not for love.
Not because he can’t imagine his life without me.
Not for any of the reasons a girl dreams about when she first understands what marriage means. But what about that ‘Never and I wouldn’t’? Does that mean he would never consider marriage to me—to anyone? My head is reeling with all the conflicting thoughts.
“Quinn?” Vince’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Did you hear what Reenie said?”
I blink, focusing on his grandmother’s expectant face. “I’m sorry. I was miles away.”
“I was saying,” she repeats with a fond smile, “that you should come with me to New York this weekend. I’m attending a charity gala, and Vincent always begs off these things. You’d look stunning in Valentino, and I would love to introduce you around.”
“That’s... very generous,” I manage. “But I’m not sure I can leave—.”
“Nonsense. Vincent is perfectly capable of getting along without you for a weekend, and I’m sure you would enjoy the trip.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Besides, every relationship needs some breathing room.”
“I’ll think about it,” I promise, though right now, the idea of any more space between Vince and me feels unbearable.
The rest of Reenie’s afternoon visit passes in a blur of anecdotes about her Mediterranean adventures, questions about Jasmine’s development, and pointed comments about the state of Vince’s career now that fatherhood has ‘tamed him.’ Before I know it, she’s checking her diamond-encrusted watch and declaring she has a dinner date with ‘an old friend’ in Jacksonville.
“Don’t wait up,” she tells Vince with a wink as she gathers her things, leaving the shopping bags of gifts behind. “Quinn, darling, walk me out. I want a word.”
I throw a panicked glance at Vince, who just shrugs—he knows better than to argue with his grandmother. I follow her to the front door, where her ride is already waiting.
“You heard us in the nursery,” she says without preamble once we’re alone on the porch. It’s not a question.
I swallow hard. “I didn’t mean to—“
“Of course you didn’t. But you did.” She takes my hands in hers, her jewelry cool against my skin. “Whatever you heard, remember this: My grandson has never been good at saying what he feels. But I’ve known him his entire life, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone like he looks at you.”
My throat tightens. “Reenie—“
“Just listen. Vincent was eight when his parents died. For years after, he would wake up screaming, convinced that everyone he loved would leave him too.” Her eyes, so sharp and knowing, soften. “He’s spent his life since then making sure he never gives anyone the power to hurt him that deeply again.”
I nod, remembering how carefully Vince guards himself and how slowly he’s let me past his defenses.
“So if he’s being an idiot about something—which, knowing him, is likely—don’t take it at face value.” She squeezes my hands. “And whatever you do, don’t you dare walk away from him because you’re afraid he doesn’t feel what you feel. He does. He just doesn’t know how to say it yet.”
With that, she releases me, pats my cheek, and glides down the steps to her waiting car, leaving me speechless in her wake.
When I return to the living room, Vince is picking up the abandoned teacups, his back to me. “What did Hurricane Reenie want?”
“Just to say goodbye,” I lie, watching how his shoulders move beneath his t-shirt, the familiar lines of a body I’ve explored in the darkness countless times.
He turns, catching me staring, and a slow smile spreads across his face. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, but I cross to him anyway, drawn by some invisible force I can’t resist. “Just thinking.”
“About?” He sets down the cup he’s holding, his hands finding their way to my waist as naturally as breathing.
About how your lawyer thinks you should marry me to keep your daughter, how you might never want a more permanent relationship, and how terrified I am of losing this—you, Jasmine, the life we’re building together.
“Just things,” I say instead, rising on tiptoes to press my lips to his.
He responds immediately, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss in that way that makes me forget everything but the feel of him. When we finally break apart, his eyes are dark with desire, his breathing uneven.
“Jasmine will be asleep for at least another hour,” he murmurs against my neck, his hands already slipping beneath the hem of my shirt.
“Your grandmother might come back,” I protest weakly, even as I arch into his touch.
“Trust me, she won’t.” His laugh vibrates against my skin. “She’s notorious for her ‘dinner dates’ that last until morning.”
I want to lose myself in him, to push away the overheard conversation and the doubts it’s planted. But something stops me.
“Vince,” I begin, pulling back slightly. “If you had something important to tell me—something that might change things between us—you would, right?”
He stills, his eyes searching mine. “What brought this on?”
“Just... promise me. No secrets, remember?”
For a moment, I think he might confess—about the lawyer’s suggestion and if he would ever want a future with me. But then he cups my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones with infinite tenderness.
“No secrets,” he agrees and kisses me again, slower this time, deeper, as if trying to pour everything he can’t say into the press of his lips against mine.
I let him lead me upstairs to our bedroom, let his hands and mouth drive away the doubts and fears. But later, when he’s asleep beside me, one arm thrown possessively across my waist, I stare at the ceiling and wonder:
Does Vince even want to get married? And if he asked me to marry him tomorrow, would I say yes, knowing it wasn’t for love?
And the answer, as terrifying as it is simple, comes immediately:
For him and Jasmine, I would do anything. Even break my own heart.