Chapter 11 A Restless Mind
“Grandpa, here’s our marriage certificate.”
Grace handed Henry the two copies. He studied them, beaming.
“Wonderful. Now we need to choose a date for the reception.”
“Let’s wait a little, Grandpa.” She smiled. “This has all happened so quickly. People are bound to talk. Besides, shouldn’t you give us some time to get to know each other first?”
Henry turned to Ryan.
“What do you think?”
“I agree with Grace. And I have no idea where my mentor’s disappeared to. I’d like him to be there.”
Henry considered that. They were legally married now. The reception was a celebration for everyone else; the important part was done.
“All right. We’ll wait until the time is right.”
Grace quietly exhaled and glanced at Ryan. He might be a creep, but at least he was cooperating.
Henry set the certificates down.
“What are your plans now that you’re out of the service?”
“I’ll start by finding a job.”
“We have a company. Why look anywhere else?” Henry smiled at his granddaughter. “Grace, find him an executive position.”
Her eyes widened.
Absolutely not.
Living with him was bad enough. Now she had to see him at work, too? What if he started talking about their relationship around the office?
Unable to object outright, she gave Ryan a pointed look.
He smiled.
“Grandpa, I was a soldier. I don’t know anything about running a company. Put me in an executive role and I’ll embarrass all of us.”
“You know what things are like at work,” Grace added. “They’re already looking for any excuse to undermine me. If I suddenly appoint Ryan to a senior position, they’ll use it against me.”
Henry frowned.
“That’s exactly why I want him there. You need someone on your side. It’s a large company. Surely there’s a position he can fill while he learns.”
His tone left no room for argument.
“That’s settled.”
Ryan spread his hands at Grace. He’d tried.
She seethed, but there was nothing more she could say.
After dinner, Henry personally supervised Ryan’s move into the main bedroom.
The moment he left, an awkward silence settled over the room.
Grace sat on the edge of the bed, hands loosely clenched. She had never shared such a private space with a man before, and she had no idea what to do with herself.
Eventually, Ryan spoke.
“There’s plenty of room. I can sleep on the floor.”
She stood without answering and took some bedding from a cabinet. After spreading it on the floor, she looked up.
“You take the bed. I’ll sleep here.”
She lay down and turned away, leaving him with a view of the graceful curve of her back.
Ryan raised his eyebrows but didn’t argue.
“All right. I’ll take a shower.” He hesitated. “Can I use your bathroom?”
After a few seconds, she murmured her agreement.
He collected his clean clothes and stepped inside.
Then stopped.
A black lace bra hung from the rack in front of him.
A very pretty one.
He cleared his throat.
“Grace? You left some… clothes in here.”
On the floor, Grace had been trying to sort through a jumble of unfamiliar feelings.
This room had always been hers. Her refuge. Now a man was sleeping in her bed and using her bathroom.
Possibly even her bathtub.
His voice interrupted her thoughts, and she suddenly remembered.
She’d showered when she got home and left her bra on the rack.
Her face burned.
She scrambled up, hurried into the bathroom, and snatched it down. Ryan stood by the doorway, making no move to stop her.
“Don’t get any ideas!”
The warning lacked its usual bite.
She put the bra away and returned to her bedding, cheeks still hot.
Water began running behind the closed bathroom door. It wasn’t particularly loud, but in the quiet room she could hear every change in its rhythm.
He was taking a shower in her bathroom.
After seeing her underwear, what was he thinking about? Knowing him, probably something filthy.
What if he was doing something disgusting in there?
The more she tried not to think about it, the worse it got.
Ryan emerged in a T-shirt and shorts, toweling his hair. He glanced at Grace, who was pretending to be asleep, and smiled faintly.
Most women in her position would have kept the bed and pointed him toward the floor. She’d given it up without an argument.
Cold as she was, she had her own sense of fairness. Her pride wasn’t simply the vanity of someone accustomed to being admired. She held herself to certain standards, even when it inconvenienced her.
His hair was still damp, so he settled against the headboard and browsed on his phone.
After a while, her voice rose quietly from the floor.
“Could you please not use the bathtub?”