Chapter Twenty-Four
Grace
The quiet sound of running water tickles my ears. I pull the sheets over my head, shifting. The bedding is incredibly soft, better than what you might find in a luxury hotel.
What…?
I don’t have anything this nice in my bedroom. The temperature is slightly cooler than I’d like, too. And the bed smells like… Huxley?
I jackknife up, blinking hard in the dimly lit room. What the hell? I don’t remember entering his home. The last thing I recall is our making a pact to be nice to each other.
I look down at myself. I’m in a long pink and purple nightshirt. My bra is gone, which explains why I was comfortable. Did I take it off…or did he? Just what happened after we agreed to be pleasant?
Definitely no sex, I decide. My thong is still in place, but maybe he pulled it to the side and then put it back…
Okay, no. I’m not the least bit sensitive down there. And as mad as Huxley is at me, I don’t think he’d stoop to taking a woman who was practically comatose.
I can’t believe I passed out and remember nothing. Who knew that nurturing a new life and getting knocked around would be so tiring? Thankfully, my face doesn’t hurt much. Although it felt like hell last night, Nelson’s slap probably lacked sufficient force. Not because he was holding back, but because he just isn’t that strong after decades of lawyering.
I look around. This bedroom is as large as my condo. The bed is a massive California king with a sleek modern headrest against a wall fully covered with a smoked mirror. My purse is on the dove-gray bed bench. A couple of plush leather armchairs occupy a sitting area with a round mahogany table. Double doors to my left are ajar, revealing a walk-in closet with a tall island.
The sound of water stops. My mouth dries at the prospect of facing Huxley when I have no clue what happened last night after we arrived here. A moment later, he walks out of the en suite bathroom with nothing but a fluffy white towel around his hips. Although we had sex, I haven’t seen him looking so casual and relaxed before. His body is solid, lean muscle covering his tall frame. It flexes as he moves. A droplet of water on his chest glides down to his deeply ridged abs. Although I can’t see the movement anymore, my eyes drop anyway. Heat prickles my skin.
Oh geez. I thought only men get excited in the morning.
“Good, you’re up,” he says casually. “I was about to wake you.”
“Um. Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Why am I here?”
He gives me a look. “How many times do we have to go over this? You agreed to move in.”
“Yes, but I don’t remember agreeing to share your bed.”
“In case you’re wondering, nothing happened.” His eyes bore into mine.
From the way they glitter darkly, he has to know I’ve been checking him out and getting turned on. A hormonal urge to throw caution to the wind and jump him battles with an absurd impulse to hide under the covers.
“My clothes…” I say, more to stop myself from doing something stupid than out of genuine curiosity. “Did you remove them?”
“Yes. It isn’t like I haven’t seen you naked before. When I take you, you’ll remember it.” His promise slides over me as erotically as the water droplet on his body.
My cheeks flame. “But the bed…” I need to take control of this conversation.
“Where did you think my would-be wife would sleep?”
“Um…” My gaze darts between him, me and the heavenly mattress under me.
“Exactly. My bed.” He enters the closet, the doors wide open.
“There’s a big difference between sharing a house and sharing a bed,” I say.
“I wouldn’t bring you here just to put you in another room.”
“Who’s going to know?”
“My housekeeper,” he says over his shoulder, then drops the towel.
A hand over my mouth to contain a sound, I stare at the most beautifully sculpted male ass I’ve ever seen. A corner of his mouth twists with a hint of smug arrogance, but I can’t not stare. I totally missed out that night.
“Your things are in here,” he says.
“Thanks,” I choke out. He starts to pick out a suit—
Oh, shit! Today’s a work day and I need to get ready.
I jump up, head to the shower and close the door. This bathroom is larger than my entire bedroom, with a double vanity, separate shower and a huge Jacuzzi tub for two. The wall opposite the vanity is a smoked mirror, like the one next to the bed. But there’s a regular mirror over the sinks, so I use that to—
What the hell?
My cheek is swollen, the corner of my mouth cut. Concealer should be able to cover the discoloration somewhat, but there’s no way to hide the injury. Now that I look at the aftermath of what Nelson did, my face throbs dully. I’m glad Huxley didn’t mention it. I wouldn’t be comfortable getting into it with him first thing in the morning without coffee or a moment to figure out what to do.
I head to the toilet. The lid rises, blue lights illuminating the bowl. I give it a skeptical stare as it says something cheerful in a foreign language. It starts to spray a thin mist of…water?…inside the toilet bowl.
“Um… Hello? Good morning? Can you switch to English?”
The toilet doesn’t respond—but the lights remain on. O-kay . I wonder if I should check with Huxley to see if it’s all right to use the conversational commode, but my bladder says there’s no time. As soon as I sit down on the seat—which is pleasantly heated—it starts playing music and making gurgling water noises.
I cover my face. Why me? It’s too early in the morning to deal with this. When I’m done, I stand up and look around to see how to flush the thing, but the lid auto-lowers and the toilet flushes itself.
Shaking my head, I step into the shower stall, which, thankfully, does not talk. Seven separate jets sluice me down with heavenly hot water. Holy cow. I sigh with bliss. It’s the kind of luxury I’ve only read about, but never thought to experience. The body soap and shampoo are from some fancy spa in France, and they smell vaguely like forest and spring with a hint of spice—Huxley’s scent.
Recalling how outlandishly possessive he was yesterday at my lunch with Adam, I wonder if this is his way of marking me with his scent, like an animal. If he were a cat, he’d probably rub himself all over me to keep the other toms away.
You need coffee and food, girl. Low blood sugar and no caffeine make you think of silly things .
True enough. I didn’t get a chance to have dinner last night, and suddenly I’m famished. I thank my lucky stars Dr. Silverman said it was okay to have a small cup of coffee each day. Apparently some doctors are stricter.
I dry my hair, then wrap a huge towel around myself and step gingerly out of the bathroom. Huxley is nowhere to be found. My shoulders sag a little—with disappointment? Relief? Who knows?
The walk-in closet is as big as the bathroom. The island in the middle is full of expensive-looking watches and cuff links. Guess Huxley takes his watches seriously.
Half the space has been left empty for me. A couple of dresses with tags hang on my side. I press my lips together. Everything is overwhelmingly pink. Even the bras and thongs look like they’ve been dipped in Pepto Bismol. Madison must really love pink. Not me—bubblegum pink is Vivienne’s favorite color. She already wants to steal everything from me, and if I have anything pink, she’ll covet it even more and make my life hell. Besides, the particular shade Madison picked out isn’t flattering for my coloring.
But there are no other options, so I put them on. My black shoes don’t match, while the pink stilettos Madison bought pinch my toes and heels terribly.
It’s just one day—who cares? I decide, and leave the bedroom with my purse. The hall is long and wide, with a few oil paintings hanging on the shaded side. The morning sun slants over a smooth hardwood floor that smells faintly of beeswax and leads to a winding carpeted staircase straight out of Gone with the Wind . An enormous chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, each piece of crystal fracturing the sunbeams from the skylight.
The place positively drips opulent affluence, but there’s an elegance to the interior that speaks of old money and luxurious comfort. It’s quite different from Nelson and Karie’s home, where every square inch glitters, tirelessly reminding everyone how important and wealthy its occupants are.
The delicious aroma of coffee leads me to the right…where I hit a huge eat-in kitchen. As I enter, I blurt, “Your toilet talks!”
“Of course. Just one of its many charming features,” Huxley says over his coffee.
“Charming? Why do you need a toilet that talks and makes noises when you’re doing your business?”
“Because it’s Japanese,” he says, like that explains everything.
I give up. Obviously I’m not going to understand. Coffee probably won’t help, either.
A woman in her fifties unplugs a waffle iron, turns around and blinks once at the sight of me. “My Lord,” she says, then glances at Huxley.
He lowers his cup of coffee and raises a hand defensively. “Wasn’t me.”
“You should see the other guy,” I say quickly.
Huxley lets out a short laugh, and she chuckles softly. A small gap between her front teeth makes her look like a mischievous teenager. She pours me a cup of coffee.
“Here’s your morning pick-me-up,” she says.
“You must be a goddess. I’m Grace.”
She laughs again. “Tilda. Nice to meet you.”
I smile. “A pleasure.”
“I’m the housekeeper. The way it works is, you tell me what you want, and I make it happen. Since the lord of the manor here didn’t see fit to inform me in advance that there would be an overnight guest”—she raises an eyebrow while Huxley stares into the distance—“I've made you a Belgian waffle.” She pulls a plate off a heater and slides it over to me. “He said it was your favorite.”
I’m surprised he remembered. “It is. Thank you.” I add a generous amount of syrup and whipped cream and start eating.
Tilda says she needs to check on the gardener and a few other things and leaves. I have a feeling she just wanted to give us some privacy.
Huxley munches on his bacon and studies me, his eyes narrow. “Didn’t Madison buy any comfortable clothes for you?”
“This is good enough,” I say between bites. She probably did the best she could, given very little info. No knowledge of my personal preferences or size.
“Good enough? For what?”
“Work.”
His jaw tightens. “Call in sick.”
“No. I’m not hiding just because Nelson’s a jerk.” I’m not using up my PTO because of him. That’s set aside for visiting Mom on her birthday or—God forbid—an emergency.
“That isn’t why I’m telling you to call in sick. What are you going to say to people when they ask what happened?” Huxley’s gaze drops to my cheek, a hint of worry fleeting over his face.
This unexpected concern makes me want to squirm, especially since I’m not sure exactly what to make of it. Has he decided that I wasn’t complicit in our families’ machinations after all? Or is this just part of our agreement to be courteous to each other? His expression betrays nothing, so I pretend I didn’t see the care in his eyes. “I don’t know,” I say lightly. “I’ll think of something.”
“Like the truth?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
A shrug. “Maybe I ran into a wall.” My phone has been silent. Although I blocked Viv and Mick, Nelson and Karie could easily reach me and threaten to hurt Mom to vent their anger and humiliation. After all, as long as Mom is at Johns Hopkins, I’m more or less helpless against their abuse.
Huxley’s mouth tightens so much it resembles a hyphen. “Leave work early if necessary. You don’t need to put up with whispers and speculation.”
“But I do need the hours and the money.”
“One of the perks of marrying a billionaire like you’ve always dreamed of is that you don’t really need to work.” He gestures carelessly at his home. “You already have a free roof over your head, free food in your belly. You don’t have to kill yourself to make some spending money.”
I say nothing. He wouldn’t understand. And his face scrunches like he’s just realized he said something he didn’t mean to.
I can imagine. After hearing me talk to Adam about wanting to marry a rich man, Huxley refused to let me explain and swore I wouldn’t get to touch a penny of his money.
I sigh. “Can you give me a ride to my office?”
“Not yet.” He picks up a tin and opens the lid, revealing white goo inside.
“What’s that?”
“For your face. It should help with the swelling and pain. I put some on your cheek last night, too.”
Now I really don’t know what to make of his unexpected consideration. He’s confusing me by being nice and then nasty, back and forth. But I don’t have the courage to tell him to stick to one track—what if it’s the nasty track?
He dips his fingers into the tin and spreads it over my cheek. His touch is tender, as though he can’t bear to hurt me. Being cared for reminds me of happy times with my mom, and my heart aches. If I’d found a man who loves me, would my life be like this all the time? Full of gentle affection and feeling safe?
“You should press charges,” he says suddenly. “If not criminal, then civil.”
“Can’t afford it.”
He snorts. “You’re marrying into the Huxley family.”
“And he’s a Webber.”
“Fine. I’ll ask John Highsmith to take your case.”
I stare at him. I’ve heard of Highsmith. One of the nastiest lawyers in the state. Nobody gets away with messing with his clients. Andreas often speaks of him with admiration…or exasperation, depending on whether he has to face him in court or not.
“I’ll pay for his services,” Huxley adds, apparently mistaking my silence for concern about the cost.
“I appreciate that. But I need the twenty-five thousand bucks a month from Nelson and Karie, so…I can’t.”
Huxley’s eyebrows snap together. “Is your dignity worth only twenty-five K?”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Easy for a billionaire to sneer at twenty-five thousand. But it’s not the money itself. My mother is absolutely worth sacrificing my dignity for. My dignity, and pretty much anything else as well.”
He frowns. “Your mother?”
“I told you she was okay when we ran into each other again because I didn’t want to go into the whole sad story. But she isn’t doing well.” I stare at the pool of maple syrup on my plate. Things would be so much better if she weren’t ill. I wish she and I could have Belgian waffles and laugh over silly stuff like we used to.
I swallow a familiar lump and raise my eyes to meet Huxley’s. My voice is surprisingly calm and steady. “She’s been in a coma for the last two years. After a few months at Ronald Reagan, they moved her to Johns Hopkins so she could get treated by Dr. Blum. He’s the world authority on neurological damage and cerebral infarctions. But he doesn’t work for free, obviously. I’m paying what I can, and whatever I can’t shoulder, Nelson and Karie take on. That’s what the twenty-five thousand is for. I don’t see any of it. It’s sent directly to the hospital.”
“Nelson and Karie?” Huxley makes a skeptical noise. “Why would they offer to do that?”
“They didn’t, believe me. Andreas made them.”
“I see.” Huxley closes the lid on the tin with a soft metallic chuff . “Well, you needn’t run to them for money anymore.”
It takes me a moment to understand. “Are you offering to pay my mom’s medical bills?”
“Of course.” His gaze is cool and decisive as he looks at me.
“But…what about the prenup?”
“The prenup stands. But I can’t let your mother die over mere money. Nor will I let you subjugate yourself to abuse for it.”
“Thank you for the sentiment, but I don’t think you really understand what’s involved. The doctor is hopeful, but there’s no guarantee when—or even if —she’s going to wake up. And you can’t stop paying even if you get tired of it, or if we happen to have a fight and you get pissed off at something I said.”
He stares at me like I just slapped him. “Do you think I’d let your mother die over that measly sum? Or because we had an argument?”
“Huxley… I honestly don’t know. Sometimes you’re so nice, I feel like I can trust you. But then, sometimes…you aren’t.” I pause for a moment, debating between full honesty and pretty lies.
Huxley’s expression is intent. He keeps his mouth flat and meets my gaze, his eyes unwavering.
I finally opt for full honesty, while choosing my words. “I’d like to think that you are a good and honorable man, but I thought the same about Nelson—only to be proven very, very wrong. He seduced my mom, who is much younger than him. He didn’t disclose the fact that he was married.”
Disgust twists Huxley’s face.
“It kills him that he has to be responsible for her care. Karie too, for that matter. I understand why she resents it so much, but I can’t understand how Nelson can be so cold and heartless toward a woman he must’ve felt something for to sleep with.”
I close my eyes and shake my head as the familiar anger surges. I indulge it for a moment, then push it aside. It isn’t helpful to dwell on it, not when Huxley’s waiting for me to continue.
“Maybe he’s just a sociopath, and Mom got unlucky,” I say softly. “I don’t know. It isn’t like he can’t spare the money. But to him, her life just isn’t worth saving. Not unless his father forces him.” I look directly at Huxley. “And if you ever decide to change your mind, who’s going to force you?”
Shock flares in his gaze. I’m not sure why. Maybe he still can’t fathom how a mere twenty-five thousand can mean so much. Or maybe he’s stunned at the possibility of being forced to spend a penny on a would-be wife he never wanted. Regardless, I want to reassure him I’d never depend on him for something this important. “You don’t listen to anyone much. Not your grandmother or your mother. The only person whose opinion seems to matter to you is Emma, but she doesn’t know who I am, and she might not care what happens to my mom.”
The more I speak, the darker the frown on his face.
“So I want you to understand, Huxley. It’s a huge gamble for me. I can wager my own wellbeing, but not my mother’s. She’s the only family I have.”