Chapter Thirty-Eight
Huxley
–Emma: If I were you, I’d never cross your wife.
I have to laugh.
–Me: You taught me better than that.
My brothers’ reactions are more exuberant as usual.
–Noah: Mad respect, bro.
–Nicholas: Respect for Grace. I don’t think it was Huxley’s doing.
–Me: Correct.
–Noah: Damn. I think I love her. Not as much as Bobbi, obviously, but she’s good.
–Sebastian: But the license plates? That doesn’t seem like a Grace thing.
–Me: Nope. You’re right.
–Noah: Aw, man! How come you never invite me to the good stuff?
–Me: Grace decided who could be there.
–Emmett: I’m hurt she asked Dad but not us. Did we do something?
–Grant: Griffin probably scared her.
–Griffin: Shut your mouth, Grant. Women are never scared of me. They love my face.
True enough. Griffin has the prettiest face out of us, thanks to his model mom.
–Noah: Do you know some snakes fake looking harmless to put their prey at ease?
My shoulders shake at the texts that come from my brothers. It didn’t take more than forty-eight hours before the incident in the lobby went viral. Now it’s Vivienne and Peter who look like absolute assholes. Liars always lie, thinking they’re smarter than everyone else. But how could Vivienne and Peter think they’re smarter than my wife?
–Bryce: Your wife is vicious. Love it!
–Ares: Go Grace! I always hated that weasel Peter.
–Josh: You’re just happy it embarrassed Nelson.
–Ares: He’s another weasel. But a partner weasel. One of these days I’m gonna fuck him up.
–Bryce: Geez. That’s so properly lawyerly of you.
–Me: What’s wrong with fucking up Nelson?
–Josh: Stop encouraging him!
Then texts from my sisters-in-law arrive.
–Lucie: You didn’t tell me you married a complete kickass!
–Bobbi: We’re not worthy.
–Amy: I almost peed in my pants. Nobody got much work done at GrantEm because everyone was too busy watching the livestream and talking about it!
I raise my eyebrows. GrantEm is the VC firm Emmett and Grant founded. Everyone there lives to work. For them to take even a little office time off means Grace’s revenge was on point.
–Me: I’m glad my wife impressed you.
–Sierra: It was crime against womankind that she had to sleep with a man with a dick like that. I’d send her some of our products, but then maybe she doesn’t need them, now that she has you.
Sierra is the CEO at a very popular and profitable adult toy company.
–Aspen: I dunno… Huxley wasn’t exactly on time for his wedding. And he left her alone for…how many weeks was it?
–Me: You’re being unfair. It was a business trip.
–Aspen: Which your assistant should’ve managed better for you to avoid stressing your bride. Grace basically holed herself up in a room, and I felt bad. Grant told me your assistant is good at her job, but if she were, she wouldn’t have let a schedule snafu like that happen.
–Lucie: Yeah, true. If I were you, I’d have a talk with her to avoid any issues.
I go still at her gently worded warning. Her previous assistant seemed capable…until Lucie audited her work. Madison has never given me a reason to doubt her competence. My projects were never sabotaged, none of our ideas and portfolios leaked due to her carelessness. I should give her another chance. True, her screwup in London caused me stress, but ultimately I made it to the wedding in time.
My phone pings again.
–Grace: Was the license plate thing you?
I grin. Guess she saw the other video, too.
–Me: What if it was?
–Grace: You’re brilliant!
–Me: Told you I had something planned.
–Grace: Brilliantly evilly planned. L84ANAL!!! Hahaha. I’m dead. :laughing-emoji:
I let out a soft chuckle. Her happiness is infectious even through texts. Although I plan to sue Peter and Vivienne for defamation, Grace deserved something with quicker gratification. So I swapped his license plates with the L84ANAL ones. His driving like a bat with its head cut off to get away from Huxley & Webber lent quite a bit of credence to the whole thing. And, of course, I had a couple of people follow him and get footage of that as well.
–Grace: It’s awesome that he didn’t notice at all! And a whole bunch of people posted about it, and it made the lobby video go even more viral.
–Me: Vivienne and Peter aren’t the only ones who can make something viral. :shrug-emoji:
–Grace: When are you getting home today?
–Me: About seven? Why?
–Grace: If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.
Anticipation courses through me. I plow through everything on my agenda, including a meeting in the afternoon on the new creatives for an up-and-coming cosmetics company and a call with an overanxious client. At six thirty I step out of the office and lock the door behind me.
“Heading home?” Madison says with a professional smile.
“Yes. Have a good evening.”
“You too. By the way, tell your wife I enjoyed the videos she made.”
I look at her for a moment. The guileless smile and clear eyes. There’s no way she purposely created the mess in London. She just made a mistake. I shouldn’t let what Lucie said color how I treat Madison. It wouldn’t be fair.
When I step inside the house, I’m hit with an incredible aroma of herbs and tomato sauce. Tilda must’ve made Italian.
I head into the kitchen to filch a taste, but find Grace in an apron stirring a simmering pot. She looks adorable with her hair twisted into a messy topknot, a pair of white earbuds in, nodding and swaying to a tune only she can hear. She dips a bit of sauce out with the wooden spoon and licks her finger, then smiles. “Oh yeah, baby. So good.”
I wrap my arm around her and kiss her. Taste a hint of tomato. “Mmm. You’re right. So good.”
She laughs. “Hey. I didn’t know you’d be here already!” She pulls the earbuds out and puts them in their case.
“Just a little early.” The clock on the wall says it’s ten till. “Traffic was light, for once.”
“Then let me get the pasta going.”
“Is there anything I can help with? I can’t cook, but I can bring you”—my eyes fall on pasta—“the spaghetti.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Not necessary. I got it. Why don’t you just go relax? Or maybe get a glass of wine if you want?”
“What are you making?”
“Pasta pescatore.” She throws the pasta into a pot of boiling water and hits the timer.
I head to the massive wine cooler and bring out a chilled bottle of Chateau d’Esclans Garrus, which should be perfect for a seafood pasta. The rosé is aromatic with a hint of glazed pears and berries and tastes like vintage champagne sans the bubbles. I uncork it, pour a glass for myself and serve a cold, fizzy white pear cider for Grace. It’s naturally sweet with a refreshing finish and nothing to upset her taste buds. She hasn’t shown any signs of morning sickness so far, but I don’t want to risk triggering it.
She clinks her glass against mine then hesitates for a second, like she isn’t sure what to toast to. A small laugh bubbles from her throat, her cheeks turning pink. “To a great husband,” she says softly, a little breathless and a little shy. A hint of disbelief and pleasure shimmering in her glowing eyes says she can’t believe our marriage has become so much more pleasant than either of us expected.
To be honest, I often wonder how I ended up being so soft with her, given how angry I was. But even when I remind myself of the disastrous dinner at Grandma’s house, I can’t cling to the anger long enough. Grace has a magical ability to chip away at my hardened defenses, even though she’s really just a cream puff.
“To my beautiful wife of many talents.”
Her flush deepens, the sparkles in her eyes growing brighter. “Thanks.” She takes a sip of the cider, then her eyes go round. “Oh, wow.”
“Like it?” I say, enjoying her reaction. It’s fun to spoil my wife. She shows appreciation over the smallest things.
“Love it. Where did you get it?”
“Nieve. I ordered a couple of cases when you got pregnant.”
“Thank you. This is amazing. I could sip it all day long.”
She puts the glass down and drizzles balsamic vinegar and olive oil on slices of fresh mozzarella, tomatoes and basil. The timer goes off, so she drains the pasta and starts tossing everything together in a big bowl, then divides the portions into two smaller bowls. And with a final flourish, she pulls garlic bread from the oven and lays it out on a long rectangular plate.
“Voilà!” She spreads her arms with a wide smile. “A simple pasta dinner. I hope you like it.”
I grin at her infectious mood. “I love it.”
We take everything to the dining table. I pull out a chair for her, then take my seat.
“So what’s the occasion?” When a woman cooks, it’s for a reason. Maybe she saw something that caught her eye and has to have it.
My wife doesn’t have the things that women buy that are pretty but aren’t really useful or necessary, like stylish shoes or hundreds of purses or watches and jewelry. Her car is old, and she doesn’t have any jewelry except for the engagement ring and wedding band. Her clothes are classy but not trendy.
Anticipation starts to swell at the idea of buying her something pretty—and maybe not even really useful or necessary, but just because she wants it. Actually, I should also get her a Maybach. It would be more comfortable than her old Corolla, and she deserves a better car anyway. She’s pregnant, and she’s my wife. I make a mental note to place an order.
“Nothing special.” She shrugs shyly. “Just wanted thank you for your help.”
Her softly spoken words make me pause in surprise.
She continues, “I could’ve still fought back, but you made it easier. Knowing that somebody is on my side just…gave me a strength and confidence that I haven’t felt in so long.” Her eyes glow in the light. “I never thought I’d feel it again after Mom was hospitalized. So. Thank you.”
She looks at me like I’m a superhero sent to earth just to save her. Something hot, sweet and slightly uncomfortable swells in my chest. I didn’t do anything exceptional. Any man would have done the same for his spouse.
“As I said, you’re my wife, Grace. You will not stand alone against the world.”
She nods, her eyes suddenly bright with a sheen of tears. I squeeze her hand.
“You’re so good with words. No wonder you’re in advertising.” She lets out an awkward laugh and blinks fast to get rid of the tears. “Go ahead. Take a bite,” she says after clearing her throat.
I start with my favorite—the pasta. The spaghetti is cooked to perfection, and the sauce has the right balance of acidity and richness. The thinly sliced calamari, which would have ended up rubbery if prepared by a lesser cook, is juicy and tender. If she ever gets tired of working for the foundation, she could open an Italian restaurant and make a killing. “This is amazing,” I say.
“Thanks. It’s Mom’s recipe. She taught me. She’s the best cook.” Grace flushes. “Of course, it would’ve been better if I hadn’t forgotten the parsley.”
“Didn’t Tilda shop for you?”
“Nope. I couldn’t have her do it and use your money when I’m trying to thank you, could I?”
Or perhaps it was due to what I told her when I threw the prenup in her face. Thinking back on it, I feel like a jackass. She probably told Adam she needed to marry for money because of her mother’s medical bills. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions without knowing more about the situation.
She continues, “It puts me behind my savings goal, but you’ve been good to me. You deserve it more than that bastard Peter.”
“You cooked for him, too?” I hope the bastard choked on it and nearly died.
“Yeah.” She wrinkles her nose. “The day he got promoted. That’s also when I found out what he really thought about me, which is why I was upset enough to not care about being frugal and went to another bar to have some drinks.”
“Doesn’t the Pryce Family Foundation pay you well?” The rumor is that they do, but then, things could be different in reality. Everyone has a public persona, including Elizabeth Pryce-Reed King.
“It does, but money is always tight. I need to send two thousand bucks to Johns Hopkins every month, so—”
“What? Why?”
“Nelson and Karie made me contribute. They thought I should have a hand in Mom’s care.” Frustration and contempt fleet in her gaze. “They probably thought if I had to pay that much, I wouldn’t want to continue with her treatment. Mom’s life doesn’t mean anything to them, and they can’t imagine it being significant to anybody else, either.” She shakes her head, her mouth twisted.
“What a bunch of assholes.” I should’ve rearranged Nelson’s face permanently. What kind of heartless monsters try to force a woman into a situation where she might have to give up on her own mother because of money? “I can add the amount to the monthly bill.”
“You sure? I don’t mind paying. I’ve sort of figured out the budget.”
“Obviously not, if buying some seafood puts you behind your savings goal.” I frown as another thought occurs to me. “Do you ever get to splurge on yourself? Just go out and have fun?”
She shakes her head. “I haven’t done anything like that in a while, but it’s okay.” A seemingly nonchalant shrug. “When my friends drifted away after Mom got sick, I learned that they weren’t real friends anyway, you know?”
“I can imagine.” I squeeze her hand again. It’s heartbreaking that friendships can be so fragile, and I hate it that she was made to feel even more alone because of the callous people around her. “Anyway, there’s no deductible requirement to the trust, so let it take over the two thousand you’ve been paying. It’s specifically set up to pay for all her medical care. You don’t have to shoulder so much on your own anymore. You have a husband now.”
Her mouth parts, and she hesitates for a bit, like she’s surprised at the offer and unsure what to do about the unexpected gesture of goodwill. It makes my heart ache to realize she isn’t used to receiving compassion from others. She’s been walking a precipice all this time, carefully balancing everything despite all the crap that Nelson and other assholes threw at her. She couldn’t be more courageous. I reach over and squeeze her hand, wanting her to know she doesn’t have to take everything onto her delicate shoulders—it’ll be my honor and privilege to carry them for her.
Finally, she gives me a tremulous smile, her eyes shimmering. “Thank you. That’ll be a huge help.”
“So what are you going to do with your extra money? No need to tighten your belt so much, is there?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. She’s too strong to want to show tears.
“Save up, then buy a house with a big yard so that Mom can have the flowers she loves so much when she’s better and leaves the hospital.” The words flow from her easily and automatically, like a child sharing a long-held dream.
What’s wrong with this house? I don’t expect Grace to put her mother in a nursing home after the latter’s recovery, and there’s no reason for her to buy a new place. The home we’re in has four wings. Her mother can have one, and we could hire a few private nurses to help take care of her.
Grace continues before I can mention any of that. “Maybe someplace in Montana.”
Shock sucker-punches me. “ Montana? ” It’s so damn far from California, and she knows my business and family are here. Is there something for her in Montana? Am I even in this future she’s spinning?
She blinks. Her eyes clear, as though she just came out of a trance. “Mom always wanted to go,” she explains, shifting in her seat and pushing her pasta around with a fork. “I’ve never been, but she said it’s really pretty. Lots of land and nature. You know, big sky and all that. I want her to be where she wants to be, surrounded by what she loves the most. Life is short.”
No good argument comes forward. How do I protest such a simple desire for her to give her mother the life she wants? Even if she recovers, her health won’t be the best. Will Grace want to spend most of her time with her mother in Montana? What about me? Our baby? Are we going to end up like my dad and the mothers? Co-parents, but never a true couple—a family—who live together, have shared memories?
The questions stick in my throat. What if she says she wants to live in Montana with her mom, and doesn’t want to think about the rest? I didn’t expect this to be her vision for the future. We never really talked about how our marriage would be except for the fact that we’d be civil to each other. But then I didn’t think I’d end up caring so much about her.
“We haven’t had a great time in L.A.,” Grace adds almost defensively, glancing at me. “Meeting Nelson was her biggest mistake.” The light in her eyes dims as she looks down.
I reach out and tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, stroke her cool cheek, then tilt her chin up. My wife should never lower her head like there’s something wrong with her existence. She is a gift I didn’t know I would receive, and I almost ruined it by being a stubborn jerk before. “She would never think that. I’m sure she’s disappointed that Nelson isn’t a better man, but she can’t regret meeting him. Without that meeting, she wouldn’t have had you.”
“How can you be so sure?” Her voice is shaky with a hint of uncertainty and guilt, like she has somehow convinced herself over the years that if it weren’t for her, her mom could’ve had a better life.
“Because of the mothers my brothers and I have. Do they wish Ted was a better father? Oh, yes. Do they regret having us? Absolutely not. If they did, they would’ve aborted us. Ted gave them that option.”
Joey said as much once when we were fighting. He shouted, “Your mothers should’ve aborted you when Ted gave them the chance! He offered to pay!”
I add, “Besides, how can she regret having you? You’re the loveliest and most devoted daughter. I can’t think of many women who would do as much as you did for their moms.”
“She’s my only family,” Grace says.
“Not anymore,” I remind her. I deserve to be in the future you’re dreaming . “You’re my wife. You have more family than you can imagine.”