Chapter 15
Nate
Iwake alone to faint sunlight edging through the open bathroom door.
“Grace?” I touch the mattress at my side.
Cold.
I slide out of bed.
She must be here. There’s no way she left. I’d have heard something—
I force myself to stop thinking and start moving.
The bathroom and walk-in closet are empty.
I sift through the discarded clothing on the floor, mildly reassured to find my keys, phone, and wallet.
Flicking through apps, I check my outdoor cameras, wishing I’d gotten around to installing indoor ones.
Nothing. My car is parked out front. Grace must be in the house.
I let myself breathe once more. She didn’t slip away while I slept, though she might have had reason to, given how aggressive I was.
I’ve planned this for years, but Nick’s death moved the timeline forward and complicated the equation.
Now the fight is against the chronic drag of her mother, which means doubling down on seduction across all dimensions until Grace cannot even think beyond me.
My one reassurance is that the cameras say what Grace herself won’t: at least some part of her wants to be here. I just need to keep moving that timeline forward.
Starting with finding my girl—right fucking now.
I pull on a fresh T-shirt and a pair of boxers, wondering what Grace herself is wearing, given her clothes are all still on the floor and I made her sleep naked.
It was easy to draw her into bed, to whisper her to sleep, saying things I probably shouldn’t.
I thought I’d wake if she moved, but my Grace can be sneaky.
The house is quiet. I check each room quickly, confirm that the front door is locked, and that her bag is where I left it—her phone, too. Still uncharged.
That’s when I hear a laugh, quiet and distant, and feel myself smile.
The kitchen.
I know exactly who I’ll find with her. Passing the dining room, I smell something burning and speed up.
The image that greets me is one I’ll tuck alongside the girl in white lace and the tragic bride about to make a mistake: Grace sits with her back against the closed French doors, a plate at her side, and a beast eating greedily from her hand.
She’s wearing my shirt from yesterday, sleeves rolled up messily.
As I watch, Shep finishes a mouthful and steps into her lap for more.
“No, boy.” She laughs. “You’ve had all the good bits and we’ve got to bin the rest. Serve us right, trying to cook eggs on cast iron.”
“The trick is to use plenty of butter on medium heat,” I say, leaning against the island.
Grace draws in a sharp breath, her arms tightening around Shep. The dog doesn’t bother to greet me.
“Want me to show you?” I nod at the stove.
She says nothing. I approach, admiring the way the rising sun lights her from behind, warming her through the French doors.
I retrieve the plate from the floor then give her a peck on the forehead. “I’m happy you’re here, Grace.”
Shep chooses that moment to give me a sloppy kiss.
I pat his head, then go about making some fresh eggs in a clean pan.
The familiar motions of flipping and frying help me to give Grace a moment of distance.
I want her to keep the feeling of safety and sweetness Shep gave her, and I need to ensure a good breakfast to start her day.
“Is the whole kitchen gluten free?” she asks. I turn to find that she’s taken a seat on a stool, her chin on her clasped hands. Up close, her eyes are puffy.
“Of course.” I retrieve a gel pack from the freezer, which I wrap in a towel and hand over. “For your eyes, Grace.”
She takes it with an impatient huff. “You’re going to make me ask, eh? Fine. Why is your kitchen ‘of course’ gluten free, Nate? Are you gluten intolerant?”
I put some gluten-free bread into the toaster.
“Not really, but I prefer to keep things the way they should be—for you.”
Her answer is incredulous. “Even though you didn’t know I was coming to stay here?”
“You were always going to come here.” I plate the eggs and toast. “Now, let’s have some breakfast and we can discuss next steps for today.”
She digs in hungrily, and I suppress a smile at seeing her eat her first meal in our house.
“What about Shep?” she asks between bites.
“He only gets one meal a day, so I’ll consider this morning’s half-breakfast a bonus for keeping you company.”
She sends the dog a smile. “He is good company.”
I resolve to give the lug an extra scoop of food and an extra walk; Shep alone might have stopped Grace from leaving this morning.
She looks at me from across the counter. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m a one-meal-a-day guy, too.”
“Why on earth would you only eat one meal a day?”
“Well, our doctor recommended it, for one. For two, the results have been excellent. Clarity of mind, easier workouts, and less time spent cooking.”
She mulls that over while I get her a short glass of orange juice, a tall glass of water, and start the espresso machine.
“Our doctor?” she asks, stressing the pronoun.
“Yes, ours. Your first video appointment will be this afternoon, which was the soonest Eileen—Doctor Gowan, that is—could squeeze you in. It’ll take an hour, maybe two. You’ll love her.”
“You made me a doctor’s appointment with some doctor I’ve never met?”
“It’s a video call, and yes. You haven’t met her, but she knows quite a bit about you.”
Grace puts her fork down and pushes the plate to the side, frowning. I pretend not to notice, flicking through notifications on my phone.
“And—wouldn’t you know?—your bullet journal will be here just before noon. You’ll have it in time for your chat with Eileen.”
“I don’t need a new doctor. And it’s weird that you talked to her about me.”
“She’s an integrative specialist, which means she asks about all the important aspects of my life. It would have been weird if I hadn’t told Eileen about you, Grace.”
“So, what, you sent her my medical records?” Her cheeks flush. “You know that’s an invasion of privacy, Nate!”
“This is ground we’ve already covered, love.”
I put my phone away and walk around the kitchen island. Grace slides off the stool, putting it between us.
Cute.
“I’ve got enough of your medical history to make a case against your mother, so let’s not pretend I’ve crossed a new line here.
If it makes you feel better about Dr Gowan, she didn’t let me share the files themselves without your consent, so she’s got nothing beyond what I’ve told her. You get to fill her in this afternoon.”
“What makes you think I’m interested?”
“You’re not interested in talking to a doctor who’ll actually listen?” I scoff. “You’re going to take the call, Grace. We both know it.”
She scoffs right back at me. “Are you going to hold me down and force my eyes open? Because it sounds like Dr Gowan won’t stand for your crap, Nate.”
Damn it.
I knew my tactics last night were dangerous, but there was no choice. It was either make her mine completely, or risk partial submission, which could have let her slip away.
And she enjoyed submitting to me…
I step around the stool, taking advantage of our height difference to loom over her. Grace’s pupils dilate as she maintains eye contact. Shep whines.
“Outside,” I snap at the corso, and he leaves, the electric slider letting him out.
“No, don’t punish Shep.”
She bites her lip, trying to look away. I grip her chin, keeping her eyes on me.
“He’s got a job to do.” I shift my hand to cup her cheek, loving the way she can’t help but lean into the caress.
Just how little did Nick touch his wife?
I discard the question, and pursue what’s important.
“Just like I have a job to do. Right here and now, it’s time to take care of you.
That means setting up an appointment with a doctor who’ll succeed where the medical system failed.
Eileen has managed dozens of cases like yours with good results.
And, no matter what you might think of me, she’ll be your doctor.
I might be the one paying her, but her loyalty will be to you, one hundred percent guaranteed.
” I run my fingers through her hair. “So, what do you say, Grace? Want to talk to someone who’ll finally believe you? ”
Giving her a moment, I take the cold pack and press it to her left eye. She smells like me, like the cologne lingering on the button-up shirt. I run my free hand down her back as I switch the gel pack to her other eye. She gives a quiet sob, drawing a little closer.
“I’m so—” she hitches.
“What are you, love?” I kiss the curve of her cheek.
“I’m so messed up. And he’s… he’s gone and—”
“I’m here,” I tell her, kissing her jaw next. I press her back against the island, my body pinning her gently in place. “I’m here with you, Grace. I’m going to fix everything, one layer at a time, starting with getting you the right doctor.”
“This,” she whispers, trying to pull away, “will never be anything other than messed up.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
Taking her hand, I walk her back to the bedroom, where I show her the section of the walk-in closet that was built for her.
She shakes her head. “Of course you’ve got clothes for me.”
“Of course.”
My phone rings, Derek’s name flashing across the screen.
“The office?” Grace asks with a tiny smirk.
“I’ve got to take this,” I say, already marshalling myself to give Dare shit for bugging me when I told him not to.
“I wondered about your new crypto wallet,” she murmurs, turning her attention to the clothes, and putting together an outfit seemingly at random. I bought it all to match anyway. “Take the call, Nate. I’ll have a quick shower on my own. If that’s permitted, of course.”
She says the last with a flash of defiance that makes me want to pin her against the wall. I stare her down instead, watching as her cheeks redden slowly.
Gorgeous.
“Ten minutes, Grace. Take advantage.”
I head to my office, putting my phone to my ear. I don’t bother with a greeting. “What the fuck, Dare?”
His voice is less chipper than usual. “Boss, there’s a massive spread between New Zealand dollars and Bitcoin. I’ve got complaints in the hundreds with people thinking we’ve stolen their motherfucking money.”
I open the app on my laptop. “What have you been telling the clients?”
Radio silence.
“Dare,” I growl, “what have you been saying to the clients?”
“It was Nick’s job to deal with shit like this, boss.” For the first time since I poached him from university eight years ago, he sounds unsure. “I tried telling them it was just a latency hiccup, but you know I’m fucking useless at talking to clients and—”
“What else did you tell them?”
“Nothing—I called you!”
“Fuck,” I mutter, already sorting client lists, focusing on active users within the last twenty-four hours. Normally, Nick would have been on top of this, using his charm to smooth everything out. “Okay, I’ll handle client outreach. What have you done to narrow the spread?”
His panic subsides as he enumerates his actions. I listen carefully as I put up a banner that’ll display to users on-app. That done, I get started on an apology email.
“Good,” I say when Dare pauses to catch his breath. “Did you add a raw token amount alongside fiat conversion?”
“Not yet, but that’s next once I finish the current patch.”
“Long-term solution?” I demand.
He runs through a list, typing on his end all the while. Finally, his voice takes on a hopeless tone. “What we really need is a replacement for Nick. And I’m guessing that’ll mean at least two hires. One for clients, and one CFO.”
“Got it,” I say. “I’ll finish client outreach and start looking for someone on that end. If you know anyone—”
He’s ahead of me. “My cousin’s looking for work.”
“He as smart as you?”
“Pff, what do you think?”
“Send me his contact details anyway. Anything else you need from my end?”
“Yeah, I want to know if you’re fucking okay, boss.”
“Fuck off, Dare,” I answer, letting my voice warm for the first time in the conversation. I let my tone say what my words don’t: this is a totally normal hiccup after a big launch, and he’s done well despite his panic. I make a note to give him today’s profits as well as yesterday’s.
“Fucking off,” he confirms.
Dare hangs up, and I listen to the distant sound of water running.
Grace is in the shower, the bullet journal is on its way, and I need to follow up with both my PI and lawyer.
So damn much to do. But before I can get to any of that, I have to dip into Nick’s voice and suck up to our pissed-off clients.
I feel myself sneer as I finish the email with all the sincerity of my deceased twin.