Married to the Grumpy CEO

Chapter One

Cedar

I stood frozen, my eyes fixed on the polished mahogany casket as the warm Hawaiian sun cast a gentle glow over the mourners gathered around. Ciara's funeral was a blur, the priest's words distant and indistinct, like a muffled echo in my mind.

My thoughts drifted to memories of my sister—our laughter, our tears, our late-night conversations.

As kids, Ciara and I would spend hours exploring the beaches of Kailua, collecting seashells and watching the sunset—one of my favorite things about living on the island.

Our parents would scold us for getting sand everywhere, but Ciara would just grin and say, "It's worth it, Cedar."

The cancer had taken its toll, but Ciara's spirit remained unbroken until her final breath. I recalled the countless hospital visits, the chemotherapy sessions, and the sleepless nights.

I'd pursued a career in oncology because I wanted to keep my sister alive, but no amount of knowledge I acquired had been enough.

As the priest's voice faded further, I relived our final moments. Ciara's frail hand in mine, her eyes locked on me, filled with deep love and acceptance.

"Cedar, don't let grief consume you," she whispered. "Live for both of us." Tears streamed down my face as I remembered her weak smile and her final breath.

The service ended, and the mourners began to disperse. I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder that broke my reverie. "Sweetie, it's time to say goodbye," my mother, Susan, announced.

I took a deep breath and approached the casket, running my hand over the smooth wood. Ciara's face—serene and peaceful—seemed almost alive. I whispered, "I'll miss you, big sis. Every day."

As I turned away, I saw Flynn Jefferson, Ciara's best friend since childhood, standing by the door. He and Ciara were both eight years older than I, but they never let me play alone. He was like a big brother to me.

Our eyes met, and I saw a reflection of my own pain. He nodded, his expression somber, and I felt a wave of gratitude for his presence.

The reception followed at our family house, where friends and relatives shared stories of Ciara's life. I kept a polite smile plastered on my face, trying to be strong for my parents, but the weight of my grief threatened to crush me.

As the evening wore on and the crowd thinned, only a few cousins, Flynn, Devan, and his parents were still with us.

My parents signaled me into the kitchen to help serve dinner. After our guests were settled and eating, I busied myself washing dishes—anything to distract my mind.

I noticed my parents walk in, but I paid them no attention. After a while, my mother's voice broke the silence. "Cedar, honey, we need to talk."

I sensed a shift in tone and mood. "What is it, Mom?"

My father, Dave, cleared his throat. "We've been thinking... it's time you started considering settling down. You're twenty-seven, and—"

I knew where this was headed. "Dad, please, not now."

My mother intervened, her voice gentle but firm. "Cedar, we just want what's best for you. I've spoken to you about Devan Thompson, haven't I? He's a great catch, and his family is lovely."

My heart sank. They were at it again, pushing me to marry someone I barely knew. The moment I saw Devan at the funeral, I'd already braced myself for this conversation. "Mom, Dad, I appreciate your concern, but—"

"Cedar, your sister's passing is a reminder that life is short. We want grandkids, and we want you to be happy," my father said, no longer offering a mere suggestion.

I felt a surge of frustration and tried to keep my voice low. "You're not listening to me. I don't like—"

That was when Flynn and Devan walked in, side by side, their eyes darting between my parents and me.

Their gaze finally settled on me. Flynn's held concern, but from Devan, I sensed a spark of interest. I quickly looked away.

"Ah, perfect timing," my mother said, her voice overly cheerful. "Cedar, you know Devan Thompson, don't you?"

I forced a polite smile, my jaw tense as I tried to hide my frustration. "Hi, Devan."

Devan's eyes crinkled at the corners as he returned my smile. "Hey, Cedar. Sorry about your loss."

My mother pressed on, undeterred. "Devan's a wonderful young man, Cedar. He's a police officer—a really good one. I heard he cuffed some notorious gang leader a month ago, who'd been a real pain for months. Isn't that right, Devan?"

A flush rose to his cheeks as everyone stared at him. His chiseled features and broad shoulders made him undeniably attractive, but I wasn't interested.

"Uh, it was just a lucky day for me, ma'am."

"Come on, don't be modest. I heard you got a promotion because of that case. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," Devan responded.

"Cedar here is a doctor," my father continued. "I think you two have something in common... doing what you can to save lives. You with guns, her with—"

"Mom, Dad, please," I protested, trying to keep my tone light. "This isn't the right time."

"When is? Because in case you haven't noticed, young lady, time isn't something anyone controls. You need to think carefully about—"

Devan intervened, his deep voice smooth. "If it's not a good time, ma'am, maybe Cedar and I could catch up later?"

My mother waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense, Devan. There's no such thing as a good time. It's best to make hay while the sun shines. Cedar, why don't you show Devan around the house?"

My breath caught in my throat, my anger simmering. "I need some air," I muttered, turning to leave.

My father's voice stopped me. "Cedar Amelia Rowan, don't you walk out on us!"

I halted, my back to him, as Flynn's eyes met mine. I saw a flicker of understanding there.

"Let me talk to her, sir," Flynn said calmly.

I took advantage of the distraction to slip out of the kitchen. I heard the conversation continue behind me.

"Sorry about that, Devan," my mother said.

"No worries, Susan," Devan replied. "I understand."

My father's voice rose. "Flynn, sorry you have to deal with that."

"No need for apologies, sir. She's grieving. I'll make sure she's okay."

I quickened my pace as Flynn followed.

When I reached the front door, I heard Flynn's calm voice behind me. "Cedar, wait."

I pushed open the door and stepped into the night, the cool breeze brushing my face. Flynn's hand gently grasped my elbow, turning me around.

"Hey," he said softly. "You okay?"

I looked up at him, my eyes welling with tears. "I just need some space, Flynn."

He nodded, his eyes filled with compassion. "How about a quiet walk? You can cry all you want."

I nodded, letting the tears trickle down my cheeks. The warmth contrasted with the cool evening air hugging my skin.

We walked side by side, the streetlights casting long shadows. The evening breeze carried the sweet scent of plumeria and the distant sound of televisions in nearby houses.

Island life was quiet; most residents went to bed early. Few homes had gates or fences, preferring colorful flower hedges that separated properties. There were rarely any cases of theft or break-ins.

Flynn's midnight-black hair was mussed, and the streetlights reflected in his dark eyes. His broad shoulders and chiseled features made him a commanding presence.

To most people, he appeared grumpy and gruff, keeping them at arm’s length. But around Ciara and me, he showed a gentleness that always put me at ease.

As we strolled, the silence between us felt comfortable. I let my tears flow, and Flynn didn’t stop me. His quiet companionship soothed my frazzled emotions.

But as we turned onto a quieter street, my pent-up grief boiled over. "It's so unfair," I exclaimed, my voice shaking. "I couldn't save her, Flynn. What's the point of being a doctor if I couldn't do more for Ciara? I should've been able to do something…"

Flynn just listened.

"I'm so angry," I continued, my words spilling out. "My parents are so insensitive, pushing me to marry some guy I barely know because they're afraid I might get cancer too. And at work, my chief is breathing down my neck, always questioning my decisions."

Flynn's face remained calm, understanding etched into his features.

"I feel so helpless," I concluded, my voice cracking.

Without a word, he pulled me into a hug. His strong arms enveloped me, and I felt the tension melt away. I sobbed against his chest—he was about six-foot-four to my five-foot-eight, and my head rested comfortably on him. He patted my head gently, his touch steady and soothing.

I don't know how long we stood like that, but it was long enough for me to stop feeling like everything was hopeless. As my sobs subsided to sniffles, Flynn asked softly, "Better now?"

I nodded, a wave of gratitude washing over me. "Thanks, Flynn. Being able to vent helped."

"You're welcome," he replied, his deep voice gentle. "That's what friends are for. Want to head back now?"

I glanced in the direction we'd come from and shook my head. "I'd rather get home after Mom and Dad are in bed. I can't handle more nagging tonight."

He nodded, and we kept walking in the opposite direction.

"So, tell me," he said, changing the subject. "Are you heading back to New York soon?"

"No," I said without hesitation. "I'm staying. This is home. That's what Ciara would have wanted."

Flynn nodded. "I'm glad. You belong here."

A faraway look came into his eyes. "Remember that time you convinced Ciara and me to take you to that party at Trevor's house because you had a huge crush on him?"

I chuckled. "You two were about to leave for college, and I was in junior high. We got caught by the cops, and Mom was furious!"

Flynn grinned. "Yeah, but it was worth it. We had some wild adventures, didn't we?"

For the first time since Ciara's passing, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face.

Flynn's eyes lit up. "There, hold still..."

I arched an eyebrow. "What is it? Do I have something on my face?"

He shook his head, his gaze lingering on mine. "No, it's just... your smile. It's beautiful. Ciara wouldn't want us drowning in sorrow. She'd want us to keep smiling."

My heart skipped a beat as I met his gaze. For a moment, I saw him differently—not just as a childhood friend, but as a strong, compassionate man. I shook off the feeling, chalking it up to gratitude.

"Thanks, Flynn," I said softly. "You've always been there for Ciara and I."

Flynn's expression softened. "Always will be, Cedar."

We walked on in companionable silence. The island's tranquility surrounded us, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a hint of peace.

Eventually, he checked his watch. "We should head back. You don't want your parents asking Devan to lead a search party."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine." He was right—despite being an adult, my parents still treated me like a child sometimes.

Turning back, we quickened our pace. Some of the rocking chairs we’d passed earlier were now empty, their occupants having retired for the night.

Back on my street, the familiar sight of my family's house came into view.

"Thanks for the walk, Flynn," I said.

He smiled. "Anytime, love. Get some rest, okay?"

We noticed movement inside the house—my parents were still up.

"Wanna come say goodbye to them?" I asked.

Just then, his phone rang. "Excuse me."

He took the call, and I watched his smile fade into a thin line. His forehead wrinkled, and he took a steady breath as though trying to calm himself. Fury flickered in his eyes.

"What is it?" I asked, my stomach twisting at the sudden tension.

He gritted his teeth, his pupils narrowed. "Trouble."