Chapter 11
Michael
He’d actually flown here.
“Grandfather,” I said. Couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of my voice. “This is unexpected.”
Taking a flight at his age should have wrecked him, but he looked alert as ever. He stood tall despite the slight hunch in his back that age had given him, fixing me with those sharp eyes that used to terrify me as a kid. They didn’t anymore. I’d gotten too used to them.
“Unexpected? You mean like your wedding?” His gaze shifted from mine and locked on Claudette. I stepped in front of her without thinking. Knowing him, I was praying he wouldn’t say anything unhinged.
“I thought waiting for you to visit with my daughter-in-law might take longer than I had left to live. So I let myself in.”
I felt Claudette tense beside me, her fingers tightening around the stuffed elephant—Failure, she’d named it, which felt suddenly prophetic.
“And I told you we were on our honeymoon. You didn’t have to fly all the way here.” I paused, looking around, half-expecting to see the nurse who usually took care of him. “Do you remember what the doctors say about your health?”
“Ha!” He scoffed. “Don’t pretend to care about me now, you rascal. Now are you going to introduce me to your wife or not?”
Claudette stepped forward. I almost reached for her arm to warn her about his sharp tongue, how he could slice you open with words when he felt betrayed. But she was already extending her hand.
“Mr. Ashford. I’m Claudette.” She said it like she was greeting someone she’d been looking forward to meeting, not facing down Augustus Ashford. “I know this wasn’t how you wanted to find out about the wedding, and I’m sorry about that.”
She met his gaze warmly. “You must be exhausted. If we’d known you were coming, we would have been home hours ago.”
My grandfather looked at her outstretched hand. Then her face. Taking his time with it, the way he did with contracts he was about to rip apart.
He still didn’t move. I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. He didn’t need to be this petty about it. It didn’t matter to me whether he accepted her or not. Claudette was my wife now. He’d just have to deal with it.
Silence stretched between us.
“Will you accept my greetings or not? My arm is starting to hurt,” Claudette said. “And I’m sure since you are here, you have a lot to say. We can just begin with it already.”
I started to step forward when a laugh erupted, loud and echoing in the living room.
I stared, stunned. My grandfather’s whole face changed with his laughter.
“Oh, I see you don’t scare easily.” He shook his head. Then he finally took her hand. “Augustus Ashford. You just gave me several new gray hairs.” He shook her hand once. Firm.
Claudette caught my eye and this time she was smiling broadly.
I stood there trying to process what I’d just witnessed. She’d disarmed him in under a minute.
I’d spent thirty-three years trying to figure out conversations with my grandfather and she’d just made it look effortless.
Maybe I should be taking notes.
“Come, come.” He was already guiding her toward the couch, still holding her hand. “There’s so much we need to discuss.”
“Grandfather, maybe we should all—”
“Michael.” He waved me off without even looking at me. “Your wife and I are going to have a conversation. You’re not invited.”
“I’m not what?”
“Not invited. Go do something useful. Take a shower. You smell like carnival food.”
“This is my house,” I pointed out.
“And she’s my new granddaughter-in-law. I flew all the way here to meet her properly, not to watch you hover.” He settled onto the couch. “Go. We’ll call you when we need you.”
I looked at Claudette. She shrugged, clearly fighting a smile.
Fine. Apparently I was being dismissed from my own home.
I headed down the hallway, pulling off my jacket. Behind me, I could already hear them settling into conversation.
In the bedroom, I grabbed fresh clothes before heading to shower, letting the hot water wash away the carnival. When I finally emerged, dressed in clean clothes, I could still hear their voices from the living room. Low and comfortable.
I started down the hallway, then slowed as I got closer. Something in my grandfather’s tone caught my attention.
“—his parents would have loved you, you know.”
I stopped walking.
His voice was softer than I’d heard in years—maybe ever. Softer than I could remember. “Michael’s mother especially. She was warm like you. Had that same way of making people feel at ease.”
There was a pause. Then Claudette, speaking gently, “I’ve heard they passed when he was young.”
“He was just a toddler. Car accident. Barely remembers them, if I’m honest.”
My hand pressed flat against the wall.
“That must have been incredibly hard,” Claudette said. “For both of you.”
“I didn’t handle it well.” My grandfather’s voice was different now. Tired in a way I’d never heard before. “I was running a company. Drowning in work. Hired nannies to raise him because I didn’t know what else to do. I thought providing for him was enough. And now he barely visits home anymore.”
I could remember the parade of nannies. Kind women who fed me and put me to bed and left when their shifts ended.
“I saw him maybe once a week back then,” Grandfather continued.
“I thought that was enough. Providing everything he lacked. By the time I realized I’d missed his childhood, he was already grown.
Already distant.” His voice cracked slightly.
“I taught him business because that’s all I knew how to teach.
Gave him the company because that’s all I knew how to give. ”
I stood silently, still listening.
I thought about my ten-year-old self. Meeting Jack had been part of the best things that happened to me. His friendship, and then his family had saved me in ways I’d never been able to articulate.
“But what I really want now—” Grandfather’s voice shifted. “What I should have wanted all along—is for him to be happy. Really happy, not just successful. I want him visiting more. Bringing you around. I want to know him as more than just my successor.”
“He cares about you,” Claudette said softly.
“I know. After everything I didn’t do, he still cares even though he desperately refuses to give me the great grandkids I’ve been asking for.”
I stood there in the hallway, listening to my grandfather sound older and more tired than I’d ever heard him. This man who’d been so stern, so demanding—now he sounded more human than I’d known him to be.
Something shifted in my chest. Something old and tight in my chest loosened. He’d done what he could. What he knew how to do. And he was acknowledging it now.
I pushed off the wall and walked into the living room, making enough noise so they’d hear me coming.
They both looked up. Claudette’s cheeks were faintly pink. I couldn’t believe this old man still found a way to sneak in talks about grandchildren. And he wasn’t as slick as he thought.
“Enough with the old-fashioned talks,” I said, stepping into the room.
Claudette’s blush deepened when I met her gaze, knowing exactly what I meant.
“Old-fashioned?” Grandfather scoffed. “You’re thirty-three, Michael. Time to think about what actually matters.”
“Pretty sure what matters is the company you’re leaving me.”
“Money isn’t what matters. Family is what matters.” He looked at Claudette, then back at me. “Besides, she’s too good for a rascal like you. Beautiful and smart. I hope you know that.”
“I’m very aware,” I said, moving to sit beside Claudette.
“Good. Keeps you humble.” He settled back, satisfied. “Now. I’m hungry. Let’s have dinner.”
“I was just about to make an order.” I reached for my phone. “What sounds—”
“Already handled it. Sandra’s picking up food.”
He said, pulling out his phone, squinting at the screen. His hands shook slightly as he typed. The tremor was subtle, easy to miss if you didn’t know to look for it.
I knew. I’d been looking for it more and more lately. Trying—and failing—not to think about what it meant.
He was on the phone before I could respond, giving detailed instructions about which restaurant, which dishes, how much spice. His voice was firm, commanding. The same voice he’d used in boardrooms for fifty years. But his free hand rested on his knee, fingers trembling slightly against the fabric.
The call ended. He looked at us like the matter was settled.
It was. By the time Sandra arrived with food, Grandfather was already asking about our honeymoon like he hadn’t just ambushed us in the living room.
Sandra, his assistant and caretaker, hesitated in the kitchen with the white takeout bags in hand. Late fifties, silver hair pulled back neat and severe. She’d been managing his schedule and health for years, probably knew him better than anyone.
“I should get back to the hotel,” she said.
“Nonsense. You flew across the country with me.” He gestured toward a chair. “Sit.”
She sat. He looked entirely too pleased about it.
We loaded plates with rice and chicken and dumplings. Grandfather took one bite, nodded his approval. His hands were steadier with food on his plate, something to focus on. He ate slowly, not savoring—conserving. Every movement measured, deliberate, betraying energy that wasn’t what it used to be.
He asked Claudette questions between bites. Where she grew up. What she studied. Our plans after Vegas was over. His tone was warm, genuinely interested, and I watched Claudette relax into the conversation.
She chuckled at something he said, and I watched them—feeling strangely outside their easy rapport.
Under the table, I stretched my leg out carefully. Searched for Claudette’s ankle, needing that small connection. That reassurance.
My foot connected with something solid. Definitely her leg, I thought with misplaced confidence. I pressed gently, a silent hello.
“What?” Sandra said, blinking in confusion.
I froze completely. Every single muscle in my body locked.