Chapter Seven #2
A grim smile touched his lips. He didn’t doubt he could deal with any past that came knocking. She might be frightened if she knew what lived inside of him that he hid with the suits and the wealth and his own quiet, watchful calm.
“So what’s the plan of attack?” she asked, turning toward him, her stunning eyes assessing his mood.
“I don’t know if attack is the word we should use,” he mused.
She laughed. “You’re not even thirty, former foster kid, and you’re a billionaire or almost,” she scoffed when he frowned. “Every interaction with you is a deal, and you have a brainiac, highly researched plan as you stealth up to your prey with at least a plan B and C in your back pocket.”
He stared at her, though the light was green, and no one honked at him, he marveled. On many of Denver’s streets drivers would have laid on their horns, cursed him out and maybe even roared around him with creative gestures made with fists by now.
“Does that worry you?” It hadn’t occurred to him as Ayana brimmed with confidence, had had no trouble telling him what she thought their marriage was worth and what were the lines she wouldn’t and he couldn’t cross.
“Nah. I’ve been taking care of myself since sixteen. Game recognizes game.”
He nodded and turned back to the road to ease through the intersection. He wondered if he should park so they could walk around and get a feel or if they should check into the hotel first.
“It’s cute,” she said. “I wasn’t sure I’d like it, but it has a historic look that feels burnished by time and experiences, but it’s not a town just for tourists.
I saw a hardware store, feed store, and a diner.
The coffee shop and chocolate shop are calling my name. I wonder if there’s a knitting shop.”
There was something speculative in her voice that surprised him. He’d imagined her being sort of scornful of such a small town considering she’d spend the past three years wandering the waterways and shores of Europe, although she’d been working.
“We can stop and look around, though I thought we’d check into the hotel first, put our luggage in the room before exploring.”
“Practical, though I doubt there’s much crime on Main Street Marietta.”
“Try not to sound disappointed.”
“I’m not. I was thinking about trying my hand at working the poker or blackjack tables in Reno and while the money would have been good, the hours, lifestyle and clientele would have worn me down.”
He tried to keep the frown off his face thinking of her in Reno, but Ayana was not yet his wife, and even when she was, he doubted she’d want him weighing in on her job choices.
“This looks charming. Fresh and clean and the mountain ranges surrounding this valley—it really is well named—a paradise.”
“Not too remote?”
“No. But I doubt you’ll remain anonymous here too long.”
He didn’t like that idea. He liked to keep his business his.
“We have trouble, we’ll fix it together. We’re a team.”
He saw the flash of surprise in her eyes. “That’s right,” she said quietly.
He found the stately Graff Hotel on Front Street, flanked by parks and near an old-fashioned train depot. He wondered if the train still ran. He pulled up to the wide, arching staircase to the entry and a valet and a bellman hurried down to greet them.
“Checking in?”
“I can carry my bags,” Ayana said as she stepped out, holding her leather tote close.
“No need, miss,” the bellman said, smiling. “I’ll take it up to your room. It will never be out of our sight. Welcome to the Graff.”
“Ummm thank you,” Ayana said, standing stiffly, looking a little lost. He wondered, as he pocketed the ticket from the valet, if after so many years of serving others, Ayana was having trouble adjusting to being served.
They walked side by side up the stairs, and he had a strange impulse to take her hand.
Don’t rush her.
So unlike him to push or stake a claim.
The lobby surprised him with its elegance combined with a touch of historic rusticity. He noted a bar that looked Irish-themed—strange, but maybe not. He definitely needed to lean into his research on Montana, Marietta, and the Telfords before he made any sort of approach.
“Welcome to the Graff. You must be here for the wedding.”
He blinked at the check-in clerk. Was she psychic? But he hadn’t thought they’d have a wedding.
“Yes, we are,” Ayana lied smoothly. “We’re very excited. Your town is so cute. First time here.” She smiled like the sun. “We thought we’d arrive early and explore your town. I already saw a chocolate shop and read that Sage is famous for her homemade hot chocolate, so that’s on my list.”
“She is and so much more. You must be a relation, Mr. Crow. You’re the spitting image of the groom.”
Telford felt his blood drain from his head. Wedding. Groom. Spitting image. It was like being shoved though a curtain on stage during the middle of a play.
“You get that all the time, don’t you, baby.” Ayana slid her arm through his and gazed up at his frozen stoniness like he was the center of the universe.
Her eyes shone with admiration and something that looked—if he didn’t know better—like affection.
“It’s lovely to know that there are still no secrets in a small town. Genes right? Tricky little buggers. Can sneakily skip a generation or jump out and shout ‘boo’ when you least expect.”
The front desk clerk—Joseph, Telford saw on his nametag—laughed.
“I know. I look more like my Uncle Ted than my dad, and boy, did I get teased growing up.”
“Right?” Ayana smiled at the young man, and he blinked a little as if blinded and then quickly ran through the check-in routine—amenities, services, spa and gym options, Wi-Fi, local restaurants.
The romance package—chilling champagne, flowers, and a tray of snacks—were already in the room. The luggage had already been sent up. Telford felt like he was still made of wood while they opted to take the stairs rather than the elevator.
“Romance package.” She hummed under her breath. “Good one.”
“I felt I should make an effort,” he said softly, though his lips and tongue still didn’t feel like they belonged to him. So much for hiding. “And you’re clearly really good at pretending and improv.”
She stopped at the first landing and faced him.
“I better be. You’re paying to have the best. I told you I’m a hard worker.”
He didn’t like being reminded that he was paying her to pretend. Dumb. He’d never shirked reality before. And why else would she be here but to do a job?
And in front of the whole lobby with the polished wide-planked pine floors, gleaming stained-glass windows, polished wood columns, and sitting area where people and families lounged, playing board games, reading, or chatting over a variety of drinks while Telford and Ayana looked over it all, she stood on tiptoes, speared her fingers through his hair and kissed him.