Chapter Fifteen
Grant
“This is utter bullshit,” I whispered beside Kiyah as I led her down the aisle.
“Shut the hell up,” she responded through clenched teeth as we passed Uncle Ant and Ms. Simone. Uncle Ant had glared daggers at us all night, and Ms. Simone looked everywhere but at us. They couldn’t make it any more obvious that there was tension between us.
“This is the twelfth time we’ve run through the wedding procession. You walk down the aisle arm in arm and take your respective spots. What’s not clicking?”
“Your sister wanted to change the wedding procession song at the last minute because it wasn’t speaking to her.”
I snorted. “So now she’s my sister?”
“It seems you heard correctly.”
“It’s funny how she’s always ‘my sister’ when she gets on your nerves.”
Her lips slid into a tiny smirk, and I knew I set myself up. “Just like I’m always your sister when I get on your nerves.”
Okay… she has a point.
“This makes me glad we never did the big wedding thing,” I whispered. She raised a brow.
“You’re so full of shit, Grant,” she whispered back. “You’re only saying that to make yourself feel better.”
“I am not.”
“I have a question,” she stated, pivoting the conversation.
“I have an answer.”
“Does it seem like Ruby keeps mean-mugging me?”
I gulped violently and prayed Kiyah didn’t hear it.
Ruby was Daisy’s best friend and maid of honor, who I slept with a few years ago.
It meant nothing to me—one night of impassioned sex when I was missing Kiyah that I regretted in the morning.
I didn’t know what I regretted more: my hangover or sleeping with my sister’s best friend.
Morally Bankrupt Casey gave me a fucking earful the next day about not shitting where I eat and how certain people were off-limits: clients, employees, anyone who can’t legally consume alcohol in the United States, friends of our siblings, friends of our parents (a fucking given), and people who were in relationships, whether they were situationships or marriages.
It was solid advice, but Casey was the last person I wanted to hear it from.
“I think you’re seeing things.”
Lord, forgive me for gaslighting my wife, but I need her to show up after the wedding, and I’ll be damned if a forgettable one-night stand fucks it all up.
“Mmmm. I don’t know. She was acting a little funny towards me earlier, too. I’ll probably pull her aside and ask if something’s bothering her.”
“Don’t do that. Just leave it alone.”
“Why?” Kiyah asked with a sharp tone. I didn’t have to look at her to know she was scanning my profile with a mistrusting gaze.
“Because there’s no point. All it’ll do is cause drama. Don’t put Daisy in a situation where she must defend her best friend or sister.”
Kiyah dropped my arm like it was lava when we arrived at the altar and veered off to our assigned spots.
She glowered at me from across the aisle, and I knew my fucking goose was cooked when her cheeks flamed red.
She signed that I was a “lying sack of shit.” All I could do was sign back and say, “I know.” I almost signed that I loved her, but that wouldn’t have ended well with all the ASL-literate folks present.
Our conversation would’ve raised some flags.
Despite how pissed off Kiyah was, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She was radiant in her floor-length lilac chiffon dress.
The slit in the front that exposed one of her firm thighs teased me mercilessly.
And perhaps it was a weird kink of mine, but I was a sucker when she wore anything spaghetti-strapped.
It had everything to do with the act of slowly peeling down the straps and that moment of grueling anticipation before exposing her breasts.
I sighed and willed my growing erection away when Kiyah sucked her cheeks in and pursed her lips like Mom did when she heard some news she didn’t appreciate.
Let the groveling commence.
* * *
“You’re moving in with Ronan,” I said doubtfully, nursing my bourbon, trying to make it stretch.
To our relief, the dreadful rehearsal ended when Daisy decided the original song was perfect and that she was tripping for thinking she could find a better song.
Everyone bit back their grumbles and complaints and focused on the positives—the open bar and the cold seafood display of lobsters, crabs, oysters, shrimps, and such.
“Why not?” Kieran said as he dragged his chilled shrimp through the cocktail sauce. “We’re best buds, and he has all those rooms. He’d be an awful friend if he didn’t allow me to live with him.”
“So awful,” Casey teasingly placated before snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
“How much are you paying for rent?” I asked.
“Hm?” Kieran responded as if he didn’t hear my question.
“How much are you paying for rent?” I repeated, this time signing my question as well.
“Rent is a social construct—”
That was all he had to say to have us in stitches. Mom wasn’t lying when she said he thought differently. Not only did Kieran think differently, but he was a natural snake charmer with his words. We’d often finish a conversation, and he’d leave me scratching my head and completely mind-fucked.
“It’s a win-win situation for me,” Ronan said, coming to Kieran’s defense.
“How so?” Casey asked as his eyes trailed one of the waitresses around the room.
“Oh, Middle Bro, she’s off limits,” Kieran announced flippantly.
“What do you mean?”
“We exchanged numbers already, and I have a clandestine meeting arranged with her after dinner.”
“It’s not clandestine if you tell people,” I drawled.
“Points were made,” Kieran acknowledged.
“That’s fine. There are plenty of fish in the sea,” Casey said optimistically.
“How is Kieran living with you a win-win situation?” I asked Ronan, hoping to steer the conversation away from sex when I didn’t see it happening for me in the foreseeable future.
“I don’t have to pay for a cleaning service any longer. Kieran will clean the house and buy groceries in exchange for that social construct rent.”
Casey and I exchanged a brief glance.
Ronan will not be happy when Kieran comes home with heavily discounted, near-their-expiration-date food and Ramen.
Oh, well. Not my problem. I have better things to worry about, like why my wife is having a hushed conversation with my past hook-up in the corner of the dining hall.
Great. Now they’re leaving together. Fuck my life.
Kiyah
“You wanted to get something off your chest?” I said after the bathroom door was secured.
Ruby plunked her gold Prada sequin mini pouch onto the beige-and-cream swirled granite countertop.
She fluffed her auburn curls and dragged out the silence.
I rolled my eyes and unclasped my Alexander McQueen jeweled box clutch.
I smiled to myself. The handle reminded me of brass knuckles, and I had to get it.
The best part was that I didn’t have to say I wanted it.
Grant waved the sales associate over and told her to wrap it for me.
Fucking dirtbag. He has some fucking balls to lie in my face and gaslight me like I’m a fucking idiot. Now, his mistress is unknowingly “coming to me as a woman.” Eh, mistress is pushing it. If I know Grant, it was nothing more than a one-and-done.
“Ruby, you said you wanted to talk—make it quick,” I urged as I reapplied my lipstick. I didn’t care for Ruby before I knew she slept with Grant, and she certainly wasn’t earning any brownie points with me now. I had no place to talk, but she took spoiled, entitled rich girl to an obscene level.
She’s worse than Nori. Not by much, but still. To this day, I don’t understand how Daisy and Ruby became such good friends. I think they’re nothing alike, but I guess that’s what they mean by opposites attract.
“I’m thrilled that you could make it to the wedding,” she said, spritzing her wrist with a perfume that screamed, “Fuck me.”
“Mhm,” I replied, waiting for the shoe to drop.
“Daisy was so anxious that you wouldn’t make it.
We were having brunch a few weekends ago, and the poor thing started sobbing into her mimosa.
I know you have that whole black-sheep-of-the-family vibe going on, but you should be more considerate of your family.
You’re lucky to be a Baker. Who knows where you and Kierra would be if it weren’t for Mr. Baker. ”
Kierra?!
I planned on letting her speak her truth, eat an unhealthy amount of crab legs, drink an ungodly amount of beer, and rage fuck my husband all night, but it was clear my plans needed to be adjusted.
Now, I have to hurt her feelings. Typically, I’m not a mean girl, but I picked up on the microaggressions she’s putting down, and disrespecting my mother will not be tolerated.
“You know who’ll never be a Baker? You.” I tamped down my excitement when a strangled gasp escaped her.
“Grant didn’t have to tell me that you slept together.
I read it all over your pitiful face as we walked down the aisle arm-in-arm.
In your head, you were asking God why couldn’t it be you.
Grant didn’t have to tell me that he snuck out the next morning before you woke and found his side of the bed empty.
And he’s such a fucking asshole because he didn’t even bother to leave a sticky note telling you how good of a time he had and that he’d call you.
I bet he was in such a rush to hightail it out of there that he didn’t even turn the bottom lock on your front door when he left.
You texted him about his disappearing act but tried to seem mellow about it—like it was no big deal, but it was tearing you up inside.
You waited all day and night for those grey bubbles to bounce on your screen, and to this day, your message is still left on Read.
Actually… scratch that. It’s been so long that he most likely upgraded his phone since then, and that message is floating somewhere in the cloud.
“I’m sure you kept up with Grant throughout the years—casually asking Daisy about him, checking his dismal social media page that he hasn’t updated in three years from a burner account, popping up at charity events and galas hoping to be seen in his vicinity for the cameras so that people could see how well you complement each other—at least in your mind.
And you know what the saddest thing is? I bet you pulled out all the fucking stops for him.
You put on your best porn performance for him, and it wasn’t enough for him to respond back to a text. ”
I tightened the gap between us.
“Let me tell you a little secret about these Baker men. When they want a woman, they’ll do whatever they can to have her.
Truthfully, the lengths they’ll go to secure said woman by their side is a little concerning.
The fact that it’s years later and he won’t even glance at you should tell you everything you need to know.
Have some self-respect, and let whatever infatuation you have for him go.
Your wealth and family prestige can land you a decent husband, but it won’t be Grant Maxwell Baker. ”
I took another step closer.
“Last thing, it’s Mrs. Kierra Baker to you. Don’t you ever disrespect my mother like that again because last I checked, only one of our mothers served a two-year prison stint for tax evasion.”
I turned to the mirror and smoothed down a flyaway as she wiped tears from her eyes. I checked my phone and wasn’t surprised to find a text from Grant.
Grant: Where are you?
Me: Bathroom.
“I saw you,” Ruby whispered from beside me.
“You saw me what?”
“I saw you and Grant kissing one night after a party back in college.”
“That makes this little meeting even sadder because I’m sure you thought you were going to check me about him.
Let’s remain cordial with one another for the rest of the weekend for Daisy and Nori.
There’s no need to ruin their wedding over senseless drama.
Do what you will with that information after they leave for their honeymoon. ”
The deafening snap of my clutch punctuated the end of my sentence. I left the bathroom and wasn’t surprised when I noticed Grant leaning against the wall. Without a word, I veered to the left towards the exit with him hot on my heels.