Chapter Forty-Three
Grant
Thirteen times.
That was how many times Kieran called before we made our long-awaited arrival.
We were late—more than fashionably, thanks to our meeting running late with Mr. Stone.
We’d signed a month-to-month contract with Sentinel, and surprisingly, he was willing to expedite the onboarding process and start tomorrow.
Kiyah was still on edge about Mr. Stone, and she didn’t hide her mistrust. Before leaving, Mr. Stone thanked her for trusting Sentinel Security with her safety.
She bluntly told him she trusted him as far as she could throw him and walked out of the room, boot heels echoing behind her.
“You’re tense,” Kiyah spoke up as I pulled into the luxury condo’s parking garage. My eyes flick in her direction for a second before refocusing on the winding parking structure.
“I think I made a mistake.”
“Sentinel?”
I nodded.
“I shouldn’t question your intuition like that. It was your intuition that got you away from Branson when it mattered. And as your husband, if you tell me that something makes you uncomfortable, then I should acknowledge and move on, not twist your arm and force you to submit.”
She laughed softly.
“No pun intended, right?”
I smirked, finding a spot.
“You should’ve tapped out sooner.”
“I almost had you.”
“Sure, Kiyah.”
“So, what now? Are you cutting Sentinel loose?”
I nodded and said, “I am.”
“That’s an $80,000.00 loss,” she reminded me.
“Somehow, I think I’ll survive.”
We fell silent. I spent the silence admiring her profile, and she spent it wrapped up in her head.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked, smoothing a finger down her jaw.
She cracked a smile. “Gambling at the races.”
I snorted.
Granddad loved the races, and the family thought it was a great idea to take him to the Kentucky Derby for his 70th birthday. We were all dressed in our pastel derby couture—the men in hats and gleaming watches, and the women in fascinators and pearls.
“I still can’t believe that man put down half a million on a horse with 30:1 odds and won,” I commented in a nostalgic daze.
“I think it was the most romantic thing he’s ever done,” Kiyah whispered.
The horse he’d wagered on was named Funky Felicity—a horse that was notorious for placing nearly dead last every race.
“He walked away with $15 million and said, ‘Felicity has never steered me wrong.’ I can’t afford to gamble on the wrong horse, Ki, because I would be losing something greater than money—something that money could never buy.”
She wrapped her fingers around the back of my neck and tugged, leaning across the console to kiss me. I surrendered like it was second nature and had to refrain from pulling her into my lap. We’d never make it upstairs and would land on Kieran’s hit list.
“We should get going,” I said, finding the strength to pull away.
“We will. In a moment. Did you already call Mr. Stone and tell him we were withdrawing from his services?”
“I called and left a message. I’m waiting to hear back from him. I also called Mr. Preston and left him a few messages.”
She nodded. “I guess that’s all that can be done for now. Thank you for listening to me, G. I can’t explain why I feel this way—”
“You don’t have to explain it, darling. Let’s go.”
I stepped out of the car and rounded the hood to retrieve her. She smirked up at me and accepted my hand.
“I didn’t get the chance earlier to tell you how breathtaking you are,” I complimented as my gaze raked over her off-the-shoulder black evening dress.
She was pure elegance, her ears and neck dripping with diamonds, and her makeup muted, showing off her natural beauty.
I loved every version of Kiyah, but I adored this one the most—soft, regal, and graceful—sure to turn heads whenever she walked into a room.
“Get it together, Grant. You’re drooling,” she teased.
“Can you blame me?”
I chuckled and grabbed our gift from the backseat before leading her to the elevator.
“Perhaps not,” she replied with a casual shrug. I circled an arm around her waist and pulled her close, hand resting on her hip.
“One hour,” I said as the car ascended.
“I wouldn’t have left the house for one hour. Two.”
“An hour and a half.”
“Two,” she countered.
I reached into my pocket and produced our motel key. Her eyes widened in surprise before her lips settled into a mischievous smile.
“An hour and a half.”
“I’m glad we see eye to eye.”
The car stopped, opening to the rooftop. We stepped out and froze when we saw the large black-and-gold banner that read ‘Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Grant Baker!’
“You finally made it!” Kieran exclaimed, shoving a champagne glass into our hands. “Don’t worry. It’s sparkling.”
“Only y’all would be late to your own wedding reception party,” Casey said with a coy smile, phone out and recording.
“Wedding reception?” Kiyah mumbled in a daze, slowly taking everything in.
“You both look lovely,” Mom said, kissing us both on the cheek. Dad clapped me on the back and handed me a cigar.
“The housewarming party,” I said, puzzled and wondering if I had entered the Twilight Zone.
“I’m offended that you would believe I was self-centered enough to throw a housewarming party for an already established house,” Kieran said with a stupid grin. I ran a hand through my hair and chuckled.
“You fucking had me, Kier. This is,” I paused to take everything in—the decor, gifts, the multi-tiered cake, buffet, and the smiling faces of our family.
“This is unbelievable,” Kiyah said through tears, accepting hugs from Daisy and Nori.
“What’s unbelievable is that no one spilled the beans,” Uncle Ant mentioned, shaking my hand. Ronan pulled me into a bro hug, and Ms. Simone peppered my face with kisses. Even Burgess was in attendance.
Someone relieved me of the gift bag, and Kiyah had abandoned me to usher Daisy to a seat before she aggravated her injuries. I snagged Dad, pulling him to the side.
“Is everything alright, Grant?”
“Yeah, mostly. I didn’t see Grandma.”
He smiled softly and explained, “She wants to stay close to Granddad. But she sends her love, and her gift is on the table.”
I nodded. “Understandable.”
Kiyah and I mingled with our family members, taking pictures, talking shit, and behaving as if nothing could touch us. It was a fantasy—a dream I never wanted to wake from, but like all dreams, it had to come to an end.
“Alright! Let’s eat so we can sing karaoke!” Ronan announced. Collective groans rang out from everyone, knowing Ronan planned on hogging the mic the entire night.
Kiyah sidled up to me and wrapped her arms around me.
“How do you feel about a duet?”
“I hate the idea of it,” I replied bluntly. She frowned. “But I will do anything for you.”
Her frown softened into a bashful smile.
“Good answer, Grant.”
Kiyah
“Give someone else a turn!” Casey shouted, throwing a balled-up napkin at Ronan, who was feverishly scrolling through the karaoke selections.
“Why? So y’all can make my ears bleed? No thanks,” he replied.
“I’ll have you know that I have the voice of an angel,” Kieran boasted while not so stealthily sneaking a flask from Nori. I rolled my eyes. I knew they were trying to be respectful of Grant, but his vices shouldn’t stop their lives.
“I’ve heard you sing in the shower—try again,” Ronan remarked, finally making his selection. Grant returned from the buffet and wrapped an arm around the back of my chair.
“That’s your third trip to the buffet for sliders,” I mentioned.
“Worry about your waistline, and I’ll worry about mine.”
“Oop!” Daisy reacted.
“This wedding reception might turn into a divorce party,” Ms. Simone said to Mom.
“Let’s hope not,” Mom replied with a heavy sigh as Ronan belted out the lyrics to Crazy by Seal.
I smirked.
“Stop, you guys. Maybe I like my men a little soft,” I teased, snuggling closer to Grant and rubbing my hand over his stomach.
“I prefer a curvier woman, if I might say so myself,” Kieran volunteered.
“We know!” everyone chimed in. It was no secret to anyone that Kieran preferred plus-sized women because he enjoyed cuddling and loved to eat.
“Listen, I’m waiting on the cake. And you can reserve the smart-ass comments about my waistline because I’m lucky to be alive after that ambulance mowed me down,” Burgess exclaimed.
“Give it a rest, Burgess. It was 25 years ago. You don’t see me bitching and moaning about being creamed by an 18-wheeler,” Uncle Ant mentioned as he lit his cigar.
“That’s because your payout was astronomical. I wouldn’t be complaining either if I’d gotten all that money. I was stuck with some crackpot attorney.”
Uncle Ant rolled his eyes. “We had the same attorney, you dolt.”
“Yeah, well, I only walked away with $4.8 million after the exorbitant attorney fees. I can’t do shit with that.”
Nori squinted at Burgess and said, “Do you hear yourself?”
He snorted and said, “I’m surprised you can hear yourself. Daisy didn’t hide your hearing aids?”
We all gasped.
“What?” he asked with a shrug. “We’re gonna pretend that didn’t happen?”
“Enough,” Dad said, lifting a hand. “Burgess, you received a fair settlement for non-life-threatening injuries. Furthermore, your settlement bankrupted the company, and you knew my fee before you accepted representation. And if memory serves me correctly, your fees were higher—not by much—but still.”
“I was in a coma for a year, missed my daughter’s birth, and live with permanent facial disfigurement and agonizing leg pain,” Uncle Ant mentioned.
“Pfffft,” Burgess responded, waving Uncle Ant off. “You were ugly before the scars.”
I laughed when Burgess ducked when Uncle Ant threw a roll at his head.
“You missed,” Burgess taunted.
“Just like you on the putting green.”
A low, collective “ooooh” from everyone made Burgess’s back straighten, and I wondered if the two men would resort to fisticuffs. Burgess was drunk and running his mouth, and Uncle Ant was three sheets to the wind, and his patience was thin.
“Who got next?” Ronan asked after wrapping up his song.