Chapter Fourteen Mercy
Chapter Fourteen
Mercy
“Oh God, look at you. Look at me!” I cried.
Grant froze as he exited our closet, one hand still adjusting the knot on his deep-blue tie.
I almost wept because it looked so good against the charcoal vest he was wearing over the starched white of his oxford.
“This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it? ”
“What are you on about?” he asked, gaze sweeping over my clothing choice. “You look lovely.”
“You’re wearing black tie and I’m in jeans. They’re going to judge.”
“This is not black tie and you know it.” He leaned closer to the mirror over the dresser, squinting slightly at the perfectly even knot at the base of his throat. “Grandmother will comment on my lack of a dress coat, but given they’ll likely be in bed early, I didn’t want to be too formal.”
Just as I was about to have a mental breakdown at his idea of too formal—likely spurred on by the utter disaster that was my sleep last night in preparation for this, and the fact that I was wearing jeans and didn’t have time to change because they’d be here any minute—Grant pulled open the top right drawer of the dresser and selected a pair of tortoiseshell glasses, sliding them onto his face like he wasn’t the most attractive person in the history of the world. Then his eyes met mine in the mirror.
My knees almost fucking gave out.
“What are those?”
He blinked. “I believe Americans call them the same thing we Brits do.”
Grant had glasses. He had slutty little glasses that made him look dashing and smart with his perfectly windswept hair that always stayed in place, and it was cruel.
“No.” I crossed my arms. “Take them off.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, completely affronted. “When my eyes are tired, I need them. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Well then, take a fucking nap,” I snapped. “I can’t focus with you wearing those.”
It was important to note that I found myself very on edge that morning. Not just because of the lack of sleep, or because my house was about to be overrun by the ruling class who wanted me gone, or even because of the Swiss cheese brain.
Grant and I would be sharing a bed for the first time since all . . . this. Well, first time for me.
My darling husband probably had all sorts of fun memories of us in a bed, and I had nothing except a restless stomach and a jumpy pulse.
He’d be right there. Limbs and all major appendages within touching distance.
Understanding filled his gaze, and the corner of his lips turned up in the beginnings of a smug, dangerous smile. “Ahh. You did have a very visceral response to them before too.”
“I did not.”
In my head, this came out firmly. Decisively. Instead, it was all breathy and unsure, and I wanted to slap myself. Of course I’d had a visceral response. Any human being in possession of a pulse and an attraction to the male species would have a visceral response to this freak show of hotness.
Grant closed the dresser drawer and took a step closer to me, then another, until I found myself backed up against the bedroom wall. He braced a hand on the wall and leaned down, surrounding me with the crack smell of his cologne and the wall of heat generated by his body.
“You told me to take them off or you couldn’t be held accountable for your actions.”
I tried to focus on the knot of his tie. The glasses and the eyes and the face were just too much. Honestly, the tie didn’t help. Because the tie was around the throat, and he had a really great throat. “That’s a little vague.”
“Believe me, the threat turned to rather explicit violence shortly thereafter.”
His nearness made my skin hum.
“I’m guessing you didn’t listen.”
“Wasn’t particularly in the mood, no.”
I snorted. “That tracks.” Finally, I steeled my resolve and lifted my eyes to meet his. “What happened?”
His gaze dipped to my mouth.
“Right,” I answered shakily.
Grant shook his head, like he was trying to clear his vision, and pushed away from the wall. The last forty-eight hours had been a bit like this. Trading bits of information in a way that didn’t upset the proverbial apple cart.
His new car had been delivered—a big shiny Mercedes G Wagon.
Grant didn’t find it funny when I told him it looked like a LEGO car.
His previous vehicle, I’d learned, was a small, sporty little thing with a fancy name that I’d already forgotten.
After it lost the battle with the deer, he wanted bigger.
Safer. Once I knew that, it was hard to tease him.
While Grant was working, Rae had come over for coffee, her plague-like sickness finally gone, and together we devised a plan for me to come back to school for a visit.
One where I actually left the car and walked through the doors and saw people.
She’d be able to talk to my class beforehand, make sure they were prepared.
I’d come weighed down with book recommendations and feel like I was accomplishing something other than being a sideshow act.
But that would come later. After this lunacy we were attempting.
Tearing myself away from our closet, I turned to Grant. “Are we ready?” I asked.
His expression caught mine. “I honestly couldn’t say.”
I let out a shocked laugh.
His gaze lingered on my mouth, then he gathered himself. I turned to leave the bathroom, and his hand shot out to grip my wrist.
“Wait.”
His hand was so warm. Why did he have calluses? That was . . . unexpected. “What?”
Grant let out a slow breath, releasing my hand and using his to open the top bathroom drawer underneath his sink. Without making eye contact, and ignorant of the thrashing of my pulse, he removed a small black velvet box.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck.
My thumb rubbed against the divot of skin. “Oh yeah,” I said weakly. “That.”
I’d thought I was prepared. I’d thought I’d given myself enough time and mental fortification to be ready for anything at this point, but I was not ready for what I saw when he opened the box.
“Oh,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
I couldn’t look into Grant’s eyes as he carefully removed it from the padded slot made of white velvet. There was no tearing my eyes away from the prettiest ring I’d ever seen in my entire life.
It was big. I’d expected that. But it was black.
A giant black diamond, easily three carats, cut in a pear shape, surrounded by small pavé black diamonds.
The two bands of the ring were wrapped in them too.
The metal was dark and moody, like nothing I’d ever seen. Actually, no . . . that wasn’t true.
My eyes flew to the plain band on Grant’s finger. The black band. It matched. Our rings matched.
“Is that . . . black gold?” I asked, my free hand reaching out to touch my thumb to his ring.
His chest rose and fell before he answered. “We wanted something different. Because this was different. We weren’t doing what was expected of us.”
My gaze rose slowly, dragging over his chest. The base of his throat. His chin. The line of his jaw. Past the firm, unsmiling mouth. Then his eyes.
His eyes. Bright. Fierce.
Overwhelming.
It was the way he’d looked at me in the hospital. Right after I’d woken up. My skin hummed. Pulse raced.
“You felt safe marrying me because neither of us particularly wanted the risk of falling in love,” he said, voice a pleasant rasp in my ears.
I was surrounded by Grant. Drowning in whatever this moment was.
In him. “And these rings . . . they represented that, in a fashion. Our own little joke that no one else would understand.”
I held out my hand, fingers shaking visibly.
The metal was cool, his fingers warm, as he slid the ring into place. The divot was filled. Covered. Everything put to rights.
He let out an unsteady breath, bringing my hand to his mouth, where he placed a soft, lingering kiss on my knuckle.
I was ready to mount him on the bathroom counter.
Before either of us could do something extremely ill advised, the doorbell rang.
Grant closed his eyes, hanging his head for a moment before stepping back, his mask firmly in place again when he glanced in my direction, then left the bathroom.
With a hammering heart, I cleared my throat, smoothing my hands down the front of a pretty black silk blouse I’d found in the closet. I’d left my hair down today and added some layered necklaces and a few gold bangles that I’d found in a drawer.
I could do this.
We’d prepped.
The bag of questions had been a godsend, but we’d eventually set it aside for easier conversation about his relationship with his family.
They wouldn’t expect me to remember them, so that helped, but I would still be inspected.
Put under a microscope and pinned beneath a harsh, unforgiving light meant to amplify my flaws.
Felt real good, let me tell you.
“Are you coming?” Grant asked from the family room.
I pressed my fingers to my temples and took a deep breath, shooting one last look at the ring adorning my finger, then exiting the room with a forced smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Grant didn’t look nervous at all, and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. He extended his hand, and I stared at it for a beat, then wound my fingers through his while we walked to the door.
Instead of his family on the other side, we found a tall man with pale, freckled skin in a black suit, holding his matching black cap in his hands. “Sir. Your family has arrived.”
“Thank you. You may bring their bags in through here.” Grant stepped back and gestured to the stairs. “The guest rooms are on the lower level. You can put my grandmother’s things in the blue room.”
The driver’s facial expression never moved from its polite mask. “I believe your grandmother is staying elsewhere.”
I looked up at Grant, who betrayed nothing as he answered. “Very good.”
There were two cars in our driveway—sleek and black and expensive. The logo on the front of the cars had my stomach bottoming out.
Bentleys.
“Holy shit,” I whispered as the driver walked back toward the first car. “I can’t do this.”
His hand squeezed mine. “Of course you can.”
I glanced up. “You’re so sure.”