Chapter Twenty-Two Grant #2
Rose groaned. “Losing our last day. Granny has to go home for an emergency meeting because some group of pompous old white men are freaking out about their money.”
“Rose,” Grandmother sighed. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Sure it is,” she muttered. “It was my last day to meet a handsome American, preferably one that plays football and has monstrous arms and a nice smile.”
Grandmother narrowed her eyes. “What about Nikolai? He’s a prince.”
Rose waved that off. “Dull as dishwater. I don’t care if he makes me a princess, I’d rather choke on wallpaper than spend my life as that man’s wife.”
Mercy’s eyebrows shot up. “He was an actual prince?” she said. “I thought that was an expression.”
“He wants our money,” Rose explained to a wide-eyed Mercy. “But I’d be a terrible royal.”
“On that, we agree,” I said.
She pinched my arm as she passed, then set down her mug and enveloped my wife in a hug.
Not that I was jealous.
I was. Exceedingly so. I wanted my arms around her. Wanted to feel her melt into my chest, close her eyes and sigh because it felt so good. As much as I’d missed the sex with her—and God, had I—I missed those quiet moments even more.
I gave my grandmother a kiss on the cheek, and she held my gaze as I pulled back. “Patience,” she repeated. “And follow your instincts. They’ve always been rather remarkable.”
It was unclear exactly how much she knew. In the end, it didn’t matter. Living my life, and living it well, didn’t hinge on anyone else’s approval. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that something settled in my soul, knowing I might’ve gained a bit of her understanding.
Instead of a kiss, my mother held her arms out for a hug, then whispered in my ear, “Don’t fret, my darling. The hardest thing in the world is knowing how to love someone well. You’re already doing that for her.”
The press of emotion at the back of my throat was shockingly warm and difficult to swallow. They were all far cleverer than I gave them credit for, and there was a sort of humility to that I’d needed. I couldn’t handle this alone. And I didn’t have all the answers.
There was no right way to navigate it.
Love her well, I thought despondently. That was the trickiest part of all, wasn’t it?
I watched, hand over my mouth, while my mother embraced Mercy and whispered something into her ear that made her nod jerkily. My wife’s eyes were slightly red when she pulled back.
My grandmother faced Mercy next, gaze assessing. “I do hope you’ll come visit us in London again. I’d like to take another walk through the gardens, if you’re amenable.”
Mercy’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut. “I— Yes, I’m sure I would be.”
Grandmother nodded. “Good.”
Mercy and I followed them out through the front door, and in a daze, I watched them get into the car. My grandmother took one last look at the house, then us. The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile, and then she was gone.
The silk of Mercy’s robe brushed against my bicep as they drove away, and we were left in silence.
Alone.
With a million things to be said, and no buffer requiring us to hold our tongues until we had a moment of privacy. It was exactly what I’d wanted. And now, the very thing I feared.
She was still here. But for how long?
Something, eventually, would push her past the line of her comfort. Whatever safety she felt among the familiar things in our home would only go so far now that she knew.
I thought of all the conversations I’d heard between her and Connor over the years. The reasons she left. The reasons she ran.
Mercy walked back into the house first, and I set my hands on my hips, filling my lungs with the scent of her that lingered in the air. When I shut the front door behind me, she was in the kitchen, filling the coffee maker, her back to me.
“Mercy—” I said, but I couldn’t get another word out before she whirled, misery in her eyes, in the furrow of her brow.
“I’m so sorry!” she interrupted. “Yesterday was my fault. I don’t .
. . I don’t know why I lashed out like that.
It wasn’t fair, and I didn’t know, and I don’t want—” Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked a few times until they were gone.
“The last thing I want is to hurt you, Grant. And I did.”
I didn’t want to do this.
But I had to.
If I wanted a chance to make this right, if I wanted to allow her the time to come back to me, I had to.
“You didn’t hurt me.” I exhaled, allowing my gaze to travel over her face. “I promise.”
She nodded. “I still don’t . . . I don’t know how to act. I don’t know what say, and . . .”
“It makes you uncomfortable.”
“Yes,” she replied slowly. “Like I’m—”
Mercy didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to hurt me. I’d take her caution because it was better than watching her flee. Better than lashing out because this was all so strange.
So I answered for her, knowing that was a risk too. “Like you’re backed into a corner trying to give me what I want.”
Her jaw went slack.
The edges of my mouth kicked up in a smile. “I know, darling.” Even if she wasn’t ready to admit it, Mercy liked the nickname. Her eyes flickered every time I said it. “I’m going to make this easier on you.”
“What do you mean?”
Love her well.
Love her well.
If there was one thing I was meant to do, I had a feeling it was that. It was the only reason I was able to speak, when my heart splintered into a million pieces inside the hollow cavern of my chest.
“I think your instincts might have been right,” I said hoarsely.
She blinked. “About what?”
“About taking space.” I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to go. But for her . . . I’d do just about anything. I sucked in a breath. “I’m going to leave for a while.”