Chapter 22
GRIFFIN
If I have to share oxygen with Tiana all the way to Paris, I might not make it off the plane.
Ever since our so-called argument about her “inappropriate” outfit, she’s been noticeably more hostile toward me, which should annoy me more than it does. Instead, it’s somehow… entertaining.
Offended Tiana is, apparently, Tiana at her sharpest.
Every conversation turns into a battle, always throwing sarcastic comments at my head with that smug little look on her face. She’s been snarkier, more challenging, constantly muttering things like “careful, wouldn’t want to scandalize Mr. Grump” every time she walks past me.
And the worst part is that I keep engaging.
I should ignore her and act like the mature adult in this situation.
Instead, we’ve spent the last week bickering like two people who have entirely too much awareness of each other.
Which brings me to the current problem: Tiana looks too good in the matching cream set she’s wearing that hugs every curve of her body, smells too good in something soft and floral that keeps drifting toward me, and has somehow justified packing like we’re relocating to Europe for six months instead of attending a wedding for a few days.
I hook my hand around the handle of her first suitcase—pastel pink, hard shell, covered in travel stickers and little airline tags—and drag it down the stairs. It’s so heavy I have to angle my weight back just to keep it from rolling me down with it, and it bangs against the hardwood risers.
“Griffin!” Tiana’s voice shoots down from the top of the stairs, shrill with outrage. “Be careful! That is expensive luggage!”
I snort, not bothering to hide it as I thump the suitcase down one more step. “Did you even pay for any of this, Ms. Influencer?”
She gasps, loud and affronted, like I personally slapped the monogram off her suitcase. I glance up, and sure enough, she’s standing there, lips parted in disbelief.
“Is that supposed to be an insult, Mr. Fake Billionaire?” Tiana narrows her eyes. “I’m not some stuck-up woman. I didn’t pay for that luggage, but I worked my ass off to earn it, so I won’t sit here and let you judge me for it.”
I huff out a laugh, but that’s a mistake, because the next thing I know, she’s snatched her white sneaker off her foot and thrown it down the stairs with deadly accuracy.
The shoe whistles past my cheek, missing my face by less than an inch before bouncing off the wall and landing on the bottom step.
I stare at it for a second, dumbfounded, then I lift my gaze back to her. “You’re crazy, woman!”
Tiana just lifts a shoulder, mouth tilting. “You’ve seen nothing yet, Grumps.”
I mutter a curse and go back up for the second suitcase, passing her and her infuriating and enveloping presence.
This one is slightly smaller but somehow feels even heavier, with fuzzy keychains dangling off the handle that brush against my knuckles.
By the time I’ve gotten that one down and gone back for the third, I’m thinking seriously about installing an elevator just to survive living with Tiana for the next while.
“This is insane,” I grumble, wiping a hand over my jaw. “We’re gone for four days, Tiana. No one needs this much stuff unless they’re planning a full identity change.”
She doesn’t even spare me a glance and slips past me, smelling like temptation.
By the time we step into the penthouse suite in Paris, I’m one frayed nerve away from putting my fist through a wall.
Mya and Tiana have gone shopping, courtesy of Worth, and I couldn’t be happier for some distance after ten hours trapped beside Tiana in private jet purgatory, smelling her addictive scent, her ample chest on display like she wasn’t single-handedly destroying my ability to think, or her “accidentally” brushing my arm every time she reached for her stuff.
She was doing it just to piss me off.
By hour three, I wanted to rip my hair out. By hour six, I was seriously considering asking the pilot if he could drop me into the Atlantic.
So now, standing in this over-the-top Paris penthouse with its velvet furniture, champagne on ice, and a picture-perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, I’m already at my limit.
Worth shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the nearest chair.
I head straight for the window.
“So,” Worth says behind me. “You want to tell me what your problem is?”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “Look around. You dragged me across the ocean to witness your fake wedding. That’s enough of a problem.”
He doesn’t bite. Worth never lets me get away with bullshit.
“No. This is about your nanny.”
My shoulders tighten.
“You’ve been seething since we boarded the jet —hell, before we even left the house. So what is it with Tiana?”
My jaw flexes and I run a hand through my hair. I consider lying, but Worth won’t buy it.
“You really want to know?”
“Wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
I pace once, twice, feeling the irritation turn in my chest. “I knew who she was before I ever met her.”
Worth frowns. “How?”
The truth tastes awful as it comes out. “Instagram. I have an account.”
He blinks. “Instagram? You hate social media.”
“I know.” The words snap. “But one night I was scrolling. Don’t ask me why—I couldn’t sleep—and I stumbled across her profile and her videos came up.”
He waits.
“She was… Fuck, Worth.” I shake my head, frustrated at myself.
“She was captivating. I couldn’t look away.
So I kept watching. And watching. Every day, for months.
I couldn’t stop.” Admitting that feels like peeling skin off.
“Imagine my surprise when Mya takes me to Willow’s to meet my potential new nanny and I find out it’s Tiana.
I had no fucking idea she was Mya’s sister. ”
Worth leans forward, arms folded. “Okay. What’s the big deal?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Worth, she’s a twenty-one-year-old influencer with the body of a goddess. I’m a widowed, single dad who should know better. Tiana has no business being around me or my son. I can’t focus when she’s around. She’s—” I cut myself off. “Forget it.”
Worth raises a brow. And then, the asshole lets out a laugh.
A loud, delighted, joyous laugh.
My eyes narrow. “What the hell is so funny?”
“This,” Worth says, still chuckling, “is karma.”
I scowl. “Karma?”
“For every time you mocked me about hiring Mya. For every time you called me whipped, distracted, unprofessional… Now look at you.” He gestures broadly at me. “A gorgeous twenty-something smiled your way and suddenly you’re spiraling.”
“It’s not the same thing,” I snap.
“It’s exactly the same thing.” Worth pours himself a drink, like he hasn’t just detonated my patience. “Welcome to my world, brother. The woman got under your skin, and now you can’t shake her off. Paris is going to be fun.”
I mutter something obscene—several somethings—and stalk toward the second bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the champagne bucket.
Worth’s laugh follows me through the wall.
Later that evening, after the girls disappear into another round of Parisian boutiques, Worth and I head to dinner with my youngest brother. The driver drops us at Le Petit Lutetia, a tucked-away bistro near Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
Adrian is already at the table by the window, posture straight, despite the faint strain that never fully left since the accident. His wheelchair sits neatly beside the table, integrated into the routine now, though it still sends a protective ache through my chest when I see it.
He spots us immediately, his grin bright and genuine as he struggles to get off his seat. I reach him first, pull him into a firm hug, and clap his back the way I always have since we were kids. Worth follows, giving him a quick embrace.
“About time you two made it across the ocean. I was beginning to think you’d rather stay locked up in that tower of yours.”
Worth snorts, and I say, “I guess Paris has its charms.”
Conversation starts easy—how Sylas is doing, how Adrian is adjusting to France, business updates. It feels normal. Good. I haven’t seen my baby brother in a long time, so it’s nice to catch up.
Adrian shifts his focus to me, and I know that look.
“I heard you hired a new nanny.” He sips his wine.
I stiffen before I can help it. Worth smirks into his glass like the traitor he is.
Adrian notices. “Everything okay with her?” he asks, tone innocent, eyes absolutely not.
“She’s fine,” I say too quickly. “Good with Sylas. Responsible. Professional.”
Worth coughs out a laugh.
Adrian’s brow lifts. “Uh huh. And you had no part in picking her?”
“No,” I bite out. “I mean, technically, yes. Mya sent her my way, and it was just convenient.”
Adrian grins like he’s already solved the puzzle. “Must be one hell of a logistical asset, then.”
“Drop it.”
Worth mutters, “If only he could,” under his breath.
I shoot both of them a glare that would send lesser men into hiding. Adrian just laughs, satisfied he’s rattled me.
We move on—mostly because I refuse to take the bait—and the conversation shifts to my brother’s work.
“Still making waves with the team?” Worth asks.
Adrian’s mouth lifts. “Trying. I’m here to talk with the powers that be about bringing Formula 1 back to France. Maybe even Paris, if I can twist the right arms.” His eyes glint. “It’s overdue.”
I raise my glass. “That’s big.”
My phone vibrates against my thigh. I don’t check it, but curiosity simmers in the back of my mind, persistent and irritating, like a mosquito I can’t swat.
After a few minutes, at some point between Adrian’s second glass of wine and he and Worth drifting into a conversation about logistics for the wedding, it buzzes again and I push my chair back. “Gonna go wash my hands. Be right back.”
I slip toward the hallway near the restrooms and pull out my phone.
One notification sits at the top of my screen.
@tianawithlove posted a new story.
My chest tightens even before I open it. I should not be reacting to pixels on a screen like a goddamn teenager.
I tap the story anyway.
The screen fills with her face. Tiana’s in some Paris boutique —mirrors everywhere, racks of dresses behind her— and she’s wearing a fitted black top with a neckline that should be illegal, paired with loose trousers that cinch at her waist. Her hair is half-up and twisted in one of those delicate, feminine ways that looks effortless.
The lighting in the boutique hits her skin just right, soft and golden. She looks radiant.
Tiana laughs at something Mya says off camera, the sound so unfiltered it hits me right in the sternum. Then she angles her head, lips curving into this mischievous smile, like she’s sharing a secret with whoever’s watching.
With me.
Ridiculous thought.
I feel stupid standing here in the hallway, staring at my phone as if it’s holding me hostage.
But my thumb moves on instinct, and I swipe up on the story and react with heart eyes.
The second it sends, my stomach drops, and I stare at the reaction in horror.
Griffin, what the fuck?
Don’t panic.
Tiana still doesn’t know it’s me. To her, I’m just some faceless account with too many opinions and no name. That’s all.
Except that’s a lie, and I know it.
I’ve been tempting fate for weeks, letting myself slip into her DMs like it doesn’t mean anything. I tell myself it’s harmless because she doesn’t know who I am.
But I know exactly what I’m doing.
I’m giving myself access to her in a way I haven’t earned.
And despite every warning bell going off in my head, I still can’t seem to stop myself.
I pocket the phone, inhale slowly, and head back to the table like none of that just happened.
By the time Worth and I return to the penthouse, I feel lighter just from spending some time with my brother. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him.
The front door bursts open not even ten minutes after we’ve set foot inside.
Mya walks in first, arms full of shopping bags. Tiana trails behind her, somehow carrying even more bags, her phone out, voice animated as she films a story.
“Oh my God, Tiana,” Mya groans, “put the phone down!”
“I will not,” Tiana fires back without missing a beat, angling the camera higher. “I’m working.”
“You filmed for the entire way home,” Mya says, exasperated.
“That’s called dedication.”
“To what? Annoying every living soul within a five-foot radius?” I mutter.
Tiana swivels toward me instantly. “Oh, hush, Grumps. You’re just mad because Paris looks better on me than you.”
I start to respond but she saunters past me with a satisfied smile that makes my jaw clench.
I head toward the minibar, pretending I don’t feel her presence at my back like static.
@tianawithlove
so apparently Parisians smoke cigarettes and stare at you like you ruined their lives personally.
you’d fit right in.
@built2last
That’s rude.
@tianawithlove
is it inaccurate, though?
@built2last
Very.
@tianawithlove
you have the emotional warmth of expensive marble flooring.
@built2last
Expensive marble flooring is durable and timeless.
@tianawithlove
oh my god. you sound exactly like someone I know.
and you flirt like you’re emotionally constipated.
@built2last
Ouch. That felt targeted.
@tianawithlove
it was but you love it
@built2last
A little too much, Trouble.