Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
VIOLET
The bass thumped through Griffin’s workout room door, loud enough that I was amazed Hazel was still asleep.
I knocked once. Twice. Nothing.
I pushed the door open and found him mid-rep, shirtless and sweaty.
“Griffin.”
“Morning, Princess.” He racked the bar and sat up, reaching for a towel. “Enjoying the show?”
I stayed in the doorway. “Put a shirt on. We need to talk.”
He grinned. “About?”
“Your training schedule. It’s disrupting Hazel’s sleep.”
“How?” His brow furrowed.
“It’s too loud.” I gestured to his speakers and the weights. “Hazel’s nap schedule has to come first. If you train while she’s asleep, you’ll wake her up and then she’ll be overtired, which means she’ll scream for hours and neither of us will get anything done.”
That did it.
The smugness in his expression dimmed. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Right. I hadn’t thought about that.” He reached for a discarded t-shirt and pulled it on.
Welcome to parenthood, Griffin.
“Clearly.” I crossed my arms. “You’ll need to be working out when she’s awake.”
Griffin rolled out his shoulders. “I’ll make it work.”
“Like you did this morning?”
His jaw ticked. “It was one bottle.”
Sure, if you didn’t count the first one he made wrong, the second one he knocked over, and the entire box of cereal that met its tragic end on the floor when he tried to do both at once.
“Right.”
“Okay, fine,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “Maybe I underestimated the whole ‘keeping a tiny human alive’ thing.”
You think?
“Anyway, what’s on your agenda today? More rearranging my house?”
I shook my head. “I’m going shopping.”
“For what?”
“Take a wild guess.”
He leaned back, his brow furrowing. “What else do we even need?”
I sighed. “You still don’t have a pram.”
Understanding slowly crept into his eyes. Yes, Griffin, babies require transportation.
“Right,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
I bit back my smirk. “And while we’re at it, a high chair.”
“For a newborn?” He barely concealed his skepticism.
“Shockingly, she won’t be a newborn forever.”
“Right,” he muttered. “Makes sense.”
I blinked. “That’s it?”
He shrugged. “You’re the expert.”
I squinted at him. “You never agree with me this easily. What’s your angle?”
“I’m coming with you.”
I sighed. Loudly.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Griffin.” I rubbed my temples. “We’ve been over this. You can’t be seen buying baby supplies.”
His jaw flexed. “Then I won’t be seen.”
“Right. Because you’re just some anonymous guy with a forgettable face.”
“I’ll wear a disguise.”
I stared at him. “You cannot be serious.”
“Completely serious.”
“It won’t work. Celebrities try disguises all the time and they always look more suspicious.”
He crossed his arms. “I’ll make it work.”
“No. The answer is no.” I shook my head firmly. “I’ll send pictures. You can approve everything remotely.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It’s the only option that doesn’t end with your face on every tabloid by lunch.”
“I don’t care about the tabloids.”
“Well, I do!” My voice rose. “Because when this blows up, and it will, I’m the one who has to answer for it! Not you. Me.”
“So this is about Julian—”
“This is about common sense, which you clearly lack!” I stepped back. “I’m going alone.”
“Violet. I need to do this. I need to learn what she needs. How to pick things for her.”
I opened my mouth to refuse again.
“That’s what good fathers do, isn’t it? They know their kids. They know what to buy, what works, what doesn’t. You’re only here for four months. After that, it’s just me and Hazel. I can’t rely on you forever.”
Damn it.
He’d found the one argument I couldn’t counter.
Julian had never cared about being good at anything except winning. He’d never prioritized me over his career, appearances, or control.
And Griffin was right. He needed to know all of this. Which made saying no significantly harder.
I exhaled, already regretting this. “Fine, but if this becomes a disaster, it’s on you.”
“Whatever you say, Princess.”
I glared at him. “Stop calling me that.”
He grinned, victorious.
God, I hated drivers.
Iregretted everything. Not just letting him come. Not just agreeing to this ridiculous disguise plan. But every single decision that had led to this moment.
I had Jace drive us miles outside London, hoping to limit Griffin’s exposure and he ruined it immediately.
He stood in the car park, dressed like a man who had googled ‘how to go incognito’ and taken all the worst advice.
He wore a cheap blonde wig, a plain black hoodie paired with a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes. Oversized aviator sunglasses, doing absolutely nothing to disguise his sharp jawline or the sheer arrogance radiating off him.
“It’s not going to work,” I said as I maneuvered Hazel’s carrier out of the back seat.
Griffin adjusted his sunglasses like they somehow held the power of transformation. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.” I shut the car door with my hip, narrowing my eyes. “You look like a bank robber going through an identity crisis.”
He smirked. “Then no one will think I’m a racing driver.”
I closed my eyes, exhaled, and counted to three.
Jace, to his credit, remained silent. But when I caught his reflected expression in the car window, I clocked the slightest twitch of his lips.
“Just—” I straightened Hazel’s blanket, avoiding Griffin’s gaze. “Don’t do anything that makes you look more suspicious than you already do.”
Griffin adjusted his cap. “Define suspicious.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I walked toward the shop entrance, fully aware that the next forty-five minutes would test my patience to its limits.
Inside, I headed straight for the prams.
He, predictably, veered off-course immediately.
I caught his wrist before he could disappear into the aisles. “No. We’re picking a pram.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He let me drag him, but the second we reached the display, his expression shifted. He scanned the options like he was analyzing race strategy data.
“Why are there so many?” he muttered.
“Because babies require functional transport.” I ignored his disbelief and gestured to a sensible, mid-range option. “This one’s lightweight, folds down easily…”
But Griffin wasn’t listening. His focus had already locked onto a monstrosity on the far end of the display. I followed his line of sight and immediately sighed.
“That one has suspension,” he said, intrigued.
I closed my eyes. “Why does a pram need suspension?”
“For handling.”
My head snapped toward him. “Griffin. You’re not taking her through Eau Rouge.”
His lips twitched. “Aren’t I?”
I sucked in a breath and held it for a beat, willing myself to find some patience. “You are not putting your newborn daughter in an off-road rally vehicle. Pick something normal.”
He ignored me entirely and started testing the pram.
Not just pushing it back and forth. No, that would have been reasonable.
He crouched low, examining the wheels. Adjusted the handle height. Checked the frame like he was searching for optimal weight distribution.
For a pram.
I crossed my arms. “You do realize this isn’t an aerodynamics test?”
He straightened, eyes still fixed on the high-performance beast of a pram.
“It folds down with one hand,” he said.
I checked the price tag and nearly lost the will to live. “That costs more than a semester of my undergrad.”
“It’s an investment.”
“It’s a pram, Griffin. Not a title-winning chassis.”
But he was already sold.
“Shock absorption, reinforced frame, all-terrain tires—”
“Oh my God.”
A shop assistant approached, clearly sensing that I needed intervention. “Can I help?”
Griffin turned to him. “Which of these has the best ride quality?”
I clenched my jaw. “We are not discussing ride quality. We are discussing which pram fits in the car without needing a full disassembly.”
Griffin ignored me. “What about cornering stability?”
The assistant looked between us, mildly concerned.
I dropped my head into my hands. “I cannot believe this is my life.”
Griffin, completely unfazed, tapped the obscenely expensive pram’s handle. “Feels solid. Good weight distribution.”
I covered my face because if I had to listen to one more pram review like it was a post-race debrief, I was going to scream.
“She’s a baby,” I groaned into my hands. “Not a G-force simulator.”
“Yeah, but if she’s anything like me, she’ll want smooth handling.”
The assistant cleared his throat. “Erm… this model is quite popular.”
I dropped my hands and glared at the sales assistant. Not. Helping.
“See?” Griffin gestured at him, like this was conclusive proof of his brilliance. “Even the professionals agree.”
My jaw clenched. “You didn’t even pretend to consider another option.”
“Didn’t need to.” He tapped the handle, pleased with himself. “Actually, do you have it in another color?”
I glanced down at Hazel who was happily snoozing in her sling and grimaced. “Sorry, sweetheart. Your dad is insufferable.”
Griffin rested a hand on the pram handle, grinning like he’d just won in Baku. “Get used to it, Princess. I always get my way.”
Of course he did.
The confidence. The certainty. Drivers carried it like a birthright, convinced the world would bend to their will. Rules, limits and consequences were for other people. “Smart people don’t fight a losing battle.”
I shot him a look. “Smart people also don’t pay four figures for something a baby will grow out of in a year.”
He shrugged. “Like I said. Investment.”
I wouldn’t waste my breath arguing. He’d already decided.
We moved through the next aisles with minimal casualties. I had the house pretty well stocked, but you could never have enough stuff with a baby. Griffin kept himself entertained by making completely unhelpful suggestions.
“Do babies need weights? Start her young?”
“No.”
“This bath thermometer has Bluetooth.”
“Or you could just check the water with your fingers like a normal person.”
Everything went fine until we hit the toys.
I should have seen it coming.
I turned away for two minutes. Two.
When I looked back, Griffin had managed to load the trolley up with stuffed toys. A penguin. A rabbit. A ridiculously large octopus. A stuffed avocado.
I blinked. “What the hell is all this?”
He lifted the octopus, inspecting it like it was a strategic purchase. “Options.”
“She’s barely old enough to focus on faces. She doesn’t need options.”
“You don’t know that.” He added a giraffe to the pile.
“Pick one.”
“Three.”
“One.”
“Two.”
I gave him a deadpan stare.
He sighed like I was the unreasonable one and dropped the octopus back onto the shelf. “Fine. Two. Final offer.”
I narrowed my eyes but let it slide.
I turned away to grab a pack of teething toys. When I looked back, the bloody octopus was sat in the trolley.
“Griffin,” I bit out.
“She kicked her legs when I showed it to her,” he said, smug. “It’s obviously her favorite.”
I looked down at Hazel, who had done no such thing.
She gurgled, completely unaware she was being used as an excuse.
I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. “Fine. But if she ignores it, I’m making you sleep with it out of spite.”
Griffin beamed, victorious.
I should have fought harder.
But watching him grin at a stuffed octopus like it was championship silverware made arguing feel pointless. He was going to do whatever he wanted anyway.
By the time we reached the checkout, I was exhausted.
Griffin, however, looked unreasonably pleased.
The cashier scanned item after item, barely batting an eye at the absurdity of our purchases. The total flashed on the screen.
I arched a brow. “Sure you don’t want to rethink the three-hundred-pound nappy bin?”
Griffin barely looked up from his wallet. “Does it make the nappies disappear like a magic trick?”
“No, it’s literally just a bin.”
He frowned. “Bit of a rip-off.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying for the last half-hour, Michaels.”
He ignored me, tapping his card. “Expensive day, wasn’t it?”
I stared at him. “You actually enjoy this, don’t you?”
His grin widened. “Winning? Always.”
I really hated drivers.