Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
VIOLET
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Cleo grinned, bouncing Hazel against her hip. My tiny charge gurgled happily, completely unbothered by being handed off to someone she’d met all of twenty minutes ago. Traitor.
“What?” Cleo looked far too pleased with herself. “We’re just helping out a friend.”
“By encouraging me to go out in public with him? Are you mental? What if someone sees us? What if there are photographers?”
Imani perched on the arm of Griffin’s ridiculously expensive sofa, looking far too amused. “You should see your face right now.”
“I’m sorry, did I miss the part where Griffin Michaels suddenly became best friends with you two?” My gaze darted between them. “How did he even get your numbers?”
“Your phone,” they said in unison.
Of course. The absolute nerve of the man.
“Look,” Imani said, her voice carrying that familiar no-nonsense tone that had talked me down from countless panic attacks over the years. “He called, said he wanted to surprise you with a night out, and asked if we’d watch Hazel. We said yes. End of conspiracy.”
I stared at them, trying to process this bizarre turn of events. One minute I’d been settling in for another quiet evening together, the next Griffin was ushering me toward the bedroom with a cryptic, “Get dressed. We’re going out.”
I’d barely had time to argue. Not that arguing with Griffin ever worked. He’d just raised that infuriating brow and said, “Trust me, Princess.”
Which was obviously a terrible idea. Trusting Griffin Michaels was like trusting a shark not to bite when you’re bleeding in the water.
“One night that could ruin everything if the wrong person spots us together,” I said, panic threading through my voice.
“So you wear a hat.” Imani shrugged. “Keep your head down. It’s one night, Vi.”
“One night that could destroy his career if we’re photographed.” My fingers found my rings, twisting them. “One night that could give my father the exact ammunition he needs to—”
“Breathe,” Cleo said. “You agreed to try this, didn’t you? The secret relationship thing?”
My cheeks burned. “That was supposed to be secret. Not parading around London together.”
I hadn’t even thought we’d be telling our friends.
“He’s not stupid,” Imani said. “He won’t take you somewhere obvious.”
I glanced back to where Griffin had disappeared down the hall, presumably to give us “girl time” or whatever he’d called it with that smirk of his. Maybe he did have a plan.
“You’re overthinking this,” Cleo said, bouncing Hazel, who gurgled happily. “When was the last time you did anything just because it made you happy?”
I opened my mouth, a snappy comeback right on the tip of my tongue... except, when had I last done anything purely for joy? Anything that wasn’t carefully calculated, risk-assessed, and Julian-approved?
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “If my father finds out—”
“He won’t,” Imani said. “Not from us.”
“And if he does, we’ll say we kidnapped you.” Cleo grinned. “Dragged you out against your will.”
A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. “You’d take the fall for me?”
“Always have.” Cleo winked. “Always will.”
“Alright, ladies.” Griffin strode back into the entryway, spinning his keys around one finger. “As much as I’d love to give you more time to gossip about me, we have a reservation.”
I rolled my eyes, but my heart skipped. He looked unfairly gorgeous in a dark jacket and jeans that fit him perfectly.
Oh God, so we were seriously doing this? I swallowed hard. Some part of me still hoped the whole thing was a joke. But Griffin stared at me, his brows raised expectantly when I still hadn’t so much as stepped toward the door.
“Everything you need for Hazel is on the counter,” I said to Cleo and Imani. “I’ve pre-made bottles, she’ll be ready for bed by six, and if anything happens, call me immediately.”
“Vi,” Imani said gently, “we’ve got this. Go.” She nodded toward the door.
“But—”
“Seriously,” Cleo said. “If you don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, I’m physically shoving you out the door.”
Griffin chuckled. “I like your friends.”
“They’re monsters,” I muttered, but allowed him to guide me toward the door, his hand a warm pressure at the small of my back.
“Have her back by midnight, Prince Charming, or we turn into pumpkins!” Cleo called after us.
“Ignore her. She thinks she’s funny.”
My stomach fluttered with anticipation and dread twisted together. This night could be magical or disastrous.
Knowing my luck, probably both.
Griffin’s Aston Martin purred beneath us, the engine’s low rumble matching the nervous thrum in my chest. He drove with easy confidence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear stick.
“You’re staring,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road.
Heat flooded my cheeks. “I’m not.”
His lips curved. “You are. Not that I’m complaining.”
I huffed, turning to look out the window at the passing city lights. “Where are we going?”
“Patience, Princess.”
“I don’t have any.”
He laughed, the sound rich and warm in the confines of the car. “I’ve noticed.”
We drove in silence for a while, the city gradually giving way to quieter streets. I snuck glances at his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the slight curl of his hair at the nape of his neck. He caught me looking again and winked, the cocky bastard.
“So,” I said, desperate to break the charged silence, “how did you convince Cleo and Imani to help you?”
“I asked.” He shrugged. “Turns out they’re quite protective of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Griffin’s mouth twitched. “Let’s just say I had to pass a rather thorough background check. Your Cleo is particularly creative with threats.”
I groaned, imagining all too well what Cleo might have said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His fingers drummed the wheel. “It’s good that you have people who care about you that much.”
The way he said it made me study him more closely. “Do you? Have people who care about you, I mean.”
He shrugged. “Liam. Dominic. A few others.”
“Not many, though.”
“Quality over quantity, Princess.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he pulled the car into a side street and parked.
“We’re here.” He killed the engine.
I peered out the window at the nondescript building. “And where is ‘here,’ exactly?”
“You’ll see.” He grinned, and my pulse quickened.
Griffin led me down a dimly lit alleyway, his hand at the small of my back, guiding me over uneven cobblestones. The passage was narrow, hemmed in by brick walls covered in ivy, the scent of damp stone and distant spices hanging in the air.
“If you’re planning to murder me,” I whispered, “this is certainly the place for it.”
He chuckled, leaning close enough that his breath tickled my ear. “If I wanted to kill you, Princess, I’d have done it after you reorganized my entire kitchen.”
“You needed organization.”
“I needed to be able to find my own bloody coffee.”
We reached a nondescript door at the end of the alley. No sign, no indication that it led anywhere special. Griffin knocked three times and the door swung open, revealing a smiling man in crisp chef’s whites.
“Mr. Michaels,” he said. “Right on time.”
“Chef Niran.” Griffin clasped the man’s hand. “This is Violet.”
The chef’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he bowed slightly. “A pleasure, Miss Violet. Please, follow me.”
He led us through his kitchen full of shouting staff and sizzling pans, and into the dining room proper.
A dozen tables, maybe, tucked behind screens and curtains for privacy.
He guided us past the lot of them to a table hidden behind heavy drapes, already set with more crystal and china than I’d seen outside my father’s formal dinners.
“Your private dining room,” Chef Niran said. “I will send Kamon with your menus momentarily.”
“How did you even find this place?” I asked Griffin once the chef left us.
He pulled out my chair, his fingers brushing my shoulder as I sat. “I know people who know people.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Griffin settled across from me, the candlelight catching the green of his eyes, turning them almost golden.
“The owner’s son is a huge racing fan. I signed some merchandise for him a few years back, and Niran said I’d always have a table here.
” He shrugged. “I’ve never taken him up on it until now. ”
“Why now?”
His gaze locked with mine, suddenly serious. “Because I wanted somewhere special where we could just... be.”
I stared at him, something tight forming in my chest. He’d put thought into this. Real thought. My exes could barely be bothered to pick a restaurant, and Griffin had found us a hidden gem with a private table.
Thank God a waiter chose that moment to appear. I couldn’t have forced words past the emotion lodged in my throat. He presented menus with a flourish, giving me time to swallow down whatever was threatening to spill out.
“No menus necessary,” Griffin said, waving the menus off. “Chef’s choice. And the Riesling, please.”
The waiter nodded and disappeared.
“Presumptuous.” I bit my lip to hide my smile.
Griffin’s lips curved. “Trusting. Niran knows what he’s doing.”
The food was incredible. Proper Thai cooking, the kind that made you understand why people raved about authentic cuisine.
As we ate, we talked about everything and nothing. His training regimen, my studies, books we’d read, places we’d traveled. It felt normal. Easy. Like we were just two people enjoying each other’s company, not a racing driver and his team principal’s daughter hiding from the world.
“How’d you get that?” I nodded toward the scar above his left eyebrow. I’d noticed it before but never asked.
Griffin touched it absently, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Go-karting accident when I was eight. Broke my arm in three places too.”
I don’t know what I’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.
“What happened?”
He grimaced sheepishly. “I was showing off for my mum. She’d finally come to watch me race.”
“So you crashed to impress her?”