Chapter 30 #2
“Spectacular flip. Kart went airborne, I went flying.” His voice dropped. “Woke up in hospital a few hours later.”
I stared at him, utterly horrified. “That’s horrible.”
“I mean it’s not the worst thing that could ever happen to me.” He shrugged. “There are drivers who have been through a lot worse.”
Way to dump a bucket of ice water on me, Griffin! As if I needed to be reminded that drivers risked their lives every time they got in a car.
“She blamed herself,” he said, staring at my probably pale face. “Said if she hadn’t come, I wouldn’t have been showing off.” He chuckled, the sound hollow, before he sighed. “She was probably right. Never came to another race after that.”
“Do you still see her much?”
Griffin’s fingers tapped against the stem of his glass. “Christmas. Her birthday. She asks about racing, but I can tell it makes her nervous. Twenty years later and she still flinches when I mention a close call.”
“I envy that,” I said quietly.
“You don’t get to see your mother at all?” he asked, surprise slacking his expression. “How could Julian still—”
“She died.”
Griffin’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Car accident when I was seventeen. Six months before I could legally choose to see her again.”
My mother had been trying to rebuild things with me after the divorce. Sending cards, texts when she could manage it without my father finding out. Six months. If she’d lived just six months longer, I could have chosen to see her. Could have walked away from Julian’s control and back to her.
I fidgeted with the cutlery, already regretting asking about his scar. How was I supposed to know it would lead us here? We’d been having such a perfect evening, and now I’d gone and made it all heavy and depressing.
“Christ, Vi.” He stilled my hand, squeezing it. “I’m so sorry.”
I glanced up at Griffin, feeling awful. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to turn this into such a downer. You planned this lovely evening and here I am bringing up dead mothers.”
“Don’t apologize for that,” Griffin said. His thumb stroked over my knuckles reassuringly. “Don’t ever apologize for that.”
I forced a smile, but my mood had well and truly plummeted.
“Right,” I said, needing to change the subject before I completely fell apart. “Tell me something embarrassing. Something that’ll make me feel better about sharing family trauma over Thai food.”
Griffin’s eyes crinkled, clearly relieved at the change of direction. “Embarrassing, eh?”
“Mortifying, preferably.”
He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Alright. When I was twelve, I had this massive crush on this girl whose dad ran the karting circuit. Emma. She was fourteen, completely out of my league, but I was convinced I could win her over.”
“Oh no. What did you do?”
“Wrote her poetry.” His cheeks actually reddened. “Terrible, rhyming poetry comparing her eyes to... well, various car parts.”
I nearly choked on my wine. “You didn’t.”
“‘Your eyes are like my favorite tire, they grip my heart and never tire.’” He delivered it with complete seriousness, which only made it worse.
“That’s the most horrific thing I’ve ever heard.” I was laughing so hard my sides hurt. “Please tell me there’s more.”
“Oh, there’s more. I snuck it into her bag at the track. She found it during lunch and read it aloud to everyone within earshot.” Griffin shook his head ruefully. “I hid in the toilet for two hours.”
“Poor little Griffin.” I wiped tears from my eyes. “Did you ever speak to her again?”
“She cornered me the next week and very kindly explained that while she was flattered, comparing someone to racing equipment probably wasn’t the most romantic approach.”
“Wise girl.”
“She suggested I try flowers next time. Or chocolate. Normal things that normal boys give to girls they fancy.”
“And did you? Try the normal approach?”
Griffin’s grin turned wicked. “Never had to. After that disaster, I developed much better chat-up lines.”
“Oh, I’m sure you did.” I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, they all involved how fast your car was.”
“My car was pretty fast,” he said with mock offense.
“It was a go-kart, Griffin.”
“Still counts.”
I was still laughing when Griffin signaled for the bill. The evening had flown by without my noticing. The waiter appeared and disappeared with discreet efficiency.
“We should probably go,” he said reluctantly.
“Probably.”
Griffin smiled. “Cleo and Imani will wonder what happened to us, but don’t worry. I intend to surprise you like this often.”
“That sounds dangerously close to planning a future, Griffin.”
His grin turned wicked. “Maybe I am.”
Before I could respond to that heart-stopping statement, he was helping me with my coat, his hands lingering at my shoulders. I leaned back and enjoyed the solid press of his chest against my back.
For one breathless moment, we stayed like that. Then he pressed the lightest kiss to the top of my head, so gentle I might have imagined it.
“Ready?” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
No. I wanted to stay in this bubble forever, where the outside world couldn’t touch us. But I nodded, not trusting my voice. He guided me out of our private nook and back toward the kitchens, his hand at the small of my back.
We were halfway across the main dining room when I saw him.
Dorian Huxley.
My father’s right-hand man sat at a corner table, partially hidden behind a pillar, but his tall frame and sharp suit were unmistakable. He was speaking quietly into his phone, his back mostly to us, but I knew with sickening certainty it was him.
Ice flooded my veins. If Dorian saw us, everything would unravel.
“Keep your head down and keep walking,” I whispered, tightening my grip on Griffin’s arm. “Don’t look toward the corner table.”
“What is it?” he asked, keeping his voice low but thankfully he didn’t break stride and continued steering us toward our exit.
“Not now,” I hissed.
My heart pounded in my chest as we passed within meters of Dorian, the sound of his clipped voice drifting over the restaurant’s ambient noise.
“...understood. I’ll have the reports on your desk first thing.”
We made it through the kitchen without incident, Chef Niran beaming and pressing a small package of Thai sweets into my hands as we thanked him. But my hands were shaking as I took them.
“Who was it?” Griffin asked as we hurried toward the street.
“Dorian.”
“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, quickening our pace toward where he’d parked the Aston. “Do you think he saw us?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. His back was to us, but...” I swallowed hard and checked my phone. No missed calls, no angry texts from my father. “If he’d seen us, my phone would already be ringing.”
Griffin opened the car door for me. Once we were both inside, he sat still for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel.
“So we’re probably safe?” he asked.
“Probably,” I said, though my heart was still hammering. “Just a horrible coincidence.”
“Okay good.” He blew out a breath and started the car, the engine purring to life. This time.
We drove in tense silence, the magical evening shattered by reality creeping back in. I shouldn’t have agreed to go out. We never should have risked it.
If Griffin left Aedris, this would be easier. My father wouldn’t have leverage over him anymore which would solve so many of my problems.
But I couldn’t ask him to do that. If he upended his life because I was too much of a coward to stand up to Julian, I’d never forgive myself.
Griffin’s hand found mine across the console, warm and steady. “Don’t let him ruin this.”
I turned to look at him, this beautiful, reckless man who’d somehow crashed into my carefully ordered life. “Ruin what, exactly?”
His eyes met mine briefly before returning to the road. “Tonight. Us. Whatever this is.”
“And what is this, Griffin?”
He didn’t answer immediately, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “Worth fighting for.”