Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
VIOLET
Iscrolled through my phone without really seeing it while Hazel slept against my chest. Every time I put her down in her carrier, she woke up screaming.
The Aedris hospitality area buzzed with the usual post-session energy. Engineers clustered near the coffee station, voices low and urgent. I caught fragments through the white noise.
“Shouting match.”
“Garage.”
“Julian went ballistic.”
My thumb froze mid-scroll.
Whatever Dad had done this time must have been spectacular. The engineers looked equal parts horrified and fascinated. Like they’d witnessed a car crash they’d been expecting but somehow thought they’d avoid.
My phone buzzed in my hand.
Julian
Where are you?
I deleted the message without responding and pressed a kiss to Hazel’s downy head.
He could bloody well come find me himself if he wanted something. I was done jumping every time he summoned me like a disobedient dog.
The door swung open and every head in the room turned.
Griffin walked in carrying a covered dish and glanced around the room. His gaze found mine and relief flickered across his face.
The rich scent of garlic and herbs reached me before he did. My gaze dropped to the dish that I was fairly sure contained my favorite pasta. The one Marco, the team chef, only made for special occasions or when someone bribed him with good wine.
What the hell? He had practice two in twenty minutes. Surely he should be in briefings with his engineers or in the media pen.
Griffin set the dish on the table beside me. “Thought you might be hungry.”
His eyes looked wrong. They were too bright and intense. Like he’d just done something reckless and was waiting for the consequences to catch up.
He reached for Hazel before I could respond, carefully lifting her from my arms without waking her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice dropping to that gentle tone he only used with her.
“How’s my best girl doing?”
But he was staring at me when he said it.
Heat flooded my face and I broke eye contact, focusing on Hazel instead of the way his gaze made my stomach flip.
This was ridiculous.
He’d brought me food and said something vaguely sweet and suddenly I was blushing like a teenager with a crush?
Get over it. He’s probably just feeling guilty at last.
“What are you doing?”
“You need to eat.” He shifted Hazel to his shoulder, one hand spanning her tiny back.
Something in my chest squeezed tight.
“Aren’t you meant to be prepping for FP2?” I forced the words out past whatever was lodged in my throat. “They’ll be looking for you.”
“Let them look.” He said it like it was nothing.
“Dad’s going to kill you.”
He shrugged. “Let him try.”
Something had happened. Something big enough to put that reckless edge in his voice. But before I could ask for details, he handed Hazel back, his fingers brushing mine.
“Need to run. Enjoy the food.”
Then he walked out, and I was left holding a sleeping baby. I stared at the closed door with my pulse racing and a dozen questions I couldn’t answer.
The room slowly returned to its usual buzz. Engineers went back to their data. Someone laughed near the coffee station. The world kept turning like Griffin hadn’t just walked in here and completely scrambled my brain.
I looked down at the pasta. Steam still curled from under the foil.
I’d mentioned this dish to him exactly once and he’d remembered.
Which was... unexpected. Sweet, even. But also completely baffling given he’d dismissed every warning I’d tried to give him about Dad’s manipulation.
I pulled the foil back and grabbed the fork. The scent made my stomach growl. I was still furious with him, but this was Marco’s carbonara, and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. No way was I going to waste perfectly good pasta just to make a point Griffin wasn’t here to witness.
I took a bite.
God, that was good.
Griffin didn’t say a word on the drive back to the hotel.
Hazel made small coos from her car seat, and while we sat in traffic, he reached back to tap her foot. The gesture was so sweet and natural.
“Tell Violet she needs to relax tonight,” he said to the baby, his tone light. Almost playful. “Doctor’s orders.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, directing my confusion to his reflection in the rearview mirror.
His mouth curved, but he kept his eyes on the road. The Mexico City traffic was brutal this time of day, cars weaving through lanes with the kind of casual disregard for traffic laws that made my palms sweat.
“Griffin.”
“Hmm?”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” He glanced in the rearview mirror at Hazel. “Right, little one? Nothing at all.”
The casual deflection should have irritated me. It did irritate me. But there was something different about the way he said it. Like he had a secret he was enjoying keeping.
I tried not to think about the way that made my stomach flutter.
We pulled into the hotel car park, and Griffin grabbed the baby bag while I unbuckled Hazel from her seat. She fussed, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists. Almost feeding time.
The lift ride to our floor was silent except for Hazel’s increasingly insistent complaints. Griffin watched her with that soft expression he got when she was cranky, like he found her indignation charming instead of ear-splitting.
The lift doors opened and we walked down the hallway to our suite. Griffin pulled out the keycard and pushed the door open.
I stopped dead.
Irises.
Everywhere.
Vases lined the console table by the door, the coffee table, the kitchen counter. Purple blooms spilled across every surface, filling the space with their delicate scent. The late afternoon light streaming through the windows caught the petals, making them glow.
“What is this?”
“What does it look like?” He brushed past me and headed for the fridge, seeming completely unbothered by the fact that our hotel suite looked like a florist had exploded inside it.
He pulled out containers of food and started arranging them on the counter.
I followed him, Hazel fussing against my shoulder. “Where did you even find irises in October?”
He shrugged.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Didn’t realize I owed you one.” But his tone was mild. Almost teasing.
I grabbed his wrist as he reached for another container. “If this is you apologizing, it won’t change anything.”
Right? Oh god, right? I wouldn’t break just because he’d dropped a fortune on flowers and somehow arranged to have my favorite foods delivered.
For a moment, he just looked at me. Really looked at me. Those blue eyes searching my face like he was trying to memorize something.
Then he gently extracted his arm and headed for the bathroom.
The door clicked shut before I could argue.
My gaze fell to the containers and my breath caught. When did he have time to collect any of this?
Each container he’d laid out contained something I’d mentioned loving or wanting to try.
The esquites from the street cart I’d been excited to try after seeing it online.
A bag of cinnamon-dusted bunuelos I’d mentioned were my favorite festival treat.
And even a small, perfect tres leches cake from a local bakery I’d told him about last week.
I stood there in the middle of a suite full of impossible flowers, holding a fussy baby, with absolutely no idea what was happening.
Someone knocked the suite door twenty minutes later. Three women stood in the hallway smiling at me. One carried a portable massage table. Another had a case full of nail supplies. The third held what looked like professional hair styling tools.
“Um.” I blinked at them. “I think you have the wrong room.”
“Violet Carter?” the masseuse asked in accented English.
“Yes, but I didn’t book—”
“Your appointment is for the next two hours.” She nodded to the room. “May we come in?”
I stepped back automatically, and they filed past me into the suite. The masseuse made an approving sound at the space while the nail technician started setting up on the coffee table.
“Wait.” I held up a hand. “I really didn’t book this. There’s been a mistake.”
“Oh good, right on time,” Griffin said as he stepped back into the living room, pulling a fresh shirt over his head. His hair was still damp from the shower. “Set up wherever you need. The suite is yours.”
He smiled at the women as he scooped Hazel up from her bassinet and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“You’re coming with me, little one.” He grabbed the baby bag with his free hand, then looked at me. “Enjoy yourself. Liam’s waiting downstairs. We’ll be back in a few hours.”
“What are you—”
“Relax, Violet.” He paused at the door, that infuriating half-smile on his face. “You’re terrible at it, but try anyway.”
Then he was gone.
The masseuse gestured to the table. “Shall we begin?”
I glanced between the three women, the irises covering every surface, and the door Griffin had just walked through with utter confusion.
What was this? Some grand, silent apology tour?
The arrogance was infuriating.
And yet… he’d gifted me two hours without having to worry about Hazel, without having to be on high alert. Two hours of someone else taking care of me for a change. It was a ridiculously tempting offer.
“Yeah.” I sighed, moving toward the massage table. “Okay.”
Two hours later, I was boneless on the sofa with perfect nails and hair that actually looked styled instead of thrown into its usual messy bun.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up FaceTime, tapping the group chat with Cleo and Imani.
Cleo answered immediately, Imani squishing into frame beside her.
“Vi! How’s—why do you look so relaxed?”
“Griffin hired a masseuse.”
“He what?”
“And a nail technician. And someone to do my hair.” I turned the phone so they could see the suite. “Oh, and he filled the room with irises.”
Both of them went silent.
“But it’s October,” Imani said slowly.
“I know.”
I filled them in on all the other little things he’d done today.
Cleo smiled. “Aw, he’s groveling.”
“Is he though? He keeps doing all this without explaining anything.”
“Because words are cheap,” Imani said. “He’s showing you instead.”
“Showing me what? That he can spend money?”
“That he remembers what matters to you.” Cleo’s expression softened. “Those aren’t random gestures. He’s paying attention.”
I pulled a face. “But in Austin—”
“He was an idiot,” Imani said. “Today he’s trying not to be. The question is whether he keeps trying or if this is just guilt.”
“So what do I do?”
“Wait,” both of them said in unison.
“Make him prove it’s real,” Cleo said. “Don’t give in until he actually does something that changes your situation with your dad.”
I ended the call and stared at the irises.
Cleo was right. Gestures were easy for someone with Griffin’s resources. The hard part was whether he’d actually stand up to Julian. Whether any of this meant he believed me now about what my father was capable of.