Grayson's Vow(60)

Grayson was silent, as he sucked at his lip, not looking at me. I stared ahead, feeling awkward, and after a few moments, I felt his eyes on the side of my face. "Are you still close to Rosa Maria?"

"No," I said sadly. "My father dismissed her years ago. It was awkward, and painful since he'd been having a relationship with her, and essentially traded her in for a newer, younger model to serve as both his new housekeeper and new bed partner. Rosa Maria didn't respond to any of my attempts to reach out to her after that." I waved my hand, trying to wave away the subject and the associated hurt that always came from discussing it.

"She blamed you?" Grayson asked, a strange edge to his voice.

"Kimberly says she doesn't, but it's too painful to have any contact that reminds her of what my father did to her. She loved him, I believe. While he . . . well, he saw her as nothing more than a convenient way to keep his house clean and his bed warm."

"I see," he said, his voice tight. I glanced at him, feeling as if, somehow, he really did see—even more than I was sharing with him.

Frowning, I shook my head. "So, what were you and Kimberly talking about before I came downstairs yesterday morning?" I asked, realizing I hadn't had the chance to ask Kimberly before we'd been interrupted by his confrontation with Charlotte.

He smiled over at me, breaking the somber mood that had existed as I’d discussed the subject of Rosa Maria and my father. The afternoon sun slanted through the window and hit Grayson's face, bringing out the deep, rich brown of his eyes and highlighting the ruggedness of his still-unshaven jaw. I looked away, biting my lip. Ignore the bright scales, I repeated in my mind. "You," he said, and when I swung my eyes back to his, his smile deepened. "She was telling me some interesting stories about the trouble she's had to pull you out of over the years."

I snorted. "She's a nice girl, but she exaggerates. It's one of her worst flaws."

Grayson's chuckle was deep and warm. "I don't know. I'm inclined to think she doesn't." He glanced back at the road, still smiling. "She says you get these ideas in your head . . ."

"Just fun," I defended. "Not trouble."

"With you, it seems to be a very fine line." I gave him an irritated look, but blinked when I saw the smile on his face—full of charm and genuine affection.

I looked out the window again. "I've made a concerted effort to curtail the follow-through of my 'ideas' since I've been living with you."

"Dear God," he groaned. "I shudder to imagine what happens when you don't hold back."

I sighed, frowning. "Just ask my father," I said, secretly hoping he wouldn’t. "He'll tell you what a burden you've taken on when you meet him. I have no doubt." Biting my lip again, I turned my head to stare out at the scenery whizzing past us.

"Hey," Grayson said, and I felt his warm hand grasp mine on the seat next to me. I looked down at our joined hands and then up into his eyes before he looked back to the road again. "This is going to be fine, all right?"

I nodded, but somehow, I knew he was wrong. I could very well be walking into a situation where I would be completely humiliated in front of Grayson. No, this wasn't going to be all right. This was going to be decidedly un-all right.



**********



The soft yellow and vibrant orange of approaching twilight bathed the Italian Renaissance hilltop mansion in light. Nestled in the ritzy Pacific Heights neighborhood of San Francisco, it was among the most expensive pieces of real estate in the city, probably in the country. The Dallaire estate. Home sweet home. I cringed inwardly. There had been very little sweet attached to this place for me.

Looking at this house made me crushingly aware that most of my life I'd lived behind the shadow of who my father wished me to be. And all I'd ever longed for was to stand in the sunshine of being loved for who I was.

I glanced at Grayson's enigmatic expression as we got out of his truck, parked on the street in front of the massive structure. I noted as he turned in a full circle at the top of the sprawling outdoor staircase, admiring the undeniably stunning view of the Golden Gate bridge, Alcatraz, Angel Island, and all the way to the Marin Headlands. I could hear someone hitting tennis balls in the outdoor court behind the house.

Grayson looked at me, remaining silent as I rang the doorbell. I refused to let myself into this house as if I belonged here. A few seconds later, I heard the click of shoes on the marble tile within and the door swung open to reveal a young Hispanic woman in a maid's uniform whom I had never met. I smiled. "Hello, I'm Kira Dallaire. I believe my father is expecting me." I had texted him on the drive, but he'd never responded, so I had no idea if he was actually expecting me or not. The young woman smiled and swung the door open and we stepped inside.