by Goode, Ella
“You make the decisions, baby, but just know that you’re mine. From now until forever.”
Chapter Seventeen
Paislee
We make out like two teenagers in front of my grandma’s house. I really don’t want to go home, but I’m also not sure how to call and tell my grandma that. How would I explain that I was skipping out to stay at my boyfriend's house?
I know I’m a grown adult, but I still live with her. So here I am in front of the house making out in the car. The one I’ve been trying to get out of for the last twenty minutes, but we can’t seem to take our mouths off one another. I swear this man's kisses are addictive.
“I don’t want to go inside,” I say between kisses.
“I don’t want you to go inside.” His mouth starts to travel down my neck. “Say you’ll marry me and we’ll be in the same bed every night.” This man is relentless and determined to make me his wife.
“Okay,” I agree, my eyes falling closed. It feels so good when he kisses my neck. It’s my weak spot, and I’m pretty sure he’s figured that out. Or maybe it’s him that makes me weak. His mouth stops kissing me, and he raises his head, the moment he realizes what I’ve just agreed to. “What?” I ask.
A smile spread across his handsome face. “You said yes.” I bite my bottom lip. I guess I did. When Gant’s mouth is on me, I forget about everything else and go with what I want.
“I do want to marry you,” I admit. My life has been crazy these past few months, but when I’m near Gant I feel most like myself. I’m not trying to impress him or make sure I say the right things. I’m just me.
If he wants to marry me, he must like who I am. No words of love have been shared, though. I think you’re supposed to say I love you before you get married, but rich people do all kinds of things differently than I’m used to.
He starts patting down his pockets before coming up with a box. “You have a ring already?” I ask, surprised. He obviously isn’t playing around.
“It’s a family ring.”
I smile, loving the idea of him giving me something sentimental. I’m sure Gant could go out and buy me something fancy, but the fact that he is giving me something from his family makes this feel more real. Maybe he does love me; he just hasn't said it yet.
I know some families don’t use the word often. My mom used it almost every other word, always wanting me to know I was loved. I miss that. I miss her. Telling people the way you feel about them is important because none of us are promised tomorrow. I’ve already made a vow to myself that I would make sure to carry on the way my mom was when I have a family of my own one day.
He pulls out the box, hurriedly lifting the lid to reveal a ring that is fit for a queen. I’m almost scared to touch it. It’s beautiful and delicate. Gant snatches it out of the box, almost dropping it, making me laugh. I never would have believed anything would make this man nervous, but it seems as though he is now.
“Give me your hand.”
I love how fast he’s trying to get it on my finger. It’s almost as if he can’t wait another second to claim me as his.
“It’s too pretty. It should be in a museum.”
“No, it should be on your finger. It was always meant to be yours. One day you will pass it on to one of our children when they find the love of their lives.” My throat fills with emotion as I hold my hand, and he slips the ring onto my finger. “I know I told you that we have all the time in the world, but if it was up to me, I’d marry you tomorrow.”
“You’re so sweet.”
“Paislee.” The way he says my name has me looking up from the ring to meet his eyes. “I know this is crazy. If you told me a few weeks ago I’d be rushing to get married I would have called bullshit. I would have said you were crazy. That was before I saw you. I knew the moment my eyes landed on you that you were meant to be mine. In a blink of an eye my whole world opened up. You made me want things I’d never given much thought to. And I knew in that moment I’d never given thought to things like marriage and babies because I hadn't met you. I’d been waiting.”
“Gant.” I throw myself at him, kissing him all over his face. “Yes, I’ll marry you whenever you want.” He didn't say he loved me, but that was pretty freaking close. This feels so right. Being in his arms, wearing his ring, and promising to be his forever. My mom always said that when I found my true love I'd know. That I’d feel as though I were home, and that’s exactly how Gant makes me feel.
“Thank fuck,” he says before he takes my mouth in a claiming kiss. I start to pull at his clothes, but he stops me. “We’re not giving the cameras a show.”
“Cameras?” I squeak.
“I’m sure the whole outside here is lined with them.” I lick my lips, knowing he’s right. “I’ll pick you up in the morning. Daybreak.” I let out a giggle, but I don’t think he’s joking.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I agree.
He presses one more hard, possessive kiss on my lips before he walks me to the door. I barely get it closed and I find myself wanting to run back outside. Yeah, I think this wedding is going to have to come soon. I want to spend my nights in bed with Gant. I’ll never be alone again.
I stare down at the beautiful ring on my finger. “I take it you fell for their plan.” I jerk my head up to see my father standing there. He’s in slacks and a buttoned-up shirt. His tie is gone, and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled. From the glassy look in his eyes, I’m assuming he’s drunk.
“Goodnight,” I say, going to move past him. His hand reaches out and snags me around my arm.
“Have you asked yourself why my mother is trying to marry you off so quickly? They need you to be married to take over as the head of the Abbott family. Why else do you think I married that woman? Now it was for nothing.” He spits, making me flinch.
His hold on my arms tightens. “God, you look so much like her.” I suck in a breath. This is the first time he’s even made mention of my mom. “They are all using you. Even Gant the golden boy.” I jerk my arm from his hold. My eyes fill with tears. “You don’t belong here. This world will eat a girl like you alive.”
All the love I felt moments ago slips away. I want to tell my father to fuck off, but I can’t get the words past my lips. It’s not in me to say such cruel words, and I don’t want someone to bait me into being cruel either.
He’s right. This world will eat me alive if I let it.
Chapter Eighteen
Gant
“You might need to stab Daddy Abbott in the balls again,” Caro advises over breakfast the next morning.
“Why do you say that? By the way, this stuffed apple French toast is the bomb, Gertie.” Mom’s cook beams with pride. The one thing that I miss living on my own is Gertie’s food, which is why I’m over at Mom’s eating at least twice a day.
“I thought you’d like it, Mr. Gant.”
“It’s perfect.” I make a circle with my thumb and forefinger and wink.
“Because he’s bound to say something idiotic to Paislee. Her existence is an embarrassment he tried to hide her whole life, and now his mother has brought her into their home and is introducing her to everyone he socializes with. You know he’s mad.”
I’d thought about that but figured that would make him all the more eager to support our marriage. “I’m taking her off his hands.”
“No. You’re legitimizing her, and that’s worse. Left alone with only her grandma, our peers would tear her apart for not knowing how to act, what to wear, what to say. If you marry—"
“When I marry her,” I interject, trying not to interrupt my sister because she’s making points, but also wanting everyone to know exactly where I stand. Marriage is not an option.
“When you marry her,” Caro corrects herself, “she’ll be one of us.”
“She is one of us. She’s a human.”
“You know what I mean. Even your student was looking at Paislee like she didn’t belong.”
I hadn’t noticed. “
Why do we care about what a twenty-year-old who barely got her high school diploma thinks?”
“We don’t care about the student, but she’s an example.” Mom finally adds her two cents.
I scowl because I don’t like hearing this, but I know she’s right. Caro senses that my temper’s getting worked up because she changes the subject immediately. “It’s a good thing that you’re on break, otherwise it would be hard for you to romance Paislee while you had to go teach for the day.”
“I’d just bring her with me. She could be my unofficial assistant.” Gertie appears at my shoulder to fill my coffee cup. I hadn’t even noticed it was getting low.
“That would be distracting for your students and for you,” Mom points out.
“Probably more distracting for me.” Gertie tries to shove another piece of French toast on my plate, and I have to block her. “Gertie, I’m courting someone. You can’t put a belly on me or Paislee won’t have me.”
“You bring that girl here and I’ll fatten you both up.”
“I will.”
“You can’t live in each other’s pockets,” Caro says.
“Why not?”
The two of them gaze at me in dumbfounded confusion.
“I’m kidding.”
Mom breathes a sigh of relief.
“What will she do while you teach?” Caro asks curiously.
“Why should she do anything? Gant can support her.”
“Paislee doesn’t seem like the kind of person to sit at home all the time.”
Mom considers this for a moment. “She could do charity work. The Abbotts have a lot of companies where they could place her. She is certainly welcome to try her hand at sales with us.”
“I think she might want to go back to college. She was a semester away from getting her B.A. in education when her mom passed, so she might want to go back to school and get her teaching certificate,” I inform them.
“Is that why you said she should come to school with you?” Caro wonders.
I scrape the rest of the French toast into my mouth and fend off Gertie again before replying. “Yeah. She can go back to school, and when she’s done, she can teach at my school or somewhere else. Whatever makes her happy.” I wipe the syrup off my lips with the napkin and get to my feet. “Thanks for everything, Gertie.” I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t make anyone cry in the wedding party,” I say to Caro. I give Mom a kiss and then head for the door.
“Where are you off to?” Mom asks.
“To stab Daddy Abbott in the balls again.” He must be the reason Paislee didn't call me last night like I’d asked. I figured she passed out. I haven’t heard a peep from her since I left her on her doorstep.
A call to Abbott’s office reveals that he’s not arrived yet, which means he’s probably at Belle Époque terrorizing my woman. Irritated, I press my foot to the gas pedal. I’m not one to get angry. Life is short, and time is better spent dwelling on the good things like my family, my work, and now my gorgeous, amazing wife-to-be, but sometimes you can’t ignore the flies in your ointment.
You have to take out the trash, or your whole life becomes polluted. Now I can’t do away with Abbott like they used to in the old days. My great great grandfather probably would’ve had the man offed by one of his minions and buried under the magnolia tree on the south side of the property. I heard more than one of his enemies found their final resting spot there, or so the family legend goes.
The Fréres’ money didn’t start out clean, but it’s been washed so many times that you can barely make out the presidents’ faces on the bills. The ancestors would be proud that the new Fréres money is made from selling the whitest shit possible, but just because we’re in the business of silk and lace and diamonds doesn’t mean we don’t have a nasty streak.
We’re just good at hiding it. On rare occasions, our orneriness rears its head, like the time I stabbed Abbott in the balls or when my sister, Caro, put Nair in the shampoo bottle of the captain of the football team after she heard the guy had hit his girlfriend.
Most of the time, though, we’re low key and nice. I’m a schoolteacher. Caro sells dresses. Don’t anger us, and that’s all you’ll ever see.
I stop at the entrance of Belle Époque and wait for the iron gates to swing open. Nothing happens. I gesture for the man in the security booth to come forward, but he ignores me. I tap my fingers on my steering wheel and remind myself that these are paid workers who are just doing what they’re told. Temper moderately under control, I slam out of the car and stalk over to the booth. The security man’s eyes widen at the sight of my approach. He scrambles backward when I throw open the door. “Gate, my friend,” I order.
“Ah, sir, I can’t—”
I grab him by the collar and twist until his face turns purple. “Gate,” I repeat simply.
Choking, he extends a hand, feeling around until his fingers find the activation button. I don’t release him until the gates are swung wide, and since I don’t trust this guy, I drag him out of the booth with me and hold on to his neck while I climb back into my car. I place his hands on the top of the open driver’s side door and make him walk next to the car as I roll through the entrance. I release him when I’m clear of the gates.
“Don’t do that again,” I tell him.
“N-no sir,” he stammers, red-faced and hot.
“Good.” I slam the door shut and speed down the long lane. At the front of the house, I park the car and keep my keys, waving. I don’t trust anyone here. Huntington is at the front door. “You don’t want to go down for Abbott,” I warn him.
“No,” he agrees and opens the door for me.
“Better go and pack Paislee’s things. She won’t be back.”
“What happened at the gate will not be repeated,” Huntington assures me.
“Don’t care. Paislee’s coming with me with or without her things. You make the call.”
The butler sighs but gives in. He directs me to a study off the main wing where I can find Abbott. I don’t bother to knock. Paislee’s father is on the phone, barking out some order. I walk over to the desk and disconnect the call.
“What the hell are you doing, Fréres? Who let you in here?”
“I let myself in. Put down the phone because I’m only going to give you one chance.”
“A chance for what?” he sneers.
“To apologize for whatever shit you’ve done to Paislee—and don’t try to play innocent. I know you’ve been harassing her ever since your mom showed up with your daughter.”
“You don’t know shit, son, and even if you were correct, I’m not listening to some schoolteacher who lives over in Blueberry Hills.” Abbott turns away.
I grab the phone cord and give it a yank. A cloud of dust forms as the socket disconnects from the wall.
“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” shouts Abbott. He throws the now worthless receiver on the desk and stomps around to face me.
“I said I wanted to talk.” I point to the sofa. “I suggest you take a seat and get out of my face.”
“Or what?”
“Abbott, I teach high schoolers. Some of them are football players who are bigger, stronger, and meaner than you have ever been in your entire pathetic life. So either sit the hell down or I’ll treat you like you’re the five-year-old asshole you’re acting like.”
The older man turns red. “You don’t tell me what to do, boy.”
I didn’t wake up thinking I’d be manhandling a fifty-year-old man, but love puts you in odd places. Not wanting to break the man’s brittle bones, I slap him—open palm right to the cheek. A fist would’ve laid him out. A slap’s humiliating. His hand flies to his face. “D-did you just slap me?”
I repeat it on the other side. His head flies to the left, and his glasses slide crookedly down his nose. “Yeah. I did. Now sit the fuck down.”
His jaw drops, but half in shock, half in fear, he does what I tell him. I place one hand on the back of the s
ofa and the other on the arm rest and lean close so he can’t miss what I’m saying.
“I don’t know what you’ve been whispering in my girl’s ear, but I don’t have to be a mind reader to guess that it’s not good so here’s what is happening. I am going to marry Paislee. We’re going to have a big wedding here at Belle Époque. You are going to sit on the bride’s side and beam like it’s the best fucking day of your life. You will then tell all of your friends and the children of your friends that finding your daughter after all these years is a dream come true. When the wedding is over, you will continue to treat Paislee like she is the daughter that you had wanted all of your life. She will never experience another trauma at your hands. In fact, if she so much as frowns near you, it’ll be the last time you enjoy your life.”
“You can’t do anything to me,” he says, but there’s a quaver of fear in his voice because he’s old and I’m young, and he doesn’t know me other than I’m the kid who stuck a fork in his gonads years ago. Muscle memory got him all messed up.
“You’re wrong. See, your mama isn’t impressed with you, or she would’ve never brought Paislee here, so you can’t hide behind her for protection. And you should know that the Fréres have connections, and should I want to get rid of you or either of your two sons, I can do that and no one would be the wiser. But in the short term, you treat her poorly, and I will take this”—I swipe the letter opener off his desk and drive it with swiftness a centimeter away from his package. He cries out and covers his package—“and finish what I started eighteen years ago.”
“Gant? What are you doing?”
Both our heads swivel to see Paislee at the door. Marguerite is behind her wearing a satisfied expression.
I pull the letter opener out of the leather cushion and straighten up. “Baby, I was asking your dad for permission to marry you like any good Southern boy would. And he says congratulations and he’s excited to attend the wedding. Right, Abbott?”