by Anna Banks
“Even orphans get a chance to seduce the bachelor during homecoming week, my dear. Otherwise that would be discrimination, wouldn’t it?”
“And who’s going to bring that up? Me?”
But Richie ignored her. “We’ve arranged for you to visit his family.”
She threw her hands up in frustration. “I’ve already met his family, Richie, and trust me, the reunion won’t be pretty.” The thought of going back to that town, of reliving her last days there, of reliving memories of an actual happy time of her life…could be very dangerous.
She’d already admitted to herself that despite her best efforts to deny it, she still had feelings for Grant. Some of them were murderous feelings. But some of them were…sentimental. She’d suffered through all the days he’d spent in the Dream Suite with the other contestants, trying to keep images of him in bed with the other women out of her head. Maya had reassured her that their night together had been spent making sure Grant’s throat didn’t close up—some freak allergic reaction—but what about the other women? Had he taken advantage of the circumstances? Had he put his hands on them?
God, she wished she didn’t care. But she could no longer deny that he still held a piece of her heart that no man would ever have access to again. And it was a bigger piece than she cared to admit.
She just couldn’t let him back in, though. She wouldn’t. Maybe he’d had good intentions, but he’d broken her heart without giving her a chance to explain her plans. He’d taken matters into his own hands and not given her a choice. She couldn’t let him get that close to her again. She couldn’t expose herself to him.
Could she?
“His family won’t have me,” she said, changing tactics. “I almost burned their house down.” They hadn’t had any hard feelings about that at the time, but Richie didn’t need to know that.
“Mrs. Drake has already consented to keep your secret a secret,” he said with glee. “She’s actually looking forward to seeing you again.”
Rochelle pinched the bridge of her nose. “Richie. Please.”
“We made a deal, Rochelle. A solid deal. Are you backing out now that you’ve come so far?” He leaned forward, concern etched into his brow. “Wait a minute. Are you falling in love with Grant again?”
“What? No!”
“The cameras don’t lie. I saw how you were looking at him when he let Ellie go.”
“It was a nice thing to do. I would have been pleased with anyone who did that. Grant’s not special.” Still, her cheeks felt warm underneath the accusation. When Grant had handed Ellie that donation check, he’d given her a glimpse of what he used to be…and apparently what he still was.
“Oh, but he is, isn’t he, Rochelle? Otherwise you wouldn’t have a problem going to visit his family—being with him in his most intimate environment. I never thought a woman like you would be afraid of a man.”
Richie was more perceptive than Rochelle had given him credit for. Crap. “I’m not afraid of Grant. And I’m not falling for your stupid mind-games. If I don’t want to reunite with his family, I don’t have to, contractually.”
“Incorrect.”
“Richie—”
“Oh enough!” He stood abruptly. Rochelle wasn’t aware he could actually move with any sort of startling speed. “You’re going, or the deal’s off.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Technically, we put nothing in writing. As an attorney, you should know how detrimental that would be to your case, were you to pursue it.”
She pressed her lips together, wanting to—needing to—slap the smile off his smug face. Of course, she knew she was screwed without documentation. And she recognized that this tactic of hers was obviously not working. She crossed her arms. “You don’t understand, Richie. His family will ruin it. They won’t keep their mouths shut about our past relationship. Oh, they’ll promise you the moon and they’ll have the best of intentions to give it to you. But they’re just not capable of silence. You’re really letting all his siblings on the show? Besides, Grant’s mother is the town gossip queen. She’s the owner of the beauty salon, for God’s sake. If you really wanted to keep it a secret and not undermine your own show, you wouldn’t take that risk. You may have already ruined it by telling them I’m even here.” She snorted. “They’ll probably put up a ‘Welcome Home Rochelle’ banner at city hall. How will you explain that to your staff?”
Though Grant’s mother did run the town beauty salon, she was the opposite of a gossip queen. She was so unconcerned with idle chitchat that she even forgot to impart important details at vital times. She once had a car accident, totaling the family’s only vehicle and fracturing her arm, and forgot to tell Grant’s stepdad until it was time to pick him up from the airport after his business trip. She’d chafed at the thought of bothering him with the news until he got back.
If anything, Sharon Drake was an exceptional listener and a superb keeper of secrets. She could probably have been an international spy and her family and closest friends would never have known it. Rochelle recalled a time when the only person she could really confide in was Sharon. She’d even told her what had happened with Grant at dinner that night. Sharon had been certain she’d misinterpreted the situation. That’s when Rochelle had realized she could never confide in Sharon again. Not when she thought her son could do no wrong. So, in one fell swoop, she’d lost the love of her life and the mother that she’d never really had.
Richie’s smile vanished, replaced by a grimace of self-doubt. “Grant said his mother was retired. And his siblings won’t be there. Even I would never take a risk like that.”
His siblings wouldn’t be there. Rochelle was almost disappointed. How empty the house must feel to Sharon with all her babies gone. But that wasn’t the point. “Oh, his mother is retired all right. From the Air Force. Now she dresses hair to pass the time. She gets paid in rumors.” Lies, all of it. But she had to get out of this home visit. It could be detrimental to her plan to not fall in love with Grant Drake. Again.
Now it was Richie’s turn to pinch the bridge of his nose. He let out a low growl. “That woman swore to me she wouldn’t tell a soul.”
Rochelle clicked her tongue. “You’d be a fool to believe that.”
He tapped his fingers on his desk as he contemplated. After a while, he looked up, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. “You know what I think, Rochelle Ransom? I think I’d be a fool to believe you. If you turn out to be right, and the whole thing crumbles to ashes, I’ll still pay you for our deal. But my instincts say otherwise, and my instincts are never wrong. You’re going. End of discussion.”
Crap.
Chapter Twenty
Grant settled into his first class seat, unable to appreciate the fact that he had the entire row to himself for the duration of the flight. The word “hellish” had been invented for the last four days Grant had endured spending time with the families of the contestants, and no amount of free liquor or eager attentiveness from the flight attendants could make up for it. The two days he’d spent at each contestant’s home felt like a lifetime of awkward situations and painful conversation—especially at Cassandra’s house in Orlando.
The first day had gone fairly well when she’d introduced him to all her colleagues at the aquarium where she worked as a dolphin trainer. Thank God the most seductive thing she changed into was a wetsuit this time. But when it came time to meet the family—and be reunited with her twin sister who he’d scorned earlier on the show—well, the word “pandemonium” had been invented for that hour of insanity.
He was greeted at the front door with a slap to the face from Cassandra and Stephanie’s mother, who’d promptly scolded him for “treating my girls unequally.” Richie had insisted that Stephanie attend the family dinner that night to increase the tension, and Chris didn’t stop the cameras from rolling until Grant’s lap was fully drenched in gravy and his head pummeled with every last piece of cornbread on the table.
His meeting w
ith the family of Jacquelyn, the chef, didn’t go much better, though on the plus side, he hadn’t been bombarded with food. Her father was a widower and a retired army drill sergeant, who ran his household like a war bunker. As soon as he arrived, Grant was given an itinerary for the next two days, broken down into fifteen-minute intervals. His genitals were also threatened in the event that they came near the sergeant’s daughter during his visit. Jacquelyn prepared delicious meals for the three of them, but Grant’s appetite was non-existent. He’d been too busy pondering how he would subdue the old sergeant without hurting him or losing his own testicles in the process.
Why are my testicles always in danger on this show?
To say the least, he was hoping—praying even—to get some much-needed sleep on the flight to see Maya’s family in Mississippi. She would be waiting at the airport when he arrived, and with any kind of luck, her family would be as normal as she was. That was his last thought as he dozed off without drinking the screwdriver he’d ordered.
Maya waited for him by baggage claim B, wielding a gorgeous, genuine smile and a mason jar of what appeared to be sweet tea for him. She kissed him on the cheek and handed him the glass, which he gratefully accepted. “Welcome to the South,” she said. “My father has the car pulled around to pick us up.”
Grant smiled, taking a sip from the jar. “You’re as sweet as this tea.”
“You must be exhausted. Do you need me to carry anything for you?”
He sighed in relief. Finally. Normalcy. Hospitality. Manners. He was reminded again of why he liked Maya so much. “No, thanks. Let me get my bags; I don’t want to keep your father waiting.”
“He’s anxious to meet you.” She hesitated. “He…thinks this whole dating show is a scam. So he’ll probably give you the third degree. Try not to be offended, okay?”
Great, he thought as he retrieved his luggage from the belt.
When they got to the car, a clean high-end SUV, Maya’s father immediately extended his hand. He was a tall black man, with wise eyes and gray-tinged hair, but his wrinkles revealed smile lines instead of those caused by habitual frowns. He seemed nervous about the camera crew standing a few feet from them, filming everything. Grant hardly noticed them anymore. How different his life had become.
“Hi there, Grant,” her father said. “I’m James Atmore. Friends call me Jimbo. You can, too, I suppose.”
“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Grant said, shaking his hand.
“Jimbo,” he corrected. “Sir is for the British and the uppity.” He opened the hatch of the SUV and without asking, grabbed Grant’s luggage and placed it neatly inside. “I hope you didn’t eat during your layover; we’ve got the best barbecue on this side of the state line waiting for you at the house.”
“Dad!” Maya said, exasperated. “That was supposed to be a surprise!”
Grant’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t enjoyed a proper, peaceful meal in days. Not that he could have eaten, anyway, what with all the chaos whirling around him. “That sounds amazing, sir—Jimbo.”
The older man smiled. “Sir Jimbo. I could get used to that.”
Maya took Grant’s hand and led him to the backseat. After they’d settled and were on the road, she leaned toward him. “I know it’s wrong to ask,” she said, “but I’m dying to know how the other visits went. Are you allowed to tell me?”
He sighed. “Technically, no. But frankly, they were catastrophic.”
She giggled. “I can’t wait to watch the episodes.”
“Scandalous,” he laughed.
The Atmore house was situated on a huge plot of land surrounded by aged trees burdened with hanging moss swaying lazily in the breeze. It was an older home, with a wrap-around porch on both stories and a tire swing tied to the oak tree closest to the house. Grant could imagine a much younger Maya laughing and swinging without a care in the world. Even now, she smiled and talked with ease, as if life itself was her best friend.
Someone would kill to wake up to a smile like that every day. Too bad the smile he’d longed for hadn’t made a true appearance since their one-on-one date. What he wouldn’t give for a genuine smile from Rochelle.
But the smile Maya gave him then brought him back to reality. She nodded past him, toward property.
Behind the house, a small line of smoke trailed into the sky and suddenly a whiff of lilacs and smoked meat attacked his senses. Jimbo looked at him in the rearview mirror and chuckled. “You look like a starved cat in a tuna cannery. Look now, I know my pulled pork will be the best thing you ever tasted, but if you don’t pay Granny a compliment on her potato salad, there’ll be hell to pay in a lump sum.”
Grant smiled. “You can count on me for at least two big helpings of it.”
Jimbo nodded. “You just might survive today, son.”
And that was when the nerves set in. They dissolved only after Grant had met more than fifty of Maya’s aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, and her only living Granny. The affair was sprawled out over the backyard with checkered tablecloth picnic tables, lawn chairs in between, and two big grills off to the side. To the right was what looked like a fierce horseshoe match, and to the left were at least ten children all in different stages of hula-hooping. The scene was something out of a family movie. Grant couldn’t help but feel charmed.
Plus, everyone seemed to actually get along. Not once had a piece of cornbread been hurled at an unsuspecting victim. Surely the world is coming to an end, he thought as he took his first bite of potato salad, careful to arrange his expression into delight despite the bitterness that deluged his mouth. He was well aware that Granny watched him from two picnic tables over. He resisted the urge to grab his sweet tea and unload a mouthful of potato backwash into it. Why did I have to take such a big bite?
Even Maya seemed surprised at his bold move.
“My God,” Grant told Maya loudly. “This has got to be the best potato salad I’ve ever tasted.”
The entire gathering grew silent, still. The loud clink of one of the horseshoes hitting the stake resounded through the back yard, calling attention to the sudden lull in conversation. Granny was giving him a sharp look of disapproval. Grant had the inexplicable urge to hide under the table. But the table would have hidden him no better than the tea would have hidden a load of backwash.
Then suddenly, Granny erupted into laughter, guffawing so hard Grant was sure she was going to spit out her dentures. It took only seconds for everyone else to join her. Someone behind him spit out their drink. One of Maya’s neighbors clutched her stomach as if she’d gone into labor. What was the matter with these people? So much for normal.
A full minute passed before Jimbo could catch his breath. He grasped Grant’s shoulder, leaning on him for support. Jimbo was heavier than he looked. “That’s radish dressing, son. Granny’s potato salad is on that table over yonder. But you passed the test anyway.”
Blood rushed to Grant’s face. Radish dressing. There’s such a thing as radish dressing? “Test?”
“You’re polite and respectful. I won’t have my daughter dating a heathen.”
“But that doesn’t get you out of eating my potato salad, young man,” Granny called out, pointing a shaking finger at him. Only now her eyes held a certain twinkle. One Grant hadn’t noticed before.
After the last of the guests had left and the backyard was a reasonable degree of untidy , Maya took Grant’s hand. This was the second time she’d done it today; on the show, she was never this bold. Sure she hugged him a few times at some of the Friendship Ceremonies, but the embraces were quick and friendly. Nothing as intimate as holding hands. She was even caressing his hand with her thumb as they walked.
She’s definitely in her element here.
Together they hopped into an old Ford pickup; the ever-present camera crew loaded up in the back. Maya drove them down a moonlit dirt road. “This was my first car. Can you believe that man gave me something with no power steering?”
“Sounds like something my m
om would do.”
“My mom left us when I was three years old. In case you were wondering.” She said it as if confessing something. As if her mother leaving was the fault of a three-year-old child.
“I hope you don’t expect me to feel sorry for you,” he said playfully. “I had to put up with my mother, so you’ll get no sympathy from me.”
Maya laughed. If he’d been with one of the other contestants, he would have been worried she’d take that the wrong way. He should have known better with Maya.
“This would be a lot more romantic without the boys,” she whispered, nodding toward the truck bed.
Grant considered that both good and bad. Good, because if things got intimate with Maya, he’d have to find a way out of it before he ruined his chances with Rochelle. He was hoping that Maya would be shy in front of the camera, the lady he thought she was—who did not want to arm Chris with an episode of PDA.
Bad, because he’d like to get to know Maya better, and she wouldn’t likely open up to him in front of the camera, PDA or not. He could tell she would make an excellent friend, but an overly romantic setting would give her the wrong idea.
Maya backed the truck up to the edge of a creek that rushed noisily past them and glistened in the moonlight. She motioned for the crew to hop out. As the crew set up a few feet away, Maya retrieved a fuzzy blanket from the toolbox in the back and spread it out over the bed of the truck. Patting the space beside her, she smiled up at Grant. “How about some star-gazing?”
A loud clank resounded in the night, followed by a whispered expletive. Grant shook his head. “You’re right. This would be more romantic without them. A chicken coop would be more romantic.” Thank God. He settled next to her and they laid back. The evening was cloudless and the stars weren’t shy, sparkling above them like a faraway city in the sky.
Chris leaned his forearms on the side of the truck. “Don’t talk about anything important until we’re rolling.”
Grant rolled his eyes. “How long will that be, you think?”