by Anna Zaires
15
Emma
I feel bad that I’m getting a free ride, but not bad enough to let it spoil my enjoyment of the experience. Everything about it—from the way the sun glimmers on the surface of the water to the salty breeze on my face and the dangerously handsome man standing at the helm of our motorboat—is my idea of paradise. I lied before—I don’t get seasick—and I’m secretly overjoyed that Marcus roped me into this by renting the boat for himself.
Adjusting my hat, I sneak a glance at him. Clad in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts, with sleek designer shades covering his intense blue eyes, he’s the very picture of cool, casual elegance—and so gorgeous it makes my insides flutter. His olive-toned skin is glowing in the sun, his thick brown hair waving in the breeze as he skillfully steers the boat around a buoy. Catching my gaze, he smiles widely, and my chest expands with a burst of happiness at the warmth radiating from his hard features.
“Do you want to drive?” he asks. “I’ll show you how if you’ve never done it before.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “No, thank you. I’m good here.” I’m enjoying the view too much to move, and besides, I don’t want to risk damaging the boat in any way. It’s bad enough I didn’t pitch in for the rental; if I also crashed the thing, I’d feel terrible.
Would he accept my money if I offered to pay for a portion of the boat rental now? Technically, it’s his boat rental—after all, he was going to do this on his own, whether I joined or not—but I am benefitting from it. In all fairness, I should pitch in, if not pay the full half.
Then again, I have to move shortly, which means I need every penny of my meager savings. Otherwise, I’ll have to load up my credit cards, and then I’ll be in real trouble. From my mother’s experience, I know how quickly credit card debt can snowball, with interest charges and late fees easily doubling and tripling your balance. She, of course, dealt with it the same way she dealt with everything: by hoodwinking some hapless boyfriend into paying off most of her debt. Unfortunately for her—and me, since I was living with her at the time—the boyfriend saw her for the remorseless gold digger she was and kicked her to the curb without paying down the remnant of the debt. And that remnant hung over our heads for months, with collection agencies hounding us daily, until my mother found another victim to unload her financial burden onto—another unfortunate “boyfriend.”
“You okay?” Marcus asks, and I realize I zoned out, staring blankly at the water.
“Yes, of course.” I smile at him, possibly too brightly. “All good, just enjoying the sun.”
“You sure?” His gaze is enigmatic behind his shades. “No seasickness?”
“No,” I say and refocus on the pleasure of this perfect day. But the sheer joy I felt earlier is gone, tainted by the old memories—and the knowledge that if I’m not careful, I could follow in my mother’s footsteps.
I could end up using Marcus the way she used her men.
We return to my grandparents’ house late in the afternoon, and Marcus excuses himself to catch up on some work before dinner. Which works perfectly for me, as I have to finish editing the shifter novella and call Mrs. Metz to check on my cats.
To my relief, all is status quo with my fur babies—Queen Elizabeth and Cottonball are behaving themselves, while Mr. Puffs has shifted his destructive focus from my pillow to my blanket. However, speaking with my landlady reminds me that I have to get serious about finding a new place to live, so instead of working on the novella, I’m scrolling through Craigslist when my grandmother comes out to join me on the lanai.
“What’s this?” she asks, coming up behind me, and I jump, startled, before slamming my laptop shut.
“Nothing, Grandma.” My voice is an octave too high as I face her, so I try again, this time with a big smile. “Just looking for a new bedside lamp. Mine broke a while back.” Which is true. Mr. Puffs knocked it over months ago, and I’ve been meaning to look for a replacement for ages. That’s not what I was doing at that particular moment, but as far as lies go, it’s only a partial one.
“A lamp?” Grandma looks confused, but then she shakes her head. “Never mind, then. My vision must be going, because I thought I saw you looking at apartment listings.”
“Oh, um… no. No, that’s not it. I… Marcus and I are moving in together, remember?”
Grandma’s face brightens, and I mentally kick myself. Why did I just say that? It’s bad enough Marcus is saying all that stuff in an effort to manipulate me, but now I’m joining in, playing along like a puppet.
His obedient, sex-crazed puppet.
“Of course I remember, sweetheart.” Grandma pulls up a chair to sit next to me. “So tell me… Are you excited? This is such a big step for you both.”
Ugh. Why did I go there? Seriously, why? All I had to do was say that I was looking for a lamp and stop there. But no. I just had to blab, and here we are.
Dropping my gaze to my hands, I mumble, “Yeah, sure.” My cuticles aren’t in the best shape, I notice, and there’s a hangnail on my thumb. How ugly. I bet Emmeline never gets that; her perfect nails wouldn’t dare to hang in any way.
“What does that mean?” Grandma asks, and I look up from my ragged cuticles to see her regarding me with gentle curiosity and more than a hint of concern. “Are you uncertain about this?” she continues. “Uncomfortable in any way?”
“It’s just… happening very fast.” There. That’s not a lie. Everything is happening way too fast. Even if Marcus were the type of guy I normally date—a little geeky and sweet—I’d be freaked out at the idea of moving in with him at any point in the near future. But Marcus is about as far from the guys I’ve dated as a Category 5 hurricane from a gentle breeze, and I’m absolutely petrified at the possibility that he might railroad me into this.
Which he won’t. I won’t let him.
No matter what Kendall or anyone else thinks.
“Yes, that young man of yours knows exactly what he wants and goes after it, doesn’t he?” Grandma says, smiling sympathetically, and I nod, relieved to be able to share at least part of my turmoil with her.
“He does. And it’s overwhelming at times.” Like pretty much all times. “Marcus is… a lot to handle.” Especially when a part of me is still wondering if it’s all a game to him, if he’ll get bored with me and move on to someone who fits his requirements better.
Grandma’s expression turns serious. “You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, right, sweetheart? I’m sorry if your grandfather and I came off as pushing you earlier. Obviously, we want you settled and happy with a good man—and Marcus seems like a very good man—but if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. Living together is a serious step, and you should take as long as you need to make your decision. His apartment won’t run away.”
“I know, but it’s not just that.” I take a breath. “You’ve read the article; you know how wealthy he is. Everything in his life is expensive. Just the sunglasses he was wearing today probably cost more than my monthly rent. And he has a private jet and a butler who cooks and a housekeeping service and a company that takes care of his plants. How do I keep up with that? How do I—” My voice cracks. “How do I date him without turning into her?”
Grandma tilts her head. “Ah. So that’s what this is about.” She sighs. “I suppose I should’ve known. Sweetheart”—she covers my hand with her warm palm—“you couldn’t be like Brianne if you tried. Your mother… she had something broken inside her. Something missing. It wasn’t anything we did; she was just born that way. It took me a long time to come to terms with it, and there are nights when I still wake up in a cold sweat, thinking about it, wondering if it was my fault after all. But she was like that always. Even as a baby, she’d steal other children’s toys with zero remorse.” Old pain glimmers in my grandmother’s eyes. “We didn’t know what to do. No matter how hard we tried to instill empathy in her, she only cared about what she wanted, only did what made her feel good.”
My chest squeezes painfully. “I’m sorry, Grandma. That must’ve been so awful for you and Gramps.” I can only imagine the torment my kind, generous grandparents had gone through, watching their one and only daughter carelessly hurting people all her life.
A bittersweet smile curves Grandma’s lips. “Awful for us? Oh, Emma, sweetheart… you’re the one who was raised by her. And you’re sorry for us? Darling, if you needed any more proof that you’re nothing like your mother, here it is, in spades. You have more empathy in a single nose hair than Brianne had in her entire soul.”
I stifle a startled giggle. “A nose hair?”
“A nose hair,” Grandma says firmly. “And if you take your entire nose—well, there’s really no contest. As to the financial disparity between you and Marcus, let me ask you this… Do you care about him?”
I blink, all desire to laugh disappearing. “Yes, I do.” I am, in fact, in love with him, but I’m not ready for my grandmother to know that.
She smiles, squeezing my hand. “I thought so. The two of you remind me of your grandfather and me in our youth. The way you look at him and the way he looks at you…” For a second, she seems lost in fond memories, but then she refocuses on me, her gray gaze sharpening as the smile fades from her lips. “Sweetheart, listen to me,” she says quietly. “You’re nothing like Brianne. Never have been and never will be. The issue with your mother was not that she took money from the men she dated—it was that she didn’t care about them as people. To her, they were nothing but wallets with legs. As long as you don’t see Marcus that way—as long as what you two have is genuine—there’s no shame in letting him spoil and indulge you… take care of you in whichever way he wants. Money is an obstacle only if you let it be one—so don’t let it. Don’t let Brianne poison your life from her grave.”
16
Emma
I think about Grandma’s words throughout the rest of our time in Florida. It’s strange, but I never considered that by fighting so hard not to be like my mother, I’m keeping her toxic influence in my life. Then again, Grandma’s been on my case about this issue in one way or another for years. First, she and Gramps wanted to take out loans to help me through college—an idea I vehemently vetoed by taking out the loans myself. More recently, they’ve been wanting to take out a second mortgage so they could help me with said loans. It’s both touching and maddening, because the last thing I want is to ruin their retirement with stress about finances.
That’s what one’s twenties are for.
Thankfully, I don’t have time to dwell on this much, as Marcus and I spend nearly every minute of our vacation together, both with my grandparents and on our own. On Friday night, we go to the movies after dinner; the following morning, we return to the beach and stay there until lunch, alternately swimming, strolling along the water, and working on our laptops. During that time, I finish my novella edits and start toying with the opening lines of my super-secret project while Marcus zooms through Excel spreadsheets with what looks like a hundred tabs—financial models from his analysts, he explains.
It’s nice to be working side by side with him, being productive while still enjoying each other’s company. In a way, Kendall was right. As different as we are ambition-wise, we share a respect for deadlines and obligations, viewing work as an important part of our lives rather than something unpleasant to avoid.
After the beach, Marcus invites my grandparents out for lunch at a local Italian place—to thank them for their hospitality, he explains—and as much as it pains me to let him pay for all of us, I keep my wallet in my bag to avoid another lecture from Grandma. I console myself with the promise that I will pay him back, and I further ease my conscience by ordering the cheapest item on the menu.
When the meal is done, all four of us go for a walk in one of the local parks, and I again marvel at how well Marcus is getting along with my family. As we stroll along the Intracoastal, he chats with my grandparents as if he’s known them forever—all the while holding my hand in an unmistakably possessive grip.
Mine, his gesture proclaims to all who look at me. This woman is mine. And in case they don’t get the message, he directs a glare at any male jogger or bicyclist who smiles at me—which many do, since people in this area are quite friendly. He was doing the same thing when we were on the beach, but it was more understandable there, as I was wearing only a bikini. Here, though, I’m dressed in a very basic outfit of a T-shirt and jean shorts, and his unconcealed jealousy is both flattering and ridiculous. He’s acting as if I’m so beautiful he has to beat off other men with a stick, when in reality, he’s the one drawing all the female eyes.
With his tall, hard-muscled body, boldly masculine features, and the air of power that clings to him like an expensive cologne, he’s the kind of man women of all ages dream about—and secretly masturbate to.
My grandmother notices it too, both his possessiveness and the way other women eye him like candy. “I have to say, your boyfriend is completely obsessed with you,” she says as I help her set the table for dinner that evening. “Even while talking to us, he kept watching you like he was afraid someone might steal you. And all his focus was on you. Zero attention to that blond hussy who was all but stripping on the park bench in front of us. The jogger who said hello to you, though…” She lets out a low whistle. “The poor guy’s lucky Marcus didn’t punch him.”
“Grandma, please.” I feel a blush creeping up my face again. “You’re exaggerating.” I’m reasonably certain Marcus wouldn’t punch a guy just for saying hello to me. He’s not that territorial.
Is he?
“No, I’m telling you, sweetheart. What is it you young people say? He has the hots for you? No, that’s not quite right—though he clearly has that too.” Setting down the salt shaker, she winks at me, and I almost die of mortification because there’s only one thing she could be referring to: the sounds coming from our bedroom at night.
I do my best to stay quiet, but Marcus makes it impossible. By the fourth or fifth orgasm, I lose all sense of time and place—and my grandparents must’ve noticed.
Grandma bursts out laughing. “Oh, you should see the look on your face right now. Do you think your grandfather and I haven’t had fun times of our own? I’m happy for you, sweetheart—for both of you. But especially you, as it’s always harder for a woman.”
Oh my God. Kill me now. Like, literally right now. I do not want to picture my grandparents having “fun times”—and I definitely don’t want to discuss my sex life with Marcus with my grandmother. It was one thing for her to have the birds-bees-and-contraceptives talk with me when my period started at age twelve, but this? My orgasmic capacity is not a topic for pre-dinner conversation—even if said capacity has grown tremendously since I met Marcus.
“All right, all right, I will zip it,” Grandma says when I hide my tomato-red face by diligently scrubbing at a barely-there spot on the tablecloth with a wet paper towel. “You can—”
“Zip what?” Gramps asks, walking in with Marcus at his side. Marcus had been showing him some kind of trading software for the past twenty minutes, and the two of them look thick as thieves.
“Nothing,” Grandma says with a surreptitious grin at me. Facing the men, she says briskly, “Let’s just sit and eat.”
17
Marcus
I never thought I’d say it, but I’m in love with Emma’s grandparents. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had grandparents of my own—or normal parents, for that matter—but this long weekend with Emma and her family counts among the best days of my life. Maybe even the best, because I can’t recall the last time I’ve had such a prolonged sense of well-being.
Mostly, of course, it’s due to Emma herself. Each night since my arrival here, I’ve gorged myself on her sweet, lush body, feasting on her without restraint. I’ve had her in our bed, inside the shower, up against a wall, and even on the floor, when we didn’t make it all the way to the bed one evening. But as wonderful as that has been, I’ve d
erived nearly as much enjoyment from the simple pleasure of falling asleep with Emma in my arms—and waking up still holding her, breathing in her warm, delicious scent. The bone-deep contentment I experienced that first night with Emma wasn’t a fluke; it’s there each time I hold her.
And Emma’s family has added another layer to that feeling, a sense of belonging I didn’t realize I’d been missing. Even as a child, I knew better than to rely on anyone but myself, and though I never had trouble making friends, most of those friendships had been light and casual, barely skin deep. Same for my relationships with adults. Even Mr. Bond, the second-grade teacher who’d become my mentor, hadn’t really seen past the confident demeanor and the cloak of ambition I’d worn as shields.
But somehow, Emma’s grandparents have. Mary doesn’t bring up my past again, but each time her gaze falls on me, it’s soft and warm, holding a wealth of gentle understanding. She fusses over me just like she does over her husband and granddaughter, constantly feeding me, worrying whether I’m warm enough or cool enough, if the coffee I downed at dinner will keep me up at night. And Ted, in his own gruff way, is just as kind, making me wonder what it would’ve been like to have an older man in my life who wasn’t just a mentor but a friend, someone to talk to about things both minor and important.
Someone like a father… or a grandfather.
“I wish you two didn’t have to leave already,” Ted tells me over breakfast Sunday morning, and I smile regretfully, wishing the same thing. This holiday weekend has been an interlude out of time, a sun-soaked break from the reality of my nonstop, high-stress life. The parks, the beach, the warm, humid air—I feel rejuvenated by it all, refreshed in a way I haven’t experienced in years. And it’s not because I didn’t work this weekend. I did. Despite all the outings and family time, I got nearly as much done over the past couple of days as I normally do on the weekends. The difference is, it was mostly with Emma at my side. And she was there when I went to bed and woke up, her dimpled smile greeting me, her soft arms embracing me whenever I reached for her.