“She went to the doctor yesterday. They’re keeping a close eye on her, but they’ve noted some recent declines. Slow but steady.”
“Well, she seems to be getting around just fine.”
He lets out a deep chuckle. “That old lady is too mean. She won’t go down without a fight. She will kick and scream the whole way. She refuses to let us put her in a home or help her in any way. She’s a tough old bat. And, well, as long as she’s able to take care of herself, with help from her staff, why try forcing her into something she doesn’t want?”
“You’re a good grandson.”
He gives me a small but shy smile. “I’d do anything for her. She’s like a mother to me.”
We make it over to her house and he opens my door like a true gentleman. On our walk to the door, his hand is on the small of my back, leading the way. He reaches forward and rings the doorbell, then leans in to whisper in my ear. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
My cheeks heat up with his praise.
“I really like this dress.” His hand falls from my lower back to my ass, then over its curve and to my thigh, where he pulls the dress up slightly like he’s about to have his way with me, but the door opens and he quickly removes his hand and stands upright with a smile in place.
“Good evening, Mr. Matthew,” the maid says, welcoming us in. “Ms. Poppy.”
I smile as I take off my coat and hand it over along with my purse. “How have you been?”
“Very well, thank you,” she replies, taking our things. “Mrs. Lewis is already in the lounge. You may go on in if you’d like.”
“Thank you,” Matthew says, hand back on me and leading me in the direction of the lounge.
We walk into the lounge and his grandmother is sitting in her chair like normal. She seems pale today, her skin nearly transparent with a greenish sheen to it. She has dark circles under her eyes and her lips are white around the edges.
“How you feeling today, Gran?” Matthew asks, taking his seat.
“Not the best, dear. That doctor has changed my medication again and he says it could take several days for my body to adjust.”
“If you don’t feel up to dinner . . .” Matthew starts, but she cuts him off.
“Nonsense. I know you might think I don’t have very many of these dinners left, but whether or not that’s the case, I’m going to enjoy every last one of them.” Her eyes cut to me and she winks. “And I hope we’re still on for tea this Sunday?”
I nod and smile. “Absolutely, but if you don’t feel up to it . . .”
“I will be there with bells on,” she insists, then looks at Matthew. “You father won’t be attending dinner again this evening.”
“I didn’t figure he would,” Matthew replies.
“I wish he would open his eyes and see that this is the most important place to be—with family. Not sitting at some desk all alone.”
Matthew lifts his hand and places it on his knee. “You know how he is, Gran. Always work and never any play.”
“Well, you two look like you’re getting closer,” she notices.
I look over at Matthew and notice that we are sitting closer than we have in the past. He has one hand on my knee and my hand is covering his. He looks over at me as our eyes simultaneously fall to our hands, then back up to each other’s eyes. He lets out a nervous chuckle and removes his hand.
“Well, don’t let me come between you. Intimacy is important in a marriage.”
My face heats. I don’t know about a marriage, but there has been plenty of intimacy lately.
“That’s okay, Gran,” he tells her. “I honestly didn’t even realize how inappropriate I was behaving.”
She smiles a sweet, kind smile. “That’s the best kind, isn’t it? When you crave the touch of another person so much that you reach for them without even realizing you’re doing it?” She points at us. “I have a good feeling about the two of you. I think you’ll have a long and fruitful marriage. I can only pray that I last long enough to meet my grandchildren.”
My back straightens and I suddenly feel a little jittery.
Matthew lets out a nervous laugh. “We . . . uh . . . well, we haven’t really decided if we want kids or not, Gran. It’s something we plan to discuss later on down the line.”
“Later?” she gasps. “These are important issues, Matthew! What if you want kids and Poppy doesn’t? Or what if she wants kids and you don’t? These things should’ve been discussed before you even asked for her hand. You have to make sure you’re compatible in every aspect.”
“Oh, we’re very compatible,” I blurt out, then immediately regret it. Matthew’s eyes flash to mine and I can see the question in them: Why the hell did you say that?
“That’s nice, dear. But I meant compatible outside of the bedroom.”
“Gran . . .” Matthew breathes out in embarrassment.
“What? You act like I don’t know what a man and wife do. I was married for 57 years, you know.”
“Dinner is served,” the maid comes in and says.
“Thank God,” Matthew says under his breath as we all stand. He goes over to his grandmother and helps her from her seat. She seems to need more help than she has in the past.
“Thank you. This medicine just makes me so dizzy,” she says, shuffling across the hardwood floor.
We all make it to the dining room and take our seats. Dinner is served, and as usual, it’s delicious and decadent. The food is always served with wine, and without fail, there’s some kind of fancy dessert I’ve never tried before but love just the same. Tonight’s conversation flows easily, his grandmother now involving me more and more with each passing week. It seems like she’s suddenly welcomed me into the family with open arms—like I’ve always been here. The awkwardness from before has faded away, now replaced with warmth, acceptance, and love.
The dinner ends at 9 p.m., and we leave on the dot. She doesn’t even bother showing us to the door. She’s ready for bed and a staff member helps her upstairs while another shows us out. The two of us get back in the car, where we’re surrounded by darkness.
“Your grandmother is very sweet,” I say, staring up at the night sky that’s midnight blue with millions of tiny, brightly-lit stars. There’s only a sliver of a moon tonight, making the stars burn that much brighter in its absence.
He chuckles under his breath. “You haven’t seen the real granny yet. Just wait until she needs another hospital stay. She’ll turn from being sweet as candy to rotten as a candy apple a week after Halloween.”
I smile and shrug. “Can’t we all do that, though? I know you can, and you’ve seen me at my worst.”
“I have?” he asks.
“Like you could forget . . .”
He draws his brows together, wracking his brain for any moment when I may have been anything less than pleasant.
“The car,” I point out.
He laughs. “Oh, right. How could I forget that? I get it back tomorrow afternoon. Stay away from my baby.”
I giggle. “Better not piss me off again.”
“We both know the odds of that.”
“Then she’s still not safe,” I joke.
“So it looks like we’re going to be faking a marriage too . . . not just an engagement.”
I know he’s joking, but I can’t help but think about it. Damaging his car is what got me here: faking this engagement and ending up in his bed. If I do it again, maybe that would be a reason to keep me around longer. Maybe forever? I chuckle at the silly thought. But how long can I pretend I don’t enjoy being with him? I think I’ve already dropped the ball on that one. I think he knows how much I like being with him like this, in our fake engagement—not only sharing our lives but sharing our beds too.
But it’s more than just sex. Over these last couple weeks, I’ve seen him become softer, less angry. I’ve watched him give up that control he always seemed to need. He’s given me trust and friendship as he’s become someone I feel I can count on an
d lean on. I never would’ve guessed when I smashed the shit out of his priceless sports car with his fancy golf club that this is where we’d end up. But now that we’re here, I’m afraid to leave. I want things to stay this way. Just thinking about going our separate ways has a hole opening in my stomach. And that makes me wonder if he feels the same way. He seems to enjoy my company as much as I’ve been enjoying his.
How will this end for us?
Forever happy and in love . . . or nothing but heartbreak?
Twenty
Matthew
Saturday rolls around and I sneak out of bed, leaving Poppy to sleep. I watch the clock, counting down the minutes until the delivery men arrive with her surprise. I’m pacing back and forth in front of the door, watching the seconds tick by on the clock that hangs above the fireplace. The delivery information sheet stated that they would be here at 8 a.m., and it’s now 7:54. Poppy doesn’t ever sleep past 8 on weekdays and 9 on weekends, but I want everything set up before she wakes. That way, when she walks out of the bedroom, the first thing she’ll see is the brand-new grand piano I’ve purchased for her.
Sure, I know she won’t have room for it in her apartment when she returns, but it’ll always be here and it’ll always be hers. But maybe by the end of this, she won’t want to return. She doesn’t act like she’s being forced to stay here anymore. She seems to feel more welcome—more at home. I would love for my house to become her home too, but that just leads me to think of things I’d rather not. I haven’t tried to figure out the end of this just yet. All I know is that what I first thought I wanted is no longer enough. I don’t just want her in my bed for one night anymore. I want her in my bed every night. Every fucking night for the rest of my life. Anything less will never be enough.
My cell rings with a call from the doorman downstairs alerting me to a delivery. I tell him to send them up, excited that the piano is finally here and she hasn’t come out of the bedroom yet. I might just pull this off. The elevator doors open and two men are standing at my door dressed in coveralls and holding clipboards.
“You Mr. Lewis?”
“I am.”
“We have a delivery for you. Grand piano?”
“You’re at the right place,” I tell them, waving them in as I unlatch the second half of the double door.
“Where would you like us to put it?” one man asks.
I point over to the area in front of the windows. “Anywhere over there will suffice.”
He nods. “Very well.”
The two men walk out, and they’re back a little while later with the piano on a big rolling cart. One is pushing and the other is pulling; both of them look tired and out of breath.
“She’s so big, you’re lucky your elevator is the size of a service elevator,” one grunts out, steering the big cart over to the area I indicated.
The cart they’re using is pretty amazing. They put it in place, then hit a couple of buttons. The top part of the cart, where the four legs of the piano are sitting, lifts up, moves to the side, then lowers to the floor. Once the piano is in place, they each take turns lifting up the legs to get the section of cart out from under them. The piano is in place within minutes. By 8:07, the two men are walking out. I tipped them extra for being relatively quiet.
With everything now ready, I go back into the bedroom, crawl up on the bed, and pull her to my chest. She snuggles against me, a sleepy smile on her face.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I whisper, nuzzling my face into her hair.
“Good morning,” she replies with a grin as she stretches.
“I have a surprise for you,” I whisper.
“You do?”
“Mm-hmm. Want to come see it?”
She smiles widely now and nods.
I wait on the bed while she gets up and uses the bathroom, then I lead her into the living room. She steps inside and her eyes start on the right side, sweeping over the entryway and the dining room, followed by the fireplace, couch, tables, and TV. Then her view goes to the center of the room, where she finds nothing but the swinging door to the kitchen. Finally, she looks toward the windows and gasps as she discovers the shiny black grand piano. Her eyes are wide and sparkling with excitement, and her lips are turned up into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen her wear.
“This is for me?” she asks, covering her face, which is growing red.
“Yup,” I say, taking her hands from her face and pulling her over to it. “What do you think?”
“It’s . . . beautiful,” she breathes out, looking over every inch. “I only wish I knew how to play. Something this beautiful has to be played—not just looked at.”
“Take a seat,” I say, pulling her over to the bench, and she does as I ask. “I’ve hired someone to give you lessons, if you’re interested.”
Her eyes turn to mine. “Really?”
I laugh and nod. “Yes, I thought it was about time you finally got to do something you’ve always wanted to.”
She offers up a soft smile. “Thank you,” she says quietly, leaning in and brushing her lips against mine. The kiss is soft and teasing, and I can’t help but wonder if this is how things could always be with us. I pull away before the thoughts can go too far. “Play me something.”
She rolls her eyes but places her fingers on the keys. Slowly—and terribly, I might add—she starts playing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” She plays the whole song then lets her hands fall into her lap. “I’m not very good,” she says, looking down at her hands like a child who’s in trouble. “Okay, I’m awful.”
I place my hand under her chin and tilt her head back until our eyes meet. “It was beautiful, just like you. Will you play it again?” I give her a smile and she quickly returns it before starting up the song for a second time.
The two of us spend the day sitting at the piano and playing around. Neither of us knows how to play properly, but that doesn’t stop us from having fun. We play, talk, and laugh as the hours just fly by. The next thing I know, I’m getting a call. I pull my phone from my pocket and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Lewis?”
“Yes.”
“This is Johnny from the Audi dealership. I’m just calling to let you know your car is all finished. You can come and get her.”
“Wonderful news. Thank you.”
“Who was that?” she asks when I hang up the phone.
“The dealership. I can go pick up the car. Want to ride along? Finally sit in the thing you destroyed?”
She giggles. “Sure, but I’ll need to get dressed.”
“That makes two of us.”
We each go to our rooms to get dressed for the day. When she walks out, I can’t do anything but watch her walk closer to me. Her long legs are accentuated by black skinny jeans that look painted on. The knees are ripped out and there are random slashes across them, giving me small peeks at her skin. She’s wearing a pair of ankle boots, a tight crimson shirt, and a black leather jacket. She looks hot as hell.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asks, blushing as she looks down at herself.
“I didn’t realize I was.” I shake my head clear of all the dirty thoughts she suddenly pushed into it. “Ready?”
She laughs. “You’re so weird, but yes. Let’s go pick up my competition.”
I snort as I take her hand in mine. “There’s no competition.”
“She’ll win every time, huh?” she asks with a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Not even close,” I reply, pulling her toward the door.
It’s easy to see that Poppy doesn’t see what I do when I look at her. I guess that’s my past self’s fault. I didn’t treat her very well before, and the funny thing is, I didn’t even care. I couldn’t be bothered to care. In my eyes, she was nothing but a frustration—a constant screw-up. But these last couple of weeks have changed me in more ways than I thought possible. I was born and raised to think that if you didn’t have money, you didn’t matter. I didn
’t realize that was something I could even overcome or change my way of thinking about. But that’s the kind of person Poppy is. She’s good to the core. She doesn’t look down on anyone. In her eyes, everyone is on exactly the same playing field, with no one person ranking higher than another. She does good and brings out the good in others around her.
We pick up the car and I can’t help but want to spend a little time behind the wheel. We take a long drive through the city and all around it, cruising slowly to enjoy some sites while speeding through others. The speed feels good, giving me back my control. Everything about this car feels good—even the way the leather seats cup your ass. Poppy just sits beside me and lets me enjoy having my baby back. She doesn’t even complain about the speed, although I can see her white-knuckling the door handle. She knows that I’m enjoying myself, and I think she’s even enjoying herself a little too.
We drive until it gets dark and both of us start to feel hungry. Neither of us feels up to a sit-down place, and frankly, I don’t feel like parking my newly restored car on the street. So we end up swinging by a Chinese restaurant and order just about everything on the menu to take back home. I hate to admit it, but eating dinner with her on the couch is something I’m really starting to like. This couldn’t be any further from how I was raised. All meals were to be consumed in the dining room. No exceptions. But now she’s showing me a whole new way to live, and it’s something I find myself craving more and more.
“Did you really have to order the whole menu? That’s wasteful,” she reminds me as she holds all the bags in her lap.
“Truth be told, the restaurant would’ve wasted it all at the end of the night anyway. This way, at least I’m paying an independently-owned restaurant and thus supporting a small business.” I offer up a smile and she can’t argue with that. She just laughs and rolls her eyes.
Breaking up with My Boss: An Enemies to Lovers, Office Romance (Love You Forever Book 4) Page 13