Promise Me Forever (Top Shelf Romance)

by Kate Stewart

  “You were excellent,” I whisper to Grip as we stand from the table to leave. Amir sat at a separate table designated for security and bodyguards, so we wait for him to make his way over to us.

  “Thank you, baby.” Grip leans down to my ear, his voice dark and dirty. “Knowing you are naked under that dress has been driving me crazy all night. The napkin was barely big enough to hide my hard-on.”

  There is some secret switch he planted in my body that responds to him instantly. Heat and wetness collect between my thighs. For a moment, I consider dragging him to the nearest bathroom stall and slaking my lust before we make it home, but a voice from behind me dumps ice all over the flame building inside me.

  “Bristol,” my mother says. “Good evening.”

  I turn to face her, braced for her censure. I may have ignored several of her calls when the footage of Grip and me leaked.

  “Mother, hello. I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Well, it’s a big crowd.” She glances around the ballroom. “Betsy’s here, too, somewhere.”

  She shifts her eyes to Grip.

  “That’s Parker’s mother, by the way.” She looks at my hand linked with Grip’s. “We’ve been best friends more than forty years.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Gray,” Grip says politely.

  He and my mother haven’t been around each other much, but he knows more about my family’s dark secrets, dirty laundry and skeletons than just about anyone else.

  “Marlon, good speech tonight,” Mother replies stiffly before looking back to me. “Maybe my messages got lost in the . . . chaos of your life, Bristol. I needed to speak with you quite urgently.”

  “Really?” I frown and twist my mouth to the side in concentration. “Not sure how I missed that. What did you need?”

  She squeezes her eyes at the edges, shoving as much condemnation into her narrow glance as possible.

  “Maybe we could speak privately,” she says.

  Amir walks up, his eyes moving between the three of us before finally connecting with Grip. He lifts his brows and tilts his head, a silent query. Grip just nods, but keeps his eyes on my mother.

  “Mother, this is our friend Amir.” I give Amir a warm smile, hoping it defrosts the atmosphere my mother is creating. They exchange brief pleasantries, but the ice remains untouched.

  “We need to get going, Bris,” Grip says softly. “But there was a room they had for me before I got up to speak. If your mother wants to talk before we go, we could swing that.”

  I search his face, tightened into impassivity, giving nothing away.

  “That isn’t necessary.” I dip my head, trying to catch his eyes. I already know what my mother wants to talk to me about. So does he. Why does he even think I want to listen?

  “It actually is, Bristol.” She looks to Grip, her eyes unthawed. “Marlon, show us where.”

  When we reach the small room, Mother walks in ahead of us. I linger in the hall and step close to Grip. Amir takes a few steps away, out of earshot, but within helping distance.

  “Why are you accommodating her?” I lean into his chest, running my hands up to his neck. I lift up on my toes to whisper in his hear. “You could be fucking me by now.”

  “She’s your mother.” He pulls back a little, setting me away from him and gently nudging me toward the room. “Give her a few minutes.”

  It means something to him it’s never been for me, the connection to a parent. I know the distance between him and his mother bothers him. As close as they’ve always been, discord isn’t natural, when for me that’s par for the course.

  “Okay,” I agree. “But can we work out some signal so if I need you, you’ll come rescue me from this lecture?”

  “Just hurry up.” He turns me toward the door and swats my bottom. “So I can keep my promise.”

  I’m still thinking about how good that promise kept will be when I face my mother. I don’t bother closing the door, even though I know Grip and Amir are in the hall. Maybe that will deter her from saying anything too insulting.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Bristol?” Her voice thwacks me like a wet towel as soon as I enter the room.

  “I’m giving you your private moment, Mother. What’s this about?”

  “You know exactly what this is about.” She gestures toward the hall. “Is this what you call having things under control? Being broadcast kissing that . . . man all over the world?”

  “That . . . man is my boyfriend, Mother,” I snap. “And if you say one disrespectful word about him, I warn you, this conversation is over.”

  “Bristol, Parker—”

  “I told you before I don’t want Parker. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  Her expression cracks, irritation rearing from behind the protection of the smooth mask.

  “Bristol, let me speak frankly. You aren’t your brother. Rhyson is a musician with a rare gift. That is not your strength.”

  The words I’ve always known she felt even when she didn’t express them land heavily on my chest, suspiciously close to my heart.

  “I know you’re playing around with this management business,” she continues. “But you need to think about your future.”

  “Mother, you’re a business woman with your own money. Why would you want anything different for me? Expect anything less from me?”

  “Park Corp is worth billions, Bristol. You don’t ignore that. Charles Parker is a once and a lifetime opportunity.”

  “Opportunity?” I shake my head disbelievingly. “Is that how you went into your marriage, Mother? How’s that worked out for you?”

  As much as I believe my words, I regret them. I don’t want to see my mother in pain, and the hurt that pinches her face before she can hide it hurts me, too.

  “Don’t turn this on me, Bristol. We’re talking about you. I told you not to toy with Parker.”

  “And I didn’t. I was clear with him that we weren’t going to happen.”

  “Well Betsy asked him about this . . . scandal you’re in with . . .” She gestures out toward the hall. “Him. Parker pretended to be fine with it, but I don’t believe it. I can see Marlon holds a certain appeal. You want a good lay, a man with a lot in his pants, go for it. Understand the consequences, though. Parker won’t give up.”

  “Bristol.” Grip comes to the door, that muscle bunched in his jaw that usually means he’s pissed. “Baby, let’s go.”

  “We aren’t done,” my mother says testily.

  “Yes, you are.” Grip’s fists are in his pockets, tucked away with his patience. “I couldn’t imagine turning my mother down if she asked for time with me. I’d have to at least hear her out. So, I encouraged Bristol to do this, but I’m not going to stand out there while you insult her.”

  “I’m trying to protect her,” my mother says. "Parker isn't easily deterred. I just want Bristol to understand what she’s giving up having this . . . affair with you.”

  “Affair?” Grip glowers. “I’ve been in love with your daughter for a long time. For years. I didn’t wait this long so we could have some affair, as you call it.”

  “Oh, and you’re serious about Bristol.” My mother rolls her eyes. “Because of you, my daughter is the butt of jokes. The names she’s being called. The way people are talking about her. It’s beneath her.”

  She doesn’t say it, but her eyes do,

  You’re beneath her.

  “Mother, I have put up with your shit for a long time.” My voice vibrates with the anger overtaking every inch of me. “I can take it. I have taken it. I’ve listened to you tell me that I’m not as talented as Rhyson. You’ve made me feel worthless.”

  “I’ve never—”

  “Yes, you always have, but no more. I’m in love with Grip. Not only do I want to be with him, I’m proud to be with him. And anyone who doesn’t like it, that goes for you and any idiots hiding behind their Instagram posts or trolling Twitter, can go to hell.”

 
I turn to leave the room, and am at the door when Grip’s words stop me.

  “Mrs. Gray,” he says softly. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you over the years, and I can’t say much of it has been good.”

  “Excuse me?” Mother’s indignation blares in the two words.

  “You have an awful relationship with Rhyson, and from what I can tell, it’s just as bad with Bristol. The only difference is she stayed and he left.”

  “You don’t know anything about our family, Marlon.”

  “Actually, I do. Your son and I have been best friends for over fifteen years.” He pauses. “And I’m going to marry your daughter one day.”

  I swing around, my chin dropped to my chest, shock trilling through me.

  “Not today,” he goes on like he didn’t just topsy turvy my world. “Not tomorrow. We’ll know when the time is right. That isn’t my point. My point is despite all the evidence to the contrary, I think you love your daughter very much.”

  “I do.” Mother’s bottom lip quivers before she pulls it back into the disciplined line I’m accustomed to. “I’m only trying to protect her.”

  “You’re trying to control her,” Grip counters. “You tried to control Rhyson, and you lost him. If you don’t want to lose Bristol, don’t make her choose between us, or you’ll lose her, too.”

  She and Grip stare at one another for elongated seconds, reading one another. My mother reads people like a polygraph. She smells lies and eats their weaknesses. They don’t make peace. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother make peace with anyone, but I think they understand each other. But who knows because she walks toward me, giving me a brief look, and then sweeps into the hall and out the door.

  Very rarely am I speechless, but I don’t know which words are the right ones. I know Grip loves me, but I can honestly say I haven’t seriously thought about marriage. That’s crazy, I know. Marriage is not the end all, be all to me. Rhys and Kai are rare. Happy marriages are rare from my experience. My parents’ marriage is an unnatural disaster, a lame horse that should have been put down years ago, and yet it keeps limping on.

  Grip walks over to me and lifts my chin, his eyes scanning my face.

  “Breathe.” A small smile tilts one corner of his mouth, but serious eyes search mine.

  I draw a deep breath in and exhale long and slow. He’s right. I think I’ve been holding my breath since I heard the word “marry.”

  “I didn’t say tonight.” He cups my face. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. That was the worst way to bring it up. I just . . . I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

  “No, of course not.” My voice comes out from whatever rock it was hiding under. “I see nothing but you in the future. No one but you. You know that.”

  “Then don’t freak out on me.”

  “I guess I . . . we just haven’t talked about it, and we haven’t been together long and—”

  He presses a finger to my lips.

  “Bris, it’s okay.”

  “I guess I just didn’t know what to say.”

  He dips to take my lips between his, exploring me, searching me until he’s satisfied with the answer my body gives. He pulls back, his eyes taking me in.

  “When I do ask you, just say yes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Grip

  I’M SO HUNGRY I could eat my tires. If I didn’t need them to get home to Bristol, I probably would. I pull the Harley into the underground parking garage of my loft. Bristol’s Audi convertible sits in the neighboring spot. An involuntary grin works its way from the inside to land on my lips. Seeing her here at my place makes me think about the future. After last night, I’ve been thinking about the future a lot.

  I couldn’t have chosen a worst way or time to bring up marriage than during a confrontation with her mother . . . who happens to hate me.

  It’s beneath her.

  Angela Gray’s words echo back to me. Yeah, I got the message, lady. I’m some Boyz n the Hood thug rapper and your daughter will come to her senses when the novelty of how I lay down this pipe wears off.

  Got it. Loud and clear.

  Bristol’s mother is the high priestess of veiled messages, though she wasn’t hiding much last night.

  Billions?

  Damn. That’s a lot of money Bristol’s walking away from.

  I look around the lobby of my loft building. It’s nice. Luxurious even. Nicer than anything I ever would have imagined for myself growing up. Better than anything anyone in my family has ever owned.

  But billions? Parker is worth billions.

  I’ve been wrestling with this unfamiliar sense of inadequacy ever since last night. Unfamiliar because my mother raised me to assume I was up for any challenge, as if I could accomplish anything. That kind of confidence in a kid from my circumstances is rare, and not for the first time, I thank my mother. She’ll come around. She has to. I told Mrs. Gray that Bristol would choose me. I know this because I would choose her. It wouldn’t be fair, and it would cut me open and gut me, but if my mother insists on this attitude—on treating Bristol the way she did—I’ll have some choices to make, too.

  An odd, bitter smell hits my nose as soon as I enter the loft. An investigative sniff doesn’t do much good. I still can’t place that awful smell. Is it garbage or . . . what?

  “Grip.” Bristol bends over the rail up on the landing. Her dark hair hangs a little wild and completely free down her back. She rushes down the stairs and hurls herself into my arms. I stumble back, laughing with an armful of my girl.

  God, yes. This.

  Parker can have his billions and his hotels and his helicopters. This is all I want. I squeeze Bristol so tightly our hearts converse through our clothes. I lean into her, sliding my hands down to her waist and kissing her.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks against my lips. She’s wearing a simple black dress with short sleeves. She’s barefoot and has on no makeup. I could eat her for dinner she looks so good. Or actual food and then just make love to her afterwards. I like that option even better.

  “Starving.” I peck her lips and squint toward the take out menus under magnets on the refrigerator. “We can order whatever you want, just make it fast.”

  “No need to order.” Bristol pulls back, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I cooked.”

  So it wasn’t the garbage.

  “Um, why?” I pose the question cautiously because . . . why would she try to cook? That one good pot of chili hasn’t convinced me.

  “Grip.” She pouts her lips so prettily that I’d eat her shoe if she pulled it out of the oven. “I wanted to make something you’d enjoy after that long photo shoot. How was it by the way?”

  “It was great. I missed having you there, but Sarah did great.”

  “She did? Good. You were wrong for firing me. Of course, you were, but it made me realize that Sarah needs broader experiences. And if I don’t recruit some help, I’ll be working eighteen-hour days for the foreseeable future.

  “The hell you will. Some of those hours are mine,” I mumble against her neck.

  “Not the neck.” Her husky protest is half-hearted at best as she arches her neck to give me easier access.

  “I really am starving.” I laugh when she looks disappointed that I don’t have her up against the wall yet. As hungry as I am, I’d probably drop her.

  “Well, like I said.” She pulls back, humor restored and eyes gleaming again. “I cooked.”

  She takes my hand and pulls me toward the dining room table. It’s set beautifully with dishes I’ve never seen before, and lit with candles I know I didn’t buy.

  “What’s the occasion?” I take the seat beside hers.

  “Us.” She leans down to kiss me. “Us is the occasion.”

  “I like the sound of that.” I pull her into my lap, ignoring the hunger pains. She wiggles, which does not soften my dick any, until she squirms free.

  “Dinner first.” She’s practically beaming.

 
“And what’s for dinner?”

  “Collard greens. Like the ones your mother made.”

  Her grin stretches across her face, and I don’t have the heart to tell her how hard they are to get as good as my mom’s. It’s a start.

  “Oh. Great.” My mouth is already watering. Even knowing how other-abled Bristol is in the kitchen, I’m sure something turned out edible. “And what else?”

  “Um . . .” Her face falls. “Else?”

  “Yeah, you know. Like meat, potatoes or whatever. I’m really not picky, just hungry.”

  “I spent a lot of time on these collard greens.” She bites her lip. “I wanted to cook something I knew you liked, and they were so good at dinner that Sunday. And I think they turned out great.”

  “Are you telling me you only cooked greens?” My stomach howls like a coyote.

  “But it’s a lot of them.” She grimaces and shifts from one bare foot to the other. “I guess I didn’t think this through.”

  “Babe, it’s okay.” I stroke one cheekbone, tracing the few almost undetectable freckles scattered over her nose. “I can’t believe you went to the trouble of making one of my favorite dishes. Let’s eat.”

  How bad could it be? I mean, they’re greens, not escargots.

  Can I just say . . . damn.

  At least now I know how bad they could be. I run my fork through the leathery green leaves on the pretty plates Bristol set. They also taste like I imagine leather would taste . . . but not as well seasoned. Meanwhile, my stomach is at my back. I should have eaten the Craft service on set today. I will suffer in silence because there is no way I’m telling her how bad these greens are.

  “They’re not great, huh?” she asks.

  “They’re the worst,” I say before I can stop myself.

  We consider each other across the table and the steaming crap pile of collard greens and laugh together. She gets up and climbs into my lap, sliding her hand into my jeans pocket to get my cell phone.

  “Pizza?” She rests her forehead against my chin.