Grayson's Vow (55)

“It’s the appropriate way to handle this, Kira. Now, can we go? I don’t want to hit any traffic in San Francisco.”

“Who will take care of Sugar Pie?” I asked, attempting one final argument.

“Charlotte. Virgil will help out too. The dog seems attached to him already.”

Okay then, fine, he could come and see for himself exactly why I would rather marry him than take anything from my father in this life or any other. He would see…well, he would see exactly who I was. And that scared me. Why? And then it came to me—I wanted the Dragon to respect me. I didn’t want him to see me as the spoiled heiress he’d obviously judged me to be that day in his office when he’d shown me such coldness. I didn’t want him to see the grandeur of where I’d grown up and think that was any part of who I was or what I wanted out of life. I had married this man, and yet I’d never intended on letting Grayson Hawthorn into my private life, my private pain. I had set up this arrangement as a business venture. And now, suddenly, I realized, it was turning into more—for me at least. I cared. And that scared me.

I swallowed down my turbulent emotions and got in the car. As we drove through the gates, I rolled down the window and inhaled a deep breath of the air, still sweet with the scent of late summer.

“Where are you planning on staying?” Grayson asked once we’d turned onto the freeway.

“A hotel,” I answered.

“Not with Kimberly?”

“No. Now that I have the money to stay at a decent hotel, I’d rather not impose on them. Their apartment is so small.”

Grayson nodded. “She seems like a good friend.”

“She is. She’s the best.” I smiled, leaning my head back on the headrest. “We grew up together. Her mother came to work for us when we were both five. She’s more like a sister, really. My mother had just died”—I bit my lip—“a skiing accident, and well…Kimberly’s mother, Rosa Maria, took me under her wing during that time.” I smiled, happy to turn my thoughts to anything other than confronting my father with my marriage. “Kimberly’s birthday happened to fall a couple days after her mother first started working there, and Rosa Maria threw a very small party for her and invited the children of the other staff members. I was desperate to go and begged my father to take me out to get her a present, but he’d said, ‘You won’t need to buy her a present because you won’t be going. A Dallaire does not belong in such low company.’” I had deepened my voice to mimic my father’s masculine tone, and when I looked over at Grayson, he was wearing a small frown. Well, good, you should get a taste of my father’s winning personality now before you’re confronted with it in person.

“As you might imagine,” I went on, “I wasn’t going to accept that for an answer, so I took a necklace my mother had given me with a silver heart on it and had our gardener, George, clip it in half. I put it on a string, snuck into Kimberly’s party in their living quarters, gave the makeshift necklace to her, and declared it meant we would be best friends for all eternity.” My heart filled with warmth at the memory of how openly and lovingly she’d accepted it, and also that Kimberly still treasured the first token of our friendship.

Grayson was silent as he sucked at his lip, not looking at me. I stared ahead, feeling awkward, and after a few moments, I felt his eyes on the side of my face. “Are you still close to Rosa Maria?”

“No,” I said sadly. “My father dismissed her years ago. It was awkward and painful since he’d been having a relationship with her and essentially traded her in for a newer, younger model to serve as both his new housekeeper and new bed partner. Rosa Maria didn’t respond to any of my attempts to reach out to her after that.” I waved my hand, trying to wave away the subject and the associated hurt that always came from discussing it.

“She blamed you?” Grayson asked, a strange edge to his voice.

“Kimberly says she doesn’t, but it’s too painful to have any contact that reminds her of what my father did to her. She loved him, I believe. While he…well, he saw her as nothing more than a convenient way to keep his house clean and his bed warm.”

“I see,” he said, his voice tight. I glanced at him, feeling as if, somehow, he really did see—even more than I was sharing with him.

I gave my head a small shake. “So, what were you and Kimberly talking about before I came downstairs yesterday morning?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t had the chance to ask Kimberly before we’d been interrupted by his confrontation with Charlotte over the herbs.

He smiled, breaking the somber mood that had existed as I’d discussed the subject of Rosa Maria and my father. The afternoon sun slanted through the window and hit Grayson’s face, bringing out the deep, rich brown of his eyes and highlighting the ruggedness of his still-unshaven jaw. I looked away, pressing my fingernails into the fleshy part of my hands. Ignore the bright scales, I repeated in my mind. “We were talking about you,” he answered, and when I swung my eyes back to his, his smile widened. “She was telling me some interesting stories about the trouble she’s had to pull you out of over the years.”

I snorted and then sighed dramatically. “That Kimberly is a nice enough girl, but she exaggerates. It’s one of her very worst flaws.”