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“Graham?” I prompt him when he doesn’t answer my question.
Even then, his only answer is a long sigh that I feel against my cheek. And so, I think it’s time to bring out the big guns.
“It was a nice party though, right?” I murmur, biting my lip.
He grunts.
“I’m so happy for Fallon and Dean. She’s loved him forever. That poor girl.”
He grunts again.
I bite my lip harder as I go on. “Simon and Willow seemed happy too. Even Brendan, right? So, so happy that his sister found love. I think Dean and Brendan go way back. They seemed pretty tight with each other…”
He stiffens then and I pause.
Especially when he fists my hair again and pulls me back so he can look at my face. “Are you trying to provoke me, Violet?”
“Maybe.” He goes to say something, but I stop him. “So you might as well tell me what the problem is. So I can solve it for you.”
“The problem,” he bites out, “is Brendan. The kid who keeps watching my daughter. He kept looking at her all throughout dinner and I wanted to lunge across the table, grab him by his shirt and throw him out the window.”
See, I knew it.
I freaking knew it.
My honey is so predictable.
I press my lips together so I don’t burst out laughing. I mean, it’s not a joke, him being angry and upset.
But he looks so… ferocious right now.
So wild at the thought of a fourteen-year-old kid, watching Rosie.
“I don’t know how Simon sat through that dinner without losing his shit. Dean touching his daughter,” Graham growls, bringing me to the moment. “If someone was touching my daughter, I would’ve broken every finger in his hand. As it is, I want to put the fear of God in that Brendan kid.”
His face is all bunched up and angry and I rub my hand in his beard.
“No, you don’t. Because he’s a kid. They’re both kids. You’re not going to throw a fourteen-year-old kid out the window just because he stared a little too long at your daughter.”
“I know kids, okay? I know boys. I raised a boy. I know how they think.”
“He’s a good kid. He’s Simon’s kid. Good is practically in his DNA. Let him be. He’s not going to do anything.”
“He better not. Or I’ll teach him a fucking lesson he’ll never forget.” Then he looks away from me, his eyes squinting. “You know what, fuck it. I’ve been debating this shit for too long. I’m going to have a chat with Simon. Maybe he’s lost his mind, handing over his daughter to another man just like that. But he better keep his son away from my daughter or I’ll—”
I cover his mouth with my hand, cutting off his words.
His breaths are punching my palm, gusting over it, hot and upset, and I shake my head at him.
“No, you listen to me,” I say sternly. “You’re not going to have a chat with anyone.” His eyes turn stormy. “You’re going to calm down and relax. Also, handing over his daughter? What does that mean? Daughters are not objects, Graham. Like wives are not objects. Daughters have a mind of their own. Simon’s daughter has a mind of her own. Our daughter has a mind of her own. That’s what we’re teaching her.”
I remove my hand from his lips and I find them parted and all misty.
But damn it, I’m not going to be seduced by them.
I’m not going to be seduced by the way he’s staring at me, like he wants me. Like he’s so turned on by my outburst.
I don’t have a lot of them but when I do, he gets all… aroused. And then, I get turned on and no, we’re not going there before I finish talking.
“Besides,” I forge ahead. “They’re kids. Let them be kids. They’re innocent. Kids are dreamers. Teenage love is all butterflies and goosebumps and shy glances and daydreams, you know? You smile over the slightest things. You can’t sleep. There’s music in your head. You hum a tune all the time. You bite your lip when you think about him. It’s… magic. It’s full of color and passion and innocent longings. It’s doodling in your journal, writing his name over and over, making hearts all over it.”
I don’t know how it happened but I’ve completely gone off topic even though I was trying so hard to stay on it.
I was trying so hard to stay mad at him for being so ultra-possessive and crazy.
But now I’m gazing into his eyes and he’s gazing into mine.
I’m smiling and he has a slight twitch on his lips, and we’re both swaying under the moonlight. Or at least, I’m swaying and he’s simply shifting his feet to keep me company.
Dancing with me in the moonlight.
And my heart is going to burst out of my chest when he leans down and whispers, “Yeah? Is that what you did?”
