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Without a doubt, I’m attracted to her.
Tiffany is a petite, pretty, girl-next-door type with chestnut hair, a high forehead, and a rosebud mouth. In a pale blue cashmere sweater and tan slacks, she’s a poster child for Fifth Avenue rich girls.
Roman leaves, promising to send over James, our regular server. I barely notice his departure as I stare at my bride to be. “Tiffany, I’m Royce. Royce Grayson. I’m pleased to meet you.” I stick out my hand.
She surprises me by springing from her chair and pulling me in for a hug. I smile, realizing she only comes to the highest indent of my six-pack.
I hate that my mind goes there, but if we ever have sex, I will crush her.
“Royce,” she says, her eyes dancing with mischief. “You’re a bear of a man, aren’t you?”
Now, many people have called me a dick (all variations) a pig, and yes, even a tiger a few times, but a bear—never. The comparison makes me smile. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” She lets go of my middle to slap playfully at my arm. “I don’t give them out very often.”
I chuckle at her cheeky response. When she slides into her chair, I’m quick to help her push the stool towards the table.
She tilts her head, giving me an approving eye. “And a gentleman, too. Hmm. I expected you to be different.”
“Oh?” I match her head tilt. “Why is that?”
“I’ve heard you’re a real dick.”
I throw back my head and let out a bark of laughter. A few patrons turn our way.
I wipe at a tear my laughter has shaken loose. “And here I thought you were so dainty and refined.” I settle back in my chair, rethinking my preconceived notions about my fiancée. With a minor in English Lit, I expected her to be bookish. Not this librarian with a bite. I shake out the linen napkin and drop it in my lap. “Are you always so direct?”
“Yep. Can’t help myself. Even though mother does her best to beat it out of me.”
I sit up straighter. A protectiveness for what I consider mine wells within me. “When was the last time she hurt you?”
I’m already thinking of ways to wreak havoc on my soon to be mother-in-law’s head as Tiffany says, “Lord, no. I tell everyone that because mom and I joke around a lot... Oh! Damn.”
Tiffany gives me a look filled with shock and embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Royce. My mouth runs away from me sometimes.”
She touches me on the arm. I notice how her small, pale hand looks damn good on my dark blue blazer. “Your grandfather told me your past was... ah, turbulent. With what you do with the Grayson Foundation, I filled in the rest. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make light of... um, your circumstances. Please forgive my crassness.”
I place her hand in mine. It’s so slender and light, it’s like a breath of air. “Wife to be, I think we’ll make a magnificent pair.”
Long after James clears our plates and our coffee has grown cold in our cups, we continue to talk.Reallytalk. Discussing everything from our likes and dislikes to Chaucer and the true meaning of the Beatles’Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.
Tiffany has her opinions, which rarely conform to mine. And damn, is it refreshing to be with someone who doesn’t want to kiss one or both of my ass-cheeks.
Nor will she share my bed.
That was the first thing she mentioned, after we’d ordered our appetizer of lobster bisque. She leaned in and whispered I could do what I wanted behind closed doors, but in public, we would present a united front.
A woman after my own heart.
By the time she drove off in a Jeep so lifted, she needed a step stool to get into the damn thing—I was all the wayin-like.
No, not the romantic sappy-ass kind that leads to love. Thelikethat is shared by two people who get along better than beer and peanuts.
A week later I’m on the 60th floor of The Grayson Group, sitting in a leather conference chair, bored out of my skull.
My lawyer and I occupy one side of the table while Tiffany and her counsel sit on the other. Tiffany has told me in the half-dozen times we’ve talked she wouldn’t give me trouble regarding the prenup. I’ve taken her at her word despite her lawyer, a round-faced dough-boy in a tailored suit, clearing his throat and announcing, “Gentlemen, we agree on all your points except for…”
I lean towards my attorney as Tiffany’s suited mouthpiece lays out their demands. “Give her what she wants...within reason. No property though.”
