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“I’m saving it as a graduation present for her,” I informed him. “She may have a little more time before she’s finished with high school, but she’s already been talking about college options. Since she wants to stay local, I figured she would rather have her own place than living on campus. Why waste money when I already have an apartment that is paid for?”
“Oh,” he muttered, his fingers easing their death grip on the steering wheel as he continued to drive us to his house in Beverly Hills.
Our house.
Or so he, Banks, and Madalyn had continuously reminded me as we’d planned for my move into their home. According to them, everything that belonged to them was now mine as well. It was sweet of the kids to tell me that—repeatedly—but I wasn’t in this for the material things that came with marrying their dad. He might allegedly than God, but I wasn’t exactly broke. I had my own money, that I worked hard for, and then there was the trust fund that I’d left untouched from my parents.
But once the press got wind that I was marrying Jarrett, it was going to be a whole PR nightmare. Between our age gap, the fact that his ex-wife had already tried once to sell an exclusive interview to some gossip magazine about how I’d been in a relationship with Jarrett while they were still married—something that Mom and Aunt Emmie had squashed before it had hit the front page and every social media platform—and the differences in our economics, I was going to be labeled a gold digger.
I didn’t care what people thought. Everyone who mattered knew the truth, but I didn’t want any negative press to impact Banks and Madalyn. They still had to go to school every day, be around asshole kids with even bigger asshole parents who had opinions on shit that wasn’t any of their business. I didn’t want them to start resenting me because I’d caused them to be bullied or stressed out at school.
“Does that mean I get my own apartment when I graduate from high school too?” Banks spoke up, breaking what remained of the tension in the car.
“Depends on where you go to college,” I said, turning my attention back to my phone and the list I was making so I didn’t forget anything the following day when we went to pack up my stuff.
“I’m eleven, Trin. Do I really have to decide what college I’m going to right now?”
“Of course not,” I assured him. “You don’t even have to go to college. There are plenty of trade schools that will teach you important skills for a job that doesn’t require a degree. But you can’t go into the military like your dad did or become a cop or a firefighter or—”
“You made a list of careers you don’t want me to pursue, didn’t you?” I could hear the smirk in his voice.
“They’re too dangerous,” I muttered, typing away so I didn’t have to look at him or his father. “I don’t want to think about the bad things that could happen to you. I’ll never get any sleep because I’ll always be worried. And then I won’t be able to work, and my company will suffer, and my mom will yell at me and I’ll cry, and then you’ll feel bad. So, in the long run, I’m saving us both a lot of turmoil, bud.”
He snorted a laugh. “You are seriously insane. I fucking love it.”
“Banks,” Jarrett bit out. “How many times have we discussed you cursing?”
“About ten thousand, Dad,” he said deadpan. “And we’ll probably discuss it another twenty times before bed tonight.”
“I’m not raising a smartass,” Jarrett snapped. “Watch your language. Be respectful.”
“You curse all the time. I’m just following your example, sir.”
“He’s got you there,” I whispered, hiding my smile by lifting my phone closer to my face.
“You’re always going to take his side, aren’t you?” my fiancé grumbled.
“Probably.” There was no reason to pretend otherwise. I loved my two amazing stepchildren, and I’d fight the hounds of hell for them—or their own father, which was potentially more dangerous.
“Military school sounds really appealing right now.”
Not liking the threat to my child, I slowly lowered my phone and tilted my head until I was glaring at my future husband. “So does staying at my apartment until the wedding.”
“It was a joke,” he quickly excused.
“I didn’t find it amusing. Did you, Banks?”
“Not particularly,” he said sullenly.
“Apologize,” I told Jarrett.
“Baby, I’m sorry,” he said imploringly.
“Not to me. To our son.”
His hazel eyes darkened when I called Banks “ours.” Stopping for traffic, Jarrett shifted in his seat to look at the boy in the back. “I’m sorry, buddy. It was a poor attempt at a joke. I apologize if I scared you or hurt your feelings.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s okay.” Banks sat up straighter. “You were jealous she chose me over you. Not sure I can say I’ve ever been in the position of someone being jealous of me before. For as long as I’ve known her, Trin has always picked me. Which is nice, since Mayra sure as fuck never did.”
