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“Really?” I would never have guessed that about Tobias Grayson. Although we’ve never spoken, the impression I got from him was that he was a respectable man.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Knight’s jaw sets, and the outline appears sharp enough to slice through stone. “It has always been that way.”
“Always?”
“Always.” In the second that he cuts me a glance, I catch a glimpse of a sad little boy lurking in the corners of his eyes. But the vision is gone just as quickly as I imagined it. “Jericho and I are only in theGraysons’lives because of my grandfather.”
“You seem quite close to him.” That much I could tell straightaway from our first meeting.
“As close as can be. He became a replacement father.” He pulls in a deep breath and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “My parents got together when my mother was very young. My father had no intention of being with her, but she didn't know. It's just one of those things. She was young, in love, and didn't know what he was truly like until it was too late. We lived in France because my mother couldn't stand being in the US. The idea of going back here to be on the same plot of land as my father made her sick, but we went back every summer and Easter because my grandparents wanted to see us as often as they could. My grandfather wanted us to be part of the legacy he built, so Jericho and I went to live with our grandparents when we were in our early teens. My grandfather wanted us to go to high school there and college, and essentially train to take over the company.”
“Did you enjoy living with your grandfather?”
“He was strict as fuck, but I loved living with him. I seemed to take more after him than anybody else. I suppose I'm his protege in many ways. I always felt like I had to be the best because my father treated me as if I didn't belong in their lives. I wanted to show him I was exactly where I should be.” He grins, but his expression is still stony.
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for you to have such a strained relationship with your father.”
“It’s one of the worst experiences of my life.”
“I’m sure you must know about my past with my father. I didn’t know him until I was twelve.” I assume he knows, like he does with everything else.
“He told me.”
“My life changed because of him in all the right ways. Maybe you could try to mend your relationship with your father by talking to him.” I’m aiming for positivity, but Knight laughs off-key at my suggestion, sounding as unhinged and uncanny as nails scraping across board.
“No, mon cherie. Been there, done that, won’t be doing it ever again. Like I said, my father is not like yours. Your father wanted you. Mine would kill me if he could.”
My stomach squeezes on hearing that. I can’t conceive such a horrid relationship with a parent, but now I feel more fortunate to have had two good parents who loved me to death.
As I stare at Knight, it feels like pieces of the puzzle surrounding him—this mysterious man—are falling into place, creating the picture of the layers that live beneath his iron skin. The picture I’m seeing makes me want to know more about him.
“I'm sorry,” I say in a tone best reserved for condolences.
“That's okay. I got used to it. It hasn't killed me yet, so it's only made me stronger. Things turned out the way they were supposed to. My mom is extremely happy. She met Maurice a few years after we moved back to France, and she's been with him ever since.”
“She looks happy,” I offer, remembering how she looked at the wedding.
“As long as she has the love of her life and her art, she’s fine.” He gives me a boyish grin, seeming less tense now that the difficult discussion about his father has passed. “The house we're heading to has a big workshop, which I'm sure you'll see. It also has a vineyard. My mother and Maurice are here for most of the summer, then back in Marseilles for the rest of the year.”
“I can't wait to see it, and, um… I like it here. I really like it here. I didn't expect thishoneymoon.”
“Me neither.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I feel that shift again. Knight turns away first to look ahead at the road, and my gaze drops to my hands, to the ring on my finger.
Our marriage is a sign of our contract, but it doesn’t feel that way.
Whatever is happening inside me feels like something good.
I haven’t had that feeling in years.
* * *
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Elodie says in a sing-song voice when Knight and I step out of the car.
Humble?
I look at the spectacular French Tudor country-style home before me and the vast expanse of rolling hills surrounding it. There's nothing humble about the place, but it has a serene vibe or a homey presence of warmth every home should have.
