Graham whips his head around. “No.”
“I was talking to your wife,” he replies snidely. “There are photos online of Mrs. Harlan outside a bookstore with Kian, right before the wedding. It’s no secret they were a couple before she met you.”
Graham stiffens and with great effort turns to me and pushes up a smile, but I see the fury in his eyes. “Brody’s here. Let’s go, darling.”
Leaving the man and the crowd behind, he ushers me down the steps and opens the door to the back seat of a black Mercedes.
“Congratulations, newlyweds!” Brody calls from the driver’s seat as Graham gets in on the other side of me in the back. Cas waves and smiles from the front next to Brody.
I say nothing. Neither does Graham.
Brody squints at me, then Graham. “Too soon, my turtledoves?”
“Just drive,” Graham mutters as he stares out the window, decidedly not looking at me.
“All righty then,” Brody murmurs as he pulls out into the traffic. We get three blocks before I finally break the silence.
“I was going to tell you about Kian, but there wasn’t time.” Not exactly true. I could have sent a text, but I just wanted the wedding to be over with, and then I would have told him. I didn’t expect the PI to be on the steps of the courthouse. “You’re angry,” I say.
“Yes,” he says as he whips out his phone, taps it, then shows me the photos on a website.
I exhale. The PI captured us just as Kian took my hand. Kian’s face is earnest, yearning evident, while mine is slightly obscured.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say softly.
Brody glances back at me at a red light. “What’s going on?”
“Kian came to see me at the store. He wanted to tell me that a man had been asking questions.” I pause, searching Graham’s granite profile. “If I’d know someone was taking photos, I wouldn’t have gone outside, but it seemed the better option than talking inside the store and making a scene.”
Graham pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe you talked to him. You should have sent him away.”
“If this is about the NDA, I’d never tell him. I only talked to him to protect you.”
Mercurial gray eyes pin me. “This isn’t about the NDA. I don’t want him near you, Emmy. You’re my wife, and it worries me that he might hurt you. Don’t you understand?” His gaze searches my face. Endlessly. He continues to trace my features before landing on my lips. His nose flares.
Tension sparks the air, making it potent.
I drop his eyes. “Jane had an axe. I felt perfectly safe,” I murmur as Brody parks on the street in front of a brownstone.
Brody turns around to smile at us. “Okay, my little lovebirds, let’s kiss and make up or put a pin in it. The marriage is done, and we’ve got to face the family and prove you’re legit. We’re doing drinks and finger foods. It shouldn’t be too messy. Your honeymoon is a weekend at the beach, if anyone asks. I have your bags packed in the trunk. Now. Are you ready?”
Cas pumps his fist. “I’m ready for alcohol.”
Same.
Graham gets out and comes around and opens my door, then takes my hand. He pulls me against his chest, taking my breath away with the sudden movement. I run my hands up the silky material of his shirt, my hands ending in his hair as I sweep some of it off his face.
“I should have told you about Kian. I’m sorry. Still mad?”
His jaw tics. “I’m putting it aside for now.”
“If you two have finished your spat, we’re waiting,” Brody calls from the steps of the house.
Chapter 20
EMMY
We approach a four-story brownstone with ornate columns on each side of the door as Brody explains that this is the home they grew up in.
The door swings open to reveal a butler, who then ushers us in to the foyer of the house. I swallow at the grandeur of the hallway. Intricate carvings line each wall and corner, a telltale sign of the home’s original features. A chevron hardwood floor stretches down the hall, dotted with plush Turkish rugs that cushion our feet. Exquisite high-end furniture fills the rooms: leather couches, sleek coffee tables, and glossy sideboards. Beautifully arched windows are everywhere. The afternoon sun streams through them, illuminating the place in a soft glow.
I mean, I’ve been inside ritzy homes before. Kian has a great apartment, and Mason, who’s a trust fund baby, has invited me to his parents’ beach house several times, but this—well, I have no words. It’s the most opulent home I’ve ever been in. Suddenly, I feel like a pauper and very much out of place.
Brody and Cas tell us they’re going to find the bar, leaving us alone. My nerves tighten.
Graham stops at a large, framed painting of a beautiful woman. The photographer captured her midlaugh, head tilted back as she plays a black baby grand piano. She’s wearing a red dress, with sandy-blonde hair spilling around her shoulders, and her blue eyes have a knowing gleam as they look lovingly into the camera. This must be . . .
“My mother,” he says gruffly. He hands me a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “My father is coming over.”
A man approaches us, tall with broad shoulders, his dark hair peppered with silver at the temples. His eyes are a calm, introspective gray, and his brows are straight, like Graham’s.
He hesitantly nods to Graham as he takes him in. “My son . . .” He stops, a weight in his voice. “It’s good to see you. I’m happy you came to celebrate your marriage with us.”
Graham shakes his hand. “Hello, Dad. This is my wife, Emmy.”
His father turns to me. “It’s a shame we haven’t met before now, but my son doesn’t return my phone calls. I’m Vale.”
“Hi,” I say, smiling. For some reason, I like him on the spot.
“And I hear you have a bookstore?”
“I’m the manager.”
“Ah. How did you meet Graham?”
“A charity ball.” I cling to my glass of champagne, needing something to anchor me as I lie boldly. “We recently reconnected, and things just fell into place.”
Vale smiles. “Young love is the sweetest. Any plans on children? I know it’s presumptuous to ask, but well, I’m sixty and don’t have grandchildren yet.”
Children?
I glance at Graham for guidance, but he’s wandered off to the waiter to pick up another drink. Without looking back at me, he walks into a room on the right, where I hear the din of other guests and low music.
Vale crooks my arm in his, a disappointed look on his face as he watches him disappear. “He left you to fend for yourself. Trial by fire, I suppose. He’s not subtle about his disdain for me, is he?”
“Hmm.”
His eyes linger on the framed portrait, his voice softening.