I startle with surprise. “You did?”
“What happened to him was a shit thing to happen, but he’s still a good man, and I see glimpses of him in you. I know you did all the wrong things as a kid, but you were exactly that. A kid. One making adult decisions. They might have been bad ones, but you made them for all the right reasons. Since then you’ve been smart enough to ask for help. Smart enough to choose a better path. That shows strength of character and determination. It shows you’re a man who does whatever he has to in order to take care of those he loves. You did what you had to do, Jake. Your father is lucky to have you.” Steve takes my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “And so are we.”
I’m lost for words. I never realised how much his approval meant to me until now. It feels tangible, as if I’m literally holding it in both hands. Steve was always just there in the background, a hurdle I never quite figured out how to go over or under, or get around. Turns out I managed to go right through the middle. Huh. “That means a lot to hear, sir.”
“Steve,” he barks, letting go of my shoulder.
I nod and correct myself. “Steve.”
“So tell me, if my daughter said yes…” a curious glint lights his eyes “…why is she not wearing your ring?”
“I made her take it off in the parking lot.”
“Why?”
“That’s the thing, Steve,” I say, feeling odd using the familiar term. He’s always been a sir to me. For years. “We ran into Adam Rossiter outside. I didn’t want him to see the ring and put two and two together, so I’ve taken it back for now. But it seems he put two and two together anyway.” I give him a rundown of our conversation outside (or lack thereof) and mention Ross pointing an imaginary gun at Mac before we re-joined the party indoors. “How are you so sure he won’t touch either of us?”
“The only power Alan holds over that boy is his trust fund. He told Ross he would revoke the inheritance if you weren’t left to walk free. It was the only course of action open to us and not an idle threat by Alan. Ross took him seriously, but there’s something deeply evil in that child. He doesn’t care who he hurts to get what he wants. And if he can’t get at you …” Steve breaks off, his face the colour of snow. “I need to talk to Alan.”
JAKE
Steam fills the bathroom as I check the water temperature in the shower. It’s just short of blistering, which is perfect. I step inside and turn, holding out my hand. Mac takes it, letting me lead her. I pull her close until her naked chest is pressed to mine.
We have the duplex to ourselves, and we’re taking advantage. My arms slide around Mac’s silky skin. She relaxes into me and buries her head in my neck as the spray of water scalds our skin red. Lust spreads hot inside me, but I ignore it. We’re both exhausted. I just want to hold Mac close and revel in this quiet moment.
It’s been twenty-four hours since the party, but it feels like a lifetime when you’re busy worrying every single minute of it. I’m still waiting to hear back from Steve. My body has been so tight with tension over the whole situation that I’ve been suffering a dull headache since I woke this morning. And Henry called earlier. He’s spending time with Grace at the loft. His father arrived from Melbourne, and they’re having a quiet family gathering tonight.
I absently stroke Mac’s hair, my heart hurting for Grace, Henry, and Casey. They’re my family. And it’s so hard to know what to do or say. Sorry can be such a trite word. It doesn’t convey the depth of emotion you’re feeling as you watch the lives of those you love completely unravel.
Mac sighs. She’s so quiet. “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice husky.
“I’m just tired,” she mumbles into my neck. “So tired. I want to stand under this hot water with you for an eternity.”
My lips kiss a soothing path along her brow. “Whatever you want, Princess.”
Her lids flutter against my skin, soft as a butterfly. I like her this way. Her trust in me right now is strong, vital, and it tugs at my chest. If I’ve gained anything from our tumultuous past, it’s the knowledge that this trust is fundamental to our future. We won’t survive without it, but I can’t explain about Ross.
I don’t even want to think about him right now. I push all the worry to the back of my mind, though I know it will resurface later tonight leaving me sleepless for hours. Taking Mac’s shoulders, I turn her so that her back faces me. Right now is just for us.
I pick up the soap. The suds are thick and creamy as I lather over her skin. I set the bar aside and massage her shoulders with firm hands, digging deep in the tense knots. She moans with pleasure, her head tipping back.
My eyes take in her beauty with wonder. That she agreed to marry me still hasn’t sunk in. “Will you take my name?” I ask at random, because it rolls through my head. Mackenzie Romero. It doesn’t have the same rolling lilt as Valentine does, but it gives me a sense of satisfaction. A sense of belonging. Of finding home. In her.
A furrow forms in her brow. “I haven’t thought about it.”
Disappointment wells. I push it aside. I proposed only yesterday. Mac needs time for it to sink in too. Time to think about the smaller details.
“Do you want me to?” she asks.
“Of course I want you to.”
My hands fall away as Mac turns, and the shower beats down washing the thick suds away. “You don’t think it’s a little archaic?”
“Seriously?” I swipe drops of water from my face. “No. It’s not archaic. It’s a tradition that binds us, and our kids, as a family unit.”
Mac steps back beneath the spray and the sudden distance feels more emotional than physical, as if a wall of hesitation has erected between us.
“I’m not going to force it on you, Mac. If you don’t want to take my name, you don’t have to.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she protests. “It would just feel … I don’t know. I’ve always been a Valentine and I never imagined that changing. Do we have to decide now?” she asks, her chest rising and falling in agitation. “It’s not like we’re getting married tomorrow.”
It’s my first inkling that marriage is something she feels uneasy about, and my stomach drops. Did she say yes out of obligation? I want to ask and yet I supress the words. I’m a coward. I don’t want to hear she’s changed her mind, but I don’t have to hear it when I’m beginning to sense it. Once again, our future feels hazy when just moments ago it was clearer than the green of her eyes.
“You’re right,” I say, reaching across to turn off the taps as hurt thumps deep beneath my ribcage. The bathroom settles into silence, save for the residual drips from the showerhead. “It’s not like we’re getting married tomorrow.”
If at all …