“Yes, exactly.” He grimaces. “That article is nothing but speculation, pure clickbait, and they know it. They didn’t even bother to mention that we amended the flight plan to fly to Daytona Beach instead of Orlando. Disney World, my ass.” He looks so disgusted that despite my ongoing freak-out, my lips twitch with amusement.
“So no Mickey ears for our nuptials?” I ask with as straight of a face as I can manage. “Because Kendall was really hoping to wear them as my maid of honor.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “In that case, I take it back. Disney and Mickey it is. Will you tell her the good news, or should I?”
“I think we should let The New York Herald do it. They have the inside scoop,” I say, and as he laughs, his lean cheeks creasing with those sexy grooves he’s got, I can’t help but join in, the worst of my panic easing.
So what if my picture is in the paper, and I’m dating “one of New York’s most eligible?”
It’s not like I didn’t know that Marcus is out of my league. He is, always has been, and this clickbait article changes nothing.
Besides, only Kendall knows who the “mystery redhead” is.
8
Emma
“So, how’s our mystery redhead?” Gramps says, walking into the kitchen, and I nearly spit out the coffee I was swishing around in my mouth. At the last second, I swallow it instead—and immediately break into a coughing fit because the hot liquid went down the wrong pipe.
“Gramps!” I choke out when I can speak. “Since when do you read The New York Herald?”
I was sure, dead certain, that my grandparents wouldn’t see that piece of insightful journalism. Because why would they? The Herald is basically a local gossip rag full of clickbait stories that make the whole “getting hitched at Disney World” bit seem like a deeply researched fact.
“Since I learned that the man my favorite granddaughter is dating makes headlines, and I set up Google alerts for his name,” Gramps says, as unflappable as ever. “What, you think the internet is the province of the young?”
“He read it to me first thing this morning,” Grandma chimes in from the kitchen island, where she’s chopping veggies with the precision of a food processor. “I told him not to tease you about it, but he couldn’t resist.”
“Couldn’t resist what?” Marcus asks, entering the kitchen. He had to take a work call a few minutes ago and thus missed all the fun.
“Mentioning the article,” Grandma explains as Marcus walks over to sit on a barstool next to me. “I told Ted to keep his mouth shut and not tease Emma, but he didn’t listen.”
Marcus grins. “I can’t blame him. Look at how prettily she’s blushing. Who could resist?” Leaning over, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple.
My face heats immediately. I was red because of my coughing fit, not Gramps’s teasing, but now that both of my grandparents are beaming at us, I’m blushing for real.
I’m going to kill Marcus before this trip is over. I really am.
“Would you like some coffee?” Grandma asks Marcus, graciously coming to my rescue. “We don’t have anything fancy, but—”
“Whatever you have would be great, thank you,” he says. “I’m in dire need of a caffeine fix, and I’m not picky.”
Grandma wipes her hands on a kitchen towel and walks over to the coffee maker to pour a cup of the same java I’m drinking—which is actually quite fancy. It’s some kind of special blend that Grandma orders straight from Colombia. Normally, she’s very proud of it, telling all and sundry about how and where the beans are grown, so why did she just try to—
Oh, of course.
Since my grandparents read the article, they know Marcus is a billionaire. And not just any billionaire, but a Wall Street titan whose fund has almost a hundred billion under management.
Actually, they must’ve known that even before the article, since Gramps set up those Google alerts. He probably looked up Marcus at some point after our Skype session, and this is the result.
My grandparents might not show it, but they’re at least somewhat intimidated by their guest’s wealth. Why else would Grandma downplay the awesomeness of her Colombian elixir?
“Here you go,” she says, handing Marcus a cup, and he thanks her before taking a big sip.
Immediately, his eyes widen, and he looks at the cup, then at my grandmother. “Mary, this is amazing coffee. Where on earth did you get it?”
Grandma lights up like a Christmas tree. “You like it? I order it from this one small farm in Colombia, near the Amazon rainforest…” She launches into her usual spiel about the farm’s fair-trade practices, and I tune her out to study my new boyfriend—or whatever Marcus is to me now.
Needless to say, my plan of pretending to be together for my grandparents’ sake while keeping him at a distance failed miserably. I still have no intention of moving in with him, but I can’t deny that we are, at the very least, dating again.
Or rather, sleeping together and spending Thanksgiving with my family.
Speaking of which, Marcus seems exceedingly comfortable with my grandparents. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised after the way he jumped at a chance to meet them on Skype, but it’s still quite impressive to me. My college ex had always been so stiff around them, so afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. To Jim, my grandparents had been dinosaurs, so ancient and strange that he never bothered getting to know them as individuals—or paying them much attention. Marcus, however, is not only listening to my grandmother with total concentration, he’s asking follow-up questions, interacting with her as he would with me.
To him, my family isn’t unwelcome baggage that comes along with dating me; they’re people. And judging by his demeanor, people he likes and respects.
Grandma and Gramps have already had breakfast—despite going to bed late, they woke up early, as usual—but they
