I glance over at her, and she looks away, her face reddening as if from embarrassment. Is this part of her money hang-ups?
Does she not want people to know about her student loans?
“I had some debt, yes,” I tell Ted. Very little and nothing I didn’t manage to pay off within a month of graduation, thanks to the success of my early investments, but I keep my mouth shut about that as well.
I don’t want my kitten to feel like her strained finances are something she needs to hide.
Mary must sense her granddaughter’s discomfort, because she smiles and says, “Well, you’re clearly a long way off from those days, so all is well that ends well.” Reaching across the table, she picks up one of the dishes and looks around. “More stuffing?”
I gladly accept, and the conversation returns to lighter topics. Ted starts telling me all about Emma as a baby, which causes her to laugh and blush furiously, and Mary keeps urging everyone to try this dish and that, to have an extra serving here and another bite there.
My pants won’t button tomorrow, but it’s totally worth it to see the smile on the older woman’s face each time I accept the offering and shower her with praise.
We’re almost done with dessert—a made-from-scratch pumpkin pie—when Ted innocently steps on a landmine.
He asks when exactly we’re planning to have Emma move in with me.
She stiffens right away and shoots me a Death Star glare, her hand squeezing my knee in a silent warning. I know what she wants—for me to stay quiet while she spouts off some bullshit about how we’re not sure yet, blah, blah, blah—but I’m not about to let this opportunity slide.
“By the end of next week,” I say before she can get a word in. “We’ll start packing up Emma’s place as soon as we get back to New York.”
“Oh, that’s so wonderful!” Mary’s smile is brighter than a solar flare. “The sooner, the better, am I right?”
“That’s right.” I grin, ignoring Emma’s fingers digging into my leg under the table. “I can’t wait to have her with me all the time.”
Her grandparents look like cats lapping at a saucer of cream, while Emma’s hand on my leg turns into a vicious claw and her narrowed gaze tells me she’d like to murder me. Slowly. After first roasting me over a campfire, marshmallow-style.
“There are still a number of logistics we need to straighten out,” she says through clenched teeth. “So I don’t think next week would work.”
I give her my most innocent look. “Are you talking about movers? Because I told you, I’ll take care of that. Besides, you don’t need to bring any of your furniture; my place has everything we need.”
“Emma, sweetheart…” Mary lays a gentle hand on her granddaughter’s forearm. “You don’t have to be afraid of this. I know change is uncomfortable for you, but this is the good kind… the moving-forward kind. Your grandfather and I thought we were close when we were dating, but it was nothing compared to how we felt once we got married and started living together. This is a risk for you, I know, but it’s one you can’t avoid. Not if you want to build a life together.”
As she speaks, Emma’s face goes from pink to white to a blotchy shade in-between. “Grandma, please. We’re not—”
“Mary, leave the poor girl alone,” Ted cuts in. “You’re embarrassing her in front of Marcus, can’t you see? They’re adults; I’m sure they’ll figure everything out on their own.”
“We will,” I say, smiling at the elderly couple. Gathering Emma’s stiff hand into my palm, I move our joined hands from my leg to the empty spot between our plates. “I promise you, we’ll figure it all out.”
And ignoring the tension in Emma’s arm, I lift our clasped hands and press a kiss to her tightly clenched knuckles.
12
Emma
“This is ridiculous!” The words burst out of me as soon as Marcus and I are alone in our room. “You can’t keep doing this!”
He lifts a dark eyebrow. “I can and I will—for as long as it takes for you to accept the inevitable.”
“The inevitable being that we’re going to live together?”
His smile is pure arrogance. “Exactly.”
Argh! I want to slap him so badly my palm is twitching. We’d had such a good day together, and he’d been so sweet to my grandmother during dinner that I’d almost forgotten what he’s really like.
A ruthless, manipulative bastard who’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants.
Which, for some bizarre reason, happens to be me.
I’m so fucked—and not just literally.
Gritting my teeth, I focus on the issue at hand. “I am not moving in with you.” I enunciate each word like I’m talking to a child. “Get that through your thick skull. It’s not happening.”
“Oh, but it is.” A dangerous glint appears in his gaze as he advances on me. “Want to bet?”
Warily, I back away. “You can’t sex me into it. Even if—”
“Even if what?” He catches me next to the bed, his big hands descending on my shoulders as the backs of my knees touch the mattress. There’s a wicked smirk on his lips, as if he has me exactly where he wants me.
Which he does.
Why did I retreat in the direction of the bed?
Do I subconsciously want him to sex me into giving in?
“Even if what?” he repeats, his voice roughening as his gaze falls to my lips. Gently, he pushes on my shoulders, and I find myself sinking onto the bed as my legs buckle underneath me. A dazed eyeblink later, I’m stretched out on my back, with Marcus leaning over me, his hand working on the zipper of my jean shorts as his blue eyes
