Leah took the smallest bag out of the trunk and spun on her heel and strolled back into the house.
Oh, yeah. I was so in love with her.
What the frickety-frack was Grant thinking? I carried the suitcase into the house, cheeks on fire, mind racing. Engaged. To be his wife. Oh my God. The man had lost his mind.
Of course, the reason I was so upset was because it was hard enough to play the role of his girlfriend and know it was fake. But fake fiancée? It was like pretending to be a princess when in reality you’re Cinderella. Cleaning up after other people while having a nonexistent love life. That was me. Nonexistent love life and a world where eight grand bought you a used car, not a pair of pants.
Had a part of me for one nanosecond wished that it were true? Oh, yeah. Totally. Which is why it sucked so hard. My stupid heart had lifted like a helium balloon for a beat, then had fallen down into my gut. It wasn’t real and I had never wanted to get married anyway, so why did any of it matter?
Grant was right about that. Why did it matter?
Except that it did and I was both angry with him for catching me off guard and angry with myself for feeling things I had no business feeling.
I strode into the living room. “Sorry to be a bother.” Not really. “Which room would you like us to stay in?” I needed a minute alone to stop being overly invested in the situation. To pull back.
“The north bedroom,” Tiffany said.
That helped me exactly not at all. I was tempted to roll my eyes. You’d think she would at least pride herself on being a decent hostess but she was actually in a full recline on the sofa now and showed no sign of standing up anytime soon. Grant’s father was mixing himself another drink.
“Where is my son?” Tiffany asked. “I need a word with him.”
“I’m right here,” Grant said. “I’m going to take Leah up to our room.”
“Take her up then come back. Alone.” She dramatically put her hand across her forehead. “I need you to promise me that thing you said was a joke.”
“It’s not,” he said flatly.
He hadn’t lied. His mother really was horrible. She spoke like I wasn’t in the room.
“I want to go swimming,” I said, before Tiffany could speak. “Grant, take me to the pool so we can practice our dance for our wedding reception. There’s a certain lift you promised me.” I gave him a brilliant smile.
I figured that statement would punish him and his mother both.
I didn’t have a swimsuit but his mother was irritating enough that I just might be tempted to go skinny-dipping.
It didn’t take Grant long to react. There was a brief pause where he seemed to be assessing if I were serious or not, then he nodded. “Of course, sweetheart. We want our wedding to be perfect.”
Tiffany hauled herself to a sitting position. “No one in this family is doing one of those tacky coordinated dances. I forbid it.”
“Tiff, you did cocaine with Mötley Crüe at our wedding. I think a coordinated dance is perfectly acceptable compared to that.”
Tiffany glared at Grant’s father. “This whole weekend is ruined. My child hates me and my husband is an ass.” She pointed a nail at Grant. “I’m disowning you.” She turned to her husband. “And I want a divorce.”
“No can do,” Grant the second said cheerfully. “I dropped three hundred grand on this party, Tiff. We can’t cancel it now.”
“We’ll call it a divorce party instead. We can announce we’re disowning Grant.”
“You can’t disown me,” Grant said. “My trust is from Gigi and Grandpa.”
“What about me?” An older man exited a room that when I glanced in appeared to be a library of sorts.
“Mom wants to cut me off,” Grant said. “Because I’m getting married.”
“To a gold digger!” his mother said. “She admitted it right to my face!”
I just stood there, convinced we were on a reality TV show. Who acted like this?
Apparently, billionaires.