Griffin shakes his head. “Sorry. Dad’s first wife planned the party, and you’re going to be the only kid.”
I scrunch my head, wondering about the brother he mentioned with the pregnant wife when we were at the cabin. Were they not going to be there too?
“Your dad has more than one wife? I have more than one grandma?” O2’s voice is breathless with the possibility after growing up with zero grandparents.
“Your grandpa’s got two ex-wives,” Griffin answers. “He married my brother Geoff’s mom first, then my mom. Geoff’s mom is the one throwing the party. They’re still really good friends—plus, my dad could never be bothered to find somebody else to do all his party planning after they divorced.”
“Your mommy didn’t do it when they were married?” O2 asks.
“She really wasn’t that kind of mom.” Griffin’s voice tightens a little. “That’s partly why they broke up.”
“Is she going to be at the party?”
“Nope,” Griffin answers, and his tone makes it clear that he’d like that to be the end of this conversation.
But O2 lives to serve as a walking, talking example of tone-deaf.
“Does she hate him because he broke up with her?” she asks Griffin straight out. “Is that why she’s not coming to his birthday party?”
Normally, this would be the point where I’d intercede and give O2 yet another “grown folks business” reminder. But I stay quiet.
Griffin thinks children are just set pieces to use in his scheme. Let’s see how he handles actually having to deal with one—especially when it comes to the tough stuff, like his dead mother.
But he just says, “She’s not thinking about any of us anymore” to O2, vagueing over her death.
And O2 must finally get it. Instead of asking more inappropriate questions, she rubs his arm and says, “I’m sorry your mom isn’t nice, like your brother’s mom.”
Griffin lets out a wry chuckle. “Me too.”
On that awkward note, the car stops in front of a stone villa with an impressive two-story columned portico. The place puts me in mind of a palace. It’s ridiculously large, with separately roofed wings flanking each side of the main house. Vegas’s answer to Glendaver Castle.
“Wow, Grandpa lives here?” O2 asks, her eyes going wide.
Yes, O2’s grandfather lives here. It’s work not to gape as we follow Griffin through the house’s huge oak double doors.
Mind you, I live in a castle—but only during the pandemic. I’ve heard about but have never been to the kind of swanky parties the Glendavers were known for throwing before Olivia and Phantom took over the estate.
So I’m wholly unprepared for the sight of a large foyer filled with people who could have been ripped out of a Premium Living magazine shoot.
I stare at them. Then freeze when they all stop talking to stare right back at the three of us, standing just inside the door.
“Ring.” Griffin suddenly steps in front of me, blocking my view of the party and the party’s view of me as he dips his head down to growl in my ear. “Put on the ring.”
My stomach cramps with the memory of what else had been in the bag, along with a handwritten note: Wear this tomorrow.
I think about telling him I forgot it. But I doubt I can manage that level of subterfuge—not with the eyes of everyone at the party on us.
I pull the emerald-cut engagement ring out of the teeny-tiny clutch and slip the piece of jewelry onto my left ring finger.
A gust of panic threatens to overturn my mind. Did I really agree to this? Did I really agree to marry a monster?
Yes, I did…
I didn’t bother to correct Griffin when he assigned that guard to us, but I have to re-tell myself in that moment: The decision is made.
I chant the reminder in my head as Griffin takes me by my non-wedding-ring hand to lead us forward, beyond the double staircases to the raised foyer/living room where the party is taking place.
The deathly silent party.
Everyone’s staring at us so hard that I stop right before we reach the staircase to whisper, “Wait. Did you actually tell your family we were coming?”
CHAPTER 28
BERNICE
Oh my goodness, Griffin did not warn his people we were coming.
I can tell in an instant by the way his jaw hardens and his expression becomes defensive.
"Sugar pie, give us a moment,” I tell O2 before leading Griffin to stand a few feet away, where neither the little girl nor the rest of the party can hear us.
“I can’t believe you,” I hiss at him. “Are you trying to traumatize her? This is not how you introduce a five-year-old to the extended family she didn’t know she had until a few minutes ago in the limo.”
“It’s a birthday present,” Griffin insists. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
Wow, he is really not getting it. This is why I agreed to his insane proposal—so I could remain in O2’s life full-time and do whatever it took to protect her.