The Romeo Arrangement

Slowly, my breathing eases, and I lift my head.

“I…I’m fine,” I strangle out.

“Like hell you are.” He cups my face with both hands, his eyes locked with mine. “You’re as white as a sheet and trembling. Tell me what happened. A panic attack?”

I glance at the ground, the cigar, and jerk my face away.

The whole world is just spinning.

“The cigar?” He forces me to look at him again, bending over for a better look at the ground. “Tyler’s dad came out here to smoke so it wouldn’t stink up the garage.”

I nod. Swallow. Close my eyes to ground myself.

“Come on,” he says, wrapping an arm around me. “We’re leaving.”

“No, I’m okay. Really.”

He kisses me slowly, softly, tenderly.

He drowns me in those lips that are too good at saying so much without words.

“Darlin’, the party’s over,” he whispers as his lips leave mine. “Time for us to go home. Amy insisted on handing me a check with your name on it.”

After another firmer passionate kiss, he leads me inside.

I don’t even have it in me to argue.

I’m thankful for Ridge, thankful for his kiss, knowing it helps put color back in my face, making me look like a functioning human being again as we say our goodbyes.

With a few more quick words and a thanks for Amy, we head home. He talks about the party, the cute little things Cody did that I missed.

I listen quietly, knowing he’s trying to make me feel better, get my mind off the unmentionable.

It does, but…

I can’t.

Just can’t get the smell of that cigar out of my mind and how much it reminds me of that freak, the day he did the unspeakable.

And the bitter realization sets.

As long as Clay Grendal lives and breathes as a free man, I’ll always have his hellish memories holding me down.

At the house, I see Dad sitting on the front porch of the cabin, and the reality of what I did hits.

Actually, what I didn’t do.

I tell Ridge I’m going to go lie down in my room for a bit to clear my head.

In my room, I go to the window and see Ridge talking to Dad.

My stomach sinks into a black pit.

Dad doesn’t know what happened that night, a couple months ago, while it was just me at the house. I think he’d gone to a nearby farm to buy hay and alfalfa for Rosie and Stern.

I turn away from the window as the tears come, fast and furious.

If only I’d been stronger that night, if I’d used Dad’s gun to…

No. It wouldn’t have changed anything, really, minus getting me killed.

But sometimes, I’d rather be dead than have to live with what that wolverine of a man did.

Somehow, I stumble to bed, curl into a ball, trying harder to keep everything locked inside.

If I don’t, I’ll hate myself even more.

Hate myself for not putting an end to it all when I had the chance.

Instead, I made it worse.

When the door opens, I close my eyes, feigning sleep. Not that it’ll do anything to stop a very concerned Ridge.

And let’s be real—part of me doesn’t want him to stop.

I want his arms around me.

I want his comfort.

I want his magic lips to take me to another time and place where Clay Grendal doesn’t exist.

I just don’t want to tell him the truth.

The one thing I know he wants and, frankly, deserves.

Ridge’s heavy weight sinks down beside me. He slides an arm gently under my neck. I curl up beside him, laying my head on his shoulder.

Breathing in his fortifying, manly, everything’s-gonna-be-okay scent works wonders.

“You ready to tell me?” he asks softly, kissing the top of my head. “It’s okay if you’re not, Grace. Take your time.”

Sweet Jesus.

I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to tell anyone, but after smelling that cigar, I know…

Like it or not, I have to.

Two Months Ago

I realize I’m not alone in the house a second after I put the groceries on the counter.

My throat tightens.

I hadn’t seen a vehicle out front, and with Dad gone, picking up the hay…I’m alone with them.

Steeling myself, I stomp out of the kitchen, wondering just how many goons there’ll be and what the crap they want this time.

I’m actually surprised to see it’s just him sitting in Dad’s favorite stuffed recliner.

Clay Grendal looks up with those frigid bear-brown eyes. His smile cuts me like a knife.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting around here for almost an hour with you standing me up.” He sits up in the chair, decked out in his usual. “C’mon, Gracie. Smile. Aren’t you a little happy to see me?”

That’s a big hell no.

My eyes crawl up black slacks and an immaculate white button-down shirt that makes him look like he’s just come from a hard day at the office. That damn leather jacket is slung over the sofa.