All of it was true, but seen through a different lens. A different woman. One that he would be fucking happy to bring home to his family, into his bed.
Then she’d changed, put on that mask again. She was playing the bitch. It was the best role of her life, but she was a goof underneath.
He liked that.
He liked that she snored quietly in her sleep, and had rolled over and clung to him like a barnacle after she drifted off.
Duke was not a cuddler. When girls stayed the night—when he’d had a girlfriend that stayed over—he’d wait for them to sleep before he gently extricated them. He couldn’t sleep while being touched, barely handled a woman in the bed. Which was why his relationships never lasted long.
But for whatever reason—exhaustion surely—before he could think about getting Anastasia off him, he’d passed the fuck out.
And woke up in an empty bed.
Late.
He knew this because his internal clock told him so, as did the late morning light peeking through a crack in the curtains.
It amused and surprised him that Anastasia’s side of the bed was neatly made up. It still smelled like her. Not that expensive perfume she wore. No, just her.
She was neat. That was a surprise. He’d clocked her as a spoiled bitch who was so used to having someone clean up after her she’d forgotten how.
But the bed was made.
Her suitcase was propped away, closed, no clothes strewn about.
Once he’d gotten up and gone to the bathroom, he saw her products neatly lined up. A fuck of a lot of expensive bottles. She’d lined his up too. Not that there were a lot of them. But they were expensive. LA had rubbed off on him.
Duke felt that in his dick too. Their things on the same counter, toothbrushes beside each other.
It was fucking insane.
He’d never felt the urge for domestic shit. Not once. And especially not with her.
Something to do with being home. Seeing his parents. Playing the part of a couple.
That must’ve been it.
He tried to convince himself of that.
“You’re up,” his grandmother exclaimed. “I was worried that you’d never come out.”
She was already handing him coffee, steaming from the fresh pot she’d no doubt brewed because she somehow knew he was awake. The walls were thick here, the house was big so she hadn’t heard him. He’d stopped trying to figure out his grandma and just appreciated all the things about her that no one could explain. Although, there wasn’t much about her anyone could explain. Her kooky, weird personality was something her straight-laced Baptist parents had puzzled over for years, but hadn’t ever tried to change her.
Neither had his grandfather, who’d adored his “Kooky.” And when he’d died far too early, dimming a little light in her eyes, she never lost herself. That was his grandmother, the strongest person he knew. Duke had encountered many hard-asses in his life, brave, cruel, and scarred men who’d done things that most people would run from. But none of them were as strong as his eighty-year-old grandmother.
“Your woman is out riding with your brother and father. They’ve got some cattle to check on out at the edge of the ranch,” she said.
He almost spit his coffee out upon that. Trying not to, he’d damn near choked on it and spent the next minute coughing.
His grandmother watched him with amusement. She’d no doubt timed that little piece of news for this precise reason.
“She’s out riding?” Duke repeated, trying to envision that.
She nodded. “Surprised me too, for about a minute. But then I remembered that Western where she played some cowgirl criminal. Great flick by the way. Everyone said she’d used a double, but to my eyes, old as they are, I thought she could ride, had that natural way about her. And, as usual, I was right. She lit up like a Christmas tree when they offered it.” She took another sip of her—most likely Irish—coffee. “Don’t think either of them expected her to say yes, of course. They were just bein’ polite. And I rather enjoyed them trying to swallow their tongues when she saddled her horse and didn’t need help, certainly didn’t ask for it. Nothing like she seems, that one.”
“No, she isn’t,” Duke said, half to himself. He was pissed that he’d slept in and had missed out on seeing that.
He also hated the way his grandmother spoke. She accepted everyone for who they were—didn’t have a nasty bone in her body—but her respect didn’t come easy. Duke had dreaded the day when he’d bring a woman home to his family. His parents were kind, easygoing, and just ready for him to settle down. They’d accept damn near anyone as long as she wasn’t wanted for murder or hated animals.
But his grandmother. He knew it would kill him if she didn’t give her blessing. And that was with a real woman. His real woman. He sure as fuck had been dreading seeing his grandmother’s reaction to bringing home the surly, rude movie star for whom he was using everything he had to pretend he could love.