“Good lord.”
“She’s not that bad.”
I want to argue, but I’m all out of steam, and I have to remember that Ash just did me a very major solid, so I drag my carcass from the car and back to the house.
Where I’m promptly greeted by a five-foot ball of flying curly white hair, dazzling false teeth, about six pounds of flashy jewelry, and a black velvet ballgown. Also known as Ash’s granny.
“Ooohhhh!” She shouts like she’s going to enter into battle, but really, I think she’s just overcome with unrestrained joy. I barely have time to get in the door before boney arms wrap around my shoulders, and a set of false teeth starts clacking in my face. “You, little missy, must be Ash’s soulmate! Oh, I’m so happy this day is finally here! The first soulmate for all my cursed grandchildren! How very exciting!”
“Whaaaa…I mean, uh, I guess that’s me,” I say as soon as Ash’s granny’s arms drop away, and she allows me to catch my breath. She’s grinning so wide that it looks like her false teeth could pop right out of her face and hit me smack dab in the forehead. It’s probably an occupational hazard around really smiley grannies. “Except that the ring, uh…well, I put it on by accident. It doesn’t make me Ash’s soulmate. We don’t even know each other.”
His granny snorts at that. “Oh dear me, all soulmates have to meet somewhere. It doesn’t mean you are, but the ring chose you for a reason.”
“I’m not sure how much of the curse I believe in, but it didn’t choose me. I put it on, stupidly. And now it won’t come off.”
“Because it chose you.”
“Because it’s an evil crappy object.”
One stark white brow shoots up at my words. Ash’s granny is seriously really pretty. She clearly likes jewelry and, uh, fancy clothes. The velvet ballgown makes her look like she’s set to go to a masked ball. She has a nice, petite figure that makes her look like a little girl until you reach her face, which is still really pretty too. She’s one of those women who looks gorgeous at every age. If she wasn’t a Cromwell and hadn’t ruined my dad’s life and mine by extension, I guess I would say I hope I can look as good as she does when I’m that old.
Ash’s granny is outgoing. I can tell that about her right away. She has this sort of sparkly sparkle going on that is quite intimidating for someone like me, who would rather sit in quiet with a good book. I guess I got used to shutting down, and it kind of became a trend. I don’t let anyone get close to me. I know I have a problem with that.
“Granny, can you please tell us about the ring instead of just telling us that Ellis is my soulmate? We want to know the details. Like where you got it, who cursed it, can it be undone, and how it can be broken.”
“Don’t get your meat stick bent out of shape,” Granny says casually, but I’m floored. Did she really just say something that dirty to her own grandson? “Can you get me a drink? I’m parched. All this talk of curses works up a thirst.”
“We’ve barely started,” Ash groans. “And how can you be so much older than me and still be this immature?”
“Immature?” Granny scoffs. “You think I’m immature because I use words like meat stick? Good heavens, I thought you’d be of the age where you’d have heard it being called a lot worse.”
Ash becomes about ten shades paler and greener. “You’re my grandma. It’s just wrong.”
“What’s wrong is you’re standing there instead of pouring me a mimosa. I have every intention of getting rip-roaring drunk while I talk about this curse. That’s why I had Hancock drive me.”
“Your driver’s name is Hancock?” I choke out.
Granny shoots me a very satisfied look. “You bet it is. I interviewed many, many drivers until I found one with such a pleasing and entertaining last name. He doesn’t mind in the least that I’ve cracked at least half a dozen hundred good jokes about it.”
Ash, thoroughly disgusted now, or should I say grossed out, goes to the fridge. He actually does have a bottle of champagne and some orange juice in there. I don’t know how to make a mimosa, but apparently, it’s not a skill Ash lacks. Soon comes three glasses, which he starts pouring fashionably enough to rival any bartender.
Suddenly, Granny dips her head and looks at me funny. And it takes me a few rather uncomfortable seconds to realize she’s inspecting me. “Turn around, honey. Let me get a good look at you.”
This is entirely humiliating, but I comply. I spin in a fast circle, and Granny hoots. “Very good! Nice bum!” I must look every bit as offended as I feel because she asks me next, “Are you a prude?”