Tommy maneuvers to his back, pushing a hand through his hair. Then he holds up a finger to me and reaches for his mobile. He puts it on speaker as he makes the call, and a moment later an energetic, chirpy voice answers.
“Hey, Tommy-Tommy.”
“Hey, Ellie. Sorry to call so early.”
There’s a laugh in her voice. “Early does not exist in the house anymore—time is an infinite loop. Logan’s already wrestling with Finn in the den and it’s not like baby St. James #2 is letting me sleep. What’s up?”
“Do you remember when you and Lo and Marlow and me went to eat at Paddy’s when she was here visiting from the States?”
“Yep, I remember.”
Tommy glances towards me as he speaks. “In all the time we’ve known each other—how often have Marlow and I hooked up?”
“Ha! Like, in reality or in Marlow’s dreams?”
“Reality.”
“Ah . . . never. When you first met, Marlow and I were still in high school and by the time she was a legal-beagle, you were thinking of her like one of your sisters.”
Tommy nods. “Exactly.”
“You want to tell me why you’re asking?”
“I’ll fill you in another time. Thanks, Ellie.”
They end the call and Tommy tosses his phone to the floor. Then he turns my way, tugging the sheet down. He traces a tickling, taunting line with his finger down the center of my breasts, across my stomach, circling my navel and back up again.
“Like I said—fucking misery.”
I nod, my breath hitching as Tommy rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger—before leaning his head down to bring his lips and tongue into the mix.
“What are we going to do about my grandmother?” I ask.
Though she’s the last damn thing I want to be discussing. Because Tommy’s mouth is magical—and I’d rather be focused on that.
“I can handle your granny, Apple Blossom.” He kisses around my breast, my neck, shifting back on top of me, enveloping my mouth in consuming openmouthed kisses. “Don’t worry your pretty head—or any of your other pretty parts—about it.”
And when he says it like that and surrounds me like this—every inch of him strong and protective and certain—it’s impossible not to believe him.
Because Tommy Sullivan can handle anything.
Everything.
I can’t remember now why I ever doubted it.
* * *
The first step in Tommy’s plan to “handle” my grandmother involves bringing him to the Bumblebridge estate for brunch so I can officially introduce him to the rest of the family.
And so the Dowager Countess can get to know him better. He’s under the impression that since he can charm me out of my knickers anytime he likes, he’ll be able to charm the nastiness out of her just as easily.
I have my doubts about that part, but I trust him, so I follow his lead.
We’re the first to arrive that Saturday—me in my simple beige sheath dress and sweater and Tommy looking devastatingly handsome in his dark gray suit and sharp black tie. As I gaze at our reflection in the gilded mirror while we wait in the grand foyer . . . I realize something.
I don’t want Tommy to simply entice my grandmother into changing her mind about our relationship. I want her to understand clearly that we would be together regardless of her approval, that it’s not her decision to make. I want her to know that her thoughts and threats don’t matter—that I am not a puppet on a string. At least . . . not anymore.
It’s like osmosis, like Tommy’s surety and boldness have seeped into me. And here, now, with him in my life again, I’m strong enough to tell my grandmother exactly what I should have said from the very start.
And I don’t just want to do it, I need to.
For him and me—and very much for myself.
“I’m going to have a private word with my grandmother before things gets started.”
Tommy glances hesitantly in the direction of the library. “You’re certain? I could come with you.”
“No, I’ll just be a moment. It’ll be fine.”
He nods and kisses me sweetly on the cheek.
I enter the library without knocking, closing the door behind me.
“Grandmother.”
“Abigail,” she says from behind her rosewood desk. “How nice that you’ve decided to grace us with your presence. I wondered how long you’d carry on with your temper tantrum.”
I see she’s as pleasant as always.
“Yes, about that—Tommy is here with me.”
One sharp, damning brow reaches for the sky.
“Excuse me?”
“He wanted to meet the family and it seems fitting to introduce him . . . with him being my boyfriend.”
The brow inches even higher, paired with an appalled drop of her jaw.
“Boyfriend?”
“It’s not as juvenile as it sounds,” I explain curtly. “It’s serious between us. The term ‘lover’ is a better fit, but I was trying to be mindful of your delicate sensibilities.”
Her lips press into a thin line of irritation as she stands.