Grayson's Vow

A few minutes later, I heard the front doorbell. I finished up what I was doing, knowing Walter would answer it in his formally cold, no-nonsense demeanor, no doubt. Of course, if anyone was used to dealing with servants, it was undoubtedly Kira Dallaire. She was probably used to a whole swarm doing her bidding and meeting her every whim.

When I finally made my way to the kitchen, Kira was seated at the large, well-worn, farmhouse dinner table, a glass of wine in front of her. She was wearing jeans and a deep-green blousy-type shirt. Her hair was pulled back as severely as it had been that morning. Had that been only hours ago? It seemed more like a decade.

Charlotte was moving around the kitchen, ignoring her. She addressed me without looking my way, "I didn't clean the dining room today as I was unaware there'd be a guest." She shot a disdainful look at Kira. "I hope eating in the kitchen meets with your approval, sir." She put the emphasis on sir, obviously trying to make me feel guilty about referring to her as nothing more than a housekeeper earlier.

"You know I don't like to eat in the dining room anyway, Charlotte. This is fine." I sat down at the table, nodding once to Kira and taking a sip of my water.

"You don't drink wine?" she asked.

"Only sometimes."

"Isn't that unusual for someone who runs a winery?"

"I suppose." She kept looking at me, but when I didn't continue, she looked away, taking in the kitchen.

"This kitchen is really beautiful," she said softly.

Before I could answer, Charlotte placed a plate in front of Kira, a little harder than necessary, I noted, causing a small dollop of sauce to splash onto the table. She delivered my plate in the same fashion, turning up her nose as she walked away. Without acknowledging her, I began to eat. Charlotte started clanking around in the kitchen, ignoring us both. Other than the noise of dishes being handled, an awkward silence ensued.

. . . and continued . . . and then continued some more.

The clock on the kitchen wall ticked loudly, the only other sounds: Charlotte's angry dish washing and our forks hitting the plates now and then. I noticed Kira shifting in her seat and looked up to see a red flush in her cheeks. She caught my eye.

"Have you ever been to Africa?" she suddenly asked.

Africa? I opened my mouth to answer, but she spoke first. Apparently the question had been rhetorical. "Kenya, specifically. They have a wonderful welcome custom there. The warriors of the tribe, wearing their most vibrant costumes, do what's called a jumping dance. They all form a circle and compete to jump the highest, demonstrating to their guests the strength and bravery of their tribe. It's magnificent! The heights some of them can jump, it's unreal." A lock fell loose from her pulled-back hair, but she ignored it, taking a big bite of stroganoff, not bothering to swallow before continuing. "I was just thinking what a run for their money you could give them with the Hawthorn welcoming custom, though. It's heartwarming. I can't tell you how comfortable you've made me feel. Of course, in Kenya, you can also expect a mixed cocktail of cow's milk and blood to be part of your greeting, so that does knock off a few points for them. Still—"

I put my fork down. "Are you done?"

Sparks seemed to flash in her eyes as she met my gaze. "Not really. Why?" A jolt speared down my spine at those sparks making her large green eyes bright with indignation. But then she took a casual sip of wine and returned to her meal. I looked at Charlotte and swore I saw one side of her lip quirk up before she turned away.

I clenched my jaw at Kira's sarcastic response, but had to concede that she was right. We'd been rude to her. I was in a shitty mood. But she hadn't really done anything wrong. I didn't like her . . . or rather, I didn't like her type, and her existence in my home was a blatant reminder of the many ways I'd failed. But that didn't mean I couldn't be civil. She was also presenting a way out. I wouldn't act like she was doing me a huge favor despite the money, though. And I wouldn't pretend I liked this situation—or that we weren't partners in this distasteful business deal. We were both making a sacrifice here. She was handing over what amounted to a lot of money to me, but she was going to be disrupting my life for the next few months, the next year, maybe longer when it came to taxes, seeing her name on forms for the rest of my life . . . But, we'd be civil business associates. She’d been all right so far. I'd even had a little fun earlier with the whole gardener's cottage thing. Which, come to remember, she hadn't brought up yet.

"We should discuss—"

"The fact that you're the offspring of a fire-breathing lizard? I already figured that out."

Charlotte snorted from the kitchen but covered it up with the bang of a pot.

"Listen, Kira—"

"No, you listen, Grayson." More hair fell to frame her face as she banged her little fist down on the table and glared at me, her witchy eyes flashing again, heating my blood, much to my own dismay. "I'm making you a very generous offer here. If this is going to work, I refuse to let you treat me as you've done so far. I can assure you that, with your credentials, you won't get a better offer than mine. Keep treating me like you of all people have the right to look down on me, and I'll leave and take my inheritance with me."

Anger raced through my blood, and I banged my own fist on the table. I had the satisfaction of seeing Kira jump slightly. "If this is going to work, I won't be treated like you're taking pity on me and I'm not making as much of a sacrifice as you are," I gritted out. "Do you think I have any desire whatsoever to marry you or anyone else?"