Grayson's Vow

Grayson stepped into the room, taking his time looking around. His eyes stopped for a second on my Louis Vuitton luggage before he finally made eye contact. "I wasn't sure I was coming until about fifteen minutes ago."

"I see. Well, would you like to go downstairs? We could get coffee—"

"This is fine. I won't stay long. I've gotta get back to work."

I glanced around my room at the unmade bed, the clothes strewn about. I dragged the chair from the desk forward and then sat down on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed. Grayson sat down on the chair. "I've been considering your offer. Before we go any further, I'd like to meet with the executor of the trust to make sure the money will be paid out as you said it will, upon our marriage or shortly afterward."

I nodded, my heart rate accelerating. "Of course. I understand."

Grayson gave one succinct nod. "And if everything looks fine there, we'll need to have a prenuptial agreement drawn up, stating the financial terms of our marriage."

"Obviously."

"No matter what happens financially in the next year when we're married, no finances or property will be split in any way, shape, or form."

"No, of course."

His expression remained enigmatic. "Once I meet with your executor, I'm going to have to trust that upon the payout, you'll actually give me half of it."

I frowned. "That would be our deal." A piece of hair fell out of my knot and I tried to tuck it back up. Grayson's eyes followed my hand and then lingered there as the lock slipped loose again.

"Yes, but Kira," he said almost distractedly before looking back to my eyes. He leaned forward, his gaze steady and alert now. "I don't know you. For all I know, we get married, then you get the check and take off for Brazil. Trusting you in any respect would be an act of faith on my part."

I bristled. "I would never do that."

"So you say. I've found that people say what suits them in the moment. Doesn't always mean it can be counted on."

Yes, I knew what he meant. I took a deep breath and nodded my head. "I . . . realize that. But, I intend on keeping my word."

He regarded me for one heartbeat . . . two, before he looked away. "I'll agree to you living at Hawthorn Vineyard for two months. That should be enough time to notify your father of our marriage and for you to find a place of your own with your share of the money. If there's an issue with your father, we can renegotiate the timeframe. There's an old gardener's cottage on my property that you can live in. It's small and doesn't offer many luxuries, but it has a bed and running water." He eyed me in some way I couldn’t read.

"Sounds quaint."

"Quaint would be a generous description." Was that challenge I read in those black dragon eyes, perhaps a small quirk of his lip?

"Fine." I lifted my chin. I'd never backed down from my father, and I wouldn't back down from this man.

"You are desperate."

"So are you."

"True enough." He paused. "If you don't mind me asking, why'd you pick me? I mean, other than my desperation?" His lip did quirk up slightly then, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "You could have picked some homeless guy off the street and shared half your inheritance with him. There are lots of desperate people in this world, Kira, if you're looking to give money away."

"My father would never believe I had fallen in love and married a homeless man, Grayson. It would be too easy for him to contest the payout of the trust. My father is well connected, as you can probably imagine, and I have to be careful. I had to pick the right person. A convincing person."

He tilted his head. "Your father contesting the payout of the trust . . . Is that something I need to worry about?"

I shook my head. He would more likely expend effort toward covering it up or putting a spin on it that worked in his favor, should a marriage to Grayson Hawthorn actually occur. Still . . . "I don't think so, no, but I've learned that where my father's concerned, it's wise to be diligent." Despite my optimistic words, a chill went down my spine.

"I see. So you intend to convince your father you saw me on the street, fell madly in love, and we married in a week?"

I sighed. "He won't find it such a stretch. He sees me as . . . impulsive . . . flighty . . . irrational."

His dark eyes regarded me speculatively. "And are you? Are you those things?"

I bit my lip. "Impulsive, yes, I admit I can be. Flighty, no, I don't think so. Irrational, aren't we all sometimes?"

He seemed to consider my answer for a second. "So that will be our story? We bumped into each other here in Napa, fell in love, and impulsively married because we were irrational—but not flighty—with new love?"

I gave him a small smile. "Basically. I guess we can discuss the details so we're in sync." My heart had started racing again. "So you agree? We have a deal?"

"If all pans out once I meet with the executor, yes, we have a deal."

I nodded and let out a breath. "You won't regret this, Grayson."

"Oh, I'm sure I will in some way or another, Kira. But . . . desperate times—"

"Call for desperate measures. And this is about as desperate as measures get."

He smiled, flashing me a set of straight, white teeth, but the same disdain he'd shown me earlier was back in his expression. He didn't see me as someone giving him a gift, but as someone driving him to do something he didn't want to do. As if I hadn't given him a choice. Well, that was fine. I didn't need his gratitude. I needed his name. I couldn't deny the disappointment I felt, though. When I'd seen him on the street the day before, he'd seemed . . . lost, broken, but still compassionate. However, the man sitting in front of me now was completely different—stiff and cold. Had I really misjudged him that poorly?