“What if he isn’t?” Jeffrey frowned. “What if dinner’s really bad?”
Celeste shrugged. “We’ll order more pizza and know he’s a liar. But I don’t think he is. He hasn’t lied about anything yet. And one more thing.”
“What?” he looked at her suspiciously.
“I want you to be nicer to him.”
“I’m not going to call him Dad,” he said fiercely, his hand tightening on hers.
“I’m not asking that. Just don’t be mean. Don’t say mean things. It’s called the Golden Rule; treat people how you want to be treated. You wouldn’t like it if anybody said mean things to you, so don’t say mean things to other people. You don’t have to even like him, if you don’t want to, but be polite.”
“Maybe.”
“Jeffrey.” Her voice held a warning in it now.
“Fine!” He stamped his foot.
Mandy walked in, holding a bottle of wine in each hand. “Wine cellar is well-stocked, which almost makes up for how creepy this place is.”
Celeste stifled a laugh. “Wine at seven a.m. Impressive. And you’re double-fisting it.”
“Shifter metabolism,” Mandy said. “I’d have to drink about twenty of these to even get a mild buzz.”
“Please don’t,” Celeste suggested. Then she turned her attention back to Jeffrey. “Now, let’s talk about trust. You need to know that Grant and I will not lie to you. I told you I’d come right back to the hotel room last night, and I did. Grant said he’s a good cook, and I believe he’s going to make us a delicious dinner tonight. You told me that you’re going to be nicer to Grant, and I believe you will. Now it’s Mandy’s turn. She told us she’s super-strong, and I believe her. Mandy’s going to watch you while I go talk to Grant for a few minutes, and maybe she can show you how strong she is. No, she can’t throw Grant out a window,” she added quickly.
“Hmm,” Mandy frowned. “Technically, I could.”
“I heard that!” Grant yelled, walking in to the room with a plate full of cold cuts.
“Mandy!” Celeste said, exasperated. “Not helping!”
“Fine, fine. I can pick up a car. Want to see?” she said to Jeffrey.
Jeffrey cheered up considerably, and he took the plate of cold cuts from Grant. “I guess I don’thatesteak,” he said to Grant. He shoved a wad of roast beef into his mouth and followed Mandy out the front door.
“Let’s go check out our bedroom,” Grant said to Celeste. “And then I’ll cook you guys some breakfast and take you shopping.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” Celeste shook her head, trying to hide her smile. There was no way she was going to accept anything from him for herself. She’d been obligated to people before, and she knew where that led. Besides, stuff just tied you down. If she had books and music and closets full of pretty dresses, it would be that much harder when she had to leave.
She’d let him shop for Jeffrey until his credit card whimpered, though. Her nephew deserved toys and games and candy and all the things her sister had been too messed-up or too selfish to give him. And besides, Grant’s obvious excitement was kind of cute.
Cute?She shut that thought down. Hard.
“Okay,” she said. “Lead the way.”
Their bedroom was on the second floor.
When they got there, Grant swept her up in his arms. She stifled a squeak of surprise, then realized the swooping sensation in her belly was arousal. Could he smell that she was turned on? Werewolves had super-senses, right? His arms were strong and muscular, his hands warm against her spine and the back of her thigh, and he smelled musky and good.
At her look of surprise, he said, “What? I got our back-dated marriage certificate emailed to me this morning. We were married in Colorado two days ago, as far as anyone knows. So I’m carrying my wife across the threshold. Isn’t that how it’s done?”
“Traditionally it’s the threshold of the house, not the bedroom, but hey, we’re not a traditional couple.”Or even a couple at all, she thought with a twinge.
“Damn. Well, when we move in to our real house, I’ll do it again, the right way,” he said confidently. Then he strode into the enormous room.
The furniture was all gilded, with ornate legs carved into curves and festooned with scalloped edges. The carpet was ankle-deep, the enormous four-poster bed piled high with overstuffed golden cushions. Every surface that wasn’t gold was mirrored. If magpies worked in interior design, this room would be the result.
“Wow,” Celeste marveled. “I’d say it looks like a French whorehouse, but no respecting French whore would set foot in this place.”