“And that—” The words dry out, falling flat on my lips.
He leans down, fingers tilting my chin, and kisses me softly. “And I meant it.”
Relief and joy flood through me, and I smile. “Good. ’Cause I think I love you too.”
His brow lifts. “Think?”
I shrug, half nervous, half playful. “I can’t say I’ve ever been in love before.”
“And what makes you think you might be now?”
I sigh, checking items off my love list one by one. “The impossible pull you have on me. The way I feel instantly at ease with you, like I can actually be myself. And the fact that you cut a bald spot into my head and I’m still here, giving you my body like some weak-willed woman.”
That makes us both laugh, the sound bouncing warm off the massive lake house walls.
“I love it here,” I admit, my grin softer this time. “And…I love you.”
He kisses me again, lingering. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Grant Mills.”
Another kiss, deeper. “I thought I was your mister?”
“You like sounding like my paid escort, huh?”
“No,” he says, his lips grazing mine. “I like sounding like I’ve got something from you no one else does. My name. My claim.”
“Fine. I love you too,myMister.”
And then it happens—the sharp crunch of tires against gravel outside. The sound slices through the air, shattering our fragile, morning-after peace.
I move toward the window just as the door bursts open, cold air sweeping inside. And there they are—Marlow, eyes wide and wild, and Declan, jaw tight, shoulders squared like he’s ready for war.
And all I can think as I spin around is that Grant Mills is standing in the kitchen half-naked, frying bacon, while I’m still in his T-shirt.
Marlow’s gaze sweeps the room, sharp and cutting, until it lands on me—then on Grant. Her whole face twists, her shock boiling into rage.
“What the actual fuck?!?” she screams, her voice sharp as glass. “This is where you’ve been? With him?”
Her hand flings toward Grant like an accusation before snapping back to me. “Daddy? Her?!”
The words hit harder than the cold gust of wind rushing in behind her. My chest caves, the air sucked right out of me.
I move past Grant, my hands half-raised, desperate to reach her. “Low, I can explain.”
She jerks back like I’ve burned her. “Explain? He’s shirtless. You’re wearing said shirt. No explanation needed, Eslin!”
“Marlow, please,” Grant says behind me, his voice careful, as if stepping closer to a wild animal on the verge of breaking.
But she only turns back to me, her eyes glassy, furious.
“Shaun Kennedy had one more trick up his sleeve before he was shipped off to Europe. My marriage to Declan is now splashedall over the fucking media. And you? You’re here. Fucking my father?”
Grant moves closer, the weight of his presence shifting the room, his voice edged with both confusion and temper. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you were married?”
Marlow
I woke up at 4 a.m. to my phone buzzing off the nightstand like it’s possessed. A barrage of calls, texts, emails—every single one of them screaming at me to look. Most from Tatum, others from PR staff, a few from numbers I don’t even recognize. My stomach drops before I even swipe the screen.