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Michelle
I walked on Cloud Nine. Every time I passed Grayson and saw his hungry eyes on me, my heart soared. I was surprised at how quickly I was falling for him. I enjoyed his presence, yes. I even enjoyed the way he lusted after me the way he did. No man had ever wanted me in that fashion before. No man had ever wanted me so desperately or enjoyed the feel of me so passionately.
Looking up from my book, I watched him walk into Anton’s library. He sat down on the other end of the couch and peered over the text he was reading. I smiled at him as my cheeks flushed, his leg stretching out to touch me. His toes tucked underneath my thigh as he wiggled them, pulling a giggle from me that distracted me from my book.
“Come on, now. The library is—sacred space.”
“I can think of a few other things I’d label that way, too,” he said.
“Plus, you have to be quiet in libraries,” I said, with a whisper.
“Oh I can be quiet. The question is, can you?”
He charged me on the couch and clamped his hand down over my mouth. And it was moments like those that took my breath away. That slipped me into another world where it was only the two of us enjoying one another. The way he took control and the way he commanded my body was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I walked around with an ache in my bones that spread smiles across my face whenever I moved. I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want this part of my life to be over so quickly.
But I knew that date was looming. Just like it had the first time.
Thinking about him leaving was scary. Thinking about how I felt about him frightened me. But the liberating hurricane that was Grayson kept sweeping me off my feet, dragging me along with his current. I’d slip into the shower and there he would be, moving in for the kill as his arms slid down my sides. I’d be lying in bed, about to take a nap, and there he would be. Moving up the covers so he could slip in next to me.
This kind of attachment to a man I knew was leaving wouldn’t be good for either of us.
In a week, he still planned to go. At the very least, I knew he wasn’t staying. This wasn’t his home and he had no more family here. And if he had a job of any sort, it certainly wasn’t in Stillsville, either. Would I get another stay of execution? Would he keep inching things out a week or two until he got tired of me? Or did he simply plan to enjoy my body and our connection before leaving me behind and never looking back?
There was a lingering termination date on us, and it settled an uncertainty into the pit of my gut.
“Michelle?”
I groaned and rolled over as the morning sunlight hit my eyes.
“Mhm?” I asked.
“Hey there, beautiful.”
I smiled at his words as he pressed his lips to my cheek.
“I’m heading back to the lawyer’s office to make sure the deeds on Anton’s properties have been sent to their rightful owners. Then I have to go talk to the accountants and make sure his money is being divided among his designated charities properly.”
“Sounds like you’ve already had coffee,” I said.
“And there’s plenty more for you. I made sure of it.”
I smiled as my eyes finally peeled open.
“Such a handsome sight,” I said.
“Maybe when I get back you can enjoy it a little more,” he said with a wink.
“Honestly? I don’t think I can move.”
“Then I’ll do all the moving for you.”
His lips reached down for mine and my fingers threaded through his hair. I watched him turn and walk away, admiring the swagger he held in his step. That man walked with a confidence I’d never understand. A confidence I’d never felt in my life.
Well, unless I was wrapped around him.
I pulled myself from bed and decided to tidy up the house a bit. I didn’t start my job at the diner until tomorrow evening, and it sounded like Grayson would be gone for a few hours. I made up the beds and cleaned the dishes, putting them away so I could fill the dishwasher again. The broken glass on the porch had been cleaned up, but I hosed it down just to make sure there were no shards left. I pulled some weeds in the backyard like I used to do and tended to the flowers out front, and once I’d worked up a decent sweat I went inside to get a drink.
One glass of water led to two, and soon it was almost lunch time and I hadn’t eaten. It was twelve thirty and my stomach growled ferociously before I felt dizzy. I needed something quick. Something easily ingested so I could stand and make myself a decent meal. I opened the pantry and scanned the shelves, eyeing a package of chips on the floor.
Leaning against a box full of wine.
I bent over and picked it up, hoisting the heavy thing onto the kitchen counter. I bent over for the bag of chips and opened them, then popped a few into my mouth. The saltiness helped with the dizzy spell I was experiencing, but my eyes were studying the wine box in front of me.
It was from a place called Still Valley Vineyard.
Huh.
Sounded a lot likes ‘Stillsville’.
I reached in to pull out a bottle to see what it looked like. Was this the wine from our date night? My lips slid into a grin as I thought back to the night before. I guess he expected us to do a lot of drinking if he ordered six bottles of wine to be shipped in.
But instead of my fingers hitting a bottle, they grazed against a piece of paper.
Furrowing my brow, I pulled it out of the box. It was a handwritten letter addressed to someone named ‘Boss-man’. My eyes scanned the letter as my hand grew weak around the bag of chips. I looked at the logo on the wine box and read out the name again, then re-read the letter quickly.
Still Valley Vineyard.
Stillsville.
“Boss-man,” I said with a whisper.
He was the owner of the vineyard?
That couldn’t be right, and I knew a quick internet search would clear that up. I set the letter back into the box and went in search of my phone, my hunger falling to the wayside. I dug through my things and found it, cursing that the battery was almost dead. I sat by the charger and plugged it in, then typed in the name of the vineyard.
And fuck if Grayson’s face didn’t pop up along with it.
But it wasn’t just the vineyard. Things about the NFL popped up as well. Games. Tackles. Wins and losses. Pictures of him with insanely-huge men. Pictures of him on a practice field. Interview after interview with him talking into a microphone with sweat pouring off his brow.
Grayson MacDonald!?
I wasn’t a sports fan. Not by a long shot. But everyone knew who Grayson MacDonald was. One of the best in his position to ever grace the field—that was who he was. I read through the articles on the injury that took him off the field and out of the sports arena. I flipped through pictures and combed through headlines as blood drained from my face.
I flipped back to the vineyard and began looking at pictures of it. Taking in its sheer size, its beauty, and the sprawling mansion that sat on the hillside.
My heart fluttered so fast in my chest I thought I was going to pass out.
Why in the world had he not told me any of this? Why hadn’t he told me the delectable wine we had over dinner was his? Did he think I was going to try and attach myself to him because of his money or something? Steal his fortune and run off with it? What kind of woman did he think I was? I searched for his net worth. The internet had every piece of information I could’ve ever wanted to find on a man like him. Maybe it wasn’t what I was thinking. I couldn’t be. There was no way Grayson could be—.
My eyes bulged at the number.
Four billion dollars?
Grayson’s net worth was four billion dollars!?
My phone slipped from my hands and my dizziness came back. I stalked back out to the kitchen and picked up the chips I had spilled all over the floor. I pulled the letter back out and looked at the bottom, trying to discern who it was from.
Maria Lopez? Who was that?
And why did she call herself ‘his savior’?
The wisdom strewn throughout the letter told me the two of them were close. No one gave anyone like Grayson MacDonald that kind of guidance without having some sort of special, intricate relationship. But finding all of this and coming to grips with what he had hid from me reinforced the idea of him leaving. If he’d planned on staying, why wouldn’t he have told me all these things about himself? Why wouldn’t he have opened up more so we could get to know each other? I placed the letter back in the box as tears lined my eyes.
He really was going to leave me in his dust.
I liked Grayson. A lot. And not just after what I had discovered. Even before that, when I was screaming in his bed and he had me pinned beneath him, there was a comfort in his eyes I couldn’t ignore. An allure to him that drew me to his person. But this only confirmed his plan to leave. No man would attach himself to a woman if he didn’t want to tell her about this side of his life. A man only opened up to a woman he wanted to keep around.
Even Andy opened up to me before he asked me to move with him. It didn’t do us much good, but it was the act of opening up that mattered.
And Grayson wasn’t opening up.
I couldn’t get the tone of the letter out of my head. As I sat at the kitchen table and munched on the few chips that hadn’t fallen onto the floor, I wondered who Maria was. What was Grayson’s relationship to her? She obviously knew where he was. She was probably the one who shipped him the wines. But did she know about me? Was Grayson talking to her about me? Or was it something else?
Just another thing he was hiding so he could have some fling with a small-town girl?
The idea made me sick to my stomach. One specific line kept rolling through my mind from the note. Her comment on making more meaningful connections with people around him. Did Maria want that with him? Maybe she was a woman back wherever home was for him. Maybe she was back there trying to find ways to reach out to him in Illinois and remind him of herself. Like a long-lost lover not quite wanting to let go of something she still loved. I imagined an exotic woman, with black hair and hazel eyes and tan skin, standing on a balcony overlooking the vineyard and waiting for him to get home.
Long lines. Thin features. Curves where it all counted.
If he had something like that waiting for him at home, no wonder Grayson wouldn’t stay with me.
I finished off the chips before tossing the bag into the trash can. There was really only one way to settle the questions running through my mind, and that was confronting him with them. I wanted to know why he’d been so secretive about that wine. I wanted to know who Maria was. I wanted to know who I was to him and what his plan was once the week was finished. I needed to know. I deserved to know, given all that we had been through. I wiped at the few tears that threatened to spill over, chastising myself for not being stronger.
What did I expect anyway? For him to take me with him?
A lot of good that did me the first fucking time.
I walked back into my room and began putting all of my things into my bag. I didn’t know why, but I felt compelled to do it. My stuff was strewn all over the room I had chosen for myself, and it looked like a damn pig sty. But it didn’t feel right to put it in the empty dresser drawers Anton had in the room. This wasn’t my home. As much as I wanted it to be, it wasn’t. As much as I felt comfortable in it, it wasn’t. I shoved my things into my bag until all that was left was a pair of yoga pants, a shirt, and my phone connected to its charger.
I needed another shower. For some reason, I felt gross all over again.
My speech ran through my head as I washed down my body. I wrapped a towel around me and stared into the mirror, rehearsing it even more. I didn’t want to anger Grayson. That wasn’t the point of all this. But I did want the truth. I did want answers as to what the plan was when the week came to a close. Was he leaving? Staying longer? What was I to him? Did I mean anything to him like he did to me?
I dried myself off and tossed the towel into a hamper before I pulled on my fresh clothes.
I looked over at the clock and saw it was almost three in the afternoon. The house was cleaned. The truths had been uncovered. My things were packed and my room didn’t look like a damn mess. All there was to do was sit and wait for him to get back. I didn’t like that. I enjoyed sitting and waiting for him the night he went out drinking, but I didn’t like it now. It felt tainted somehow. Tainted with an anxiousness I couldn’t shake.
I went and made myself a mug of hot cocoa, trying my best to execute it the way Anton used to do.
The way Grayson did.
It didn’t come out quite right, but it was good enough. I plucked the letter from the box and sat down at the kitchen table, my eyes watching the microwave as the minutes ticked by. I wasn’t focused enough to read a book, but I didn’t have the energy to bide my time until he got back.
So I sat, sipped my subpar cocoa, and waited.
