Someone—probably Sin—must’ve retrieved some of my sister’s things from Gram’s basement before the wedding.
“Yes, well, what?” Grey asks, and I look back at him to see that his forehead and cheeks are slightly red. He looks right at me. “Are you keeping it?”
“Whoa there, cowboy,” I whistle out as Reba gasps, clapping a hand over her mouth.
“You are supremely rude,” she hisses out after dropping that hand to her lap. “How dare you pose such a question to a lady; it’s not your business.” Reba glances over at me, a slight fear wavering in her gaze.
“I don’t know yet,” I finally answer, and Grey stands up suddenly, looking down at me with an expression that makes me believe he really could take over the mafia if he wanted to. Without another word, he turns and storms out of the kitchen.
I look after him with a slight frown before glancing back at Reba.
“What the hell is his problem?” I ask, and she gives me a look that makes me feel like the young and inexperienced one in our relationship.
“Hun, Grey thinks he’s in love with you.”
Oh. Shit.
That really throws me for a loop, and I blink confused eyes back at her.
“Seriously?!” I choke out, because I’m not usually this stupid when it comes to things like that. I’d consider myself worldly and experienced when compared to most. “Fuck.”
Reba cringes, but she doesn’t follow after me when I stand up, trying to figure out where Grey would go if he needed a minute alone.
He can’t go outside; he’s been sleeping in a guest room.
Mm. No. The attic.
I head up the stairs, just in time to see the ladder being pulled up, and a curse slips past my lips.
I grab the small string with the little ball on the end of it that opens the attic door and yank on it, dragging it open and then putting my hands on the lower rung of the ladder. It slides open and I climb up into the dark shadows of the attic, lit only with a small camping lantern that Grey probably found in the boxes of crap strewn about. Doubt any of the guys would care to offer him something to light his way.
“Hey.” I pause at the top of the ladder, but Grey doesn’t acknowledge me. Instead, he leans back on a small chaise and ignores me. With a sigh, I continue up, dragging the ladder up after me so we can have some privacy.
I sit next to him on the chaise, even though it’s a tight fit.
“Whose baby is it?” he asks absently, gazing toward a small round window on the far wall. There’s no glass in it, just wood shutters that are currently closed. It’s pretty early in the morning, but I imagine that when the sun does come up, rays of dusky sunlight will stream through those slats and make the strange planes and sloping ceilings of the attic glow.
“Not Beast’s,” I offer up, unafraid to be honest with Grey Wolfe, even about something like this. “Probably Grainger’s. I don’t know.”
He’s silent for some time, crossing his legs at the knee and curling his fingers together. He glances over at me, the light from the camping lantern hitting him beneath the chin and giving him this look of cold cruelty that I really hope doesn’t blossom into a dark rose. He needs to keep it contained, just as I need to work to control the fires of my own internal rage.
“You don’t love me,” I tell him, but he’s already shaking his head.
“You don’t know the shadows of my own heart,” he says, giving a low, caustic laugh. “Don’t be so presumptuous.”
“Don’t talk to me like we don’t know each other,” I warn him with a growl. If he’s going to drop into pompous mafia brat mode, then I can go full club on his ass. “That’s fucking stupid.”
“This whole thing is stupid,” Grey snaps back, reaching up to rake his fingers angrily through his hair. For the first time since I left the cathedral with Grainger, I wonder if Grey isn’t disappointed that we didn’t end up getting married. If, maybe, that’s what he wanted all along.
I feel like a total dickhead.
I guess I just assumed we both felt the same way. I look back down at my lap, picking at the peeling decal on the front of my shirt. The image used to be one of a sleek black and silver motorcycle, but a few tumbles through the washer and it’s coming apart.
“Are you happy here?” he asks eventually, breaking the silence before I get a chance to. “The way you talked back home, I couldn’t tell. There was melancholy in your words, sure, but I thought it was just a bygone sort of thing. But now here are you are, married and … pregnant.”
