Promise: The Deception Trilogy, Book 3

by Fallon Hart

  My lips twitched. “To which I’m sure my wife will then feel obliged to eat the meal.”

  My butler managed to keep a straight face. "Of course, sir." He gave me a conspiratorial nod and strode back over the door but before he left he turned to me, "Mrs. Mandeville is ensconced in the movie room, Mr. Mandeville. Should you wish to join her, I am sure Wells could handle club matters in the meantime."

  I nodded, my feet already itching to stand. “Then please inform Wells that he has the run of the place for the next few hours.”

  "Excellent, sir."

  As soon as Xavier left, I put away the contract. It would wait until later.

  Strange anticipation moved through me as I strolled out of my office and made my way to the movie room. I couldn't remember the last time I'd used it, but I suddenly felt like an idiot for not using it to spend time with Scarlett before. It occurred to me that I had no idea how to really live comfortably with a woman. I was sure watching television and movies were what most normal couples did together.

  I braced myself at the door, knowing she wouldn't want me there. But if I wanted to make progress with her, I needed to start taking advantage of the moments I could spend time with her.

  Walking in, the first thing I saw was the movie playing on the screen.

  Gone with the Wind.

  Shit.

  Her mother’s favorite film.

  My eyes flew to her where she was curled on the massive sofa with a blanket over her. She stared at me, her eyes big and round with surprise at my interruption. Other than that she didn't look sad. Still… "Are you alright?"

  “What are you doing here?” she sat up, holding the blanket up as if it was somehow a defense against me.

  “I heard the movie from the hallway.”

  “I’m sorry. I can switch it off.”

  I waved her away. “Don’t be silly. This place should get some use.” I looked back at the film. “It’s been years since I’ve seen this.”

  “Me too.”

  At the slight melancholy in her tone, I shrugged out of my suit jacket and threw it over the edge of the couch. Then I walked around it and sat down with only a cushion seat between us. Loosening my tie, I tried to concentrate on the film and not the fact that my wife was inches away on a large, very comfortable sofa.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, suspicion clear in her voice.

  I looked at her. She'd dimmed the lights and drawn the black-out blind on the window. The light from the film danced across her face. Her make-up was always very light unless we were attending some function or other. Today I didn't think she was wearing any because I could see the very light freckles sprinkled across her nose. Her lips were bare too. My wife had the perfect mouth. When I'd been struggling against my attraction to her, I used to curse that fucking mouth of hers. Heart-shaped, plump perfection. I could nibble on that mouth for days.

  My cock stirred. This time I let it.

  I wanted her.

  No point hiding it.

  Feeling my stare, she turned to look at me, and the light caught her eyes. I'd been fucked from the start when I met her. Those exotic bloody eyes could bring a man to his knees. I loved looking into them as I moved inside her. God, no woman had ever made me feel like she was truly looking at me the way Scarlett did.

  I never knew I wanted that until she gave it to me.

  She licked her lips nervously. “You’re not watching the movie.”

  “I am.” I reluctantly turned my gaze back to the screen. It was the scene where Rhett Butler bid a ridiculous amount on Scarlett O’Hara for a first dance with her at a charity auction. The frowning host had just said Scarlett was in mourning and wouldn’t possibly consider accepting. To which she’d broken all propriety by disagreeing comically that she would.

  My Scarlett let out a delightful bubble of giggles, and I flashed her smile. "She reminds me of you."

  She raised an eyebrow. “I was just going to say she reminds me of Melanie.”

  “Ah yes, you said you felt your mother should have named you both for the other.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  I glanced back at the screen. “You’re not as volatile as Scarlett O’Hara, but neither are you like the character of Melanie. You do have Scarlett’s fire.”

  “You think so?”

  Truthfully I was shocked she’d let me sit next to her this long without starting a fight, but whatever angel of mercy was sitting on her shoulder I wasn’t going to lose the opportunity to spend time with her. “I’ve never met a more stubborn woman.”

  Scarlett wrinkled her nose. It was fucking adorable. “That’s not passion or fire. That’s obstinacy.”

  I chuckled. "Yes, it is. But it's fueled by fire." My gaze softened on her. "You're fiercely protective and fiercely loyal. That's why I'd hate to see you lose that in exchange for protecting yourself."

  She looked back at the movie. “I’ve already decided to not push away the people I care about.”

  My heart literally fucking lurched in my chest.

  “Except you,” she whispered, “Caring about you hurts too much.”

  I closed my eyes briefly, fighting the urge to shake her. “Believe me,” I choked out, “Caring about you isn’t any easier.”

  “Then why?”

  “I told you—”

  “I’m not ready. Yeah, yeah.” She huffed.

  We were silent a while as the film continued and then I said, “Chef Depardieu has arranged a Thanksgiving meal for us to share.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  I bit back a curse. “Then you tell him. I’m sure the new hardened you can handle his utter disappointment.”

  She scoffed, “Ha. I know what you’re doing you know. I’m not stupid. Manipulative jerk.”

  I grinned at her. “Yet somehow it’s still working.”

  Scarlett rolled her eyes.

  “C’mon,” I teased, leaning toward her, “You’re not the least bit flattered by my attempts to coerce you into spending time with me.”

  Narrowing her eyes on me, she replied, “Not at all. Your efforts are in vain. None of it will make me forgive you.”

  "Maybe. Maybe not. But it will remind you that once upon a time we were good together and can be again."

  She shook her head, her expression so unbearably sad; I wanted to haul her into my arms. Somehow I refrained.

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Make me,” I urged.

  “We weren’t good together, Griff.” Anger flared in her eyes. “We were wonderful. That’s why I can’t forgive you. And spending time with me, touching me, kissing me, isn’t doing what you think it’s doing. You don’t think I know I’m still attracted to you despite the shit you pulled? That I don’t think about what it’s like to have you moving inside of me.”

  Fuck.

  “I do,” she nodded, a stubborn set to her jaw, “But what you don’t seem to realize is that I have a lot of self-control. I can put the desires of my body aside when my heart tells me those feelings are wrong.”

  I reached up, unable to keep myself from touching her any longer, and curled her hair behind her ear, caressing her soft skin. “They’re not wrong. And forgiveness is divine.”

  She leaned toward me, the anger gone, replaced by pity.

  My hand dropped to my side.

  “How do you expect me to forgive you? To love you… when you have no idea how to love anyone as much as you love this club?”

  Now I was angry. I slid my hand around her neck, pulling her into me. I perversely enjoyed her small gasp of shock. It reminded me of the noises she’d make when I’d suck one of her nipples into my mouth. My hand squeezed her neck as I warred between arousal and indignation. “You know nothing,” I seethed against her lips. “Nothing of what I’m capable of feeling.”

  “Then show me. And not with sex.” She wrenched her head away and pushed the blanket off before launching herself off the couch. “Until then, you can’t seduce
me. It’s impossible. So yeah, you’re right. I’m not ready to hear what you have to say or believe it. And what you need to prepare yourself for is that I probably never will be.”

  She stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

  I glowered at the film.

  My cock throbbed.

  My fucking heart ached.

  And for the first time, I cursed Melanie Jennings for bringing her sister into my life. I cursed Scarlett for destroying my well-ordered existence with her goddamn fire.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Scarlett

  Why couldn’t I have no conscience? Why was I so susceptible to guilt?

  After the confrontation with Griffin in the movie room, I'd been determined to not allow myself to be manipulated. Which included not attending the Thanksgiving meal with Griffin. Unfortunately, Chef Depardieu was under the impression I was ‘so excited' for my first Thanksgiving in my new home as a married woman and had promised me with great exuberance that I'd never forget it.

  Faced with the chef's enthusiasm and the amount of hard work I knew he was putting into the meal I found myself agreeing to the dinner. Not only that but Griffin had me dress up for Thanksgiving and stop by to say hello to all the members who were dining at the club together. There were a lot more of them than I'd have suspected and by the time we'd arrived the wine was overflowing at the tables, and they seemed to be having a jolly good time together.

  Griffin excused us as politely as possible, and that's how I found myself seated next to him at the dining table in our private dining room in the penthouse.

  Xavier had the day off, so we were served by one of the waiters from downstairs. Once he'd left, I stared at all the food on our table.

  “This is excessive.”

  Staring at it, my husband nodded. “I’ve already arranged to have any viable leftovers taken to the nearest soup kitchen.”

  The hell of it was I knew he wasn’t doing that to impress me. Griffin had always been quite generous in an off-hand way. I liked to think I’d just made him more aware of the consequences of his generosity.

  “Good.”

  He nodded, suddenly seeming unsure as he stared at the food. Griffin cleared his throat. "I'll be honest… I haven't celebrated Thanksgiving since my mother died. Obviously, we don't celebrate it in England so… anyway, I have no idea what to do."

  A huge part of me wanted to reach for his hand. Instead, I asked quietly, "Is this hard for you?"

  “No,” he said, curt. Then he frowned. “Well… perhaps a little.”

  “Then why do this?”

  His dark eyes cut to me. “Why do you think?”

  Our gazes held for a long, tension-filled few seconds. Finally, I looked at the plates of fancily carved turkey, Pomme de Terre, sweet potatoes, vegetables, pecan pie, pumpkin pie and variety of sauces that were spread out on the dining table before us. None of it looked like the kind of Thanksgiving food my parents prepared. It was like the fine-dining version of Thanksgiving. "The last time I celebrated Thanksgiving was before my parents died. They hosted it at our house and invited Eric and his parents. My sister was so rude the entire time that Eric's mom eventually laid into her. My parents were mortified. Melanie slammed out of the house and didn't come home for two days." I gave a huff of laughter. "That would be my last Thanksgiving memory. My sister creating drama."

  I felt Griff studying me and finally looked up at him. He opened his mouth to ask a question and then seemed to think better of it.

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing. I just… you’ve never mentioned his parents before. You haven’t kept in contact with them?”

  The thought of Eric’s parents made me inwardly wince. “No, Eric’s,” I said his name pointedly, “mom and I had a thing at his wake.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  Sadness bit me. “She was distraught, not thinking clearly. She blamed me for taking him away during the last year of his life. That she didn’t get to spend the time she should have with him because I stole him from her.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Griffin muttered. “I’m sorry.”

  "It was a little humiliating, but his dad was kind. He apologized and said that she would regret saying those things to me once she was in her right mind. But I couldn't stick around after that. I'd stupidly thought that when Eric was gone that I'd have my in-laws to count on for comfort… for a family since I didn't have my parents anymore." I pushed down the pain and threw him a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Oh well."

  Fierceness flashed over his face, and he reached for my hand. I wanted to pull away at the same time I wanted to hold on forever.

  “I don’t want you to feel alone anymore, Scarlett.”

  As gently as I could, I extricated my hand from his and looked at my plate. "Do you feel alone?"

  “When you pull away from me, yes.”

  Guilt suffused me which just irritated the hell out of me because I had nothing to feel guilty about. Infuriated I reached for the tongs on the turkey plate and picked up the carved meat. “Well, then,” I huffed, “You’ll know exactly how I felt when you dumped me off in that apartment.”

  “I knew how you felt while I was doing it,” he bit out. “I was blind fucking drunk for two days after.”

  I practically threw the meat on his plate and returned for more for me. “You’re telling me that throwing me away was difficult for you, right? So why do it?”

  He exhaled wearily. “Scarlett, we’ve already discussed this.”

  Yeah, yeah, I wasn’t ready to hear it. I was getting so sick of that! “Fine, if you won’t talk about that then tell me about the last Thanksgiving with your mom.”

  Griffin cut me a dirty look. "Are you trying to inflict pain on me today?"

  I flinched at the guttural thickness of his words that gave away his emotion. “No.” I shook my head. “No, that’s not my intention. I just… I just don’t want to think about us anymore.”

  We were quiet as I served the rest of the food.

  Then I tentatively took his hand in mine and closed my eyes. "I'm not a particularly religious person, but I am a thankful one, despite recent events. I'm thankful for those who seek to protect me," Griff's hand tightened in mine, "And I'm thankful I have a roof over my head, food in my belly, and a warm, safe place to sleep at night. I'm thankful, in spite of the crap she's pulled, that my sister found someone to love her for who she really is. I'm thankful for good friends. I'm thankful for books. And I'm thankful for Chef Depardieu and the food on this table this evening."

  There was silence, and I was just about to open my eyes when Griffin's deep, rumbling voice filled the room. "I'm thankful for the life I've been given. For good friends and loyal staff. But mostly I'm thankful for the woman beside me. I'll be thankful for her even if this is the last Thanksgiving I ever get to have with her."

  My eyes flew open and connected with his. Longing seared across my chest.

  Griffin squeezed my hand and gently let it go. “One day you’ll believe that.”

  “Maybe one day I will,” I said, my words hoarse with emotion. “But I don’t think I’ll ever believe that I’m the most important thing in your life.”

  He huffed in frustration. “You’re the only thing in my life.”

  Not wanting to argue about this, not now, I picked up my fork and knife. “Let’s eat.”

  The only noise for a while was the sound of our cutlery against dinnerware and the sipping sound of us drinking our wine. A few minutes passed, and it felt like an hour.

  "I was thirteen. My mother was dying." Griff suddenly said. "Her room had been turned into a hospital. But she'd asked Xavier to set up a dining table in there for Thanksgiving. And somehow she found the strength to sit at the table with me. We didn't talk about life as if she wasn't going to be there. We'd been doing that for weeks, and I felt like it was driving me slowly insane."

  Tears pricked my eyes. No matter what he’d done to me, the thought of Griffin as
a heartbroken little boy broke my heart.

  “We laughed a lot,” he smiled sadly. “I remember laughing so much I choked on a piece of turkey.”

  I chuckled, the sound a little watery from my tears.

  “But when it was done,” his smile fell, “It was done. I knew the moment the exhaustion was just too much for her. We got her back into bed. And then she told me…” he rubbed a hand over his mouth, his features taut with strain as he remembered, “That she had to go. She had to leave me. That I might feel scared and alone for a while. But that one day I’d make a new family.” His dark eyes were bright as they locked with mine. “That she’d be watching over me and one day she’d send me a new family. And I’d be okay again.”

  A sob burst out of me before I could stop it.

  "I failed her," he whispered. "She sent me you and… I didn't take care of her gift."

  I couldn’t look at him, my chest was so full of emotion as I wiped at the tears falling fast down my cheeks.

  "You have no idea how much I want to believe you," my breath shuddered as I tried to speak through the overwhelming emotion. "I've been so alone for so long, and you made me feel less alone. Until you didn't. Until you made me feel more alone than I've ever felt before."

  Griffin’s jaw was locked so hard, his eyes so bright, I knew he was fighting back emotion. It was real. There was no pretense here. “I’m so sorry, Scarlett.”

  And for the first time since he’d brought me back here, I believed him. “I know.”

  What I didn’t say was that I trusted him.

  We ate the rest of our meal in silence, the tension so thick between us, I left the table as soon as we were done. It was either that or do something that would only confuse Griff, and I'd inevitably regret.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Griffin

  It was disconcerting, to say the least, to walk around feeling as fucking vulnerable as I was feeling lately. Most of my life, certainly since my mother passed away, I'd kept my emotions, my feelings carefully locked down. It had become clear to me that showing any kind of reaction or insight into my feelings in front of my father was just asking for him to take advantage. And often punish me for those emotions. He wanted me as cold and as hard as he was and on the outside, I gave him that.