You Complicate Me

by Isabel Jordan

  Oh, God.

  “…and right before I, uh, you know…”

  Grace pressed her hands to her stomach. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

  Michael looked equally miserable as he said, “I looked down at her face, her eyes met mine, and I smiled. I thought she’d smile back, but…”

  “She started crying instead,” Grace murmured.

  He nodded, grimacing. “And not like a few happy tears, either. We’re talking gut-wrenching, someone-just-killed-her-puppy sobs. It was awful. I didn’t know what to do. I just kind of awkwardly held her and whispered over and over again that she was going to be okay, that I was there for her. She eventually fell asleep, and when I woke up this morning she was gone. Nick told me she was in her ready room getting dressed hours ago.”

  Grace shook her head, stunned. “And you’re sure you didn’t say anything to upset her? You didn’t let Grandma Ruthie talk to her or anything, did you?”

  He looked offended at the mere suggestion. “Fuck, no. We purposefully avoided everyone last night. We didn’t fight or anything. It was just a conversation and sex. I didn’t do anything wrong, Grace, I swear!”

  Grace rubbed her now-aching temples. Jesus. What a mess. Could Lucille have said something to upset Sadie? But as soon as the thought entered her mind, Grace dismissed it. Lucille had seemed willing to let the wedding play out if Grace wasn’t going to do her bidding and step in to stop it. She also didn’t strike Grace as the kind of person who would toy with her niece’s emotions for fun, either.

  Why was it that Meredith had cried during sex with George on Grey’s Anatomy? Grace tried to remember, but the answer must have been lodged somewhere towards the back of Grace’s brain, most likely buried under various legal precedents, copious amounts of random song lyrics, and useless Star Wars trivia, because she couldn’t quite put her finger on it at the moment.

  Seriously, how could she remember every word of REM’s It’s the End of the World as We Know It, but not be able to call up a major plotline from a show she’d been watching for a million seasons? Ugh. So frustrating.

  With a sigh, Grace gave up trying to recall that stupid episode that probably had nothing to do with Sadie’s crying jag the previous night, anyway. “I’ll go talk to Nick, okay? We’ll see if she said anything to him.”

  Michael looked so relieved that Grace’s heart hurt for him. He shoved a hand through his already-disheveled hair and offered her a weak smile. “Thanks, Gracie. I owe you for this. Big time.”

  And as she was walking out the door, it hit her.

  The reason Meredith cried while having sex with George was that she was really in love with Derek, but couldn’t have him. George was a placeholder, and she felt awful about it.

  Oh…just…hell.

  Grace turned the corner out of the groom’s ready room and face-planted with an oomph into a heavenly scented wall of man chest.

  Nick put his hands on her waist to steady her. “Whoa. Sorry. I…uh…”

  She smiled up at his befuddled expression. “You, uh, what?”

  He stepped back and rubbed a hand over his furrowed brow before muttering, “I’ve never been turned on by anyone wearing a tux before. This is weird. Give me a second, will you?”

  She couldn’t hold back a giggle as she glanced down at her crisp black tux, glaring-white dress shirt, and sky-high, black, fuck-me Manolo Blahniks. “It’s not too much? I thought it’d be appropriate since I’m the best man. My assistant had the guy who works on all my business suits in LA tailor it and overnight it. I’m pretty sure he thought I was nuts, but I think he did a good job anyway, right?”

  Nick slid a finger into the collar of his own crisp white dress shirt and pulled it away from his skin like it was choking him. “You look amazing, Grace. The guy did better than good. I’m thinking I should send him a thank-you note or something.”

  Before she could respond, he bent down and captured her mouth in a kiss that told her just exactly how amazing he thought she looked in her tux.

  When she pulled back, eyes most likely glazed with lust, brain at least partially melted, she licked her lips and said, “Yeah…maybe I should send him a thank-you note, too. Along with a nice fruit basket or something?”

  His chuckle sounded like rough sex and dirty talk, and it did naughty, naughty things to her. “Where were you rushing off to?” he asked.

  Grace kneecapped her wayward hormones and refocused on the problem at hand. “Michael was worried about Sadie. I was going to check and make sure everything is okay. Have you talked to her?”

  His expression turned serious enough that it effectively squashed any remaining dirty thoughts Grace might’ve had. There was definitely trouble in paradise.

  “She’s, uh, not really talking,” Nick said. “She’s in her ready room, all dressed and everything, just staring into the mirror. That’s actually why I was coming to find you. Do you think you could check on her? Make sure she doesn’t need anything?”

  The mother of all bad feelings washed over Grace. The Khaleesi of bad feelings. The kind of bad feeling that other bad feelings aspired to be when they grew up.

  This couldn’t possibly end well.

  But looking into Nick’s hopeful face, remembering Michael’s hopeful face, Grace gave the only answer she could.

  “Of course I’ll talk to her.” She swallowed the lump of foreboding that wedged itself into her throat and studiously ignored the Star Trek red alert siren blaring in her brain. “I’m sure she’s just working through some last-minute jitters.”

  Or some last-minute second thoughts caused by her attraction to the groom’s cousin, the little devil on Grace’s shoulder muttered.

  Suck it up and do whatever you can to help, the little angel on Grace’s other shoulder replied.

  Squaring both shoulders and taking a deep breath, Grace gave Nick what she hoped was a comforting smile and turned away. But he stopped her by grabbing the hand she’d raised to knock on Sadie’s door. “Grace, I, uh, I wasn’t only coming to find you to talk to Sadie for me. I also wanted to tell you that I, uh…well, that is to say that I…”

  She frowned up at him. Wow, he suddenly really looked awful. Kind of sweaty and nervous. Maybe a little nauseous. And his hand was clammy. Nick wasn’t the kind of guy who was ever clammy. “What’s wrong?”

  He opened his mouth and it looked like he wanted to say something, but no words escaped. It felt kind of like she was standing in front of Edvard Munch’s The Scream. Grace tightened her grip on his clammy hand and said, “Okay, now you’re scaring me. What’s going on, Nick? What did you need to tell me?”

  Instead of answering, he kissed her again. And this kiss was…different than any they’d ever shared. Usually, their kisses were all clashing tongues and teeth, dripping in need, like they were trying to crawl inside each other because that was the only way they’d ever get close enough. But this kiss was slow, deep, sensual. He was trying to tell her something with this kiss—something he couldn’t find the words to express.

  Grace had no idea what he was trying to say, but she liked it. A lot.

  Finally, when they broke apart, gasping for breath, Nick laid his forehead against hers. A muscle in his jaw jumped, letting Grace know Nick still had something else to say. But the way their last kissing-in-lieu-of-actual-words experiment had gone, Grace wasn’t sure she could afford to let him express himself again. As a lawyer, she didn’t think an indecent exposure charge would exactly help her career in any way.

  She gave him one last kiss—a super-quick one, lest she get sucked into his sexual vortex again—before pulling away and offering him another smile. “We’ll talk later?”

  He huffed out an exasperated breath and shoved a hand through his hair before giving her a terse nod. “Yeah. Later.”

  If she only had the terrified look on his face to go by, Grace wasn’t sure talking was a good idea at all. But the way her luck was running today, she could bet that whatever Nick’s problem was, it
was complicated.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Ladies’ golf is manlier than what I just saw you do, boy.”

  Nick looked over, then down—way, way down—to find the source of the disgusted, three-packs-a-day voice. “Lovely to see you, too, Ruthie,” he managed to spit out through gritted teeth.

  She sniffed and adjusted the wilted corsage that was pinned to the lapel of her cotton-candy pink dress suit. The color of the dress in combination with her blue curls and the oddly shaped, eggplant-colored hat she wore was jarring. The old lady looked a little like the circus had puked all over her.

  Ruthie sat up straighter in her wheelchair and frowned at him. “You know, I was married to my Earl for forty-two years. He died years ago. Massive heart attack.”

  If this was a tell-the-people-you-love-that-you-love-them-before-they-up-and-die-on-you speech, Nick didn’t really want to hear it. He knew he’d wussed out just now when he’d tried to tell Grace he loved her. He knew he still needed to tell her. And he would. Eventually.

  Just as soon as he could seem to force the words past his uncooperative tongue, which for some reason, went into a coma when he was trying to say “I love you” to Grace.

  He’d tried to tell her. He truly had. But it wasn’t as easy as people in romantic comedies made it look. Nick had never told anyone he loved them, other than his sister, of course. Those words…they weren’t just words to him. He knew he felt them, but voicing them was an entirely different animal.

  That’s when he noticed Ruthie was still looking up at him expectantly. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Nick murmured when it became apparent that the old woman had no intention of going away anytime soon.

  She snorted. “There was no loss. He was a total bastard. A mean drunk who beat me every chance he got and a gambler who lost most of our life savings at the craps tables in Atlantic City. If it weren’t for my bad back, I would’ve done a jig of pure glee on that old fucker’s grave when he finally kicked. If there’s any justice in this world, he’s roasting on a spit in hell right now.”

  Well, that was a bit of a conversation stopper, now wasn’t it? Nick had no idea how to respond, so…he didn’t.

  “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” she went on. “You’re thinking I’m exaggerating, or that maybe he was only horrible because I’m such a bitter old hag.”

  If the shoe fits…

  Her lip curled as she stared up at him. “That’s where you’re supposed to disagree and say something nice about me, Irish. I thought your people at least had charm going for them.”

  His brain panicked again for a second, groping for something nice to say about Ruthie and coming up black-hole empty. Literally nothing nice came to mind. She was mean and spiteful and bigoted. She also seemed to take pleasure—giddy joy, really—in the suffering of others. Nope. He had nothing.

  Ruthie rolled her eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself there, pretty boy. No need to try and think. I can practically smell the burning rubber. I know I’m not exactly a ray of sunshine, but that wasn’t always the case. I was a good wife. Just the kind of wife Earl wanted. Soft-spoken. Always had dinner on the table at six when he got home. Accepted his apology gracefully when he knocked me down two flights of stairs because I’d forgotten to pick up his dry cleaning.”

  Great. Now he was pissed at himself for failing to tell Grace how he felt and hating himself for not being able to offer Ruthie any kind words. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, ma’am.”

  She leaned forward and swatted him in the stomach with the back of her hand. “Aren’t you listening at all? I’m not sorry I had to go through that! Going through all that made me who I am today. And who I am today is an old lady who wouldn’t ever let a man treat her like dirt again. I’m an old lady who says exactly what she wants whenever she wants. When I hate someone, I tell ‘em. And when I love someone, well, that doesn’t happen as often, but I tell ‘em that, too. You won’t find me falling apart, sweating like a pig, unable to say ‘I love you’ to the best thing I’ll ever find in my lifetime. Life’s too short for that shit.”

  Nick blinked down at her, pretty sure that was the most he’d ever heard her say, and there hadn’t been a single racist or sexist comment in the whole speech. “Well, thank you, Ruthie. That was…inspiring.” Kind of. “When I see Grace next, I’ll try to be more like you. I’ll tell her how I feel.”

  Ruthie looked him up and down, and apparently decided she didn’t like what she saw, because her face pinched up like she’d just taken a giant swig of vinegar. “I don’t know why I bother. I’m sure you’ll screw it all up somehow. The pretty ones are always so, so dumb,” she muttered.

  Nick manfully stifled a shriek when she wheeled her chair right over his toes. He forced himself to stand up straight and not hop up and down on his good foot to avoid putting weight on the one she’d just crushed when she glanced back at him over her shoulder.

  “You know,” she began conversationally, “I do a lot of reading in my spare time. I ran out of Grisham and Koontz books one time years ago, so I started reading all of Gage’s journals and texts from med school. It’s a little scary how easy it is to cause an otherwise healthy man to have a massive heart attack.” Her gaze sharpened to the point that Nick could practically feel it pricking his skin. Then she added, “I just thought you’d find that interesting.”

  Wait…what?

  Nick was pretty sure he looked like a confused puppy as he tipped his head to one side and stared down at her. “Are you saying…”

  “I’m saying that Grace is one of mine. I take care of what’s mine. Do right by her, and tread lightly, Irish. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  And with an evil cackle the likes of which Nick hadn’t heard since he’d watched The Wizard of Oz with Sadie when they were just kids, Ruthie was gone.

  His mind was spinning like a drunk on a Tilt-a-Whirl. So, so many questions, so few answers.

  What was going on with his sister? How was he going to find the words to tell Grace he loved her? What was Grace feeling? Was she really over her divorce? Was it possible that she could love him, too?

  Did Ruthie kill Earl?

  All he knew for sure was that he didn’t have to worry about complicating his life anymore. Surely this was as complicated as it was going to get.

  Right?

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Sadie stood in a puddle of buttery sunlight in front of the full-length mirror in the bride’s ready room, looking pale and terrified and magnificent in her borrowed wedding dress.

  She somehow managed to look rooted to the floor and ready to bolt all at the same time. Grace approached her calmly, slowly, just like she’d approach a scared baby bird. Sadie looked that fragile, that broken.

  A thousand swear words ran through Grace’s mind, but she swallowed them down. She’d seen this look before. Mostly in the eyes of clients who were about to get audited by the IRS or raked over the coals by a board of investors.

  “Sadie,” she said in near-whisper. “Is everything OK?”

  There was a pause so long that Grace contemplated repeating the question before Sadie blurted, “I don’t even know how I like my steak.”

  Well, that wasn’t at all what Grace had expected her to say. But food was a good, tangible problem that Grace could fix, so she latched onto it. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to get you a steak?”

  Sadie whirled away from the mirror so fast Grace stumbled back a step. “You don’t get it,” Sadie began, her voice high and thready in a way that made Grace even more nervous, “I. Don’t. Know. How. I Like. My. Steak.”

  Grace opened and closed her mouth a few times as she searched for the correct response. But after a moment of coming up blank, she just shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “I’m going to need more information, Sadie. What does steak have to do with…” she paused, gesturing to Sadie’s state of wide-eyed panic, “…all this?”

  Sadie whirled back to the mirror and shoved both hands in
to her hair, causing Grace to gasp in horror. It had taken her mother two hours to create the intricate up do Sadie was sporting, and she’d just ruined it with one gesture. Somehow she just knew her mom would blame her instead of Sadie for the lost hours.

  “At breakfast this morning, I ordered steak and eggs, because when I was sick, Gage said I was underweight and needed more protein in my diet. The waiter asked how I wanted my steak cooked. I couldn’t answer him, Grace. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  No. Not even close. But she guessed, “Of course I do. How you cook a steak is really important to the flavor. I mean, well-done is best from a food safety standpoint, but it can get really dry that way. Medium-rare is tender, but not everyone can handle seeing the red in their meat. It’s…not an easy decision. That could’ve happened to anyone.”

  Inwardly, Grace groaned. Wow, she was really bad at comforting people. Why was she rambling about steak, for God’s sake? She should’ve sent her mom in to talk to Sadie. No way would her mom go on a lengthy rant about steak at a time like this.

  Sadie shook her head as her eyes welled with tears. “No, you don’t get it. I couldn’t answer because I always just order whatever Michael’s having, and Michael wasn’t with me. I can’t make decisions on my own, Grace. Not even easy ones like how I want a damn steak cooked. He’s my only friend. That’s why I don’t even have bridesmaids, for God’s sake. I take the same classes he takes. I go where he goes, like what he likes.” Tears mixed with mascara carved a path down the flawless finish of her makeup. “I live his life. I don’t even know who I am when I’m not with him.”

  Suddenly Grace wanted to get her little brother in a headlock and beat the crap out of him. “Sadie, Michael shouldn’t have made you feel like that. Relationships are about compromise. He doesn’t get to always win. You need to talk—”

  “No,” Sadie interrupted. “It’s not his fault. He would’ve compromised. I just never asked him to. I wanted to be a part of your family so bad, Grace. I think I wanted to be part of your family more than I wanted…”