Page 115 of Crossover

It’s strange how you can know someone is gone, yet have to remind your heart of that fact for years to come. Maybe forever.

“I can’t believe we get to move in right away.”

I guess that was one of the many perks of Grayson being a billionaire—the ability to offer all cash and a twenty-one-day closing.

The stone walkway up to the front porch was something of a dream, a fairy tale that I could imagine was even more gorgeous in the summer with vibrant flowers in full bloom. The property sat on five acres, making you feel like you lived in a stunning countryside when, in fact, Chicago was within driving distance. But out here, the city’s noise was replaced with such a quiet solitude that I could imagine myself doing yoga and reading books. But the best part of the mansion, in my opinion, was that, like Hunter’s, the backyard butted up against the tranquil shores of Lake Michigan. It even had a gorgeous staircase that led down to our own private beach and a small dock that Grayson intended to use for a boat in the future.

As Grayson opened the front door, I stepped inside, and my eyes grew wide, just as they had every time we visited. The grand entrance, with its arched ceilings and warm, natural light that danced across the wood floors, never failed to take my breath away.

Seriously, it was as if someone had raided my brain, snatching every detail I’d ever dreamed of and piecing them together into the most jaw-dropping home imaginable. While it was grand in space, the wooden doors, travertine bathrooms with bubbling whirlpool tubs, pristine white kitchen cabinets hugging a marble-topped island, six crackling fireplaces, and rich, warm colors all whispered promises of cozy nights curled up with Grayson.

And those windows. Oh my word, I’d never imagined having this much natural light. As I stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun, I knew that this was more than just a house; it was the beginning of a new chapter in our lives, a home where love, laughter, and countless memories would be made.

And my eyes stung, because I finally understood what it felt like to have my forever place.

“It’s back here.” Grayson’s words echoed with our footsteps as he led me down the long, sunlit corridor to the east wing of our mansion.

This wing was like its own apartment, really. The owners who built this place had a college-aged kid at the time, so they built this wing like its own apartment, complete with its own kitchen, bathroom, master bedroom suite, living room, and private entrance. They offered to tear down the kitchen as part of the sales agreement to convert it back into a traditional space, but Grayson said it was unnecessary.

I hadn’t given much thought as to why, until this very moment. The second I stepped into the living room, my world stopped. Time froze, and the air escaped my lungs in disbelief as tears stung with a euphoria that crashed through my soul.

It felt too good to be true, too terrifying to accept, for fear it would be ripped from my grip—my dream come true, the one I’d prayed for every single day.

“Grams?” I whispered.

“Oh, hello, dear!” Her head popped up from her conversation, because, yeah, Grams was sitting here with her bestie from her assisted living facility, along with Mom, who smiled at me. “You remember Margaret,” Grams said, as if that were the headline.

“I…I don’t understand.”

When my focus finally swept to Grayson’s warm smile, he gestured toward the kitchen.

“Her fridge is fully stocked with her favorite foods and always will be. A private chef will cook for her anytime she wishes, and she has her own set of drivers at the ready to take her to visit friends or pick them up so they can visit her here.”

“But…” Tears breached my eyelids and streamed down my cheeks. “She can’t be left alone. She needs medical?—”

“She’ll have twenty-four-hour nursing with her at all times,” Grayson assured, nodding to a nurse in the corner I hadn’t noticed until this very moment. The woman smiled and waved at me as she organized Grams’s medication. “Only the best, of course.”

“My name’s Nancy,” the woman said, her voice warm and comforting.

“You mean Grams gets to live with us?”

Grayson squeezed my hand. “Of course she does. She’s your family, Ivy.”

Out of all the things Grayson had done for me since our nightmare ended—taking me on the vacation of a lifetime, buying this mansion, letting me shop for furniture with an interior decorator to make this my home—this…this single act of kindness outshone a thousand mansions or a million material possessions.

Every single moment of every single day since my father’s death, a crushing pressure had made its home between my ribs with worry over Grams that left no room for anything else.How would I afford her medical care? How could I ensure that her remaining days were filled with comfort and dignity? These questions haunted me on a never-ending loop of anxiety that made it difficult to breathe.

But now, as I stood in the presence of Grayson’s gift, a glimmer of hope broke the chains of despair that had held me captive for so long.

“I like your boyfriend.” Grams smiled and pointed to her favorite recliner and afghan, which sat in a nook by the window. “He had handsome men bring all my things here. It was all anyone would talk about.”

I snort-chuckled as I wiped a stray tear, imagining the beautiful chaos that must have unfolded. A moving truck, “handsome” moving men, all bringing Grams to the home of her dreams.

With me.

Where I could have breakfast with her every day, sunset cocktails overlooking the lake. This home had gone from being my dream to my heaven.

“Grayson even paid for new bedding and drapes for my bedroom,andhe let me pick out six bird feeders for the property.” She stood up—slowly, wobbly—and grabbed her cane. “Do you want to see it?”

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