Page 190 of Rush of Jealousy

He ignores my questions. It annoys me more than just a one-word answer. What the hell is going on? Is he taking us on a vacation? A trip someplace to rejuvenate?

When the water is heated, Graham places me on my feet.

“Get started without me, I need to make a phone call.”

He turns and walks out of the bathroom. I stand under the steady flow and close my eyes as the water pelts off my face. I must be daydreaming, because I don’t even notice the sound of Graham joining me until shampoo is squirted into my hair and massaged into my scalp.

“You are so freaking beautiful,” he mutters softly, kissing down my spine.

I turn to look up at him and can see the heaviness in his eyes.

“Graham?”

He holds my hands and studies my face—like he is trying to memorize all my features. “Hmm?”

“You’re really scaring me,” I whisper.

“I’m working at fixing all of the mess that is trying to pull us apart. Trust me. Please.”

I nod my head slowly. “I do trust you.” Which is foolish considering how many lies and half-truths he has told. But, deep down, I know he will not hurt me.

Fact is, I don’t really have set plans until classes are back in person. The university gives students a long fall break, and for a lot of the seniors, an even longer break—with the assumption that students will be working on their final projects independently. I don’t have to technically return until after next week. It also helps that I have a decreased workload this time around. However, if I don’t have ample progress made on Dr. Williams’s research article, I might as well say goodbye to my dream of being an investigative journalist. The stress over this final paper is making me a bit desperate.

We finish up in the shower, dry off, and get dressed. It is officially Thanksgiving day but Graham is on a mission to leave—why the rush, I have no idea.

I slip on a simple charcoal sweater dress and pair it with black tights and ballet flats. Graham slips on jeans and a gray-and-black striped sweater. When we make our way downstairs, bags and luggage in hand, Donna and Germain are in the kitchen packing food into containers with lids.

“I’m sending you back with some leftovers. No need to worry about returning the containers. I have plenty.”

“Thank you,” I say with a forced smile.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Now, when will I see you guys again?” she asks, giving Graham a serious look. “Will you be able to come back for Christmas? No more trips to Europe, I hope.”

“I’ll let you know soon,” Graham appeases. “Promise.”

She seems to accept his noncommittal answer and walks over to give him a huge hug and kiss on the cheek. Then she moves to me and embraces me in her warm arms. It feels more than just a hug. There is so much emotion and understanding transpiring between us.

“It was really nice spending the past couple of days here,” I say softly, trying to keep my voice from cracking with tears. “Thank you for welcoming me and allowing me to stay.”

Donna pulls back to look at me. “My dear, it was a pleasure to meet the woman who has my son so smitten.” She then moves her attention to Graham. “Son, donotmess this up. I like her. Don’t ruin this for me.”

I laugh over her bluntness. She is a spitfire.

He sighs and nods. “I’ll try not to.” Then he looks at me and mouths, “awkward,” which causes me to smirk.

“We mean it,” Germain chimes in. “Do not jack this up, son. We already consider Angie family.”

I smile as my eyes water. It feels amazing to be wanted, just as I am. We give another round of hugs and exit out the front door into the chilly morning air. A group of ten men is standing around four black SUVs—all with tinted windows.

I look up at Graham in confusion. “Why so many?”

“For safety purposes.”

“What do you think is going to happen from your parents’ house to the penthouse?”

His eyes darken to navy steel. “I’m done taking any chances when it comes to protecting you from this mess that we are both wrapped up in.”

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