Page 110 of Whatever Lola Wants

Grant went on. “She said people either get the relationship they want, or the person they want.”

Simon opened his eyes, frowning as Grant continued.

“Now, if you get the relationship you want—in your case, a D/s arrangement with a submissive partner—you may have to settle for a woman who doesn’t fit you as well. And if you get the person you want—in your case, Lola—you might have to adjust your expectations about how your relationship will look.”

Grant rose to his feet, set his glass on the coffee table, and strode to the door. Hand on the knob, he paused to look over his shoulder. “So, the question is, do you want her enough to adjust your expectations?”

Some of Simon’s misery must have been reflected on his face, because Grant’s face softened a fraction. “She made you happy. Why do you think someone else will make you happier?”

Then he was gone.

And Simon sat for hours, alone in his office, wondering why he couldn’t answer that question.

He hadn’t come up with an answer by the following afternoon. He and Grant had landed, Henry in tow, at Sawyer International Airport in Marquette, then rented a car for the drive to his mom’s. It was late afternoon by the time they arrived. Grant’s mother, after scolding her son for his tardiness, informed them that the bride and her maid of honor were sequestered in the bride’s room, getting the treat of a manicure and pedicure, and were not to be disturbed.

Simon fought twin reactions of disappointment and relief while Grant scowled. “I just want to see her for a minute.”

“No.” Grant’s mother was a small woman, all of five foot three with a cherub’s round face and the pale blue eyes her son had inherited. Hair the same shade as her son’s surrounded her face in a halo of curls, and her lips held a smile. But despite the amiable expression, she was immoveable as the rock of Gibraltar. “You can see her at the rehearsal.”

“Mom,” Grant began, and Simon stifled a grin at the tone. He wanted to tell his friend that he didn’t think Dom Voice would work, then decided to let it unfold. He ought to get some amusement out of this weekend.

“Baby boy, you know that tone of voice doesn’t work on me,” Grace Snow scolded her son, and Simon bit back a chuckle. “And I’ll tell you now, you and Anna are in separate rooms until tomorrow night.”

Grant opened his mouth to protest, and she held up a hand. “Not negotiable. Now, you two go on up and unpack—take this dog with you—and hang up your clothes up so the wrinkles shake out. The rehearsal is at seven o’clock. Simon, I’ve put you in the first room at the top of the stairs on the right, and Grant, you’re in the attic.” She stretched up to kiss her son’s cheek, sent Simon a warm smile, then bustled off to talk to the caterers currently hard at work in the kitchen.

Grant shot Simon a glare. “Don’t even say it.”

Simon hefted his bag and followed Henry, who was already galloping up the stairs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Keep it that way,” Grant muttered. He cast a wary eye over the small army of workers running back and forth throughout the house. “I’m beginning to think we should have just gone to Vegas.”

Simon snorted. “You’d never have gotten her on the plane. And if you’d ordered her to do it, you’d never eat another decent meal in your life.”

Grant started up the stairs beside him. “She’d probably poison my pie.”

Simon shook his head. “That’s a dangerous woman you’re marrying, friend. Sure you don’t want to make a run for it?”

Grant grinned as they topped the stairs. “I’m sure. But if my mother thinks I’m not sneaking into Anna’s room tonight, she doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does.”

“I heard that,” a voice called from down the stairs. Grant started, shooting a guilty look over his shoulder as Simon snorted out a laugh.

“Your mom’s a little scary.”

“Tell me about it. Listen, when you get settled in, meet me downstairs in the parlor. We’ll get a drink before the hoopla starts.”

Simon nodded, then opened the door to his room. Spacious, with a large fourposter bed piled high with pillows and an en suite bath, the room managed to be airy and cozy at the same time.

He set his suitcase on the bed, unpacking with the speed and efficiency of a veteran traveler. He hung his tuxedo in the closet, making a note to borrow a steamer from Grace if the wrinkles hadn’t shaken out by tomorrow morning. He had no doubt she had one on hand—and if she didn’t, then Anna would.

He took a few moments to freshen up in the bath, and by the time he emerged from his room and wandered downstairs, he felt nearly human again. He wandered into the dining room, noted the table was already set for dinner, and turned to find the parlor.

And saw Lola.

She stood in the doorway, her small form dwarfed in a voluminous white robe. Her skin glowed, and her feet were bare.

He wanted so badly to reach out and grab her that he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Lola.”

“Hello, Simon.”

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