Page 117 of Things I Wish I Said
I glance over at him, shocked at the invitation but thrilled at the prospect of getting a firsthand glimpse of his life outside of our fake relationship.
“I know you’ve already done more for me than you should have,” he says, taking my silence for hesitancy, “and I shouldn’t have asked you to come for me in the first place, but if I bring you with me, she’ll be thrilled. You’ll be the buffer I need. Besides”?he grimaces?“she can’t kill me with a witness.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say. “I’ll go.”
Thirty minutes later, I reach across the center console of my car and steady Grayson’s leg with my hand. “Can you not?” I glance over at him, one eyebrow raised. He’s been shaking his leg ever since we left my house.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Nerves. The tow I called is going to take my car straight to the body shop, but I’m trying to figure outhow I can manage the bill without my mother finding out how bad the damage is.”
“I mean, I’m pretty sure she’ll have some idea based on your face. A little fender bender doesn’t typically result in a black eye and a gash on your head.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?”
“You’re pretty hideous,” I tease.
“Hey!” He needles me in the ribs with a laugh, and I note he’s stopped shaking his leg.
With a triumphant smile, I focus back on the road. Ten minutes later, he’s directing me through an upscale gated community with houses resembling Kip’s, and he starts fidgeting again. “It’s the last one on the end, the big white one,” he points out.
“Have you figured out what you’re going to tell her?” I ask, feeling a tightening in my stomach I recognize as sympathy nerves.
Grayson leans the side of his head against the passenger side window, his gaze on the road. “My mother knows I’ve been struggling, and she’s aware I’ve been hanging around with the wrong kind of people, too, so there’s no point in lying to her.” He falls silent for a moment, then, “Following the last serious conversation we had, I’m not really sure this will even come as a surprise.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as we near the end of the street. The house he referred to as the big white one comes into view, and my jaw drops.
Grayson’s home could easily rival Kip's. Not only is it bigger, but it has twice the land. I’ve never seen an estate in real life, only in the movies, but this is what I imagine one would be like.
It rises majestically against the backdrop of a clear blue sky, both classic and contemporary, with intricate moldings and a sweeping front porch that makes me wonder about the age and century of the home.
I pull into the driveway, long and winding with smooth cobblestones, flanked by meticulously manicured gardens. Vibrant bursts of color from blooming flowers and well-trimmed topiaries create a stunning contrast against the lush greenery. Elegant wrought-iron gates, adorned with ornate scrollwork, stand open in welcome.
As I draw closer and park, the scale of the house becomes even more impressive. Tall columns support a broad, overhanging portico. Just beyond the gates, the landscape is dotted with horses, their serene beauty enhancing what’s already the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.
“Wow,” I breathe. “Is all the land around the house yours?”
“Yeah. My dad loved the city, but my mother came from the country.” Grayson grins. “She also came from money. This place was their compromise when they married.”
“A suburban estate.”
Grayson smiles and scratches his head. “Yeah, exactly. Dad always called it Mom’s own little slice of paradise when all he ever wanted or needed to be happy was a coffee shop nearby and a ballfield.”
It’s the most he’s spoken about his father.
His throat bobs, and I wonder if the memory hurts. Clearly his parents came from two different worlds—kind of like me and Grayson—and I wonder if their differences were the wedge that broke their marriage.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, turning back to the scenery outside my window. I refrain from adding that you could probably fit five of my houses alone in just the first floor. “Do you ride?” I ask instead, nodding toward the animals.
Grayson shakes his head. “No. That’s always been my mom’s thing.” He exhales as I turn off the ignition. “Fuck. I guess we need to go in.”
“I’ll be here, remember?” I remind him.
“Right. My little distraction.” He glances over at me, his gaze intense. “My mother won’t kill me as long as you’re around. I just . . .” He licks his lips, and I ignore the way my insides flop. “I feel bad, putting her through this. She’s already been through a lot, and this is just one more thing she has to deal with.” He brings a hand to the back of his neck and squeezes, his expression pained. “I don’t think I realized how selfish I’ve been until now.”
“So, fix it. You have time, Grayson.” Unlike me, who’s running out of it.
“Come on.” I nod toward the front door, then swing mine open and step out.
The air is hot and sticky, filled with the subtle scent of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass, the soft murmur of a little fountainin their yard giving a soft melody as I wait for him on the sidewalk.
