Page 206 of The Holiday Clause
Greyson shoveled another forkful of potato salad into his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. He gave his brother the smallest nod—a promise that this particular family secret was safe—and watched Soren’s shoulders sag with relief before he melted back into the crowd of mourners.
Greyson returned to his potato salad, unable to shake the grin tugging at his mouth.
“The food must be good. That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile today,” Wren said, handing him a rocks glass of what looked like his favorite bourbon.
He was tempted to tell her what he saw, but decided to keep his word to Soren. Jocelyn was her best friend and would likely tell her soon enough, if she hadn’t already.
The house gradually emptied as the afternoon wore on, guests filtering out with final hugs and promises to check in soon. Greyson found himself stationed by the front door, accepting final handshakes and murmured condolences with the kind of autopilot politeness that grief demanded.
He was helping Mrs. Pemberley with her coat when he spotted a familiar figure in the foyer, bundling into a cashmere overcoat. Clayton, his father’s attorney, must have flown in from Boston that morning.
“Pardon me, Mrs. P,” Greyson said, exiting the hall to speak to the tall, silver-haired man who had handled Hawthorne business for the better part of three decades.
“Clayton.” Greyson extended his hand as he approached the older man. “Thank you for making the trip. I know Dad would have appreciated it.”
Clayton’s handshake was firm, his expression genuinely sorrowful. “Your father was… an impressive man. Complicated, certainly, but impressive nonetheless. He built something that will outlast all of us.”
“Thank you. Impressive’s a kind way to put it.” They both chuckled as if knowing exactly what they weren’t saying out loud. “We’ll call your office sometime next week to go over whatever needs signing.” Greyson managed a tired smile. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter now, since Dad changed the will, but it’s a shame it couldn’t go to my brothers. They wanted the company and deserved it, but...” He shrugged. “Dad was just that kind of prick.”
Clayton’s brows knitted together, confusion clouding his features. “I’m sorry, what change?”
“The clause he added. About divesting the company if one of us didn’t settle down and get married before he passed.” Greyson studied the lawyer’s face, and something cold settled in his stomach. “The clause he added around Thanksgiving.”
The confusion on Clayton’s face deepened. “Greyson, I think there’s been some misunderstanding. The will hasn’t changed in years. Your father never contacted me about any modifications.” He adjusted his coat, speaking with the careful precision of someone delivering important news. “You and your brothers will inherit everything equally, just as we discussed years ago. If you want to sell your shares to Soren or Logan, you have every right to do so.”
The world tilted sideways.
Greyson’s mouth opened, then closed. The sounds of the house—distant conversations, the clink of dishes being cleared—faded to white noise as the implications crashed over him like a rogue wave.
No change. No clause. No marriage requirement.
His father had lied. Manipulated them. Played them like chess pieces right up until the end.
“Greyson?” Clayton’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Are you all right?”
He managed a nod, though his knees felt suspiciously unsteady. “Yes. I’m... that’s good news. Thank you for clarifying.”
Clayton studied him with sharp eyes, clearly sensing there was more to this story. But he was too professional to pry. Instead, he clapped a gentle hand on Greyson’s shoulder and offered a tired smile.
“Merry Christmas, son. Take care of yourself.”
Greyson stood frozen in the doorway long after Clayton’s car disappeared down the drive, his mind reeling with the weight of what he’d just learned. In the distance, he could hear Wren’s laughter drifting from the kitchen, warm and familiar. His brothers’ laughter followed.
In that moment, they won. Not because the inheritance withstood their father’s games, but because they were happy, with or without it. Like their mother, they didn’t need anything as long as they had each other.
He followed the sound of his family, finding them gathered around the granite island, completely unaware that their world had just shifted on its axis.
Again.
Wren smiled and pulled him close. He decided to hold onto this news until Christmas morning—a gift to his brothers. And giving it would be a gift to him.
CHAPTER 33
“Home for Christmas”
One YearLater
Greyson rosefrom his chair with fluid grace, setting Rat in the warmth of his seat as he crossed to the wet bar to refill his bourbon. But instead of returning to his chair, he moved toward Wren, settling beside her on the sofa with the kind of easy intimacy that still made her pulse quicken. Rat, realizing his daddy wasn’t returning, shortly followed, curling onto her lap as Greyson pulled her close.
