Page 12 of Burning for the Billionaire 7

“What are you talking about?”

She shrugs. “You’ve been distant since before we got here.”

“I haven’t.” That’s impossible. I’ve been working overtime to be attentive, helping to ease the stress of her visit home.

“Well, not all the time. What I mean is, you lapse into moments of being distant, as if your mind goes miles away.” Her face twists into concerned lines. “You hate being here so long, don’t you? I knew it was too much to ask you to meet my family so soon.”

Putting my phone down, I blow out a breath. “I volunteered to come, remember?”

Gnawing at her lower lip, she studies me. “Then you’re having second thoughts about us, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Maybe my dad got to you...”

“Jesus, Grace.”

I scrub my face. This isn’t something I want to get into with my mind already in chaos. For the first time, I’m really feeling the pressure of living a double life.

“Why is it always that?” I snap. “Every time youthinkwe have a problem, that’s where your mind goes—you immediately assume that I’m questioning our relationship. It’s insulting.”

Grace’s eyes are like saucers and her shoulders drop. “Oh, I didn’t know... I never meant any offense. I’m sorry. I just...” She waves a hand. “You know what, never mind.”

She spins around to needlessly stuff more things into her bag. Her shoulders hike up to her ears with each movement.

Massaging the bridge of my nose, I force down my annoyance. “Don’t do that.”

She gives me a fleeting glance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t have to play it cool.” I often forget Grace is younger because I feel like she was made for me. Then we have our little tiffs, and she feels like she has to be a paragon of tranquility and sophistication to stay on par with me... something I wish she wouldn’t feel the need to do.

“You’re obviously stressed about something, and I don’t want to make things worse.” Still, she doesn’t look at me. “It’s okay, you don’t have to share.”

“I know you like it when we talk about things, but sometimes, I’m just not ready to talk, okay?”

She nods. “Okay.”

The fact that she refuses to make eye contact tells me it’s notokay. “Grace, it’s not what you’re thinking—”

Her cell rings and we both glance at it, resting on the bed. “Bridezilla is here. I should get downstairs.”

“I can’t let you leave like this.”

“I shouldn’t keep Isabelle waiting. I’m not in the mood for her drama. I’ll see you tomorrow. You’ll come by the house and follow us to the church, right?”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t skip over with her typical brilliant smile to give me a goodbye kiss. Instead, she gazes at me as if unsure of what to do. She finally forgoes the affectionate farewell and grabs her bag.

“Well, here I go. Wish me luck with The Plastics.” Her forced smile wobbles a bit before she walks out.

---