Page 9 of Burning for the Billionaire 7

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like he cares who I date.”

“He cares.” Rowan downs the rest of the champagne he took from me. “He thinks I’m too old for you.”

My gaze jumps to his face. “What makes you think that?”

“He said it during that golf game I was forced to participate in with Colton and the groomsmen.”

“I’m so sorry about that, by the way.” I didn’t know he’d be pulled into wedding madness without me.

He shrugs.

“What did he say?”

“A man of almost forty shouldn’t be putting his paws on his sweet little girl.”

Clutching my chest, I almost choke on my gasp. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry, Rowan. I’m anadult. He had no right—why are you smiling?”

His grin turns into a chuckle. “Because if I was in the old man’s shoes, I’d say the same thing, sweetheart. I took no offense.” Snagging my chin, he tells me, “Your father loves you, Grace. You should talk to him before you leave. He’s annoyingly highbrow, but hell, I kinda like him. He’s honest.”

My shoulders sag. “Yeah, he isn’t bad. He never has been. It’s Mom who really has an issue with me. Dad just hates that I didn’t follow in his footsteps like he wanted. I’ll have to make him understand that I’m happy being an artist. I’ll make things right before I leave.”

“Good.”

Holding his gaze, I smile. “Thank you for caring.”

His thumb caresses my lower lip before he dips his head to give me a sweet kiss.

Grinning from ear to ear, I whisper, “Dad is watching, remember?”

“Yeah, but he won’t likely shoot me in a crowd.”

Tilting my head back, I laugh. When Rowan steps away, I catch my sister staring at us with a frown. I give her a look, silently asking what her problem is with me this time.

“Hey, Grace, come over here,” one of the bridesmaids calls.

I can’t remember her name. There are five other bridesmaids. I’ve resorted to grouping them together as “The Plastics,” because they remind me of the crew from the movieMean Girls. From the number of nose jobs and lip injections between them, they’re probably full of enough plastic to poison the female population. Assuming they’re Isabelle’s age, I think late twenties is too soon to start doing all of that extra stuff.

“Uh oh, The Plastics demands your presence,” Rowan says under his breath.

I snicker. He indulges me way too much with the nicknames. We call the groomsmen “The Preppies.”

Lacing my arm around his elbow, I beam. “And you’re coming with.”

He groans, and I pat his arm sympathetically. Before we reach the group of ladies and men, I’ve gotten my hands on another glass of champagne.

“Grace,”Rowan warns.

“What? I need the buzz to get me through a conversation with Isabelle’s friends. It’s torture, Rowan. You should know after spending an entire morning with The Preppies yesterday.”

He sighs. “I know. If I hear one more word about Lamborghinis, skiing, and banging models in Aspen, I might jump overboard.”

I press a hand to my mouth to stifle my giggle.

“Just stay close so I can keep you out of trouble.”

Pressing my face to his arm, I gush, “My hero.”

He grunts in response.

---