Page 14 of One Night in My Rival's Bed

Especially romantic ones that involved Grayson and me, but of course I didn’t say that out loud.

A ripple of tension passed over Grayson’s features and his mouth went into a straight line. ‘I wondered when you were going to bring that old chestnut up.’ His tone was ripe with derision. ‘But perhaps you should get your facts straight before you start maligning my late grandfather.’

I gave him stare for stare, my blood pounding with anger. ‘The facts are your grandfather reneged on the deal at the last minute and left my father practically penniless.’

The arch of his eyebrow went higher. ‘Is that what you were told?’

A sliver of doubt got under the door of my dislike of all things Barlowe. It shone a tiny light on my beliefs and made me wonder if I had been told the truth or what my mother wanted me to believe. I had idolised my father and I had only been seven years old when he died. Details about business mergers were not exactly things I was interested in as a small child. I seemed to recall My Little Pony was front and centre back then. Could I have got it wrong about him? But why then did people in the architectural community still refer to Grayson’s grandfather as a hard man who didn’t suffer fools gladly?

But then another thought slipped into my head... What if my father had been foolish in some way?

Grayson must have seen the doubts flickering over my face for he turned and addressed his brother and my sister again. I was incredibly grateful for the subject change, but I dearly wanted to unpick the past with him on some other occasion, preferably when we were alone.

‘Whatever happened in the past has no bearing on what’s happening now. You both want to be together; Ash and I are not in any doubt of that. But we want you to slow down a bit before you take the next step.’

‘What t-t-time frame are you suggesting?’ Ethan asked with a wary expression.

‘Six months,’ Grayson said.

‘Three,’ I said. I didn’t want to look like I agreed with him on every detail.

The young couple exchanged glances and then Ethan said, ‘One m-month and th-that’s our final answer.’

I was secretly proud of Niamh’s defiant stare aimed at Grayson and me. And more than a little envious of Ethan’s proud glance at her and his warm, encouraging smile.

‘Okay, so here’s the deal,’ Grayson said. ‘In one month’s time, we’ll regroup and assess how things are going. If you still want to be together, we can talk about what comes next.’

Ethan’s expression became guarded again. ‘Will you promise to support us in our goal of getting married?’

Grayson’s jaw worked for a moment. ‘Why can’t you just live together to see if you’re compatible in the medium to long term?’

I folded my arms across my chest and gave Grayson a raised brow look. ‘My, oh, my, you really do have a phobia about marriage, don’t you?’ I have to say, I rather enjoyed needling him a bit. It was only fair since he made my heart go pitter-patter and my belly flip-flop, and my common sense to go offline.

‘I have nothing against marriage between the right people,’ Grayson said.

‘You don’t think we’re the right people?’ Niamh’s eyes shimmered with a fresh tide of tears. ‘I know I’m not smart like you and Ash, but I love Ethan and I will do everything in my power to be a wonderful wife and companion to him.’

Grayson looked a little uncomfortable in the face of my sister’s emotional outburst...or was he uncomfortable about her level of disability? Did he doubt she could be a loving wife and companion to his brother? Or did he still think she was a gold-digger, after his brother’s trust fund? After all, Grayson controlled the bulk of Ethan’s finances. There could not be a wedding without his say-so, or at least not the sort of wedding my sister had dreamed of since she was a kid. No Elvis impersonators for her. Niamh wanted one of those big meringue-like dresses with a long train and veil, and a church full of flowers and a choir, not a ten-minute ceremony in some dinky little chapel in Vegas.

Grayson let out a long breath. ‘Let’s see how things pan out after a month.’

‘Will you promise to be s-supportive and open to us being t-together in the meantime?’ Ethan asked.

‘Yes,’ I said, mentally crossing my fingers because I still had my doubts about how a marriage between them would work. I did so much day-to-day stuff for Niamh. How was Ethan going to help her when he had his own needs to consider? But then I reminded myself—he could love her and that was what she wanted more than anything.

‘There’s one other thing...’ Ethan added, grasping Niamh’s hand again. ‘We want you both to design a house for us. One that will suit both our needs perfectly.’

‘Both of us?’ I asked in alarm. I could not imagine working alongside Grayson Barlowe...well, not without being tempted to cross the boundary between professional and personal. It would mean spending even more time with him. Lengthy periods of time. Designing a house was not a weekend project. Some houses took weeks, if not months, to design according to the client’s specifications.

‘You’re both award-winning architects,’ Niamh said. ‘We thought it would show your support of our relationship by designing our dream home for us.’

Grayson looked at me but his expression was as hard to read as a slab of marble. He turned back to eyeball his younger brother. ‘What’s wrong with your penthouse? It suits your needs, doesn’t it?’

‘It’s a penthouse,’ Ethan said as if that explained everything. ‘Niamh and I want a house and garden. And we want to live in the country, not in the city.’

Grayson’s jaw worked for a moment, which suggested to me his brain was filing through the arguments against such a move, but in the end he didn’t say anything. He merely shrugged one broad shoulder and turned to answer a knock at the door.

Breakfast was delivered to the room at that point, but I didn’t have much appetite. I picked at a croissant and had half a cup of coffee and watched as Grayson had even less. Ethan and Niamh tucked in, however, and Ethan seemed delighted with the enjoyment my sister was having in indulging in the delicious options on the trolley. Eggs Benedict, an artfully displayed fruit platter, little pots of yoghurt in various flavours, pastries and croissants with preserves, tea and coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice. It was a breakfast junkie’s heaven, but I could feel myself sinking into a private hell of despair.

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