I grabbed his wrist as he reached for another container. “If this is you apologizing, it won’t change anything.”
Right? Oh god, right? I wouldn’t break just because he’d dropped a fortune on flowers and somehow arranged to have my favorite foods delivered.
For a moment, he just looked at me. Really looked at me. Those blue eyes searching my face like he was trying to memorize something.
Then he gently extracted his arm and headed for the bathroom.
The door clicked shut before I could argue.
My gaze fell to the containers and my breath caught. When did he have time to collect any of this?
Each container he’d laid out contained something I’d mentioned loving or wanting to try. The esquites from the street cart I’d been excited to try after seeing it online. A bag of cinnamon-dusted buñuelos I’d mentioned were my favorite festival treat. And even a small, perfect tres leches cake from a local bakery I’d told him about last week.
I stood there in the middle of a suite full of impossible flowers, holding a fussy baby, with absolutely no idea what was happening.
Someone knocked the suite door twenty minutes later. Three women stood in the hallway smiling at me. One carried a portable massage table. Another had a case full of nail supplies. The third held what looked like professional hair styling tools.
“Um.” I blinked at them. “I think you have the wrong room.”
“Violet Carter?” the masseuse asked in accented English.
“Yes, but I didn’t book?—”
“Your appointment is for the next two hours.” She nodded to the room. “May we come in?”
I stepped back automatically, and they filed past me into the suite. The masseuse made an approving sound at the space while the nail technician started setting up on the coffee table.
“Wait.” I held up a hand. “I really didn’t book this. There’s been a mistake.”
“Oh good, right on time,” Griffin said as he stepped back into the living room, pulling a fresh shirt over his head. His hair was still damp from the shower. “Set up wherever you need. The suite is yours.”
He smiled at the women as he scooped Hazel up from her bassinet and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“You’re coming with me, little one.” He grabbed the baby bag with his free hand, then looked at me. “Enjoy yourself. Liam’s waiting downstairs. We’ll be back in a few hours.”
“What are you?—”
“Relax, Violet.” He paused at the door, that infuriating half-smile on his face. “You’re terrible at it, but try anyway.”
Then he was gone.
The masseuse gestured to the table. “Shall we begin?”
I glanced between the three women, the irises covering every surface, and the door Griffin had just walked through with utter confusion.
What was this? Some grand, silent apology tour?
The arrogance was infuriating.
And yet… he’d gifted me two hours without having to worry about Hazel, without having to be on high alert. Two hours of someone else taking care of me for a change. It was a ridiculously tempting offer.
“Yeah.” I sighed, moving toward the massage table. “Okay.”
Two hours later, I was boneless on the sofa with perfect nails and hair that actually looked styled instead of thrown into its usual messy bun.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up FaceTime, tapping the group chat with Cleo and Imani.
Cleo answered immediately, Imani squishing into frame beside her.
