Damn it.
He’d found the one argument I couldn’t counter.
Julian had never cared about being good at anything except winning. He’d never prioritized me over his career, appearances, or control.
And Griffin was right. He needed to know all of this. Which made saying no significantly harder.
I exhaled, already regretting this. “Fine, but if this becomes a disaster, it’s on you.”
“Whatever you say, Princess.”
I glared at him. “Stop calling me that.”
He grinned, victorious.
God, I hated drivers.
Iregretted everything. Not just letting him come. Not just agreeing to this ridiculous disguise plan. But every single decision that had led to this moment.
I had Jace drive us miles outside London, hoping to limit Griffin’s exposure and he ruined it immediately.
He stood in the car park, dressed like a man who had googled ‘how to go incognito’ and taken all the worst advice.
He wore a cheap blonde wig, a plain black hoodie paired with a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes. Oversized aviator sunglasses, doing absolutely nothing to disguise his sharp jawline or the sheer arrogance radiating off him.
“It’s not going to work,” I said as I maneuvered Hazel’s carrier out of the back seat.
Griffin adjusted his sunglasses like they somehow held the power of transformation. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.” I shut the car door with my hip, narrowing my eyes. “You look like a bank robber going through an identity crisis.”
He smirked. “Then no one will think I’m a racing driver.”
I closed my eyes, exhaled, and counted to three.
Jace, to his credit, remained silent. But when I caught his reflected expression in the car window, I clocked the slightest twitch of his lips.
“Just—” I straightened Hazel’s blanket, avoiding Griffin’s gaze. “Don’t do anything that makes you look more suspicious than you already do.”
Griffin adjusted his cap. “Define suspicious.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I walked toward the shop entrance, fully aware that the next forty-five minutes would test my patience to its limits.
Inside, I headed straight for the prams.
He, predictably, veered off-course immediately.
I caught his wrist before he could disappear into the aisles. “No. We’re picking a pram.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He let me drag him, but the second we reached the display, his expression shifted. He scanned the options like he was analyzing race strategy data.
“Why are there so many?” he muttered.
“Because babies require functional transport.” I ignored his disbelief and gestured to a sensible, mid-range option. “This one’s lightweight, folds down easily…”
But Griffin wasn’t listening. His focus had already locked onto a monstrosity on the far end of the display. I followed his line of sight and immediately sighed.
