Without warning, Grace pushed me back against the bus, grabbed my face, and smashed a kiss to my lips, aggressive and possessive, her tongue slipping into my mouth before I had a chance to reciprocate.
My eyes swiveled to the left to see if any others saw what was happening. As it turned out, they all had, and every one of their mouths was agape. Who could blame them? Up until just now, none of them had had any clue Grace didn’t vehemently hate me.
Just as swiftly, her lips were gone, and with flat of her palm against my chest, she held me against the bus.
“Tell me why you have my namesake disco ball hanging off your kick drum,” she demanded.
She already knew the answer.
“Why do you think?” I asked.
“I think it’s because you still love me.”
I let her hang there, knowing our audience was close by, and if I revealed the truth, the pact with Tucker would be null and void. But Grace’s quickly deteriorating confidence changed my mind.
“And you’d be right. I love you, Grace. I always have.”
I cupped her neck and swooped in, kissing my girl for all to see.
They all appeared sufficiently stunned.
Except for Tucker. “Well, fuck.”
* * *
Our driver dida double take when we pulled in front of the McKallister mansion, his eyes first landing on Grace and then on me.
“You live here?” he asked to no one in particular. “What do you do for a living?”
“He’s a rock star,” Grace said matter-of-factly as she climbed out.
The driver ogled me, no doubt trying to figure out who I was as we walked to the side security gate and Grace scanned her thumb.
“Why’d you tell him that? Now he thinks I’m someone.”
“Exactly. And when he comes back to kidnap someone for ransom, he’ll pick you and not me.”
“Oh.” A smile swept over me. “Who’s going to pay my ransom?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Tucker?”
“Great. So you’re saying I’m going to die.”
As we walked up the long driveway, memories of the last time I was here nearly brought me to my knees. I could still hear Grace’s screams ringing vividly in my ears. To be back here now, with her, and all be forgiven seemed unreal. How many nights had I lain in my bed in exile, imagining my return to the McKallister house? In that make-believe world, I wasn’t the villain who’d eviscerated their youngest born but a cherished, returning son. They’d gather around and welcome me home.
Reading my distress, Grace grabbed my hand. “Hey, you’re going to be fine.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, and the sick feeling in my stomach only intensified.
“Where’s your hand right now?” she asked.
I glanced down. “Holding yours.”
“That’s right. If I can forgive you, so can they.”
In theory, yes, but I’d been softening Grace up for weeks. The other McKallisters hadn’t had time to prepare, and they might very well still be living in the past.
The door swung open, and Michelle peeked her head out, only to scream out in surprise. She slapped a hand to her chest.
