He looked down at his lap, his cowboy hat casting a shadow over his face. “Well, now I feel like a real dumbass.”
The unexpected curse had me laughing. “Don’t worry, the first time Bryce came over, my grandma could have scared him away.”
“I’d like to hear that story. Maybe inside over a cup of coffee? We have decaf too.”
My heart rate instantly spiked. Did he mean something by that? Did he know?
“In case you don’t like drinking caffeine this late,” Gray hurried to say. “My oldest son’s a doctor, and he’s always on me to stop drinking it after noon.”
I dipped my head in a nod, feeling just a little relieved. “I’d like that very much, Gray.” So we got out of the truck and walked inside together.
Hopefully, the rest of the trip would go much better.
Why had I packed a muumuu to sleep in? I’d tossed clothes into a bag in a hurry, not thinking about it. But now, in the bathroom, getting ready to share a full-size bed with my soon-to-be husband... I wondered why I couldn’t be like a normal person and have some cute, skimpy silk pajamas for trips.
That would have been far more attractive than me putting on a gray cotton gown and a black silk bonnet to protect my natural hair. But I hadn’t packed any other options, and I certainly wasn’t going to sleep in the nude on our first night together.Bryce would think I’m crazy. Crazier than I already was for agreeing to this deal.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered how couples went from wearing cute pajamas around each other to feeling comfortable. Maybe this was it, just jumping right on in.
So I put on my muumuu and my bonnet and used a makeup remover wipe to clear the stuff from my skin.
If he thought my sleep clothes were funny, he didn’t comment. He simply smiled up at me from the mattress where he lay on the side closest to the door. Like he could protect me in case someone surprised us in the middle of the night. Or maybe he just always lay on that side of the bed. But I liked to think my future husband was chivalrous and protective at all times.
Either way, I walked in the narrow gap between the nightstand and the wall to get in bed with him. Bryce lifted the blanket, holding it for me to get in.
It was... nice.
“Thanks,” I said softly, sliding in.
Neither of us were small people, and the size of this bed didn’t help. The best way to fit was for me to lie in his arms. I didn’t mind one bit.
But as soon as I was comfortable, his phone rang on the nightstand. His eyebrows drew together with concern. “Sorry, I need to take this. Only emergency calls can make it through this time of night.”
“Sure,” I said. As he shifted, baby girl kicked again, and I had this realization that soon, every night could look this way. The two of us, in bed, little girl hopefully sleeping peacefully. I smiled at the thought.
“Hello?” he murmured. “Yeah, I’ll pull it up.” He ended the call, rolled out of bed, and then went to his bags, retrieving a slim laptop. He clicked through to the news, not bothering to hide the screen from me. So I watched unabashedly.
Aleyna Phillips, a famous reality star, was on a red carpet, tears streaking down her face. “Sorry, it’s just hard to enjoy this moment knowing my dad is dying.” She hiccupped. “I just found out he’s expected to live less than a year.” She curled over, sobbing into her hands.
Bryce explained, “That’s Simon’s daughter...”
The screen cut to an older newscaster with shoe-polish black hair and icy-blue eyes. His forehead was frozen as he said, “Such a shame. Simon Phillips is beloved in this part of Texas. A professor emeritus and a major investor in MyHome. Let’s talk with Lester Wilson, an economist on the team. What’s expected to happen with MyHome once he passes?”
Another small square opened on the screen, splitting the view between the news studio and a gray-haired professor type in his home office. “Depending on his will,” the older man said, “this could go several ways. If his shares are passed to his children, they will have a considerable stake in the company. He could sell the shares to his partners, getting money instead to pass on. Either way, it looks like MyHome is heading for a major shake-up.”
“Thanks, Les,” the newscaster said. “We’ve reached out to MyHome for commentary on this developing story, but haven’t yet received comment. Next up, we’ll be talking about?—”
Bryce shut the computer and ran his hands through his hair.
Seeing him like this—wearing an old university T-shirt and shorts, stressed out, hair a mess... it made him more human. It was clear how this was weighing on him.
I reached out and rubbed a slow circle on his back. “Are you okay?”
He looked over at me. “They’ve known for months—it’s all a publicity stunt. I hate it for Simon, and it affects our investor relations, our plan to go IPO. I want to know what Aleyna’s playing at.”
My stomach felt cold. “You’re saying that was all an act?”
He nodded.
