I stare up at the house. “Sometimes when I look at this place, I feel like the biggest asshole.”
Gray’s laugh is startled. “Why?”
“I know how many people would kill to live here. And I don’t want it. I hate the place. And, I don’t know… I feel like an ingrate.”
He tilts his head to get a better view of the house. “I don’t know, Mac. There’s a house, and there’s home. That doesn’t look particularly homey to me.”
Slowly, I shake my head. “But I shouldn’t complain about it. I’ve lived my life completely cosseted. I take the money my parents give me and never need to support myself. What kind of person does that make me?”
“My friend.” He crosses his big arms over his chest, and gives me a hard look. “So don’t go beating up on her. Hell, Mac, you worked your butt off and graduated a year early. It isn’t as if you’re going around partying and blowing through money. You want to know what pisses me off?”
“What?” I ask with a small smile, because he’s cute when he’s irate and his brows are inching toward his hairline.
“All our lives, we’re told work hard, strive for more, do all you can to live that life less ordinary. Money, power, fame, everyone wants it. But you get there and suddenly you’re supposed to be ashamed, be humble?” He shakes his head. “Fuck that noise. I say live your life on your terms. If someone judges you about material things, that’s their problem.”
My smile grows, and I set my hand on his arm where the muscles are thick and bulging beneath his warm skin. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Damn straight,” he mutters, still worked up. “And no more feeling shitty for things given to you by people who love you.”
“Okay.”
He huffs, not looking at me but drumming his fingers on the pink steering wheel. “Where am I taking you, then?”
“Head toward the portico next to the garage. We’re back there.”
Gray drives to the rear of the property and the little guesthouse appears.
“This is home,” I say. “Or as close to it as we have in the area.”
It looks like a gamekeeper’s cottage, with mullioned windows and a peaked roof. The house is raised from the ground, and a set of stairs leads up to the front door.
“Now that looks like a home,” Gray says, sounding pleased.
As soon as we step out of the car, Fi’s opening the front door. Her skin has a greenish tinge but she’s smiling wide. “Well, well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in.”
Petite and lithe, with short pale blonde hair and big green eyes, my sister is like a big-mouthed Tinker Bell. And I’ve missed the hell out of her.
“Hey there, Fi-Fi,” I call up with a grin.
“Ivy Weed.” She shifts from foot to foot, as if she wants to race down the stairs and launch herself at me. Which would be our customary greeting, complete with hugs and kisses. But clearly she’s too ill to do that now. Her gaze leaves me and settles on Gray. I almost laugh at the way her mouth falls open and she stands straighter.
“Fiona, this is Gray Grayson.”
Gray, who has been hauling my luggage out of the trunk, turns and gives her a smile. “Hey. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Fi clears her throat. “Likewise. Although it looks like my sister left out some pertinent parts. I’d come say hello properly but you should probably stay well away from me at the moment.” Fi grimaces as if she’s just realized that she’s standing in the doorway wearing her fuzzy pink robe and slippers that look like SpongeBob’s head. “In fact,” she says faintly, “I’m going to lie down now. I’ll see you in a few, Ivy.”
I get a nice, hard glare before Fi practically runs away.
“She’s mortified,” I tell Gray as we head toward the house. “Fi never wants any guy to see her in anything other than full-on makeup.”
“She’s cute as a button,” Gray says happily.
I’d be worried, but he doesn’t look interested in Fi, which is a relief. I’ve been friends with guys who have panted over Fi. It never ends well.
The house is open concept with a living room in the center and a dining nook and an L-shaped kitchen to one side. Fi’s redecorated since I’d last been here. Now the walls are chocolate brown, the couches big and covered in cream-colored microfiber. A distressed-wood coffee table sits between them, and sepia photographs of cityscapes hang in a grid pattern along one wall.
“Fi’s majoring in interior design,” I tell Gray, as I set my purse on the hall console that looks like it was once a pharmacist’s cabinet. “I’m thinking she charmed my dad out of a few dollars.”
“It’s nice.” His blue eyes scan the room. “Kind of reminds me of Drew’s place. But, you know, more professionally done.”
“I’d give you a tour,” I tell him, “but I want to scrub down the area first.”
Gray sets my bags to the side. “Yeah, I’m not going to stress your sister any more than I’ve already done. I’ll just leave you here.”
For a moment, we stare at each other. I don’t want him to leave. Maybe he doesn’t want to go. It’s a strange feeling, as though I’ll lose him if he walks out the door. Which is ridiculous. Perhaps that’s why I launch myself at him and wrap my arms around his neck in a fierce hug.
“Sorry,” I tell his shoulder, because I don’t want to let go. “I’m just so happy to finally be with you.”