Page 56 of Always Knew It Was You

And that’s what we do.

We meet up mostly in the evenings between school and her restaurant shifts, and I tutor her on etiquette, European royal lore, and everything there is to know about my grandfather. We work on a few of her quirks, and enhance her diction and articulation, and I try to coach her on everything that I think my grandfather will be on the lookout for. It’s a lot of information to take in, but she does a good job of remembering the important stuff.

The dresses we bought in LA arrive later that week after their adjustments have been made. Carly tries them in my hotel room as we attempt to figure out which would be best for brunch.

That’s when it gets real hard not to get distracted.

And I do mean extremely hard.

“How does this look?” She comes out in an A-line lacy white dress that covers up any cleavage and looks like something my grandma would wear to the chapel. Except on Carly, it gives a different vibe. It glides over her curves, unable tonotshow them off. She just has a body that would look good in anything, the kind that makes any outfit she dons instantly seductive.

And now I’m hard as a rock, fighting the urge to drag her into my lap and fuck her six ways to Sunday.

No time,I struggle to remind myself.We have no time for that right now.

But God, I really wish we did.

I tell myself we’ll have time after brunch. After the meeting with my grandfather, we have the rest of the day in New York to spend together. I’ll have her all to myself with no one to stop me from totally devouring her.

Heck, I’ll ask her to take a few days off work just so we can fool around. And I’m going to take my time with it too, and make sure that I get to taste every single piece of her without rushing to the finish like last time.

The memory of that premature ending is still embarrassing to this day.

But I’m ready to potentially embarrass myself again, because my addiction to her has me by the throat and it’s not ready to let go.

Finally, after days of planning, it’s the day of the brunch.

We fly to New York early in the morning, and Carly sleeps for most of the plane ride. Upon landing, we lodge at a hotel in Long Island where she gets dressed. And then we take a drive down to Old Westbury.

Brunch is at The Vineyard, a sprawling garden restaurant that oozes class. It has an outdoor seating area, attached to a romantic French villa, and its terrace is decorated with lush shrubbery, colorful flowers, and strong trees.

I find my grandfather sitting in the corner reading a magazine, face unsmiling as usual. I approach, with an arm around Carly’s waist.

Here goes nothing.

“If it isn’t the handsome, polished Mark Landing in the flesh,” I greet with a smile as his gaze flicks up from his business journal.

“You’re late,” is all he says in return.

He eyes Carly, who to her benefit holds his gaze pretty steadily.

She also holds her hand out to shake his. “I’m Carlette Stonewall. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

He nods as though it’s a given and takes her hand. “Any relation to the Stonewalls of Massachusetts?”

“I don’t think so. My parents grew up in Virginia.”

My grandfather nods, but his face shows little of his emotions. “I hope you had a good flight.”

I pull out Carly’s seat for her and she takes it elegantly before she answers. “Yes. The view driving down here was unbelievable.”

“Is it your first time?”

“In Long Island? Yes. Usually, when I’m in New York I stick to Manhattan.”

Mark sighs. “Yes, well, the city used to be lovely too, until the damn politicians started flooding our streets with the homeless junkies and riffraff.”

Carly visibly stiffens.

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