Page 277 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

“You're kind of good at that. Yeah,” I answer. “Mom was from Minsk. Dad was from—well, actually, he was from the Bronx, but his grandfather was from a small village in Italy.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” she says. “I’ve just always wondered about that. You see someone on the cover of a magazine, and you never think you’re going ever to see them, much less talk to them …”

She’s still talking, but as she does, her face is growing ever redder.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Oh, thank god,” she says. “I don’t know, sometimes when I’m nervous, I just start rambling, and I don’t even know what I’m talking about, and then I get all embarrassed and because I get all embarrassed, I feel like I have to keep talking which, I know, doesn’t makeanysense, but—”

“Grace?” I interrupt again.

“Yeah?” she asks.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about, all right?” I ask. “We’re just two people trying to get to know each other. That’s all.”

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I answer.

She looks out the window, murmuring, “I don’t know. I’d say a trip on a private jet to someplace I can’t pronounce just for dinner seems pretty dangerous to me.”

“We’ve got pizza in the back,” I tell her.

* * *

By the timewe arrive in Kola Kitanabu, both of us are ready to be done traveling. Maybe I did go a little overboard, but you don’t usually get two shots at a first date. What can I say? I shot the moon.

Grace and I got to talk a bit on the flight, but after I let slip that there’s a small library in the back, I didn’t see her very much until we landed. As we’re finally coming through the trees into the village itself, I can’t help but wonder if it was a good idea to tell her she could keep anything she wanted.

Along with a stack half the height of my upper body and nearly as wide, Grace’s still reading as we drive down the old dirt roads toward the boardwalk.

I should have mentionedwe could keep the books on the plane, but she looked so excited when she enlisted me to help her carry her stack of preliminary choices.

It could be a nod toward the two of us finding something over which to bond, but I can’t help getting the feeling she’s trying to keep me at a distance. That particular suspicion is only strengthened by the fact the book she’s reading as we come to a stop isThe Bell Jar.

Don’t get me wrong; I like Sylvia Plath as much as anyone, but her work doesn’t inspire much in the way of creating a romantic mood.

Brent opens Grace’s door, and I can hear a couple of books falling out of the car and onto the ground. This time, Grace doesn’t recoil in fear and confusion but instead decides just to keep reading. As I come to think about it, though, I haven’t noticed her turn the page in quite a while.

“I’m going to make sure everything’s prepared,” I tell her. “Just let Brent know when you’re ready.”

“Sounds good,” Grace says into the book.

I get out of the car and start walking toward the beach where I had a friend of mine, a local restaurant owner, set up a couple of chairs.

On the one hand, I’m glad she doesn’t recognize me because I don’t want the impression of who I was back then to be the only thing in her head about me. On the other hand, I haven’t felt this kind of engrossing uncertainty since my roommate and I dropped out of college to start Stingray.

That turned out well enough, I guess.

“Hey!” Grace’s voice comes from behind me. I stop and wait for her. When she catches up, she doesn’t say much, only, “It’s so beautiful here.”

We start walking, and I answer, “It is my favorite spot. You know, that’s rainforest surrounding the village.”

“I know,” she says. “While I was in the plane’s library, I might have taken the liberty of looking it up.”

“Wait until you meet the locals,” he says. “The first guy you’re going to meet is named Amin—”

“Would you mind if we just walk around for a little while before we start—you know,” she says. “I’d just like to walk around for a little bit if that’s all right with you.”

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