Page 305 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

“I know just the ones to invite,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll be there to pick you up shortly, and I’ll have your stuff gathered and sent to the Long Island house.”

“Okay,” she says with a loud exhale. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

On the way, I send a few texts to select people, informing them of “a little get-together” this evening.

When I get to Grace’s room, she doesn’t say much. She doesn’t say much when we’re back in the car, headed along Long Island Expressway, either. The whole ride, I don’t think she says more than ten or fifteen words, but she’s holding my hand tightly as she sits in the seat next to me.

I know this isn’t what she signed up for, but all I can do about it now is try not to make things any worse.

As we’re pulling up to the beach house, Grace leaves my side a moment to get a better view out the window.

“This is a beach house?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I tell her.

“The thing’s huge,” she says. “Where I’m from, we call this a mansion.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I tell her. Trevor pulls up in front of the door.

Grace lets herself out, and I follow close behind.

The beach house is a twelve-bedroom, seven bathroom villa right on the beach. I’m gearing up for a tour, but as soon as I mention the house has four separate offices, a den, a library and a dozen rooms, Grace says she wants to do her exploring later.

“Thank you for this,” she says as we come through the back doors and onto the sun deck. “I was starting to go crazy in that room, and it wasn’t like I could leave. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I tell her. “Take the next few hours and just relax. People won’t start showing up until eight o’clock, so we’ve got a little while.”

I leave her to make the necessary calls for tonight’s get-together—catering, some light entertainment. By the time I go back to the main room in the center of the house, Grace’s passed out on the couch. I grab a blanket from one of the closets and place it on her.

I’d say I can only imagine what she’s feeling, but the truth is I know exactly what she’s going through.

I wasn’t always a billionaire, and for more than half my life so far, nobody knew who I was. After Stingray’s IPO made me a billionaire, I barely left the apartment where I was living for months.

The difference is that I asked for it. She didn’t. All I can do now is protect her the best way I know how.

For now, I just sit in a chair across from Grace and watch her sleep.

When the caterers arrive, I lead Grace to one of the bedrooms where she won’t hear all the commotion.

“I’m sorry I’m this tired,” she says. “I don’t even know why. It’s not like I’ve been doing anything.”

“Stress does that to a person,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about a thing, just get some rest. If you want, I can cancel the—”

“No, it’s fine,” she says through a yawn. “Wake me up when they’re here. I like knowing I’m not the only one who’s been through this—I mean, I’m sure you have and everything. I just meant—”

“Shhh …” I say. “Just relax. I’ll let you know when they’re here.”

I leave the room just in time to hear the doorbell ring.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, looking down at my watch.

* * *

Apparently,what I call a small get-together qualifies as the A-List party of the season, according to Grace. Luckily, that wasn’t a problem for her.

Now it’s about four in the morning. Grace and I are cleaning up, and she hasn’t stopped raving yet.

“Seriously, when Yon Blacker came up to me and introduced himself, I almost died,” she says, carrying a handful of dishes to the sink. “Did you ever seeDruscilla Lost?” she asks. “That movie changed my life, and there he was going on about how big of a pain in the ass Tim Tripp is to work with—” She ends the phrase with what I can only describe as a prodigiously long grunt.

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