Page 56 of The Billionaire and His Forever

I drop the towel and scramble for the pile of Graham’s clothes that I’ve stockpiled. Jeans I can cuff at the ankle and wear slouchy, a dress shirt I can tie in a knot over my midriff. It’ll do.

Graham reclines on the bed, beautifully naked, and tucks a hand behind his head. “Would you like me to come with you?”

I mull it over as I roll the shirtsleeves up over my elbows.

“No. It’ll just give the paparazzi more photo ops. They’ll be all over us if we go anywhere together right now, and I don’t want the tabloids to have any more to talk about.”

“We’ll let them cool down, then. Maybe I’ll just stay like this until you return.”

My heart flutters as I lean over to give him a kiss goodbye. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Graham

Despite teasingAbbie about waiting in bed for her, I’m not able to lay around for long before I start to feel restless.

I get dressed and order groceries from the bougie organic market at Columbus and 106ththat offers one-hour delivery, then straighten up the minimal mess that Abbie left in the living room. After I put her Thai leftovers in the fridge, I pull out baking sheets and pans and utensils and spices, gathering everything I need to prepare a home-cooked meal for her.

She can reject my offer of keeping a domestic staff here in the apartment all she wants, but she won’t be able to say no to this dinner. Seared scallops, thin-sliced flank steak, a mean kale Caesar, and roasted asparagus. There aren’t many gourmet meals I’m confident I can prepare perfectly every single time—blame my British heritage or my motherless upbringing, if you must—but this is one of them. It’s fresh and simple yet elevated, exactly the type of cuisine Abbie likes best. An appetizer of toasted, sliced baguette with burrata, honey, and figs will be the first thing I offer her when she gets back from her legal meeting. After everything she’s been through lately, she deserves to be pampered a little.

I’m still banging around in the kitchen when I hear the doorbell.

“Just a moment,” I yell.

My grocery order is here a lot faster than I expected, which is appreciated, so I dash back to the bedroom for my wallet so I can tip the delivery person.

But they must be in a hurry, because the bell rings out again, and I hear loud, rapid knocking on the door as I make my way back down the hall.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” I call out.

I throw the door open, already apologizing. “Sorry, I just had to grab my—”

“About goddamn time you opened the—”

Except it’s not my delivery person standing there. It’s Ford Montgomery. Freshly tanned, in a finely cut suit, looking peeved.

We stare at each other, and it’s immediately obvious that neither of us was the person the other expected to see. I hesitate, my words freezing in my mouth as my mind runs a million miles an hour.

Ford and I haven’t spoken since he showed up at the police station to help me out, which was before I proposed to Abbie…so I have no idea what—or how much—he even knows about my current relationship with her. I’ve seen him destroy people for less than fucking his daughter. The fact that she is so much more to me is beside the point; Abbie is Ford’s child and he isn’t the type to give much consideration to gray areas.

But it’s possible he doesn’t know anything at all yet—he’s been off on some tropical vacation with his wife, and if he hasn’t been following the American tabloid headlines, he may have no clue what’s been going on. Should I tell him about the engagement, the aborted wedding ceremony, Abbie’s arrest, and the subsequent attempted murder charges?

I’m torn. He deserves to know the truth about everything, but it doesn’t feel right to tell him without Abbie here. On top of that, I’m not sure where I stand with him at the moment. The way he’s looking at me is downright inscrutable.

Finally, he barks out a laugh, breaking the tension. “Well, look who it is.”

“Ford. I didn’t know you were back from the Bahamas.” I smile uncertainly, trying to feel him out.

He returns my smile, but his gaze shifts over my shoulder, into the apartment. “I’m looking for my daughter. Is she here?”

“Not at the moment, I’m afraid. Do you want to come by later?” I ask. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

“Don’t bullshit me, old friend.” Ford smirks. “You can drop the act. I know she’s wanted for murder—did you think I wouldn’t find out? I spoke with Esmeralda yesterday to get an update, and hot damn did this go ass up. Not to mention what the press is saying.”

My stomach drops. Does this mean he’s seen all the despicable tabloid headlines, too? And that awful photo of Abbie in her wedding dress, her hands in cuffs?

I clear my throat. “It was all a misunderstanding. There’s no truth to it, obviously. The police let her go.”

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