Happily Ever His (Singletree #1)

of my movie star fantasy had begun to wear off, there was something really nice about being with him, if I just overlooked the way it ended.
Nice wasn’t really the word I wanted to use. It was so much more than that. It was heady and powerful, basic and simple. It was like I was supposed to be with him, but I knew that didn’t make any sense.
Because Ryan was Juliet’s boyfriend.
I could hear them talking in the front room with Gran as I pulled the final layer of cake from the oven. I’d frost and decorate it tomorrow.
Dinner was going to be simple. I grilled some fish, made a green salad and put a pitcher of lemonade and one of iced tea in the center of the table, and then wandered the house, calling out that it was dinner time. Two of the guards came in the front door, and Chessy’s favorite, Jack, was already out on the back porch.
“Shoo, chicken,” he said waving his hands down at Chessy. But when I poked my head out there to see if anyone else had come down yet, Chessy was running at him, butting her head into his shins, a sign of chicken affection. I called up the stairs, and heard doors open and feet moving. After stepping through Gran’s new gaming room and having a small argument about her being in the midst of a quest, she came outside. It was early enough in the summer that it wasn’t stifling hot, and when the breeze picked up off the river, the mosquitos weren’t too bad.
The meal was quiet. Juliet mostly stared off into the distance, looking haunted and sad, while Ryan didn’t say much either. Gran shoveled her food down and then stood.
“I’m missing a raid tonight,” she said, sounding grumpy. “I thought y’all would be more fun than this. It’s like everyone’s practicing for starring in some shitty soap opera. Is “Life Sucks and Then You Die” filming here tomorrow? It’s supposed to be my birthday this weekend!”
“Gran!” I said, wishing sometimes I could slip something into her Manhattans to make her more polite.
Juliet stood and went around to wrap Gran in a hug. “I’m sorry Gran. I’m distracted.”
“What’s his excuse?” She asked, pointing at Ryan. “Or theirs?”
The four big men at the table looked embarrassed and muttered apologies before turning back to their food.
Ryan actually blushed, and shook his head lightly. “I apologize, ma’am. I’ve been a terrible guest.” He looked between Gran and me as he said it, as if part of that apology was meant for me. My earlier anger had already softened, and now I found it hard to locate at all.
“Hmph.” Gran wasn’t letting this go easily. Evidently she’d expected quite a bit more entertainment from our famous guests than she was getting.
“Maybe I could mix you up a drink, Gran?” I offered, which earned me a dirty look from Juliet. I didn’t like Juliet being annoyed with me, but she wasn’t here most of the time. I’d learned how to mollify my grandmother to keep things peaceful around the house.
“We should play Monopoly,” Juliet suggested.
“You call that a game?” Gran sniffed. “I’ll take my drink, Tessy, and I’m going online. Y’all better be a lot more fun for the party. I didn’t live this long to have to try to figure out what everyone around me is moping about.”
As Gran left the porch, sniffing, Juliet sighed and dropped her head into her hands. A little knot formed in my stomach as I realized now I was somehow responsible not just for keeping Gran happy and sedate, but I also had to worry about my sister disapproving of the way I did it.
I rose and followed Gran into the kitchen. I purposely didn’t look back at Ryan, and I didn’t return to the table after I’d set Gran up with her drink. Instead, I went upstairs to read, and was in bed nice and early.
I woke up the next morning early and dressed quickly. I wanted to get a workout in before any magazine crew craziness got rolling, and I thought a decent sweat session might clear my head, which was still muddled with movie star almost-kissing, intimate baking, chickens with mad bodyguard crushes and Juliet’s weird moping. It was too much to worry about, so for now I was going to focus on getting my heart rate up and banishing some worries with sweat. I’d left the watersports shop to the employees to run for the rest of the weekend, and felt free and light, despite all the chaos and strangeness in the house.
I padded down the stairs to the basement, switching on the lights and ignoring the boxes stacked against the unfinished walls on the side beneath the stairs. That was storage, which was what this space was probably intended for. Most houses around here had basements, but the ones built as early as ours didn’t usually have the high-ceilinged, finished affairs that newer houses did. The ceiling down here was high enough to hang a heavy bag and a speed bag, but only because I wasn’t a tall girl. They would have been comically low for anyone over five-four.
I moved to the center of the floor, where I’d installed some pads, and jogged in place for a few minutes before beginning to jump. I mimed jumping rope—something the ceiling was too low to actually do—and watched the clock. When I’d been moving for five minutes solid, the sweat beading at my brow and my breath coming fast, I took a few minutes to stretch out, moving the whole time. When I felt loose enough, I got to work, going through the same series of punches and kicks I’d been doing forever, moves I’d learned from my dad, who’d once been a Golden Gloves champion.
He’d taught me to box when I was a tiny kid, as a way to feel powerful in a school system where being a scrawny mousy-haired