Once we’re on the road, I call my mother on speakerphone, hoping to warn her that we’re doing a drive-by drop off, but it goes to voicemail. “Uh, hey, Mom. I’m bringing Grace by. Kyle said she was hanging out with you until Cam could pick her up later. See you in a few.”

  I hang up, but there’s something gnawing at my gut. Kyle wouldn’t have pawned Grace off on me and lied about the plan, would he?

  He’s Kyle. Of course he would.

  “Shiii—”

  “’take mushrooms,” Luna says loud enough to drown out what I was going to say. “What’s wrong?”

  I dial Cameron and end up with his voicemail too. “Cam, Grace is with me and I’m not sure where I’m supposed to take her. Kyle said Mom’s, but you know how that goes. Where are you? Call me.”

  I look in the rearview mirror and see Grace’s smile as she pets Nutbuster. This is not how today was supposed to go. Not at all. And one look at the clock tells me that I’m running out of choices.

  I run through the list of Grace-sitter options beyond Kyle, Cameron, and Mom, which is basically the rest of my family.

  My brother Cole? He doesn’t live far, but then I remember that he’s out of town this weekend, so he’s a no-go.

  My brother Chance? He teaches Saturday classes and turns his phone on silent to ensure he’s not interrupted. Plus, the center where he teaches is in the opposite direction.

  My sister Kayla? Yes!

  I dial her number and she actually answers. “Kayla! Where are you? I need a favor . . . I’m begging you.”

  “And hello to you too. Yes, I’m doing fine, thank you for asking. How are you?” she replies, sweet-sarcastically correcting my rushed non-greeting.

  “Sorry, but Kyle tricked me into . . .” I freeze when Luna swats my arm with the back of her hand and shoots a pointed look toward the back seat. “I mean, uh . . . I picked up Grace from Kyle, and he said Mom was taking her, but she’s not answering her phone. Do you know where she is?”

  “Well, I have good news and bad news. I do know where Mom is because she’s next to me. Unfortunately, we’re in Westport today.” That’s an hour away, meaning there’s no way I can get Grace to her or Mom.

  Resigned, I sigh. “I’ll figure it out. Somehow. By the way, maybe forget you have a younger brother because I’m going to kill him.”

  Kayla laughs, thinking I’m kidding, but honestly, I might throw a punch or two Kyle’s way if I can sneak attack him. I hang up with Kayla and look at Grace again.

  “Change of plans, Gracie. You’re going to go with me and Luna,” I tell her. Before she can ask a million questions, I fill her in on the fancy dinner with the fancy lady at the fancy house with all the fancy things that we do not touch. “It’s like a game. Be on your best behavior and practice all your manners so Uncle CJ can work, and I’ll get you that tiara we were talking about. Deal?”

  She tilts her head and then whispers to Nutbuster, “What do you think?” She leans the other way, acting like the dog is whispering to her, and then nods. To me, she says, “Deal . . . with the caveat that the tiara is purple and real. Not one of those plastic ones.”

  “Are you negotiating with me?” I can’t help but laugh. She is her father’s daughter. “And how do you know the word ‘caveat’? You’re eight, not eighty.”

  She shrugs casually, but her smile gives it away that she’s proud her vocabulary surprised me. “I listen.”

  “Okay, deal. One purple, real tiara for your absolute bestest behavior.” I reach behind me, and though we can’t officially shake, she grabs my pinkie finger with hers to pinkie promise.

  “Can Peanut Butter have a tiara too?” she adds.

  “Pushing it,” I warn. But when she crosses her arms over her chest, I acquiesce. “If you’re extra-extra-extra good, I’ll get him one too.”

  She hugs the beleaguered dog and he licks her face. With a smile, I try to think of a way to spin this, but Luna interrupts my whirling mind. “Keep it simple, stupid. K-I-S-S, just like our background story. She’s your niece that you needed to watch. It makes you seem like a family guy the same way” —she drops her voice to a whisper— “a wife does.”

  She has a point. I nod, visualizing the introduction and how Elena might respond. “Okay, KISS, got it,” I echo vacantly.

  Before I forget, I call Cameron back and leave another message. “Hey man, Mom’s a no-go for babysitting tonight, but Grace is with me. We’ll be out a little late, so she can stay at my place. I’ll bring her back tomorrow or Sunday, whatever’s good for you. No worries, we’ll just hang out and play the Royal Family because she’s already talked me into a tiara.”

  When I hang up, Luna is looking at me strangely. Before I can find out why, Gracie asks, “Did you hear that, Peanut Butter? We’re having a sleepover at Uncle CJ’s!”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  LUNA

  “We don’t talk about . . .” Grace sings and then waits for me to join in.

  “Bruno . . . no, no, no!” I finish with a big flourish, having fun singing the entire Disney repertoire with her. Grace has an arm thrown over Peanut Butter, happily singing to him in full-blown Mariah Carey mode despite his howls begging us to stop. Grace explained it’s his way of singing along with us, but I have serious doubts about that.

  The little girl is an absolute hoot. She’s infinitely better than either of her uncles, and the drive that had seemed extraordinarily long before has flown by with her constant questions, song requests, and storytelling.

  Surprisingly, Carter has had a faint ghost of a smile on his lips the whole time. He’s even joined in on the fun, sort of, answering some of her questions with playful answers of his own. He doesn’t go so far as singing, but I’m pretty sure I heard him humming. He’s so uptight and work-focused that I would’ve thought he’d be annoyed by a child’s antics. But my assumption was obviously wrong.

  “We’re almost there. Ready?” Carter asks us.

  “I’ll be super-duper good, Uncle CJ.” Grace holds up her hand as she makes the solemn vow.

  I shoot a smile at Grace and mimic her move. “Me too. Super-duper good.”

  “Okay,” Carter says easily, but his fingers haven’t stopped nervously tapping on the steering wheel. We pull up in front of a pair of tall gates that are already open. “Elena’s expecting us. Showtime.”

  On the other side of the gates, there’s a long and winding drive leading to the front of the house. Though it’s not like one I’ve ever seen.

  “Is that a house for one person?” Grace exclaims, pressing her nose and hands to the window. “You could fit my whole school in there!”

  “Right?” I whisper. It’s more like a mansion or estate, or whatever’s bigger than that, and my heart begins thumping in my chest. I don’t belong here. No dress is enough armor to make me fit in at a place like this.

  Carter parks and comes around to open my door like a gentleman. Taking my hand, he helps me out, and the touch of our hands reminds me of the role I’m playing. I look up into his eyes, and there’s an instant where I forget that I’m mad at him and this feels like a date.

  Grace and Peanut Butter explode out of the car with a whoop of laughter, shattering the moment. “Let’s go, Peanut Butter!”

  The dog heads straight for a pair of meticulously pruned rose bushes by the front steps and lets loose with a long stream of pee. I swear I hear him sigh in relief.

  “No, bad dog!” Carter hisses, but there’s no stopping the yellow waterfall hitting the pristine flowers, the leaves flapping backward with the force of the golden shower.

  A tall man comes around the corner, surprise widening his eyes when he sees us, but his expression quickly changes to anger when he sees Peanut Butter. “No! Rosalia! You’re killing her!” he yells sharply.

  Who’s Rosalia?

  The man waves wild hands, trying to shoo the confused pooch away from the bushes. “Git!”

  “Peanut Butter, come here. Get away from the mean man!” Grace cries, running toward them to throw herself between the dog and the man, holding her arms out protectively. “Don’t you be a meanie!”

  Gathering Grace and Peanut Butter and shoving them behind his back, Carter tells the man, “Excuse us, so sorry.”

  His attempt to diffuse the situation is in vain, though, because the man has given his full attention to the rose bush, which he’s caressing tenderly with gnarled hands and sweet-talking. “Oh, Rosalia. What has that monster done to you? I’ll get you some fresh water to drink, would you like that?”

  Oh-kay, I guess the bush is Rosalia?

  “What’s all this racket out here?” a woman says from the porch. “Bernard? Are you okay?”

  She’s older, wearing a loose-fitting bronze pantsuit, kitten heels, and a worried look as she scans the yard, her silver bob swinging back and forth with the movement.

  “That dog tried to kill Rosalia.” The man points an accusing finger at Peanut Butter, snarling his lip.

  “It was a long drive, so he really had to go,” I explain apologetically.

  “No big deal. The poor baby had to piddle.” She’s telling Bernard, but Peanut Butter has climbed the steps and is sitting politely at the woman’s feet as though he recognizes a kind spirit. She reaches down to pet his head and he leans into her touch. “My bladder’s the size of a walnut too.”

  Standing back up, she greets the rest of us. “You must be Carter. Thanks for coming all the way out here. I hope it wasn’t a trouble, other than the peeing.” She laughs at her own joke, petting Peanut Butter again.

  Carter takes a few steps up to the porch and offers his hand. “Happy to come out anytime, Mrs. Cartwright.” He pauses, drops his chin, and then smiles. “I mean, Elena.”

  Ooh, he’s good. That was a pure act of fertilizer-grade manure with the name misspeak, playfully coy while also being old-fashioned polite. He’s shoveling it both ways.

  “And you must be Luna, Carter’s lovely wife. You should hear him talk about your artwork. They say what a man says when you can’t hear him is as close to the truth as you’ll ever get. If that’s the case, he’s quite smitten with you, dear.” She winks at me theatrically, and I freeze.

  When Carter glances back at me, there’s a slight blush coloring his cheeks. It’s kinda adorable, and then I remember that whatever he told Elena was fake as hell. I play my part, though, stage whispering as I tease, “You should hear what he says when we’re alone.”

  Elena laughs, thinking I’m being cheeky, but my true target is Carter and the things he’s said that weren’t so kind. If he can shovel two ways, then so can I.

  “I’m Miss Grace Marie Harrington, eight years old, third grade. And that’s my Uncle Kyle’s dog, Peanut Butter,” Grace offers with a ladylike curtsy. She sounds like she’s introduced herself on countless Miss America pageant stages until she adds, “But we call him Nutbuster.”

  Carter chokes. “Oh, Gracie, Elena doesn’t want to hear that.”

  But Elena’s chuckling and petting the nut-busting dog again, not offended in the slightest. Instead, she curtsies back to Grace, holding out the leg of her pants. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Harrington. Now, how about you call me Elena and I call you Grace, and we can go inside where it’s cool, m’kay?”

  “Okay, Elena,” Grace parrots.

  “Oh, Bernard . . .” Elena says to the man who’s still scowling at Peanut Butter, “Would you mind taking this sweet, good boy over to the barn? I bet he’d love to play in the hay and have an oat cookie or two. If that’s okay?”

  That last bit was directed to Carter, who nods to Bernard gratefully and then adds, “I really do apologize. We had a bit of a family emergency, and I—”

  He holds his hands out wide, gesturing to Grace and Peanut Butter. But this is Elena’s show, and she waves it off. “Nonsense, the more, the merrier!”

  “Yeah, Uncle CJ, me and Elena are cool.” Completely comfortable having crashed Carter’s meeting, Grace takes Elena’s hand and they walk into the house together like insta-besties.

  Bernard pats his leg, content with his orders. “Wanna cookie, boy?”

  That’s all it takes for Peanut Butter to trot off after him, leaving just me and Carter behind. He looks back and forth between Peanut Butter and Grace, though, concern on his face for his two charges. It’s actually admirable.

  And a bit adorable.

  “We got this,” I tell him gently as I hold my hand out. He takes it, and together, we walk inside. The house is impressive, with soaring ceilings, marble floors, intricate moldings, and antiques. But beyond the air of fanciness, what draws my attention is the art on every single wall.

  “Is that . . .” I can’t get the words out as I rush to a piece in the foyer, dragging Carter along. “The colors, the texture, her expression.” I clamp my hands over my mouth as tears unexpectedly fill my eyes. This artwork is everything I’d dreamed, only better.

  “Oh, you found our Eakin piece. It’s not a classic—or not yet, at least—but Thomas really enjoyed the emotions in her eyes.”

  We all stare at the art for a moment in silence, feeling connected to the woman in the drawing.

  “She looks sad, like she’s gonna cry,” Grace whispers.

  Bending down, I nod agreeably. “People do cry when they’re sad, but there are happy tears too. And I’ll tell you a secret, I even cry when I’m mad. Do you think she might be crying for another reason?”

  I can feel Carter and Elena’s eyes, but I’m in tour guide mode with Grace because you never know what will spark a child to have a life-long love of art.

  “Elena? Dinner’s ready.” I look up to see a square-shaped woman with blonde hair slicked into a military tight bun standing by a doorway. She’s wearing black pants, a black polo, and black kitchen clogs. Clearly, she’s house staff.

  “Nelda, this is Carter, Luna, and Grace. Could you be a dear and get us an extra setting on the table?” Elena subtly tilts her head toward Grace.

  “Of course,” Nelda answers. “Should I make an alternative meal for the young lady? We’re having salmon.”

  Grace looks up at Carter. “That’s the pink fish?” When Carter nods, she speaks directly to Nelda. “I like salmon.”

  Of course she does. I think I’ve had salmon once in my life at a museum event where I mostly hid in the corner and prayed no one would ask me questions. But this little girl knows pink fish from other fish and can talk to strangers with ease. I make a mental note to see if I can use Grace as a character inspiration in my graphic novel.

  Instead of the dining room, Elena takes us to the kitchen where a round breakfast nook table is set for dinner with family-style serving dishes in the middle. Nelda quickly adds another setting as Carter pulls out a chair for me, and then, in a move that startles me, he slides the napkin into my lap. It feels intimate, and when I glance up, Carter’s eyes are stormy. The second I meet his gaze, he jerks his away as though burned and finds his own seat between me and Grace, with Elena sitting across.

  “I hope you don’t mind eating in here. The dining room is so stuffy, and between you and me, I need glasses and a hearing aid to talk to people at the other end of that thing.” Elena holds her hands up wide, demonstrating how big the table is.

  “No, of course not. This is perfect,” Carter says obsequiously.

  Elena picks up a platter from the assortment in the middle of the table and leans toward Grace. “Would you like help getting the salmon on your plate? Sometimes, they like to swim away.”

  She laughs at her own silly joke, and Grace grins as she nods. Once everyone has filled their plates, Elena says, “Tell me about Blue Lake Assets, Carter.”

  She takes a bite of broccoli salad as he sets his fork down and dabs his mouth. Carter’s clearly ready for the question, and his voice is sure and steady as he answers. “My grandfather started it decades ago, and my dad is CEO now. My brother, Cameron, my sister, Kayla, and I work there. It’s a family legacy we’re proud to stand behind. Our specialty is that we don’t lock ourselves or our clients into a single investment vehicle. It’s specific for each person’s needs and wants.”

  As Carter attempts to sell Elena on his family’s company, I only understand about a fourth of what he’s talking about. It’s English, and I know the words themselves, but all together, not a bit. He’s going heavy on the family angle, driving home that this is no small potatoes offer but rather a close connection between the Harringtons and Cartwrights.

  He’s a good salesman, I remind myself. Does and says whatever it takes, no matter who it cuts, as long as he ends up in the plus column.

  I thought Carter would be all dry facts and figures, and though he does discuss those, he also adds in a story of his own first account acquisition.

  “I put ten thousand in the stock market based on a tip I thought was a sure thing.” Carter laughs and then Elena joins in. “We both know there’s no such thing, but then I was young and cocky, sure I had a money maker.”

  “What happened?” I ask and then clack my mouth shut, realizing I should know this story as his wife.

  Carter plays it off excellently, almost as if we’ve done this pony trick before. “What always happens if you don’t invest wisely and manage your assets. I lost the funds. But I learned a valuable lesson, did better, and by the end of the next quarter, that investor had his original funds back plus a significant increase.”

  He and Elena go on to talk shop for a while, and the whole time, I’m watching Carter work his magic. He’s engaging, intelligent, a bit arrogant, and all around, a good businessman. If only he weren’t such an asshat personally, he might even be attractive beyond his classically good looks.

  But he is an asshat. A two-faced one.

  I’ve heard it with my own ears and seen it with my own eyes. I can’t let this sexy, smart, gentleman version make me forget.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  CARTER