19. Graham

"Can you believe the nerve of that bitch?" my sister says into my ear. "She thinks she's suddenly better than me because her brother married some unknown duchess."

"Aren't you a bit old for a petty schoolyard rivalry?" I question, pressing the button for my office floor.

The elevator is empty and I exhale a soft breath as I lean backward into the wall. I went home early this morning to change after an all-nighter and now, two hours later, I'm back. I need a break. I don't need anyone to tell me working this much isn't healthy. Although Isabella never fails to remind me of that fact.

At least I have a day off planned soon. I technically didn't do it for myself, though. It's Isabella's birthday and I wanted to take her somewhere. I already have it all planned out. All that's left is convincing her.

Mikayla scoffs. "This isn't just some petty schoolyard rivalry. I hate her and I wish she were dead. And if you were my real brother, you'd support me."

"I am your real brother," I say dryly. Mikayla's dramatics are the last thing I need this morning. "But you're right. She's a total bitch and there's no way in hell she's better than you. How's that for support?"

"It could use some work," she retorts, although I can hear the smile in her voice.

I exit the elevator and walking toward my office. I pass by Taylor in her office and offer her a short nod in greeting. She smiles back at me.

"What really happened between the two of you, though?" I ask, referring to the bitch we're supposed to hate. "Weren't you two best friends?"

I distinctly remember that she and a blonde named Natasha were as thick as thieves until a couple of years ago.

"Yeah, we were. Until I slept with her brother," Mikayla says under her breath.

I stop short, pausing in the process of taking off my jacket. "I'm sorry, come again."

"I really don't need your judgment right now, Gray. It was a mistake," she mumbles.

"A mistake," I drawl. "How would you feel if Natasha and I slept together?"

She groans. "Please don't put that imagery in my head. I get it, I did something wrong. And I apologized, but she's acting like I stabbed him or something. It's pissing me off."

I sigh softly. "Fix your shit, Mikayla."

"Enough about me," she says, clearly eager to change the subject. "What's going on with you? How's New York?"

"Fine. And nothing's going on with me. I've been busy with work."

"Seriously? Just work?" my sister questions. "I know you're trying to be a changed man and all, but it's like you're a chameleon and you've changed your stripes. No more partying? Having fun?"

"I've been busy, Kay."

"Hmm," she says thoughtfully. "You know what they say, big brother. All work and no play…"

"I'll stop working so hard when our father finally decides to lay off me. Until then, this is my life now," I say on a grimace. "Don't worry, it's not so bad. I've actually been enjoying my time here in New York, work aside."

"Let me guess, with the Russo woman? What's her name again? Isabella?"

"Yeah. She and I have been hanging out."

"Hanging out," Mikayla repeats. "As in dating?"

"Not exactly," I mutter.

She sighs. "You should probably also get your shit together, Gray. And don't forget what's at stake."

"Yeah, I got it," I say, frowning.

"Okay, now that we're done. There's someone here that needs to speak to you," my sister announces.

There's a light rustling on the other end. And then my mother's voice is in my ear.

"Graham," she says gently. "You've been avoiding my calls."

I let out a soft breath. "Hey, Mom. How are you?"

"Do you even care?" she asks.

"Of course I care."

"If you cared, you'd pick up the phone whenever I call you."

Okay, she's pissed. Which is understandable considering I was ignoring her.

"Noted. I'll be sure to do so the next time your name flashes across my screen. Now if that's all, I've got a ton of work, Mom."

"Wait," she says, stopping me from hanging up. "I have something to tell you."

That gives me pause. For a second, just one second, I imagine she's going to tell she's finally going to leave him. Get a divorce and finally get some happiness and freedom. But that's na?ve and I know it'll never happen. She'll never be strong enough to do that. And I hate it so much.

"I'm coming to New York," my mother tells me instead.

I arch an eyebrow. "Why?"

"To see you, of course. I miss my son and I just want to make sure you're eating healthy. Your father mentioned that you've turned into a bit of a workaholic."

Odd that my father would have even noticed something like that in the first place.

"It's fine, Mom. I can take care of myself," I assure her.

The last thing I need is her presence in this city.

"Of course you can, Gray. But I am your mother and we haven't spent any time together in as long as I can remember. I talked to your father and he agreed that it would be nice if I came to spend a couple of weeks in New York."

"You mean he gave you permission," I grit out.

She ignores that. "I'll be staying with you in the penthouse."

That has me falling still. I don't mind that she's coming to New York. But her staying with me is a big issue.

"No way. You have another son, remember? Stay with him; I'm sure they'd love that."

My mother may have not have given birth to Xander, but she treated him the same way she treated Mikayla and I growing up. He's just as much her son as I am. And growing up, I hated it. I was jealous of how she treated him. But I'm a big boy now, and I've come to understand that Xander needed a mother's care since he couldn't get it from his own mother.

"I'll be staying with you in the penthouse, Graham," my mother says stubbornly.

I groan. "We have tons of properties in the city. One call and I can have the townhouse on the Upper East Side prepared for you."

"Expect me at the penthouse this weekend, Graham. Goodbye, honey."

She hangs up the call and I rub the side of my forehead. I know what she's trying to do. Once in a while, she gets it in her head that she's going to try and force a sort of reconciliation between us, or a heart-to-heart. I know she wants forgiveness, but she's never done anything to me.Sure, lied about how she and my dad met and everything about his first wife but I can get over all of that.

It's what she does to herself that I can't stand.

"Where are we going?" Isabella asks for the twentieth time in the past hour.

I glance at her with a frown. "Do you think if you ask me enough times I'm suddenly going to cave and tell you?"

She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning into her seat. It's 6 p.m. and I spent the whole day trying to prepare this for her. It was surprisingly harder than I thought, but I got it done.

"We're almost there, Sunshine. Just give me a few more minutes," I tell her. "Also, is there any way I could convince you to wear a blindfold?"

The look she shoots my way is answer enough. I sigh softly.

"No blindfold, then."

As soon as we drive into the parking garage, Isabella gasps softly, turning to me.

"No way," she says under her breath.

"You know this would be so much better if I could blindfold you and lead you in there," I point out.

She grins. "What did you do, Graham?"

We're currently in the parking garage of one of the most exclusive bakeries in New York. The chef is an Italian man, Vinetto Bocelli. Bocelli's encompasses a couple of restaurants, bakeries, and cafés all around the city. And we're currently at its main branch, the most exclusive one. It's nearly impossible to get a reservation here; it's booked weeks in advance.

I got one in two days.

"We're going to meet the man in charge, himself. I remember you telling me a couple of weeks ago that you wished you had recipes for Italian pastries. And that anytime you try making something, you always mess it up."

"Yeah…" she says quietly, eyes fixed on my face.

"Well, it took a lot of convincing and negotiation. But I talked to Vinetto Bocelli?—"

Isabella's eyes widen. "You talked to him? How? He's a known recluse. Not a lot of people get to meet him, and it's even harder to get to eat desserts specifically prepared by him."

"Well, I talked to him," I continue, "and we came to an agreement."

"What did you do, Graham?" she asks again, her voice slightly breathless.

"Vinetto agreed to sell some of his recipes. I think he mentioned cannolis, panforte, and tiramisu. Also something called bombolone," I say, unsure if I'm pronouncing that right.

"Oh my god," Isabella whispers. "How were you even able to do that?"

"You have to sign a contract. The terms state that you can't give the recipes to anyone and you can't sell or make any profits from any of the desserts. It's only for your personal household consumption. He had his lawyers draw up the contract yesterday. I had a lawyer look it over and it's pretty ironclad."

I also had to pay a significant amount of money before Vinetto even considered my proposal. But she doesn't need to know that.

Isabella's staring at me like she's seeing me for the first time. I'm pretty sure she's speechless. The world narrows to this very moment and everything else seems to fall away. Her blue eyes sparkle in a way that makes my heart hurt.

"What am I supposed to say to all this?" she asks, a note of vulnerability in her voice I've never heard before.

I grin. "I did good, didn't I, Sunshine? My first plan was to throw you a party, hire strippers, all that razzle-dazzle."

"Razzle-dazzle," she repeats dryly. "I can't think of anything worse than a strippers and party."

"Yeah. I figured you'd appreciate something like this more. A quiet night together eating the best desserts in the city."

"Thank you, Graham," she breathes, offering me a genuine smile.

"You're welcome. Now come on, we'd better not keep Vinetto waiting. He gets cranky."

We step out of the car and as soon as I'm standing in front of her, Isabella throws her arms around me. I breathe in her scent, wrapping my arms around her waist.

"No one's ever done something so thoughtful for me before," Isabella says against my chest. "It's really sweet of you, Gray."

"You know me, Sunshine. I'm practically a walking cavity."

She slaps my chest before leaning away. I take her hand, intertwining our fingers. Her hand fits in mine perfectly.

"Let's go, birthday girl."

We spend the next two hours eating the best desserts and speaking to Vinetto, who Isabella refers to as a pastry god. By the time we leave, I'm completely full. Isabella suggests we take a walk to let it all the food settle and I'm inclined to agree.

"So, are you enjoying your birthday?" I ask her as we walk hand in hand down the Fifth Avenue sidewalk.

The roads are pretty busy, and there's a constant stream of noise that's typical of New York. But everything's muted; my full concentration is on the woman at my side.

"Hmm, let's see. I woke up this morning to the twins singing ‘Happy Birthday' in my ear. They gave me adorable presents and warm hugs. We proceeded to the dining room and a huge breakfast had been whipped up by our cook. Enzo and Rosa also gave me presents. After that, I took the twins to school and went back home to watch some movies. It was nice. Add that to tonight and honestly, it's been a pretty perfect day. The best birthday I've had in a while."

"I'm glad," I murmur.

She starts telling me about the presents she received as we continue our walk. We're at an intersection and I'm about to suggest we turn back and return to the car when Isabella stops short. Her eyes are practically gleaming as she stares at something in front of us. I follow her gaze toward a club with loud music booming from the inside.

Isabella looks at me with a grin. "I have the perfect idea on how to end the night."

I arch an eyebrow. "You want to go there?"

She nods.

"That's a club, darling," I tell her.

"I'm aware. Come on, it'll be fun. We can have a drink or two and dance."

I look at her for a seconds wondering if her body's being hijacked or something. Isabella tugs on my hand.

"Come on, Gray. When's the last time you had some fun?"

"Of this variety? A long time ago. I don't go clubbing anymore."

"But that's ridiculous," Isabella claims. "You used to love doing stuff like that. And changing doesn't mean turning your back on all the things that made you happy."

I scratch the scruff of my jaw, considering her words. "I wouldn't say it made me happy, Sunshine. It was more of a distraction than anything else."

"Well, then we can both be distracted tonight. Come on, it's my birthday," she implores.

I sigh softly. "Alright. One drink and then I'm taking you home."

She nods in agreement. We cross the street and enter the booming club and it's a little disorienting at first. The loud noise, the numerous bodies grinding against each other. It's especially packed because it's a Friday night. Isabella shoots me a grin, pulling me toward the bar. We place our drink orders and at her insistence, I'm downing my entire drink in one shot.

"Now we dance," she says excitedly.

I'm a little awestruck as I let her pull me onto the dance floor. Her icy blue eyes stare me down in a sort of challenge. And then her body starts to sway to the music. I notice a couple of eyes swing toward us as she moves, and I can't say I blame them. She looks like a fucking goddess. The black dress she's wearing hugs her every curve, baring her shoulders and stopping high on her thigh. My imagination's been running wild all evening, wishing I could lift that dress and feel even more of her.

When I notice a guy looking at her with more than a little interest, I glare, daring him to approach. He turns away as soon as he catches my eye. Smart guy. Isabella reaches for my shoulder, her expression more open than I've ever seen.

She gets on her toes to whisper in my ear, her voice sultry and entirely too appealing, "Come on, Gray. Dance."

If someone had asked me a year ago what my favorite thing to do is, I would have said going on vacation, being on my own, or hanging out at a party surrounded by people. Now I'm starting to realize that's changed. Because my favorite thing now is looking at this woman. Watching her laugh and seeing her lower her defenses. Watching her be free in a way she never really allows herself to be.

I hold on to her waist, pulling her closer, and our gazes connect. Exertion flushes her cheeks and her eyes sparkle in a way that makes my heart clench. Her dress is low cut in the back, and I'm unable to stop my hands from gliding over her smooth skin. She shivers at my touch and her eyes close for the briefest moment.

If I don't kiss her right now, I'm going to spontaneously combust. My jaw clenches as I take in the bodies around us, the strobing lights, and the blaring music. I can't kiss her in front of all these people. Isabella arches an eyebrow when I take her hand in mine. I pull gently, gesturing outside with my head. She nods once, allowing me to lead her out of the club.

The cool night air blows over our faces once we're outside. But it does nothing to reduce the raging inferno within me. I let go of her hand, walking forward while running a hand through my hair in frustration.

"You okay, Gray?" Isabella asks from behind me.

I turn around abruptly. She takes a step back in surprise. And she must see something else in my expression because she takes another step back until her back is against the wall of the building. I blow out a breath, standing in front of her.

"We tried our best, Sunshine," I start, my voice taking on a rough edge.

Her breath hitches. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about us. We gave it a good go. I spent the past month trying my fucking hardest not to grab you like a caveman and kiss the hell out of you. I want you, Isabella. And I'm tired of denying it."

She swallows, blue eyes softening. "This is a bad idea," she whispers.

"Bad ideas can be fun ideas, too," I say huskily, my gaze trailing over her face and settling on her lips. She unconsciously sucks in her bottom lip between her teeth and my control snaps. "Just one kiss, Sunshine. Please."

Her eyes narrow. "That's a lie and we both know it."

"Please," I say again, my heart pounding in my chest.

Finally, she nods once and I don't need any more invitation. My lips brush against hers, and every single atom in my body grows alight. One of my hands dives into her hair, cupping the back of her head, while her arms circle around my neck. I push her further back into the wall as our bodies mold together.

It's odd, the way the realization settles in my chest. But there's no denying the sudden clarity and the certainty that she's mine.

Isabella Russo is it for me.