Page 16 of Vicious Arrangement (Alpha Billionaire Daddies #7)

Chapter Fifteen

ARIA

Settling into my new life is both easier and harder than I thought.

Noah’s place is beautiful, if somehow like a photoshoot brought to life, where no one it seems lives, except for me and Angus.

And of course Noah.

My room’s a burst of life, the flowers outside are perfumed, and I note night-blooming jasmine, which isn’t real jasmine but smells divine.

I have my two pieces of furniture in there, and books and tiny things of my life are dotted around, a photo of Gramps and Gram, of Mom and Dad and me.

Things like that. I don’t hang anything, so there are pictures against the floor that arrived, things I don’t have the heart to put into storage.

They’re nothing like his art, just a print and some old film posters I love.

Angus loves the garden, and as for me? Yeah, I love it, too, when I’m here, which over the past few weeks is to sleep and spend time with Angus.

I know I shouldn’t, but at first, I took on the extra shifts to hide my shame and annoyance at him for not answering my text, for throwing out my horrible sandwich, and the shame I still sent him packing after his mangled and long apology.

I took the juices and left him a note and then… then I took on the extra shifts because he was never there.

Occasionally he is, but it’s almost never. We really haven’t spoken, he eats, works out, and goes out, stays late at work, or goes to bed.

There’s nothing else. And the one time, I ran into him my words dried up, shriveled like they were empty, wet things in front of a fiery hot sun, and he shifted his gaze, and muttered something, and went on his way.

My eyes blurred, and…

I’ve just finished my shift on Friday night. I spin my locker combo and lean my head against the metal.

Shit. Is it me?

Is he avoiding his own home because of me? Like he’s regretting ever touching me because it’s hit him that he’s not the type to tie himself to someone as mundane as me?

Not that I want him tying himself to me because this isn’t a real marriage based on love or even friendship. Hell, it’s not even that traditional type of transactional or family-arranged union.

He threatened my gramps’s business, and he married me to get his inheritance.

But there’s an attraction that burns like the sun. If there wasn’t then we’d never have slept together.

I’m also ashamed to say he was right that it would happen. In a marriage going nowhere fast, based on nothing but love for my gramps and greed from Noah.

So yeah, I go out with friends after work shifts, I meet with Katie, and go on long runs with Angus.

On the odd occasion Noah’s home, I walk by his room to mine and shut the door.

Like what’ll happen tonight.

“Hey, Aria,” Jo, another nurse, says as she leans her back on the locker next to me. “We’re going to Wednesday’s Bar for a drink, wanna come?”

“Sure,” I say, hooking my bag on my shoulder. “Sounds good. I’ll see if Katie wants to join.

“Cool.” She straightens, and looks over to some of the others who were on the same shift as me and gives them the thumbs up. “Aria’s coming!”

I put on a smile, and text Katie and follow Jo out.

I ignore the small part that itches to text Noah. He’d never come, he’ll never answer. The itching part’s also full on hardcore kamikaze.

It’s better this way, I tell myself. Much better.

“Hi, Gramps!” I let myself and Angus into his place, and put the philodendron Pink Princess plant down on the dining table for his collection, along with the snacks and ingredients he asked me to get him, and I wander through his sprawling Upper East Side apartment to kiss his cheek.

“Aria.”

Angus barks joyfully and puts big paws on Gramps.

“Hey, little buddy.” He scratches Angus’s ears, and Angus wags his tail so hard it hurts as it hits me, and I roll my eyes at Gramps calling my dog little. Angus loves it. And he knows he’ll be getting a bone to gnaw.

Sure enough, Gramps opens up some butcher paper and hands it to Angus, who takes it politely and goes immediately to his bed in the sun under the kitchen’s second window and flops down to chew the bone.

I pull out the calvados and put it on the counter and I go to stick my finger in the thick and rich white bean and lamb stew on the stove, but he smacks me lightly with the wooden spoon.

“Ow.”

“Wicked girl,” he says with love, affection and a grin. “You have to wait.”

“But I love your cassoulet.”

“It’s my spring version. Simple.”

He means no duck, sausage or involved steps.

His is so good, though, after this, it goes in the oven to slow cook, and then the stew, stripped back to carrot, onions, garlic beans, celery and tomatoes, along with white wine and the white beans and lamb, is served with tiny potatoes, crisp salad greens, and lots of parsley.

I’ve had the traditional version with duck, pork and sausages along with the lamb, but this is better in my humble opinion.

“Delicious,” I say, hugging him. “I even love your non trad version with green beans, shiitake and no meat.”

He laughs, hugging me back and adjusting the flame under the Dutch oven. “I take it you’re hungry.” Then Gramps steps back, pulls me into the light streaming in through his kitchen window to look at me. “You look tired.”

“I’m a nurse.”

He makes a sound.

“I’ve been working long hours.” Which I have.

“If you say so.” Then he turns, picks up the calvados and adds, “and you come bearing gifts.”

“The guy said it was a good vintage…”

“It’s apple brandy, it’s good.” He waves me to a seat, but I ignore him and go get the things from the dining table bringing them in. “You are a good granddaughter!”

His wrinkled, strong hands touch the smoked salt, his favorite brand that brings depth to even simple crusty bread and butter, and some staples he forgot to buy, spices and herbs. Then he eyes the plant with a gleam.

“You’ve been talking about getting it, but you always seem to forget.”

A tiny shadow passes his face. “I’ve been busy with work.”

And that’s all I need to know I’ve gone and done the right thing for him. I’ll make this marriage work, build a friendship, a partnership, whatever Noah needs to eventually do the right thing by Gramps.

I know right now that’s not destroying his business, but if it’s a boost or investment he needs to hold off other, faceless sharks, the monolith companies that circle and eat small ones, spitting out homogenized machines out of home grown businesses that care about the community, then it’s worth it.

A pang hits me as I realize I’ve missed a couple of weeks of our weekend tradition, finding a time anywhere from Friday to Monday to just relax and catch up and be family together.

It’s Gramps, so I’ve had flying visits, a coffee or a quick lunch at his desk, but nothing beats this.

Gramps sits, the oven already preheating for the moment he’ll slide the Dutch oven in and the magic of melding flavors into something special begins.

“I wish I could cook like you,” I say.

He shrugs, toying with his glass as I take a sip. “If you tried you could. You don’t sit still and have the patience for it, which is odd, because I know how good you are with patients, my dear.”

I groan as he laughs at his own joke.

“Gramps.”

“So,” he says, “out with it. I’ve been waiting to hear every single time we’ve spoken or had a couple of minutes together, but all I’ve gotten is an okay, or good from you, Aria. Tell me the truth. Use your words. How are things going with Noah?”

“Gramps!”

But my mock shock doesn’t work on him.

“I’m part of this, you did this for me, and I want to know my girl, my beloved girl’s happy. Are you?”

“That’s… complicated.”

A flash of pain crosses his face. Is Gramps some kind of closet case hopeless romantic? I didn’t know Gram, or rather, I did, but I don’t really remember her, as she died not long after my parents. But… maybe he is.

He never remarried. Oh, years later, I’m sure there were girlfriends—which is as far as I’m allowing myself to even think about—but never someone that seemed to capture his heart. Maybe he still loves Gram. And maybe…

God…

Maybe he’s been hoping Noah would fall for me and me for him.

I spread my hands, palms down on the table, and stare at them, the short nails showing the life of hard work showing. Most girls my age have pretty hands.

Soft and dewy. Long pretty nails.

Hands like Katie’s.

Not me. No polish, and a little in need of TLC, but constant washing and hand sanitizer, and gloves leaves them a little rough around the edges.

Noah and a woman like me? I don’t even get his attraction.

“Ari,” he says softly.

I blow out a breath. “I’m confused, I guess.”

“Confused?”

I glance up, and there’s a hint of uncertainty on his face, like maybe he shouldn’t have gone into this line of questioning.

“Yeah, I guess… I don’t know what to feel or think when it comes to Noah.

He’s so difficult to read. Sometimes I think he likes me, sometimes I think I’m just a bane to his existence, and other times…

” I half smile. “He’s nice. But I just don’t know, because he’s also arrogant and aware of just how good he looks. ”

“You’d beat any girl, hands down.”

I laugh at that. “You’re biased, Gramps. But… it isn’t that. It’s just, he’s so difficult to read.”

I land on that line a second time because it’s true and it’s the vibrating line through everything.

If he just didn’t want me, that’s fine. If he did and it was just want, then that’s fine too.

It’s all the rest. The banter, the passion, the anger, the keeping away.

That convoluted apology that’s still got spikes.

It got to me in so many ways I didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with. So I left the note, and then…

Nothing.

Confusing.

Hard. To. Read. Man.

“I feel guilty,” Gramps says, voice soft, a little sad. “I got you trapped in a loveless marriage because of me and my pride.”

“Your heart and soul and the business you shaped aren’t pride. And I’d do anything for you.”