Unveiled
Page 52

He’s staring at me, his jaw tight, and I return that smile awkwardly, mouthing ‘sorry’ on a bunched up face. His lovely head shakes from side to side, tousling up his waves as he virtually screeches out of the parking space. I conclude very quickly that he wants to get this journey over with as soon as possible and limit the time my dear grandmother has to screw around with his perfect world. God forbid if she could reach the temperature controls up front. I inwardly laugh. And he wanted to move her into his flat? Holy shit, he’d have a seizure every five minutes!
There are continuous hoots of glee coming from Nan as Miller zips and weaves through the London traffic, but her excitement dulls to nothing when she catches sight of my left hand as it reaches up to rest on the seat in front of me. I realise what’s holding her attention straightaway. She reaches across the car and takes my hand, pulling it towards her and studying it quietly. I can do nothing more than let her, bracing myself for her reaction. I turn pleading eyes up to the rearview mirror and find Miller watching intermittently between keeping an eye on the road.
‘Hmmm,’ she hums, rubbing across the peak of my ring with the pad of her thumb. ‘So, Miller, when are you marrying my beautiful granddaughter?’ Her raised grey eyebrows are quickly on me, despite the question being directed at Miller, and I shrink into the leather seat. He better think of something quick-sharp, because I haven’t the foggiest idea of what to tell her. I need her to stop looking at me like that. My cheeks are flaming red-hot and my throat is closing off under the pressure, making speech impossible. ‘Well?’ she prompts.
‘I’m not.’ Miller’s short, sharp response makes everything die inside. He has no problem telling my spunky nan, and while I understand him, I’m not sure she will. She’s old school.
‘Why ever not?’ She sounds offended, almost angry, and I consider the possibility of her reaching forward and smacking the back of Miller’s head. She probably would. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
I’d laugh if I could find air to draw breath. What’s wrong with me? Everything!
‘That ring is a sign of my love, Mrs Taylor. My eternal love.’
‘That’s all good and well, but what’s it doing on her wedding finger?’
‘Because your beautiful ring holds position on her right hand and I wouldn’t be so disrespectful as to ask her to replace what’s been in her life for longer than me.’
I swell with pride and Nan stutters her astonishment. ‘Can’t we just swap them?’
‘Are you trying to marry me off?’ I ask, finally finding some words.
‘So?’ she huffs, her nose put firmly out of joint, not even Miller’s respectful explanation diluting her displeasure. ‘You plan on living in sin forever?’
Her absent-minded choice of word resonates deeply, and I find mine and Miller’s eyes locked together in the mirror, mine wide, his wary.
Sin.
There are so many sinful things she’s unaware of, things that my poor mind is struggling to deal with. I wouldn’t have exposed her to it before, no matter how sassy and spunky she might be, and I’m most certainly not exposing her to it now. Not with her being so delicate after her heart attack, though you’d never know it. Being hospitalised for the past few days seems to have injected even more sass into her Taylor bones.
Miller returns his eyes to the road, and I remain tense in my seat, but Nan keeps expectant eyes on my OCD-suffering, ex-prostitute, notorious male ex-escort . . .
I sigh. My mind hasn’t the strength to even mentally list the endless sinful things that Miller was.
‘I plan on worshipping your granddaughter for the rest of my life, Mrs Taylor,’ Miller says quietly, yet Nan’s wistful coo indicates she heard it perfectly, and that might just be good enough. It is for me, and though I constantly tell myself no one else matters, Nan’s approval really does. I think I have it. I’ll just have to keep telling myself that her lacking knowledge is of no consequence, that her opinion wouldn’t change in the least bit if she knew every sordid detail.
‘Home sweet home, my lady.’ Miller breaks into my stray thoughts as we pull up to Nan’s house. I notice George and Gregory on the pavement outside, both men sitting on the low wall at the end of our front garden, both men looking apprehensive. I haven’t the time or energy to waste on worrying about Miller and Gregory in such close proximity. They just better behave.
‘What are they doing here?’ Nan grumbles, making no attempt to get out, instead waiting for Miller to open the door for her. She’s not fooling me. She’s loving all of the special treatment, not that she doesn’t get it under normal circumstances. ‘I’m not an invalid!’
‘I beg to differ,’ Miller retorts firmly, offering his hand, which she takes on a little scowl. ‘Less of the sass, Mrs Taylor.’
I chuckle to myself as I get out of the car and join them on the pavement, hearing Nan huffing and puffing all over Miller. ‘The cheek!’
‘Olivia’s certainly learned from the best of them,’ he grumbles, giving Nan up to George when he steps forward, a worried look all over his old round face.
‘How are you feeling, Josephine?’ George says, taking Nan’s arm.
‘I’m fine!’ She accepts Georges arm, indicating her need for support, and lets him lead her up the garden path. ‘How are you, Gregory?’ she asks as she passes him. ‘And Ben?’
He’s told her? I look to my friend, as does Miller, as does George. Four sets of eyes are all resting on Gregory, spiking a string of uncomfortable shifting movements to play out before us. His boots scuff the concrete, he flicks us all wide eyes, and we all just stand staring at the poor guy, waiting for his reply. He coughs. ‘Um, yeah, fine. We’re fine. How are you, Nan?’
‘Perfect,’ she replies in an instant, and nudges George on his way. ‘Let’s make some tea.’
Everyone jumps back into action and follows Nan and George towards the house, but I quickly take over the lead so I can open the front door, allowing them all to pass as I hold it open. The deep inhale that she takes as she’s helped over the threshold and absorbs the familiarity of her home fills me with bliss that could rival the wonderful place that Miller takes me to when I’m the sole focus of his attention. And that’s some mighty blissful place. Having her home, seeing and hearing her sass, it’s all stamping out other more challenging matters that I’m currently doing anything to avoid dealing with.
Gregory wanders in, giving me a cheeky wink that escalates my happiness, followed by Miller, who takes over my hold of the door and nods for me to continue. ‘Such a gentleman,’ I tease, turning to see Nan now guiding George to the kitchen at the back of the house, when she should be settling on the couch or maybe even going to bed. This is going to be hard work. She’s impossible! On a roll of my eyes, I make chase, set on nailing down a few rules, but a sharp slap of my arse stops me dead in my tracks. The sting is instant and I reach to rub the soreness away as I whirl around, finding Miller pushing the door closed.
‘Ouch!’ Ouch? I have no other words. Miller Hart – my man whose manners put royalty to shame, just slapped my arse? Not patted. Slapped. And a stinger of a slap, too.