The Grand Pact (The Grand Men #1)(83)

Ten weeks post-Elliot call


“Luce?”

“Up here!” I call from my bedroom, sliding on my robe with a smile. “You’re home early?”

Maxwell appears in the doorway, his shoulder falling to rest against the wood. “We finished for the week. Both of us were ready to get home.”

“Everything went okay?” I ask, noting his tired eyes.

“I am now I’m back.” He pushes off the frame and walks towards me, kissing the corner of my mouth when he reaches me. “How’s things been here?”

“Quiet,” I tell him, slipping into my wardrobe so I can change.

“Has Polly been up at all?” he asks, following me.

“Nope. I saw her when I was leaving on Wednesday, but otherwise she’s been busy.”

“Hmm, Alec couldn’t get hold of her yesterday.” He straightens his jeans in the mirror then turns to leave. “Get dressed, we’ll go out for dinner.”

I reach for his wrist. “Can we get a takeaway instead? I was going to put my comfies on. It’s been the longest week.”

His eyes fall to my grip on him, and he steps closer, sliding his hands over my waist. “Of course. Do you want to pick a movie?”

I shake my head no. “You can pick.”

“I always have to pick,” he mutters, leaning in and kissing my shoulder. “How about we sack off the movie and dinner? Just climb straight into bed.” His nose trails up my neck, making my skin pebble.

“You don’t want to eat now?”

“I’m hungry for something else.”

I work on a swallow, closing my eyes as his lips continue their way up my neck and to my mouth.

He guides me from the wardrobe and over to the bed.

“Max, you know I can’t—”

“Still?” he questions, pulling back.

When Maxwell first tried sleeping with me, I told him I was on birth control and that it was causing me to bleed irregularly. At the time, it felt too soon for me to be entertaining another man after what I shared with Elliot. Now, it feels like an excuse.

I needed a friend, yet it’s as if I blinked, and Maxwell became something I wasn’t ready for, and now we have this messy relationship between us because of that.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, placing my palm on his chest.

“You don’t need to apologise.” He eases his hand through my hair, running his fingers over my scalp. “But if you’re going to… at least do it on your knees.”

He pushes me towards the ground, my heart in my throat. It’s not that I don’t want to do this, it’s….

Or maybe that’s exactly it?





Nina: Help… I know I’m annoying.

I stare at the message and the four images of Nina smiling as she stands in the dresses. Another tear slips down my temple and into my pillow.

Luce: Black

Seems fitting.

Nina: You okay? You’ve been quiet Nina: Have you heard from Elliot lately?

I’ve not heard from Elliot in over a month other than him texting to congratulate me on the award Almendo won. He stopped calling eventually, and I know it’s his way of making sure I do this right.

Somehow, though, I think I got it all wrong.





Eleven weeks post-Elliot call


“Hi,” I call out, walking through the house and into the kitchen. I find Maxwell at the cooker stirring something on the range. “What’s this?” I frown, inhaling the delicious aromas.

He places the wooden spoon on the side and walks across to me. “I wanted to do something nice for you. You seemed sad this morning, and I know you got upset last night.”

I roll my lips and try to figure out what to say to that. “I did.”

“You don’t have to worry about it, okay? I know it’s not your fault.”

Not my fault. Is he for real? It’s the same conversation week in, week out. “Max, you called me a frigid bitch.”

“Luce,” he drawls, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around my waist. “Think about it from my standpoint. Weeks and weeks, and still the doctors can’t get it right? I’m a fucking man, babe. And my time with you is limited. That is unless…I can make you stay.”

My brows dip as he pulls me to him, my head slipping past his shoulder as he holds me against his hard body.

That’s never been part of the plan.

Eight more months, and I’ll be home.

Long gone from this place.

“I’m out with Polly tonight for food, remember?” I pull away, feeling off with his insincere—practically nonexistent—apology. “What?”

“I told you about it.” I walk to the fridge and reach for a bottle of wine, pouring myself a small glass.

“You didn’t. You’re seriously going out when I’ve done all this?”

“I did tell you, Max,” I bite out, slamming the fridge door shut harder than necessary. I close my eyes, instantly feeling shitty for taking the tone I have. “Sorry. Look, thank you for cooking, I appreciate it. But I told you I was out for food this evening. I plan to pop to the cemetery then—”

I frown as Maxwell tuts, cutting me off.