"NO, you only have five days to make him realize what he's worked his entire life for is standing right in front of him. A Grandma knows these things."
"Grandma." I fought to keep the tears from rolling down my face. "I'm not that person. I'm not his penguin or lobster or whatever you want to call it. He's an island I'm lucky enough to be stranded on for the next few days, that's all."
"I sure hope not," Jace said from behind me. "I was hoping I was more than a damn island."
"What do you want to be?" I tried to sound like I was joking.
He gripped my face hard in his hands and kissed my mouth. "The world. I'd rather be the world."
Grandma cleared her throat.
Paris rolled her eyes and continued filing her nails at the freaking table. Seriously. Here's to hoping a piece of nail lands in her food and not mine because heads would roll if I crunched down on something that wasn't a carrot.
Besides, Jace had just said he wanted to be my world. I just about died as his words sank into my consciousness, healing cuts I never knew existed. "Where's Brett?"
"Oh, Brett." Jace grimaced. "He got sick."
Paris grabbed her purse. "Guess that's my exit then, huh?"
"Oh, he'll be back. I told him it would be wonderful to enjoy some dinner with him this fine evening."
My eyes narrowed.
Paris shrugged. "Fine, I'm going to use the restroom. If he gets back before I do, tell him I want something with shrimp."
Her heels clicked against the floor as she sauntered away, her ass nearly falling out of her dress.
I let out a breath of relief.
"Oops!" Grandma dropped some shrimp onto the floor. She picked it up and placed it back on the grill. Then she grabbed something out of her pocket and put a few drops in the sauce for the shrimp.
I smacked Jace, "Do something! She's drugging—"
I paused.
"You were saying?" Jace laughed. "Let her eat bad shrimp. See if I care. Technically, I can't kill the guy, but that doesn't mean I want to sit here and eat with them. The sooner Grandma gets rid of them the sooner we can romance."
"Romance? You're using it as a verb?"
He grinned, "It's an action."
"So now I get action."
"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea."
My face fell. "He thinks I'm a prostitute, doesn't he?"
"No. He thinks what I tell him to think."
My head snapped up. "What did you do? Brain wash him?"
"Baby," Jace whispered in my ear, "sometimes being a politician has its uses. Brett's a weak man. My ploy had nothing to do with punching him in the face or lying to him. But everything to do with what I could get him. He thinks we're dating, and the story is a cover-up because of another scandal in my past."
"What did you have to do? To convince him."
"I paid him fifty grand."
My mouth dropped open.