Chapter 115
Summer’s POV
Brandon didn’t answer immediately, his attention seemingly absorbed by the ancient text in front of him. The weight of my question hung in the air between us.
“So Christie’s really is yours?” I pressed, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.
A smile played at the corner of his mouth as he gestured for the others to leave. Only then did he look up, those dark eyes meeting
mine.
“Surprised?” he asked, carefully replacing the book in its protective case.
I bit my lip, processing this revelation. “So that precious chess set you gave my grandfather at his birthday party… you arranged
that on purpose too?”
Brandon remained silent, turning his attention back to the antique.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” I asked, studying his profile in the soft lighting.
He finally looked up, his gaze holding a deeper meaning that made me shift in my seat. “I’d planned to find another opportunity, but I never expected you to come to Christie’s voluntarily.” His voice dropped slightly. “I’ve never cared about methods, only results.”
My cheeks heated under his steady gaze. The implication was clear–he’d been making moves I hadn’t even recognized. I lowered my eyes, suddenly finding the remaining food on my plate fascinating. Brandon Stark had been playing a game of chess I didn’t even know I was part of.
The next morning, I woke with the sunrise, quietly slipping out of bed without disturbing Brandon. Today we were visiting Grandpa Jonathan, and I was determined to prepare his favorite dish myself.
In the kitchen, I carefully measured out ingredients for the special bone broth Grandpa had always loved. It needed to simmer for hours to develop the right flavor, but that was fine–we weren’t due at his house until noon.
“What are you doing up so early?” Brandon’s voice startled me as he appeared in the doorway, hair still mussed from sleep, wearing only pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips.
“Making broth for Grandpa,” I explained, stirring the pot. “He’s always loved this recipe.”
Brandon approached, peering over my shoulder. “I already got him that first edition Newton. This isn’t necessary.”
“Maybe not for you,” I said, nudging him aside with my hip. “But I want to bring something personal. Something I made.
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue further, just pressed a quick kiss to my temple before heading for the coffee machine.
Parker opened the door at Thompson House precisely at noon, his eyes widening slightly when he saw Brandon and me standing hand in hand on the doorstep.
Miss Summer, sir,” he greeted, stepping aside to let us in.
“Parker!” I squeezed his arm affectionately. “Where’s Grandpa?”
“In the reception room. He’s been waiting for you since early morning!” Parker’s gaze dropped to our joined hands, a smile tugging
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at his lips.
Brandon stepped forward, carrying both the antique book and the container of broth I’d insisted on bringing. When Parker reached to help, Brandon politely declined.
“I’ve got this,” he said with an easy authority that somehow didn’t come across as arrogant.
I tried to release Brandon’s hand as we approached the reception room, suddenly nervous about how Grandpa would react to such an open display of affection. Brandon, however, tightened his grip, refusing to let go. Instead, he paused, using his free hand to straighten my collar with a gentle touch before leading me forward.
Grandpa Jonathan sat in his favorite armchair, academic papers spread across his lap in what I immediately recognized as a staged tableau. He wasn’t reading–he was waiting, pretending to be absorbed in work while actually watching the door like a hawk.
“Grandpa, I’m back!” I called, stepping into the room with Brandon’s hand still firmly clasping mine.
Grandpa looked up, his expression a carefully constructed mask of irritation. “Oh, so you still remember your old grandfather?” His sharp eyes moved to Brandon. “And you, pretty slick, huh?”
“Professor,” Brandon inclined his head respectfully.
“I’m hardly worth that title from you anymore,” Grandpa scoffed, though I caught the underlying pride in his tone.
“You’ll always be my mentor,” Brandon replied smoothly.
“Grandpa, don’t be mad,” I pleaded, moving to his side and taking his arm. “It’s totally my
married!”
fault we didn’t tell you about getting
Grandpa’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yeah right. Don’t cover for him. I know this guy too well.”
“It really was me!” I insisted, guilt washing over me as I gripped his arm tighter. “Brandon wanted to tell you when we registered. I’m the one who said no.”
“Professor,” Brandon interjected, his voice calm and steady, “Summer isn’t responsible. Blame me.”
Grandpa harrumphed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Obviously it’s you! I’ve got just this one precious granddaughter, and you quietly marry her without saying a damn word.”
Despite his harsh words, I could tell Grandpa wasn’t truly angry. This was just his way of expressing that he felt excluded from an important decision.
“Brandon, wanna play chess?” Grandpa suddenly suggested, his tone lightening.
“I’d be honored. Your study?” Brandon responded, catching my eye briefly.
They disappeared behind the study door, leaving me fidgeting in the reception room. Parker brought tea and cookies, but I barely touched them, straining to hear the muffled voices from behind the closed door.
Once, I even pressed my ear against it, jumping back guiltily when I heard footsteps approaching. But an hour passed before they finally emerged.
The transformation was shocking. Grandpa’s stern expression had vanished, replaced with unexpected warmth. He even had his arm around Brandon’s shoulders–a gesture I’d rarely seen him extend to anyone.
During lunch, I tried to catch Brandon’s eye, silently questioning what had happened, but he merely gave me that enigmatic half- smile that revealed nothing. Even more surprising was Grandpa’s behavior–serving Brandon the choice cuts of meat, laughing at his
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observations like they were old friends.
“Grandpa,” I ventured during dessert, everything okay?”
He patted my hand dismissively. “Well, married granddaughter’s like water poured out. You belong to the Starks now.”
“I’ll always be your granddaughter,” I protested.
Grandpa just smiled, his eyes twinkling as he glanced between us.
“Okay, what did you say to my grandfather?” I demanded on the drive home. “He gave you more food than me–his favorite grandchild!”
Brandon chuckled, ruffling my hair. “Just promised I’d take care of you.”
“No way!” I folded my arms. “Grandpa doesn’t fold that easily. One promise and he forgets being pissed about our secret marriage?
Come on.”
“You’d prefer if he stayed mad?” Brandon asked, amused.
“That’s not what I meant,” I sighed, chewing my lip. Our marriage still felt precarious sometimes–built on practical needs rather than emotion.
“Fine,” Brandon’s voice softened. “Really want to know?”
“Yes!” I turned eagerly.
“I told him you were the one I chased relentlessly until you gave in, he said with that dangerous smile. “I promised I’d never disappoint you. If I ever did, everything I own would be yours.” His hand found mine in the darkness. “But that day will never come.
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