THE DARE (G!P Freenbecky)

Chapter 19

Becky found herself relieved to be back in London, with it's familiar cool and breezy seaside weather, the hills, the fog, and the tall ancient-like buildings. She loved looking up at clear blue skies with seagulls wheeling overhead. Though winter usually brought its fair share of rain, she came back to good weather.

She'd grown up in the city, always in the care of maternal grandfather, Phillip Armstrong. After her mother had died, her grandparents had been the only constants in her life. They'd adopted her and she'd taken their name. Now, with only her grandfather left, she considered him both mother and father. She also considered London her home and hoped it always would be.

This morning, she found her grandfather in the sunny breakfast room of the large Nob Hill mansion they both lived in, an open copy of the London Chronicle shielding his face. His usual breakfast sat in front of him on the glass-topped table: strong tea, whole-grain rye toast with just a little butter, and an organic, free-range poached egg.

His three beloved Pekingese dogs sat at his feet, their small pink tongues hanging out of their mouths, their little wrinkly faces inquisitive, their black button eyes sparkling.

"Hello, Grandpa," she said, bending to give him a quick kiss on his weathered cheek. How she loved this man. He'd been her rock when her world had caved in when her mother had died. He'd been there for her through some very hard times, and his love and devotion to her had never faltered. She adored him and had decided long ago if she could give him back even a tenth of the love and devotion he'd showered on her from the day she was born, she would be satisfied.

The rest of their large, extended family, none of whom she was close to, thought it rather odd that she still lived with him. Many times they'd remarked on the fact that she could certainly afford a place on her own. But she enjoyed her grandfather so much, and he'd never made her feel as if she had to justify her comings and goings. And now that he was older, she wanted to keep an eye on him, though she could never tell him that. He would have been highly offended, because Phillip Armstrong refused to think of himself as someone who needed to be taken care of.

Not in a physical sense, but in an emotional one. She hated the thought of his eating by himself and wandering through his spacious home alone. Becky had made the conscious choice that she wanted to spend time with her grandfather simply because being around him made her very happy.

In his seventies, her grandfather lived a very full life.

Healthy and fit, almost six feet tall with a full head of white hair, he took long walks with his dogs up and down the hills of his beloved city. He also ran several incredibly successful charities, had a mind sharper than almost anyone she'd ever met, and believed that people were meant to find their better halves and marry. He'd adored her grandmother; they had a long and a very happy marriage.

And he wanted the same for his only granddaughter.

The only negative concerning her grandfather was that he tended to be a tad overprotective. He often despaired of the performances she and her dance troupe put on. But most of the time he found out about them after the fact, reading the reviews in the paper. She'd always listen to his gentle chiding, then acknowledge he had a right to be upset at the thought of her "prancing around a stage in nothing but blue body paint," but then she went right back to doing what her heart told her was correct.

"You are so like your mother," he often said.

"And that's why you worry," she often replied.

His clear hazel eyes, so like her own but a bit of green on them, would twinkle, but he watched her like a hawk.

And he didn't miss a trick.

'Overprotective, thy name is Phillip Armstrong.'

"Good morning, Becky," he said, setting down his cup of tea. "I trust Lookkaew's wedding went well?"

"It was absolutely beautiful."

"Hmmmm. That's good to hear. And the young woman she chose?"

"A very charming and handsome woman."

"Good. The selection of a life partner is crucial, you know—"

"Oh, yes," she said, cutting her grandfather off at the pass. He wanted her to get married, preferably to a man or woman he approved of who would take care of her and perhaps curb her wilder ways. Protect her. Yes. Phillip Armstrong was something of a chauvinist, but in the nicest of ways. It was simply part of the thought process of his entire generation.

She'd always considered that sort of arrangement, married or not, as the kiss of death. And her grandfather had wasted no time in parading a whole host of eligible young men and women past her, at all sorts of social events, practically begging her to give one of them a chance. She hadn't really cared for any of them; none of them had elicited a response from her.

But now, as she sat at the breakfast table, she wondered what her grandfather would think of Freen Chankimha. Strange as it seemed, she had an intuitive feeling that those two would get along quite well.

Trying to think of a way to distract him, Becky jumped right back into the conversation.

"Which charity are you sponsoring right before Christmas?" She said, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the small pot on the table. She reached for the sugar, then the cream, fixed her coffee the way she liked it, and raised the rose-patterned china cup to her lips.

"Don't try to distract me, Becky!" Her grandfather's eyes twinkled as he sat down his teacup. "Did you meet anyone nice at this wedding?"

She barely managed to escape blowing hot coffee out of her nose. As it was, she almost swallowed some of it down the wrong pipe.

'Did I!'

She knew her grandfather could never, ever, ever in a million years find out about what had happened between her and Freen Chankimha. She might think that these two would get along if they ever met, which is highly unlikely, but she doubted her grandfather needed—or wanted— to know some of the intimate details of her life. He would not be amused.

Of all the crazy stunts she'd pulled over the years, sleeping with Freen after having known her—oh, about two hours—well, that was far worse than running around onstage in blue body paint, dancing and welcoming in the spring.

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