The Blackmail Bride

Chapter 18

Annnnnnd, why did I say that The Blackmail Bride was less stressful that HMR? I'm so funny. *rolls eyes and lays down to die*

Grandmother

"Isla," my grandmother drawled my name during the dinner same day, "How is your relationship with Jace Black so far?"

I looked up from my steak to give ear to the Porter family's matriarch, who sat at the head of our unnecessarily long dining table. My smile was manufactured with just the right amount of meekness.

I felt apprehensive, knowing where this was already going.

Despite our argument or because of it, Jace had decided to send me home by himself.

Clutching the folder containing my diploma and school records, I sat in the shotgun of his Jaguar. Jace smoothly parked in front of the mansion's front porch.

"Thanks," I muttered, and flung open his car door, got out and flung it closed in the next second. Jace was still in a black mood and the ten-mile drive was painfully quiet.

"Isla!"

I almost groaned, but I stopped mid-run and twisted back around to irritated gray eyes, "Yes?"

He was rounding the car, walking towards me. I hugged the folder closer to my chest and waited until he stood right in front of me.

Jace Black was a full-blown business person in his pin-striped three-piece suit and expensive leather shoes. He towered over me, his mop of brown hair the only indication of the harried day he had. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his iPhone, handing it over to me.

I stared at it, "Why—?"

"Phone number," he ordered.

I blinked, realizing that we really didn't have each other's number, "Oh, okay."

Jace's phone did not have a password and I glanced at him oddly for that. My fingers tapped my private line into his cell and handed the phone back to him. He made a swipe and the next thing I knew; my ringtone was blaring into the night air. I pulled it out of my pocket just as the call was cut-off.

"I was just making sure. Good night," he hid the phone and walked away.

"Good night, Jace." I replied, and watched the sports car speeding off into the evening.

"Was that Jace Black?"

I had whipped around to find my grandmother standing on our porch. A calculating smile spread wide on her face as she eyed me with clear blue eyes.

"Grandma, when did you come back?"

She pursed her lips, "Why, my child, not happy to see your grandmother home?"

The two other adults on the table, mom and dad, turned their eyes at me.

My father held such a look of pride on his face and I wanted to cringe. But that quickly turned into a frown at my continued silence.

"Well, Isla? Your grandmother asked you a question," His tone was already sharp, the underlying warning urging me to comply.

I picked up my table napkin and dabbed lightly at my lips, preparing my retort. I hated dinner table conversations inside the house.

"We're doing okay," because I wasn't sure how else you described the sporadic... arguments that we managed to wrap-up as soon as it was started. We weren't agreeable with each other, at least not yet. He'd admitted on more than one occasion that he hated my family and did not trust us. So how did you call that relationship anyway? Did you even call that a relationship at all?