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she was in for it—Abuelo would have to be convinced she’d made these decisions wisely. In his mind, she was clearly still a seventeen-year-old orphan in need of protection from the big, bad world. She put her game face on and waded into battle with her hardheaded grandfather, determined to win his approval.
    After all, everything she knew about holding her ground she’d learned from him.
    *
    Four days, two phone calls and one trip to notarize the contracts and apply for a marriage license later, Lucas leaned on the doorjamb of Matthew’s old house—correction, his and Cia’s house, for now anyway—and watched Cia pull into the driveway. In a red Porsche.
    What an excellent distraction from the text message his brother had just sent— We lost Schumacher Industrial. Lucas appreciated the omission of “thanks to you.”
    Matthew never passed around blame, which of course heightened Lucas’s guilt. If Wheeler Family Partners folded, he’d have destroyed the only thing his brother had left.
    As Cia leaped out of the car, he hooked a thumb in the pocket of his cargos and whistled. “That’s a mighty fine point-A-to-point-B ride, darlin’. Lots of starving children in Africa could be fed with those dollars.”
    “Don’t trip over your jaw, Wheeler,” she called and slammed the door, swinging her dark ponytail in an arc. “My grandfather gave me this car when I graduated from college, and I have to drive something.”
    “Doesn’t suck that it goes zero to sixty in four-point-two seconds, either. Right, my always-in-a-hurry fiancée?” His grin widened as she stepped up on the porch, glare firmly in place. “Come on, honey. Lighten up. The next six months are going to be long and tedious if you don’t.”
    “The next six months are going to be long and tedious no matter what. My grandfather is giving us a villa in Mallorca as a wedding present. A villa, Wheeler. What do I say to that? ‘No, thanks, we’d prefer china,’” she mimicked in a high voice and wobbled her head. That dark ponytail flipped over her shoulder.
    The times he’d been around her previously, she’d always had her hair down. And had been wearing some nondescript outfit.
    Today, in honor of moving day no doubt, she’d pulled on a hot-pink T-shirt and jeans. Both hugged her very nice curves, and the ponytail revealed an intriguing expanse of neck, which might be the only vulnerable place on Cia’s body.
    Every day should be moving day.
    “Tell your grandfather to make a donation, like I told my parents. How come my family has to follow the rules but yours doesn’t?”
    “I did. You try telling my grandfather what to do. Es imposible. ” She threw up her hands, and he bit back a two-bulldozers-one-hole comment, which she would not have appreciated and wouldn’t have heard anyway because she rushed on. “He’s thrilled to pieces about me marrying you, God knows why, and bought the reunion story, hook, line and sinker.”
    “Hey now,” Lucas protested. “I’m an upstanding member of the community and come from a long line of well-respected businessmen. Why wouldn’t he be thrilled?”
    “Because you’re—” she flipped a hand in his direction, and her engagement ring flashed “—you. Falling in and out of bimbos’ beds with alarming frequency and entirely too cocky for your own good. Are we going inside? I’d like to put the house in some kind of order.”
    Enough was enough. He tolerated slurs—some deserved, some not—from a lot of people. Either way, his wife wasn’t going to be one of them.
    “Honey?” He squashed the urge to reach out and lift her chin. Determined to get her to meet him halfway, he instead waited until she looked at him. “Listen up. What you see is what you get. I’m not going to apologize for rubbing you the wrong way. I like women, and I won’t apologize for that, either. But I haven’t dated anyone since Lana, and you’re pushing my considerable patience to the limit if you’re