Thank you for your continued interest and support. I appreciate it. I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Grayson's Vow.
Warning: A wee bit of domestic violence. I apologize for any offense caused.
MERCEDES
I was setting my suitcase in the trunk of my car, when I saw Sam emerging from the house with what looked like a small overnight case of his own and a plastic bag.
Closing the trunk, I stood watching him until he got to the car.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Coming with you," he replied, opening the trunk and removing my suitcase.
"Coming with me?" I sputtered. "But..."
He shut my trunk, turning towards me...
"Mercedes, it will look more convincing if we both go to your father. We made this business arrangement together, and we should both be involved in what is necessary to make it work. Consider this me earning part of my share."
At that, he walked to his truck and put both my suitcase and his small bag behind the seats.
"Why are you putting my suitcase into your truck?"
"Because I like to drive."
I threw up my hands, feeling suddenly trampled over. It felt far too familiar.
"Part of your controlling dragon nature, I assume?"
"I suppose," he replied
Then he placed the small plastic bag full of what I assumed to be sandwiches from Alice into the back seat and climbed behind the wheel.
However, I opened the passenger side door, looking up at him, but not climbing in...
"You enjoy irritating me, don't you?" I asked.
He appeared to consider that...
"It does hold a certain appeal." He glanced at me. "But this isn't about that."
"You don't have to feel obligated to do this," I said. Frankly, I hardly wanted him to meet my father for the first time when I'd be telling him about our marriage.
I could only imagine the frigid disdain that man would show not only me, but him as well. And I had to wonder if Sam's name would be familiar at all?
I doubted it. My father only remembered those who could continue to serve his agenda in some way. Plus, what had happened had been quite a few years ago, and had transpired in a few brief moments.
Still, I'd never pictured Sam being in the room when I informed my father I'd gotten married without telling him in advance. Things could get ugly, and I didn't want anyone...most especially Sam Evans...to see it.
Especially, considering, that I was pretty sure my father wouldn't strive to spare his feelings in any way, shape, or form.
God, when had I begun to care so much about The Dragon's feelings?
It was really somewhat concerning.
"It's the appropriate way to handle this, Mercedes. Now, can we go? I don't want to hit any traffic in San Francisco."
"Who will take care of Fifty?" I asked, attempting one final argument.
"Alice. Willie will help out, too. The dog seems to have taken a liking to him."
I huffed out one final breath, but then relented... Fine, he could come and see for himself exactly why I would rather marry him than take anything from my father in this life or any other.
He would see... well, he would see exactly who I was. And that scared me. But why?
Then it came to me...
I wanted The Dragon to respect me. I didn't want him to see me as the spoiled heiress he'd obviously judged me to be that day in his office, when he'd shown me such cold disdain.
And I didn't want him to see the grandeur of where I'd grown up and think that was any part of who I was or what I wanted out of life.
Yes, it's true I married him, and yet, I'd never intended on letting him into my private life or my private pain.
I had set up this arrangement as a business venture. And now, suddenly, I realized, it was turning into more...for me at least.
I cared. And that scared me.
Not to mention, it was probably very, very stupid.
Swallowing my own sudden confusion, I rolled down the window as we drove out the gates, inhaling a breath of the air, still sweet with the scent of late summer.
"Where were you planning on staying?" Sam asked once we'd turned onto the freeway.
"A hotel," I answered.
"Not with Melodie?"
I shook my head...
"Now that I have the money to stay at a decent hotel, I'd rather not impose on them. Their apartment is so small."
He nodded.
"She seems like a good friend."
"She is. She's the best." I smiled, leaning my head back on the seat. "We grew up together. Her mother came to work for us when we were both five years old. She's more like a sister, really. My mother had just died..." I bit my lip. "...a skiing accident, and well... Melodie's mother sort of took me under her wing for a time."
I smiled some more, happy to turn my thoughts to anything other than confronting my father with my marriage.
"Melodie's birthday was a couple days after her mother started working there, and so, her mother threw a very small party for her and invited the kids of the others who worked for us. I was desperate to go, and begged my father to take me out to get her a present, but he'd said,
"You won't need to buy her a present because you won't be going. A Jones does not belong in such low company."
I had deepened my voice to mimic my father's masculine tone. I looked over at Sam, he had a small frown on his face...
"Well, as you can imagine," I flashed him another smile, sitting up straight. "I wasn't going to take that for an answer, so I took a necklace my mother had given me with a small heart on it and had our gardener, clip it in half. I put it on a string, snuck in to Melodie's party, gave the makeshift necklace to her, and declared it meant we would be best friends for all eternity." My heart filled with warmth at the memory. "She still has it."
Sam remained silent even as he sucked at his lip, not looking at me.
I stared ahead, feeling awkward, and after a few moments, I felt his eyes on the side of my face.
"Are you still close to Melodie's mom?"
"No," I said sadly. "My father dismissed her years ago. It was awkward and painful since he'd been having a relationship with her. But he essentially traded her in for a newer, younger model to serve as both his new housekeeper and new bed partner. And she didn't respond to any of my attempts to reach out to her after that."
I waved my hand, trying to wave away the subject and the associated hurt that always came from discussing it.
"She blamed you?" Sam asked, a strange edge to his voice.
"Melodie says she doesn't, but it's too painful to have any contact that reminds her of what my father did to her. She loved him, I believe. While he... well, he saw her as nothing more than a convenient way to keep his house clean and his bed warm."
"I see," Sam said, his voice tight. I glanced at him, feeling as if, somehow, he really did see even more than I was sharing with him.
Frowning, I shook my head...
"So, what were you and Mel talking about before I came downstairs yesterday morning?" I asked, realizing I hadn't had the chance to ask Melodie before we'd been interrupted by his confrontation with Alice.
Sam smiled over at me, breaking the somber mood that had existed as I'd discussed the subject of my best friend's mom and my father.
The afternoon sun slanted through the window and hit his face, bringing out the deep, rich green of his eyes and highlighting the ruggedness of his still-unshaven jaw.
I looked away, biting my lip.
'Ignore the bright scales,' I repeated in my mind.
"You," he said, and when I swung my eyes back to his, his smile deepened. "She was telling me some interesting stories about the trouble she's had to pull you out of over the years."
I snorted...
"She's a nice girl, but she exaggerates. It's one of her worst flaws."
Sam's chuckle was deep and warm...
"I don't know. I'm inclined to think she doesn't." He glanced back at the road, still smiling. "She says you get these ideas in your head..."
"Just fun," I defended. "Not trouble."
"With you, it seems to be a very fine line."
I gave him an irritated look, but blinked when I saw the smile on his face...full of charm and genuine affection.
I looked out the window again...
"I've made a concerted effort to curtail the follow-through of my 'ideas' since I've been living with you."
"Dear God!" Sam groaned. "I shudder to imagine what happens when you don't hold back."
I sighed, frowning...
"Just ask my father," I said, secretly hoping he wouldn't. "He'll tell you what a burden you've taken on when you meet him. I have no doubt."
Biting my lip again, I turned my head to stare out at the scenery whizzing past us...
"Hey," Sam said, and I felt his warm hand grasp mine on the seat next to me. I looked down at our joined hands and then up into his eyes before he looked back to the road again. "This is going to be fine, all right?"
I nodded, but somehow, I knew he was wrong. I could very well be walking into a situation where I would be completely humiliated in front of him.
No, this wasn't going to be all right. This was going to be decidedly un-all right.
The soft yellow and vibrant orange of approaching twilight bathed the Italian Renaissance hilltop mansion in light.
Nestled in the ritzy Pacific Heights neighborhood of San Francisco, it was among the most expensive pieces of real estate in the city, probably in the country.
The Jones estate...
Home sweet home...
I cringed inwardly. There had been very little sweet attached to this place for me.
Looking at this house made me crushingly aware that most of my life I'd lived behind the shadow of who my father wished me to be.
And all I'd ever longed for was to stand in the sunshine of being loved for who I was.
I glanced at Sam's enigmatic expression as we got out of his truck and parked on the street in front of the massive structure.
And I watched as he turned in a full circle at the top of the sprawling outdoor staircase, admiring the undeniably stunning view of the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, Angel Island, and all the way to the Marin Headlands.
I could hear someone hitting tennis balls in the outdoor court behind the house...
Sam looked at me, remaining silent as I rang the doorbell. I refused to let myself into this house as if I belonged here.
A few seconds later, I heard the click of shoes on the marble tile within and the door swung open to reveal a young Hispanic woman in a maid's uniform, whom I had never met.
I smiled...
"Hello, I'm Mercedes Jones. I believe my father is expecting me."
I had texted him on the drive, but he'd never responded, so I had no idea if he was actually expecting me or not.
However, the young woman smiled and swung the door open to allow us to step inside.
"I will go get him," she said in a heavy Spanish accent. "Would you like to wait in the..."
"We'll wait here."
I didn't intend on staying long. I already wanted to leave.
The woman nodded and turned away...
"Just give me a moment to talk to my father," I said to Sam. "And then I'll introduce you."
His eyes ran over my face and then he lifted his chin in silent agreement.
Several minutes of standing in the lavish, marble foyer later, I heard footsteps approaching once again and looked up to see my father's tall figure appear at the top of the stairs.
I glanced at Sam who was leaning casually against a marble pillar a short distance from me.
"Mercedes," my father said, descending the stairs quickly, his eyes trained on mine, his lips thinned in that same disapproving expression I was extremely familiar with. "I'm glad you've finally seen fit to come home."
He sounded anything but glad. And he didn't even glance at Sam.
"Come into my study so we can talk," he said, turning abruptly and heading in that direction.
I lifted my chin...
"This is fine right here," I said loudly, stopping him in his tracks. I had no intention of following my father into his study where he would sit behind his desk like a judge, handing down his sentence.
He turned slowly, his jaw ticking in warning as he walked back to where I stood. That's when he looked at Sam...
"And who are you?" he asked. I stepped forward. Here we go...
"This, Daddy, is my husband, Sam Evans."
For the span of three heartbeats, my father didn't utter a sound. And a deep dark red color moved up his neck as he stepped forward.
"You can't be serious."
"I am serious. We were married several weeks ago. I'm sorry I didn't invite you, but I know how busy your social calendar is..."
The blow took me unaware, the sharp slap echoing loudly through the open foyer.
I gasped, hot pain spreading across my jaw and up to my eye socket. And I raised my head in time to see his hand moving toward my face again and braced for the second slap, but it never came.
I jerked my eyes open to see Sam holding my father's wrist, the look on his face filled with murderous dragon rage.
"What the fuck?" he gritted out. He must've moved at the speed of lightning to make it from where he was standing to where he was now, preventing my father from hitting me again.
I let out a ragged breath...
My father, his own face filled with hot anger, pulled his hand out of Sam's grasp and trained his eyes back on me as I stumbled backward, away from him.
I took a second to collect myself, standing as tall as I could and holding eye contact even though the whole left side of my face was throbbing...
"Thank you," I said, lifting my chin, refusing to let him see how much he'd hurt me. "I'll consider that my wedding gift."
"Only you, Mercedes." My father shook his head and made a sound of disgust in his throat. "You really are an idiot, aren't you?" He gestured his chin towards Sam, but didn't look at him. "You've hooked yourself up with a damned fortune hunter, I imagine, and you're too stupid to see it." He did look at Sam then. "She won't get a dime from me, so you're both out of luck, Sam Evans."
He said his name as if he might be related to Satan, but my heart stuttered in my chest when my father narrowed his eyes as if the name was familiar to him.
He shook his head slightly and trained his glare back on me...
"We don't want a dime of your money," Sam said coldly. "Let's go, Mercedes."
I started to turn when I heard footsteps coming from the direction of the back of the house. So I turned my head to see Chris.
God, they had planned to ambush me...
My stomach dropped as if I'd just jumped from a very high cliff.
Chris hurried towards me, his good looks highlighted by the tennis whites he wore.
"Mercedes," he said, his eyes wandering over me. I cringed and turned my head again, away from him as he brushed his hand down the side of my hair.
How had I ever thought I could spend a lifetime with this man?
I could barely stomach being in the same room with him now.
I sensed Sam stepping closer to me and suddenly felt his hand take mine.
Chris looked at him in confusion and then back at me, his eyes questioning...
"Mercedes?"
He touched my cheek.
"Did you hit her?" he asked disbelievingly and looking sharply at my father. As if he himself had never struck me.
Anger and contempt bubbled up in my chest until I felt like I'd choke with it.
My father pressed his lips together...
"She's married, Christopher," he said, his voice mocking and full of condescension. "Congratulate her."
Chris' eyes widened, suddenly swinging towards Sam. I'd say he looked hurt if I didn't know better. Then his gaze shot between me and Sam...
"Who is he anyway? What's his story?" he finally asked, his eyes stopping on Sam for am long moment, although he was clearly talking to me.
Sam narrowed his eyes, regarding Chris with a mocking half-smile...
"He runs his family business in Napa," I said. "It's where we met."
I hoped that would be enough information for both of them.
Chris' head swung towards me...
"Where you met? What? Two weeks ago?"
There was the hint of a growl in his voice. However, I straightened my spine.
"It's not any of your business, Christopher," I said. "I'm no longer any of your business."
"The hell you're not," he said, stepping closer. But Sam moved right next to me in a protective stance and before I could think, I turned just slightly into him, keeping my eyes on Chris.
"Do you expect I'll ever want anything to do with you again?" I asked Chris.
"We could've worked it out, Mercedes," he said, his voice sounding pained. He really should've taken to the stage rather than become a judge.
"I assure you, we couldn't have, nor will we ever, for reasons far beyond my marriage to Sam."
For several seconds, we all stood in a tense standoff.
"Stop this nonsense!" my father barked.
Chris took a deep breath, regarding me for a second longer before he said,
"We're going to need to figure this out, then."
There was a note of resignation in his voice. I looked up at Sam, letting out a breath. They'd go into "fix it" mode now...we didn't matter anymore.
My father's overheard words from a year ago suddenly came back to me...
Don't worry, Chris, I'll send her away until things die down. Just keep focused on the end goal.
"This is their territory. Let's leave them to it," I said to Sam. I knew I sounded bitter. But my voice hitched at the end, betraying the deep hurt pommeling my heart.
"Mercedes..." Chris started, but I shook my head and pulled at Sam's hand. He resisted, letting go of mine. Then he moved closer to my father...
"You may be her father," he said quietly, his voice deadly calm. "But you will never lay a hand on my wife again. Am I clear?"
My father looked contemptuously at him and then at me...
"Have a nice life, Mercedes Evans," he said scathingly.
His words hit me like another slap to my face. It was what I had wanted, wasn't it?
So why did it hurt so badly?
With that, my father turned and strode out of the room. Chris remained where he was, as Sam and I turned and let ourselves out.
Sam gripped my hand as we descended the outside stairs silently. And it felt as if his hand in mine was the only thing keeping me standing.
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