38
Emma
Marcus is unusually quiet, almost brooding, as he leads me downstairs for brunch. Is he upset with me for allowing the grilling? Because he pretty much asked for it—insisted on it, really. Still, I feel a little bad that I let my grandparents put him through the wringer.
I should’ve shielded him from the worst of it, like I’d always done with Jim, my college boyfriend.
Oh, well, too late now. And Marcus had held his own the way Jim could never have. He’d spoken to my grandparents respectfully but as an equal, answering their questions without the slightest hint of nervousness or uncertainty. At the same time, he hadn’t boasted about his accomplishments, all of his answers factual but revealing little of the extent of his power and wealth. Of course, Gramps and Grandma had been
