AARON WALLACE'S POV

"Welcome back, Mister Aaron Wallace," the butler says as he opens the car door to my side and I step out.

"Thank you, Harold," I nod and take off my sports coat as the heat outside hits me before I can journey to the mansion.

The in-house staff opened the door, greeted me, and took my coat from me.

It was quiet inside, except for the household staff going about their tasks. But then again, it has always been this way, even when everyone is home. It is a vast building on a ten-acre land, and with everyone in their family suites, you could take as long as you wanted before coming across any of the Wallaces living here, if you wished.

I head to my family's side of the building; the journey taking me a few minutes.

"What time does Lively get home?" I ask Keenan, who is trailing behind me.

"By six if she paddled back," he obediently answers.

Pausing, I look back at Keenan as we reach the entrance of my family chamber.

"She paddles to work?" I didn't know that. What is it, 12 miles from her place?

"Yes, Mister Wallace. But she often stops at the Rush dispatch station and takes Mister Kelby's truck to pick up her brother,"

"Where's that?"

"The mail office where Mister Kelby works."

Puzzled, mentally attempting to make sense of the information, I dismiss Keenan and walk through the door. Dad and Mom's distant laughter can be heard from the open balcony doors. I slip into my bedroom and flip the lock, heading for a shower. I would need some rest after the four-hour flight from the East Coast, but it's been a week since I left Lively, promising we'd talk.

When I leave my room again, it was ten minutes to seven in the evening. My parents aren't in the suite anymore, so I descend the stairs of the three-floor building, dressed in black dress pants and a white button-down shirt.

Going down the last stairs, there were noises wafting from the first floor, an act very unlikely in this house.

"How worse could you be?" It's Kyle, and he doesn't sound happy.

Keenan comes up to me immediately.

"Are we going somewhere, Mister Wallace?"

"Yes, to Lively," I tell him. "And what's happening over there?"

"Mister Steven Wallace has arrived," he simply says, and that makes so much sense.

I lead to the main living area, and there's the whole family, including Grandpa. That's unexpected.

"Grandpa?" I say in between the chaos, but he doesn't hear me. I have to walk to the infuriated eighty-year-old man sitting on the armchair, exhaustedly watching his dysfunctional family.

While passing, I notice two foreign faces in the room next to Uncle Steven.

I wonder what absurdity he executed this time.

"Grandpa," I call again, this time his eyes came to me, and all his anger falters. A smile takes over his expression, and he opens his arms for me.

"They are trying to kill me, Aaron," he laments when I hug him.

"Is that even possible, Grandpa? You are the lion, they are just pussies. The moment you talk, they will all cower," I assure him and lower to the ground before him, sitting with folded legs, facing him.

"I wish, I wish," he smiles at me, patting my face.

"I thought you weren't spending the holiday here," I ask him, and he sighs, gesturing behind me. I look over to where he is beckoning, and it's Uncle Steven.

"Steven married a widow," he says, and my eyes widen, looking back again to see clearly for myself. So that's why there's a woman who should be in her late thirties in our living room and a young girl of around high school age.

Now Kyle has every right to go mad. There are broken things all over the floor, and Dane is holding him back from punching his dad, who has a face that doesn't show remorse.

"I think Kyle's reaction is justified," I utter when I turn to Grandpa, and the old man only sighs.

"How are you? Tell me the good news that will keep me on my feet. God knows I need it right now. Any love interest?" he probes in his worn voice, and I smile at the question, pushing back in my head the noises around the room.

Normally, I prefer keeping my cards close to my chest, but with all these things going on, and no one considering the health of Grandpa, I believe I have something to take his mind off things.

"There is this girl I used to know before I graduated high school. I wasn't very nice to her back then, but I never stopped thinking of her this whole time, especially in the past months. You know how I wasn't supposed to come here before? The idea changed, stemmed from my regrets. I came with a plan of having Keenan find her so I can end my mystery before I end up old with so many what ifs from my youths, but then, like a miracle, we met again at the country club." I wish I could go back in time to correct my mistake, but now I can only hope she grants me the second chance I am asking for.

"Hmm... tell me about this girl who has this influence over you," he curiously urges.

When he said it that way, the realization had me smile.

"She's twenty-one and the most stunning thing ever to live on the face of the earth."

Grandpa's brows rise in amusement at me as I thoughtfully stare at him, remembering the amazing kiss I had with Lively in the narrow corridor last week. She smells so addictive and tastes like peace.

"She's passionate, hardworking, and patient. Grandpa, she's not from a wealthy family. She works at our country club," I admit to him. "She wouldn't bring an additional name to this family, but I believe she will make me the happiest I've never been, and I will strive to do the same for her, too. Will you approve of her so she can be mine if she takes me?" I beg, and his lips pull back into a warm smile.

"Of course, my handsome grandson. I will approve of anyone that makes you this excited." He pats my cheeks, and the joy I feel is equal to a thousand men winning a sword battle that has prevailed for many years.

His support was all I needed. My parents' and aunties' opinions didn't matter. As long as Grandpa sees Lively fit for this family, no one else can say otherwise.

"Now, that's why you needed to handle the country club, wasn't it?" he playfully winks, causing me to laugh. "Oh, Aaron," he beams. "This is great news I can sleep on. Bernard will ready my bed, and I will leave these people to their problems. Nothing will change my mood after this."

I straightened to my feet and helped him up. Bernard, who's standing behind him, quickly hands over Grandpa's walking cane, and the room falls silent at the rise of the old man.

"Dad," my dad starts, but Grandpa lifts his hand, stopping him.

"Please proceed. Set the house on fire," Grandpa tells everyone, and they all bow their heads. "Kyle, when you want to talk, come to me," he assures when he looks over at my furious cousin, glaring at his father with pained and betrayed eyes.

Kyle didn't respond. I helped Grandpa to the elevator, with Bernard following behind us. Hopefully Grandpa really meant what he said, that he wouldn't let the family problems burden him. We can't have him stressed at this age. Some of us still need him.

When the door slides open, he turns and faces me, patting my cheek again. "Tomorrow I want to meet this stunning girl who's too good for this world," he smiles at me, and I nod. His eyes pass to Bernard, and he adds, "Bernard, get the country club papers and meet me in my bedroom."

I watch him get into the elevator until it closes again before I pivot to the messy living room.

"There will be a small gathering tomorrow. You will all welcome the addition to the Wallace family," Uncle Steven shamelessly announced in the presence of his son, and I heard my dad and Uncle Joseph curse at the slap in the face.

I mean, no one here cares if he marries all the women in the world, but as a father, he has an obligation to discuss this beforehand with his son. And at his old age, he should know better than to elope and marry some widow as if a teenager lost in a love fantasy. But this is the man who hasn't even hinted about having a love interest just a few weeks ago while we were all at the twins' graduation. Wasn't that the perfect timing? No, he had to wait to drop the bomb like this.

"Kyle, come." I grab my cousin by the arm. I am too sore to withstand another minute here. It's a shame Uncle Steven dragged that poor woman and her child into this. Now they have experienced this cluttered welcome.

Kyle is heaving laboriously, his fists clenched. How much hurting does he have to go through? How many times does he have to watch his world crushing before his eyes? When will Uncle Steven stop his torment? Is it until he ruins Kyle completely?

Fuck, Uncle Steven.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, uncle," I grumbled next to him, how only he could hear, and I pulled his son with me towards the foyer.

"How are you?" I ask Kyle, but he evades my question.

"Where are we going?" he questions, rubbing his nose as we are outside and I have let go of him.

Keenan had opened the door to the Maybach, waiting for us to reach over.

"To see Lively," I honestly answer, and he laughs.

"Mallory was right."

"Shut up," I nudge him playfully, and he takes off his leather jacket, circling over to the other side to get into the car.

Keenan drives us to Lively's neighborhood at past seven. It isn't sophisticated, but it is beautiful. I've never been around this side of town. Back then, I'd only met with Lively twice, and it was at her house and then at the beach house when she came to me, and I rejected her.

Our car stops at the small house with an old trunk parked in front of it. Only one window has lights on between the two front windows, and I wondered if Lively was even at home.

"She lives here?" Kyle asks, but without judgment, just curiosity.

"I guess," I say, and Keenan confirms she does, so we step out of the vehicle.

Keenan isn't alone; there was Lloyd, Kyle's man, on the passenger side of the car. I ask them to stand down outside, and Kyle and I head up the steps to the single white door.

Kyle shoves his hands into his black denim pants, shuffling on his toes, his eyes wandering around the nosy neighborhood, analyzing us from their porches.

The door finally opens.

An average-aged man stands there, dressed in a plain white shirt and light-washed jean pants.

"Can I help you?" he confusedly asks, his eyes shifting between us and the men by the car.

I guess he's Lively's father.

"Mister Kelby?" I ask, and he nods.

"I am friends with your daughter," I say, and his eyes enlarge in surprise. He nods at me. "Aaron Wallace." I hold out my hand for a handshake, and he takes it. "And my cousin," I squeeze Kyle's shoulder, and he reaches for a handshake too with the older man.

"Kyle Wallace."

"The Wallace we all know?" Mister Kelby asks, surveying our men out there, and Kyle nods, affirming the man's question.

"Mini—goes." A small excited voice utters, and I look down at the little human between the man's knees, peeking up at us.

Bubble.

"Hey?" I hold out my knuckle, and he pushes his little ones against mine.

"Please come in." Mister Kelby opens his door wider for us.

"Thank you," I smile appreciatively and let Kyle step in first before following inside.

The house is a cozy home, with one long couch and medium center carpet; some blue, red, and green cartoons are playing on the small screen television, and then a woman appears from the back door. She stops in her tracks immediately at the sight of us.

"Mary, we have visitors. Lively's friends," Mister Kelby introduces us, and the woman's eyes light up.

"Welcome to our home. We are about to have dinner; please join us. Livy didn't actually tell us we were having guests; I could have prepared dessert."

They are all nice people, warm to their guests.

"Thank you, but Lively didn't actually know we were coming," I say, and the woman smiles relievedly just as footsteps approach and a familiar voice asks for a hairdryer's location.

I follow the sound, and my eyes land on Lively's natural face; she is clutching the knee-length towel around her chest. Her hair is damp and sticking to her neck and shoulders. Her arms are slender and the skin gleaming with beads of water, her upper cleavage faintly revealing even though she has both hands protectively covering there. A lot of ideas grew in my head and none were decent.

She is indeed a stunning thing, capable of making a man a sinner even by standing many feet away.

"Aaron?" she mumbles in surprise. It's clear she didn't expect me. Perhaps she's even mad at me for disappearing for a week, but something important came up in Massachusetts, and I needed to leave.

"Hey," I smile at her. She nods with her brows.

"I will go change in a minute," she excuses herself and swirls down the short hall to the two doors there.

"Please sit," Lively's mom pleads, and we oblige, taking two chairs from the four-seater table and her husband had to grab two more stools from the back door.

"I am Mary, by the way," the woman says, serving something on the chinas in front of us.

"Aaron and my cousin, Kyle," I tell her.

"Yes, Anthony told me those," she smiles warmly. "How long have you known Lively?"

"Uhm..." I stutter. Kyle has to interject, "Last week. She works in our section."

I couldn't tell the woman I was the asshole who gave her daughter her first heartbreak at fifteen.

"Anthony said you know Bubble." she ruffles his hair; she's so sunny.

"Yes, he once came to the country club with Lively. He and I hung out for a while. He's a nice boy," I answer, and she smiles back at her son, sitting across the table, shyly staring at us.

"Isn't it, Bubble? We are buddies now, aren't we?" I wink at him.

"Kiss, Livy kiss," the boys blurt with a toddler-evil smile, and all the people in the room, including Kyle, pause, looking between me and the little human criminal beaming at me. For the first time in my life, I feel my cheeks warming up from embarrassment.

He didn't just expose us! How does he even remember?

Kyle coughs, stifling back his laughter. I kick his leg under the table and he pretends to rub his eyes.

Asshole.

Mary and Mister Kelby shifted the conversation awkwardly, turning to the weather, a somewhat amusing choice given its irrelevance.

"Yes, it's pretty hot," I nod, chewing on a thick green thing I don't recognize but which tastes like eggplants and potatoes. Despite its unfamiliar facade, I must say, it's delicious, though. "The food is scrumptious," I tell the woman, and she blushes.

"Thank you."