Chapter 43 *
Scarlett’s POV
A butler got out of the Phantom. Opened an umbrella. Even though it wasn't raining.
Then he opened the rear door.
A hand appeared. Holding an ornate walking cane.
Grandfather Wolfe stepped out of the car.
Oh no no no.
My eye started twitching.
This is bad. This is very bad.
I knew exactly how this went. I'd seen enough TV dramas about rich families.
This was the part where the powerful grandfather shows up to intimidate the poor girl.
He's going to make me sign a prenup. Or tell me I'm not good enough for his grandson. Or threaten to fight for custody of the baby.
"Miss Romano, a girl from foster care isn't suitable for the Wolfe family. Here's a check for five million dollars. Disappear."
Grandfather Wolfe walked toward the coffee shop entrance.
The door opened. The little bell chimed.
Grandfather Wolfe's eyes scanned the room. Landed on me.
His stern expression melted instantly. Replaced by the biggest smile I'd ever seen on his face.
"Scarlett, my dear!"
He walked over. Actually walked over. To me.
"I had no idea you were this brilliant!"
I blinked.
Brilliant? What?
"Thank you?" I said. It came out like a question.
He looked so happy. So proud. Like I'd just won the Nobel Prize or something.
What is happening right now?
"Why are you still working?" he demanded. "Do you need money?"
"I— no, I—"
He snapped his fingers. The butler appeared instantly. Handed me a sleek black card.
"There's half a million in the account," Grandfather Wolfe said. "For your personal use. Spend it however you like."
My mouth fell open. "I can't accept—"
"Nonsense!" He waved his hand dismissively. "You're family now. Wolfe family takes care of our own."
He looked around the coffee shop. His eyes narrowed.
"Actually," he said slowly. "Buy this coffee shop. Put it under Mrs. Wolfe's name."
What?
"Grandfather Wolfe, this is a chain," I said quickly. "There are locations all over the city—"
"Then buy the entire franchise!"
My brain short-circuited.
"Please," I said weakly. "Just tell me why you're really here."
He smiled. Patted my shoulder.
Then his eyes dropped to my stomach.
"Don't wear yourself out working," he said gently. "What matters most right now is taking care of yourself. Give the Wolfe family a healthy, brilliant child."
Oh. OH.
He thinks I'm smart. He wants smart grandbabies. This is about genetics.
"The Wolfe family has money and power," Grandfather Wolfe continued. "But I'll be honest with you, Scarlett. We're not known for our brains."
He laughed. Actually laughed at himself.
"My great-grandfather was practically illiterate. Built his fortune with his fists and ruthlessness. Every generation since has been the same. Playboys or brutes. Sometimes both."
"But Damon seems very educated," I said.
Grandfather Wolfe snorted.
"He's decent enough. But at the end of the day, he's still a thug in a suit."
Is this what peak privilege sounds like? Billionaires complaining their family isn't cultured enough?
"The universities we attended?" He continued. "All bought and paid for. Donations to get in. Donations to get degrees. None of us actually earned it through merit."
He looked at me seriously.
"But you? Perfect SAT score. Harvard recruiting you. That's real intelligence. That's what this family needs."
I just wanted to make coffee and live quietly. How did I end up in this situation?
"Grandfather Wolfe, the doctor said light activity is good for the pregnancy," I said quickly. "And my coworkers take good care of me. I'm really fine—"
He gave the butler a look.
The butler pulled out a thick envelope. Started handing out hundred dollar bills to every employee in the shop.
"For taking care of my granddaughter-in-law," the butler announced.
Mike, the manager, got two envelopes.
Everyone's faces lit up. Shocked and delighted.
I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.
This is so embarrassing.
"Come," Grandfather Wolfe said. "Let me take you somewhere proper for lunch. You shouldn't be eating packed leftovers."
"It's not leftovers, I made it myself—"
Too late. He was already guiding me toward the door.
The butler held it open.
I got ushered into the Rolls-Royce before I could protest.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to the most expensive restaurant in New York.
The kind with a six-month waiting list.
The maître d' practically bowed when he saw Grandfather Wolfe.
"Your usual table, Mr. Wolfe?"
"Yes. And bring us one of everything on the menu that's safe for pregnant women."
The maître d's eyes widened. "Everything, sir?"
"Everything."
We sat down. The chair was so plush it felt like sitting on a cloud.
Grandfather Wolfe looked at me kindly.
"Is there anything specific you're craving? Steak from Texas? Lobster from Maine? Alaskan king crab? Just say the word and I'll have it flown in. I'll keep the jet on standby."
The jet. He has a jet on standby. Just in case I want crab.
"I'm fine with whatever's here," I said weakly.
Food started arriving. Dish after dish after dish. The table filled up. Then they brought another table.
I sat there surrounded by enough food to feed twenty people.
Grandfather Wolfe watched me with that proud, happy expression.
I really just want to be a normal, ordinary person. Please!
The waiter set down the seventh dish. Some kind of truffle risotto.
I looked at Grandfather Wolfe across the table. He was beaming at me.
"Eat, eat! You're eating for two now."
I picked up my fork. Took a small bite.
"So," Grandfather Wolfe said. "Have you thought about names?"
"It's a little early for that."
"Nonsense! It's never too early. I've already made a list."
Of course he has.
"For a boy: Alexander, Theodore, Winston. For a girl: Victoria, Eleanor, Charlotte."
I nodded politely. Took another bite.
"And speaking of preparations," he continued. "We need to talk about your medical care."
Here we go.
"The doctor Damon found is fine," I said quickly. "Very professional."
Grandfather Wolfe waved his hand dismissively. "Fine isn't good enough. Not for a Wolfe heir."
"She's board-certified. Top of her field."
"I'm flying in specialists from Switzerland."
I nearly choked on my risotto. "Switzerland?"
"Two of them. The best obstetricians in the world. They'll oversee your entire pregnancy."
"Grandfather Wolfe, that's really not—"
"And that house you're living in." He frowned. "Too small. Too cramped."