To be so protective of their own they’d grill any suitors and rally in defense if they didn’t approve. He liked to imagine he’d have been the same way with Emma—if he’d had the chance.
He released his tide of anger on a slow exhale. “Because she’s nice. And kind. And I like being with her.” That was just the tip of the many reasons, but it summed them up pretty well.
“What are you getting out of this?”
And the drilling continued. Henrik loosened his shoulders, settling into the well-intentioned inquisition. This was a fight he didn’t have to win, but he respected the code enough to play.
“Someone who treats me with respect,” he answered, leaving off the things her brother wouldn’t appreciate. Like her dominant streak that melted him in the bedroom.
“Right.” Aiden shook his head, scowling. “She’s nothing like the other women who are usually draped on your arm.”
“You’re right. She’s not.”
“Then why? I don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to.”
Aiden glared at him, hackles raised with his layers of suspicion and distrust. “Don’t you fucking hurt her.”
Henrik barely resisted the eye roll he’d witnessed from so many of his exes. “I have no intention of doing so.”
“Good.”
Or what? Fuck. This was starting off craptastically. “Can we go in?” Not that he really wanted to, especially now, but Jacqui was expecting him. Being invited to the family dinner was a huge step into the more he’d wanted, so it was time to man up and dive in.
Or run.
The inviting thought was cut off when Aiden edged Henrik out of the way and shoved the front door open. “I found a stalker on the porch,” he yelled into the house, shooting a smirk over his shoulder. Fucker. Henrik smiled though. He could actually come to like the asshole.
“What?” Jacqui called back from somewhere unseen. “Don’t you mess with him, Aiden.”
“Why not? It’s fun.”
Henrik followed Aiden into the house, assessing the quaint space in one glance. The door opened into the family room, the furniture centered around a large, flat screen that dominated one wall. The brown carpeting had to be from the early nineties, a path worn by time from the doorway to the dining room, where he could see part of a set table. The white walls were covered in canned artwork and family pictures with one small section devoted to a cross and a statue of the Virgin Mary.
A man rose from the couch. A head shorter than Henrik, his gray hair was combed forward to cover his receding hairline. He was stout and wide, a slight pouch of a belly showing beneath his flannel shirt. He held out his hand, firm smile in place. “Welcome. I’m Wayne. Jacqui’s dad.”
Henrik took his extended hand, nodding. “Henrik Grenick. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The man froze, jaw dropping a hitch before he snapped it shut. He jerked up, snatched his hand back in a delayed reaction and cleared his throat. “Henrik. Grenick.”
Henrik nodded, that knot in his stomach twisting tighter. “Yes, sir.”
Behind his father, Aiden was grinning like an evil fool, evidently in on a secret his sister hadn’t shared with the rest of the family.
“No shit,” Wayne mumbled.
“Language.” The reprimand came around the corner from beyond the dining room.
Wayne winced, glancing away as he swiped a hand over his mouth. “Hearing like a bat,” he muttered.
“Don’t we know it,” Aiden said, slapping his dad on the back.
“Hey,” Jacqui said as she came into the room. Her smile lit up her face and eased Henrik’s nerves a bit. Hair flowing over her black V-neck sweater paired with jeans, she was casual and beautiful. “I see you’ve met Aiden and my dad.” She came to his side, stretching to place a kiss on his jaw. “Thanks for coming.”
Stunned and warmed, he smiled down at her, arm circling her shoulders to hold her close. “My pleasure.” And it was, now.
“Jacqui,” her father said, a warning note layered into the single word.
“Yes, Dad?” Her smile was all innocence that Henrik didn’t buy.
Wayne’s raised brow said he didn’t either. “A warning would’ve been nice.”
A woman bustled out of the kitchen, all warmth and smiles. A bit shorter than her husband, her rusty-brown hair was cut short and styled to frame her round face. She wore her years and five births with a mother’s grace that said hugs were welcomed and given freely. Her bright red cardigan was a few years out of style, but still nice.
“What are you scowling about, Wayne?” She didn’t wait for