A/N: Hello everyone! I missed all of you but I can't say I regretted the short break I took. It helped quite a bit. Thank you again for giving me the time and space I needed to regroup and feel better.
Now, I know some of you are anxious to get on with Charlotte and Brandon's story. Now that they've admitted their feelings, the challenge is in making it through every obstacle together. Charlotte's mettle will be tested in the following chapters and she'll struggle between her instincts for goodness with her sense of self-preservation.
As usual, please vote and comment! =)
***
Perfect.
It was a word I hardly ever used in reference to my life, but it was one that more than aptly described the last few days.
After the thunderstorm rolled past us that night, the world had been nothing but full of sunshine, clear blue skies, the endless stretch of sea, and many precious moments with Brandon.
I thought I’d been pretty happy before that night of our failed camping trip. It was crazy how big a difference our confession made.
There was happy and there was absolute bliss.
Because as fun as guessing games are, they’re the last thing you need when you fall hopelessly in love. What heart loves and hopes not to be loved in return?
I knew Brandon cared long before he admitted to his feelings.
There was no way I could deny that he felt something for me—I always saw his eyes light up when they looked my way. I couldn’t miss the variety of kisses he’d given me—from sensual to sweet to simply soothing. I couldn’t count the times he held my hand, or pulled me close to him, or kept us connected through the merest touch. No man who didn’t care acted that way.
Oh, sure, it hadn’t been instantaneous.
I could still clearly recall how arrogant and disdained he was when we first met. But somewhere along the way, soon after that, Brandon stumbled off the path and leapt off the cliff.
He started to care—and care a lot.
But for that suspicion to evolve into an all-out revelation that Brandon more than cared about me—he loved me—it startled me so much I was still reeling a few days later.
Yet even with that puzzle still broken up into jigsaw pieces in my head, the way we were after that confession seemed perfectly natural. The truth simply intensified the depth of our feelings for each other.
It was like we’ve been doing this beautiful yet mysteriously magical thing all this time and someone finally explained it, and it made perfect sense.
Instead of the usual blasted doubts, my company became this sweet ache of happiness—a feeling so good it almost hurt.
We woke up late the day after the storm and made brunch using some of the supplies we’d brought. The beach house (now called as such after I won the argument with Brandon that a shoe box was a cabin, not a beachfront mini-mansion) wasn’t used very often, but it had some basic, non-perishable supplies which was stocked by a housekeeping company Marissa hired to check in and tidy up the place every other month.
When the sun finally broke through the clouds late in the day, we got dressed and walked down the wooden boardwalk that led to the private beach. The rain had brought in a lot of seaweed and sediments to the shore but it made for an interesting beachcombing experience.
Living in Boston, the ocean was never too far, but I didn’t have a mother or father to bring me to the beach on a weekend excursion or anything like that.
I didn’t really have a set of high school friends, and Aimee, who was pretty much my bestfriend/big sister, had her plate full working as a nurse and being a single mother.
The few times I went to the beach in my entire life, it was mostly with a practical purpose. I never got to just frolic along the shore, barefoot, my face lifted to the sun, smiling and laughing.
But that weekend with Brandon, I got to do all of that and more.
We made our meals together, cuddled by the living room in the evenings, talked the time away, made slow sweet love well into the night, and did it all over again the next day. He'd used some extra protection, saying that the pill wasn't reliable at all in the first week or so, but that he'd been too far gone to care that first time we made love.
The possibility of having a baby stumped me at first, but Brandon just smiled and kissed me, saying that as much as he'd love to see little Charlottes and Brandons, he would prefer if we waited.
"I want you to see the world first," he said. "Live and enjoy the life you're long overdue to have. We have a lifetime ahead of us, love, and you're still very young. We can have babies later."
"But what if I got pregnant?" I squeaked, worried that the decision might already be out of our hands because I was naive.
"Then we'll have the baby and we'll see the world and enjoy life together—the three of us. I'm ready whenever it's meant to happen. Fortunately, we have the luxury of living comfortably even while starting a family. I'm mostly just thinking about you."
The thought of a family with Brandon warmed me all over and yes, I would love to, but he was right.
I wasn't ready quite yet.
I had a lot of growing up to do first, despite the fact that I already felt too old for my years.
I had no parenting skills except for the base knowledge that I should do anything but what my own parents did.
I still also wanted to make something of myself. Nothing big—just something I could proudly claim as an accomplishment that meant something.
With those doubts smoothened out of the way, the rest of our stay had been pure heaven.
When Sunday came, it was tough to summon the will to leave our paradise and head back to the city the next morning.
At least, it’s not like you’re leaving behind a weekend of passionate, reckless abandon. You’re returning from that moment in time to a reality that has been altered to match what was only once your secret fantasy.
Brandon and I didn’t just escape to indulge ourselves away from any reminders of our situation—to go where we could pretend that we had more than just our arrangement.
We went away to where we could lay bare our hearts and souls.
We were returning to make the lie into the truth.
I was free to know that what we had was ours, and not just merely borrowed moments.
“It looks like you’ve been sorely missed,” Brandon remarked dryly as he pulled into the driveway in front of the entrance to Grand Hills.
There were a handful of paps loitering around on the sidewalk, keeping a good distance from the front doors where the building security banned them.
I rolled the windows down and grinned at some of the paps who started taking their cameras out at our arrival.
Familiar faces smiled back at me.
"Hey, you guys!" I greeted them as I stepped out of the car just as the valet came over to help Brandon. "Were you planning on hanging out around here all day to wait for me? Or has some other more famous celebrity moved into the building while we were away?"
Dennis, one of the permanent members of this little league of paps who'd been chatting with me regularly for almost a month now, gave me a sheepish grin and a shrug.
"No new famous neighbors for you, Mrs. M," he replied. "And even if you did, you'd still be our favorite."
“You look good by the way, Char.” Chad, another one of the crew, flashed a crooked smile. “You really look like you had a few days under the sun.”
I smirked. "Still planning on leaving your wife for me, Chad? I hate to break your heart but Mr. M wouldn't be too forgiving if I ran away with you."
Brandon appeared beside me and put an arm around my shoulders, nodding at the paps politely. "No, I wouldn't be. What's up, gentlemen? We're pretty tired but if you've got something you need from us...ask away."
Look at that. Brandon's being nice to them. When you're in love, you're happy. When you're happy, you're good to others. Love really must be the cure for apathy and antipathy.
Marcus, another pap, handed Brandon a rolled up newspaper. "We just wanted to see how your camping trip went. And to confirm whether you were indeed the honored guests at Plympton's summer festival. It's in the papers."
I stood on my toes to peek over Brandon's arm as he spread out the newspaper. It wasn't any of the regular city papers—it was one of those county gazettes. On the front page was a large picture of the floats in the parade, and a collection of smaller ones, a few featuring us with Al and Sue. There was even one of us holding baby Stuart, standing by the sidelines, watching the parade.
My heart gave a fierce kick at the image of us with a baby.
Slow down, Cinderella. Enjoy the ball, dance with your prince. Take it one day at a time.
There was an accompanying secondary article about us and how we saved the mayor's wife and how we were such warm, delightful guests, etc.
There was even a picture of us with the newly crowned Miss Plympton and another one of us holding two large gift baskets the town's people insisted we accept.
I giggled. "Those were some fun times."
"So it's true then?" Marcus asked in surprise. "You were at Plympton for their summer festival? You did save the mayor's wife and their son from being stranded on the highway?"
Dennis jabbed him on the side. "What did you think? That they were just edited into these photos? Knowing Charlotte, you shouldn't be surprised."
"I agree," Brandon added wryly. "It was nothing as adventurous as it sounds though. Susan's car broke down and we gave her a lift to Plympton where we were invited to stay for the afternoon and enjoy the festivities."
"And we've got goodies!" I said brightly, turning to the car which was already being emptied by one of the doormen into one of these luggage trolleys. I swear, living here sometimes felt like an overextended hotel stay.
"You're welcome to some of them, if you'd like." I started taking out a bunch of the stuff we got with the gift baskets and handing them out to the paps—cranberry muffins, cranberry jams, dried cranberries, cranberry juice and a bunch of other crafts. "We had some of them and they're really good. Mayor Al's family owns and runs one of the cranberry bogs there. They’re one of the biggest local producers around south of the state.”
Brandon looked on with amusement as the paps struggled to catch up with me as I started loading their arms with the treats. They murmured their thank-yous and smiled at me indulgently.
“As for our camping trip, we had a fantastic time,” I told them eagerly. “We got caught in a thunderstorm the first night but it was pretty awesome after that.”
“Did it rejuvenate you in preparation for your role as the newest member of the Lady Championettes Society?” Chad piped up. “There’s a lot of speculation that you’re joining. A lot of people are curious how things will turn out considering you aren’t exactly the typical Championette material.”
“What’s that supposed to mean exactly?” Brandon snarled but I quickly touched his arm to calm him.
Chad shrugged, looking earnest. “I don’t mean it as an insult at all. We know Charlotte’s background. We know she’s different—in a good way, and in so many levels. But not everyone’s going to appreciate that about her.”
I couldn’t help a smile. “You guys are too fond of me for your own good. But don’t worry about me. If I’m ever privileged with the chance to work with the Championettes in many of their charitable missions, I’ll do my best to get along with everyone. At the end of the day, it’s not about where any of us came from—it’s where we all end up. I’m hoping the destination would be a good and happy place where charity projects aren’t going to be necessary anymore because no one needs it as a means of survival. It’s a dream, a far-fetched one at that, but that's where we hope we to end up.”
Brandon reached for my hand and squeezed it as the reporters fumbled with their notepads, recorders and cameras, trying to catch every bit of that statement.
It actually felt good saying that.
Even before we arrived in Boston, I’d already made my decision about Melissa’s invitation. Saying out loud the words I just did, reasserted that decision for me.
After a few more minutes of catching up with the reporters, Brandon and I made our way up to the penthouse.
There was a baked pasta dish in the fridge with a note from our housekeeper.
Welcome back! Hope you had a good trip. -Gwen
The moment Brandon had all our electronics plugged in, his cellphone started ringing off the hook.
We’d shut off all of our gadgets during the weekend. If there was an emergency, Marissa knew the landline number to the beach house.
Brandon told me to ignore it and let it go to voicemail before he went off to the exercise room to get sweaty before showering.
The phone kept ringing after a five-minute pause in between attempts as if someone just kept trying again and again.
I was on my laptop on the desk where the charging station was, happily sending replies while waiting for our photos to upload when I just about had it.
I snatched the cellphone up and glanced at the screen: S. C.
“Who is this? Santa Claus?” I muttered before pressing the talk button.
I had just cracked my mouth open to speak when a breathy gasp rushed through from the other line.
“Brandon, thank God you picked up!”
Simone’s voice was unmistakable.
“You probably just got back into town, and I’m sorry for calling you several times, but I really need to see you. We have something to talk about. It’s important. What do you say? You could come to my place so we can have some privacy. Whatever time works for you, I’m free.”
I wondered if I went partially blind because suddenly, I couldn’t see past the slit in my vision.
The hand that tightly clutched the phone turned clammy and shaky.
Breathe, Charlotte. Trust Brandon. Trust that despite the lies that brought you together, you know the truth.
“Brand?” Simone prompted. “We haven’t spoken in ages, and I know you’re busy playing house, but I’ve got to see you, Brand.”
“Back up, I missed the part you said after playing house,” I blurted out calmly—too calmly. “Is this going to be a long message because I might run out of paper here. If this is a confession of love, I might need a tape recorder. I don’t want to miss anything.”
A thick, heavy silence filled the line before Simone choked out, “Charlotte.”
“Yes, it’s me, the wife,” I replied flippantly. “I would call you the ‘other woman’ but then I know better. What’s up? Are you in trouble or something? Need someone to stand up for you? Because we don’t offer those services here, unfortunately.”
I bit the inside of my cheek at that last barb but I couldn’t help it.
I was cool with Simone being Brandon’s ex. I let pass that incident at the tea party where she sat back quietly while her best friend raked my character through the mud.
I had to be a saint not to feel the irritation that was spreading through me like a rash right now, after hearing everything I just did.
Another long, awkward pause.
She was probably going to hang up on me now.
“I, uh... Um...”
I sighed loudly. “Eloquent, as always, Simone. Hang on one sec, okay? I’ll just go grab my husband. Don’t let it be said that I was so cruel to deprive you of his counsel in case this is a matter of life and death.”
“No!” she exclaimed. “It’s alright. Don’t get him, Charlotte.’
My eyes narrowed. “No? Do you only talk to him if I don’t know about it?”
“No... Of c-course, not,” she stammered. “I just...I, uh...”
I rose from my seat and headed for the exercise room which was just down the hall. “Listen, Simone. I don’t want to quarrel with you even though I know you hate my guts but I’d really, really, appreciate it if you would refrain from stalking my husband,” I said patiently. “I get that you’ll always be around but there’s no need to go too far, okay?”
“You have no idea what’s going on, Charlotte,” she shot back sharply.
Finally, we’re getting somewhere.
“You’re a nice girl and I’d offer you some advice,” she continued, her voice gathering strength. “Brandon may have warmed up to you more than I expected, given the circumstances of your marriage, but if I were you, I won’t forget that it’s all a business arrangement. If you do, you’re just setting yourself up for a lot of pain. Brandon’s a good man but he’s not a loving man. He can’t make you happy in a way that any girl would wish to be made happy by a man she loves. You’re young and you don’t want to scar yourself for life with that kind of heartache.”
I bristled at the reminder that Simone knew of the real reason Brandon and I got married. I reminded myself firmly of the fact that the last few days had indeed happened and I was Brandon’s wife in truth.
I chose to take the higher road because it was the right thing to do.
“Thank you, Simone, for your concern,” I said quietly as I pushed the door of the exercise room open and peeked at Brandon who was busy making strikes against a large punching bag hanging from the ceiling. “Unfortunately, it’s a bit late for that. But don’t worry about me. We’re happy. And Brandon is a loving man—he just needed to be loved first to realize what love was like and recognize it when it came his way.”
This was like a phone conversation with bad reception.
I was either missing bits of what Simone was saying in response or she wasn’t saying anything at all.
“I loved him too, you know?” she finally bit out, her voice edgy with emotions.
My eyes followed the virile strength and masculine grace of Brandon’s body as he moved and delivered blows to the punching bag, my heart skipping a beat. He was shirtless, light glinting off against the sheen of sweat on his rippling muscles.
Memories of how his body had moved on top of me, strong and possessive yet gentle and protective, sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
“Yeah, I know,” I murmured to Simone in sympathy. “I can hardly blame you.”
I heard her take a deep breath and clear her throat as if she was pulling herself together. “Just tell him to call me when he can. I do have something urgent to discuss with him. And no, I’m not trying to sleep with him.”
I sighed. “No, you’ve already done that. The risk is you trying to seduce him into falling in love with you so that he abandons his wife and runs away with you instead.”
“I’m not that desperate,” she practically hissed.
“I hope you’re right,” I replied, smiling softly at Brandon when he looked up and caught my eye, his face breaking into a lopsided grin. “I’ll tell him. Later, alligator.”
I ended the call and started walking toward my husband who threw his boxing gloves down and grabbed a towel to wipe his face with.
The exercise room was set up like a personalized gym. The only things I’ve really used in here were the treadmill and the rowing machine (on days when I didn't make excuses about working out) but there was a huge variety of fitness machines.
"I'm all sweaty now," he said, looking positively sinful with his damp, dark locks curling over his forehead, as we came up against each other. His arm slipped behind my waist as he pulled me close and nuzzled the skin behind my ear. "Wanna join me in the shower?"
"I might but you probably have to call your devoted ex first," I said, pulling back a little and handing him his phone. "I'd hate to have her waste away, pining for you."
Brandon's brows furrowed as he stared at his cellphone screen, scrolling through the call logs. "Simone called? What did she want?"
I tapped my fingertips on my chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Screening out the parts about how the two of you haven't seen each other in ages, and that she's free anytime you are to meet up at her place, and that she knows you're playing house with me, and the advice not to fall in love with you unless I wanted to get hurt—I think she wanted to see you. Yeah, that's about it."
Brandon arched a brow at me wryly. "Sounds like you two had quite a conversation."
I shrugged. "Yeah, some. She assured me she wasn't trying to sleep with you and I told her of, course not. I mean, why would you attempt something you've already done many times and in many different positions?"
Brandon choked out a half-laugh, half-groan, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. "Honey, please tell me you actually didn't say that to Simone."
"Nothing that specific," I assured him cheekily. "The last thing I want is for her to relive those memories. It might give her incentive to really come after you."
Brandon tipped my chin up and kissed me softly on the lips. "I don't care how many women come chasing after me—I mean, I do, because that would really be annoying trying to go anywhere or do anything—but I have no interest in anyone else but you."
I laughed and clung to his neck as he picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. "You'll need to amp up your security if you have a mob of girls following you everywhere. Either that or I tell them how awful you are in bed."
Brandon's eyes twinkled as he squeezed my bum. "I thought you didn't like lying."
"Who says I'll be lying?" I asked, lowering my lashes coyly.
"I believe you just dared me to prove my talents, love," Brandon said as he carried us into the bedroom. "Let's hope you don't regret it once you've been made love to so thoroughly you won't be able to keep your eyes open."
I grinned just before he threw me down on the bed. "I'm counting on it."
He crawled up over me, his heavy, sweat-damp body pressing against mine. In another time and place, and with another man, this would be kind of yucky, but Brandon smelled sexy—all man and all mine.
"You could've just not told me," he said softly, brushing the hair from my face. "Or insisted that I completely cut her out of my life. But you didn't."
I bit my lip and cupped his jaw. "No, I didn't."
He turned his face slightly to kiss the center of my palm. "I love you."
I smiled. "I love you too. Now, ravish me."
***
I needed three cups of coffee and a chocolate bar to manage for the rest of that day.
Brandon was certainly a man who took up a task with the intense determination to succeed in it, and applied himself wholeheartedly.
I would say the three hours we spent in bed was quite an accomplishment—a sexual feat I was surely going to feel in the next little while in all the spots I ached.
Thank God, I had a day to rest and prepare before the Championettes’ annual brunch which was going to be held at Clifton House’s sprawling gardens.
Back when I was a simple girl in a very simple world, I would expect some fancy scrambled eggs and maybe some waffles with real maple syrup for a nice brunch. Maybe something a little bit less casual so you’d come to the table in a nice shirt and clean jeans instead of your pajamas—at least in the world I came from.
But no, this brunch wasn’t like any other kind of brunch.
It was done Championette-style, of course—grandiosely elaborate, impeccably elegant and guest-listed with the top names in society.
It was like the grand ball of brunches—meaning, no pajamas and no regular scrambled eggs.
I was told it was a lounge suit dress code (which Armina had to interpret for me) and the eggs weren’t merely scrambled ones—they were oeuf brouille—creamy, French-style scrambled eggs floating almost dreamily in some kind of sauce-like base and topped with thin smoked salmon pieces.
I would be the last person to find fault with the French when it came to food, and living in Paris for several months opened my eyes to a vast world of art and culture I only ever heard about before.
Despite all that though, my tastes remained simple and basic.
Or maybe I really was just unsophisticated at heart because I personally couldn’t eat smoked salmon for breakfast, let alone, have it ruin a perfectly wonderful, although difficult-to-pronounce, kind of scrambled eggs.
The fact that we had a chef specifically whipping up just the oeuf brouille right then and there was just cherry on top of an already pretty ostentatious meal.
To think, this was only one dish out of the entire twenty-four-item menu Melissa mentioned with wry amusement when we met up the day before the brunch to talk over an early afternoon coffee.
I asked her to meet up so I could give her an answer—as if there ever really was a doubt—and she’d been thrilled. I, personally, was a little nervous—not for myself but for the spectacle we would make of ourselves should a catfight ensue.
When we arrived at the brunch, there was a not-too-subtle change in the crowd’s mood.
It was mine and Brandon’s first official appearance as a married couple in a well-publicized high-society event—one swarming with the Society’s most important financial benefactors as crusty as rustic country bread.
While a surprising amount of people were earnestly pleased to meet me, I could tell there were a few others who were turning up their noses just a little bit, even though I actually looked pretty smashing in a bright red, one-shouldered cocktail dress with a large, silk rosette made from the same fabric attached to the shoulder strap.
My hair was pulled up in a conventional bun, not a strand out of place. Clyde wouldn’t admit to it but I was certain he’d super-glued my hair to my head because it looked divinely tidy.
I highly suspected that my faux-pas was the severe lack of pearls and pastels because I was, instead, wearing a diamond and sapphire set Brandon had given me, and I was sporting black leather cage-strap heels that looked seriously fierce.
In a sea of women in soft yellows, pinks and purples, I did stand out a bit, and if people had something to say about that—well, it was a free country. They could say whatever they’d like to say, really. If I happened to feel like saying something back to them, then they’d have to grant me the same courtesy.
Of course, it was unavoidable to run into the members of the board who were in that tea party with me. They pretty much refused to look me in the eye to avoid having to acknowledge me. They were with their husbands and friends, some who were eyeing me discreetly in the corner of their eye.
Layla, splendid in a mint green dress, was with a very serious-looking man who must be her husband, and she acted like I wasn’t even there, only smiling at Brandon when she caught his eye from a distance.
My husband merely responded with an arch look and turned away in dismissal.
I knew just how capable he was of acting snobby, even though I hadn’t seen it in a good long while, and he didn’t spare Layla any bit of his intimidation.
He also promised to stay by my side, determined to ward off any unpleasant company, but he was a man who knew too many important other ones that he got steered away a few times.
He started getting annoyed at people but I assured him that it was a social event and he could go and be social.
I loved him more for being protective but I wanted to be his cheerleader, not an injury that would drag him off court.
He was quite reluctant to abandon his post but Jake, also a guest of honor, came up and promised to keep me company while Brandon was off ‘being important’.
Brandon just gave him a narrowed look and a firm clap on the shoulder before heading out to talk a bunch of men who looked more serious than their sharp, black suits.
“It looks like the beach agreed with you,” Jake said as we strolled along the hors d'oeuvres table. “Have I told you yet how beautiful you look today?”
I smiled and patted his arm which was linked through mine. “Only about ten times, each with a different synonym. Is this how you keep track of your many lady loves? Do you know all of beautiful’s synonyms in the thesaurus?”
He gave me a rakish grin. “Of course. It’s handy to know them all. I wouldn’t be as skilled at stealing hearts without knowing something as basic as that.”
I snorted as I picked up what I recognized as a tartelette aux fraises, which was a practically a strawberry tart except that the strawberries were bigger than the flaky pastry crust itself, and it was oozing with luxurious, creamy and fruity goodness. “Good point. I mean, why remember their names when one can be ‘lovely’, another can be ‘gorgeous’, and another can be ‘stunning’. Even if you cycle through all those words, no one will ever know.”
Jake laughed good-naturedly. “I bet you would.”
“Of course,” I replied pertly. “Because every time you call me any of those adjectives, I’d know you’re just being nice. We all know none of them apply to me.”
“Are you fishing for compliments, Char?” he teased. “Because you already know that there aren’t enough words in that thesaurus entry to fully capture you.”
I actually blushed.
Goodness, even after all that wickedness I embraced with Brandon, I was apparently still not that immune to bold compliments—even from a wonderful man who had also become a dear friend to me—and who might have been just a tad bit infatuated with me.
“Maybe there are just no words in there at all to fully capture me,” I quipped. “I’m sure I fall under a bunch of different other adjectives like ‘exasperating’, ‘impertinent’ and ‘mischievous’, to name a few.”
Jake nodded slowly in mock-agreement. “True. You’re definitely the mischievous Mrs. Maxfield. I know the family well and I can’t think of any other woman in the Maxfield history to earn that title so deservingly.”
I laughed and stuck my tongue out at him. “You’re impertinent.”
Jake wiggled his brows at me. “Makes sense. After all, birds of the same feather flock together.”
We were laughing hard when we heard the well-practiced clearing of someone’s throat—either someone had a constant phlegm issue or this was how she usually announced her rather untimely and unwelcome arrival. If you think about it, this really was how most people made their presence known when they were intruding.
“Last I heard, it was still considered inappropriate to flirt with your husband’s best friend. I’m shocked that Brandon would put up with this kind of humiliation.”
I didn’t even have to turn around to zero in on the plague that had suddenly eclipsed my sunny sky.
I let out a long, dramatic sigh, brushing an imaginary lock of hair off my temple. “Last I heard, flirting was relatively harmless compared to getting right down and dirty with random college guys whose blood alcohol content was no less than a full beer keg. And when I say dirty, I mean down-on-your-knees-in-a-puke-splattered-bathroom-kind of dirty.”
“I didn’t!” Bessy sputtered.
I feigned surprise as I whipped around to face her.
Her face was beet-red, her nostrils flaring.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said in mock-astonishment. I glanced at Jake innocently. “Was I telling you about some of my incredible high school memories? Like that party Bo Brommer threw in junior high at his parents’ place? You know, a wing of the house nearly burned down because someone thought to douse a scented candle with some vodka. It was the height of teenage idiocy.”
Jake’s brows rose in surprise but he pressed his lips together to hold back the pained smile of someone caught in the middle of a nasty confrontation—or of someone watching you get a tattoo you would regret for the rest of your life because you couldn’t be talked out of it.
Okay. So I was being a bit of a female dog.
It rarely happened—only around Bessy Mitchell, usually. The girl just had unparalleled talents in bringing out my worst.
She was currently growling at me—either that or she was regurgitating last night’s dinner. From the strain of her efforts, it must’ve been half a cow or something similar.
I took a deep breath, pressed my fingers between my brows and turned to Bessy.
“I’m sorry,” I said with a sigh. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I—”
“You’re a crass, little liar,” Bessy shot back.
Could we simply conclude that I was extremely right in saying that she had unparalleled talents? Subtlety was never her prime characteristic which makes her all the more effective as a bully.
“You don’t even know what happened at Bo Brommer’s party!” she continued hissing. “You weren’t even there because you would’ve never been invited in a million years!”
I nodded. “You’re right, I was never invited. I came much later as part of the clean-up crew. Bo had one of his minions arrange for one because his parents were going to kill him if they came home to a trashed house after that weekend. I came in with a couple other people around two in the morning to start. We got paid eighty bucks each for three hours of work.”
Bessy’s expression turned haughty. “Oh, so you were the janitress? You cleaned up my puke?”
I raised a brow. “Actually, no. You couldn’t have possibly puked. Your mouth was quite stuffed with something else when I walked into the bathroom. Neither you nor that random guy even noticed me. I quietly left and decided to tackle a completely different part of the house—where there was a smaller chance I'd encounter a variety of bodily fluids. Forensics isn’t my strongest suit.”
Mottled red wasn’t Bessy’s best color but I doubted that she would appreciate my opinion.
I wisely chose to keep my mouth shut.
I already got pretty nasty and it made me uncomfortable.
I didn’t like to be a particularly hurtful person but when push came to shove, I shoved back really hard.
Today though was not the time or the place.
Bessy and I hadn’t been yelling at each other enough to really draw people’s attention but if she continued to push me down with her thumb and I kept pricking her for blood, the tension would be hard to miss.
I already had a fight—albeit, currently in an unspoken ceasefire—with the Championettes. I didn’t need one with Bessy as well.
“I think there’s been enough reminiscing of your high school days here,” Jake cut in gently, gliding his body between Bessy and me and giving me a pleading look. “Charlotte and I should probably continue on with our quest for the next pastry to try.”
“Why want a cake you can’t have, Jake?” Bessy said meaningfully.
Jake stepped aside as he turned toward her, giving me a full view again of the beautiful but hateful witch. “Excuse me?”
Bessy gave him what I would admit as a very seductive smile. “You’re far too good to waste your time and charm on someone some helplessly infatuated idiot already went and married. You could have a different cake and actually eat it.”
There wasn’t a lot that could make the bile rise up to my throat.
That brazen, bald-faced play Bessy just made on Jake was going to get me reacquainted with my breakfast—or last night’s dinner, whichever came up first.
“It may serve you well to remember that the man you just referred to as a helplessly infatuated idiot is my best friend in the world,” Jake said calmly although his firm warning was impossible to miss in his tone. “And I happen to like this particular cake, even if I can only look at it.”
Bessy’s coy expression hardened into an offended scowl.
“Good day, Ms. Mitchell.” Jake gave her a stiff but polite nod before steering me away by my elbow.
We were quiet for a long moment as we moved away from the end of the very long dessert table where we left Bessy fuming enough steam to run a train.
“I’m sorry,” I finally muttered. “I don’t have a lot of enemies but Bessy Mitchell gets under my skin like no other. I should’ve been the bigger person.”
Jake gave me an amused smile. “She has at least four inches on you, Char. You couldn’t have been the bigger person.”
I smacked his arm. “You know what I mean, Jake.”
He laughed and patted my hand. “I know, I know. I’m just trying to lighten up your very dark mood. It’s a big day for you and I don’t want it ruined.”
I sighed. “I know. I’m not even sure why she’s here. She’s not in the demographic of their guests here today. She’s too young. I’m only here because I’m married.”
“Well, she’s Layla’s second cousin or something like that,” Jake answered. “That’s probably why she’s been invited.”
My jaw went slack as I stopped and stared at him. “You mean to tell me that Layla LeClaire and Bessy Mitchell are related by blood?”
A puzzled expression crossed Jake’s face. “Yeah... Why?”
I smacked my head and closed my eyes briefly. “Nothing. Their shared genetics certainly explain their identical sentiments about me.”
“Is Layla giving you a hard time too?”
I let out a dry, ironic chuckle. “She was, but not at the moment. After the scene with Bessy though, she certainly now has additional motivation. This will be interesting."
***
Oh, the day definitely got interesting.
After my little run-in with Bessy, Simone arrived—with Francis as her date.
Shocked would be a mild term for my reaction—flabbergasted was more like it.
I managed to shut my mouth close in time though before they spotted me and Brandon at our table.
“Brand, quick. Give me some water,” I mumbled to my husband. “I think someone drugged me and I need to flush it out. I swear I’m seeing Simone with your cousin right now. I think they’re holding hands. Shit.”
“I beg your pardon?” The older lady with a mini pink flamingo on her fascinator and was sitting to my right, turned to me with a disapproving frown.
I gave her a bright smile as I picked up an appetizer from the plate in front of us. “Uh, shrimp? The shrimp on this canape is phenomenal. You could taste the sea.”
I popped it into my mouth, holding my smile in place as I chewed and swallowed it down. Then I turned to Brandon with a face and mouthed, You could taste the sea? Really?
But Brandon just gave me a distracted smile and handed me a glass of water. His gaze kept darting toward Simone and Francis who were talking to another couple.
My stomach churned—and not from the sea-tasting shrimp.
Relax, Charlotte. Trust the truth. Even if it emerged from the lies. Trust Brandon.
It was hard not to feel anxious.
Glancing at Simone who was clad in a stunning rose-colored flowing dress, her dark hair arranged in a soft, seductive bun, I couldn’t refute the fact that she was like the decadent and sophisticated chocolate mousse cake while I was... Twinkies.
There’s nothing wrong with Twinkies—they’re just not what you whip up when people are coming over and you wish to impress them.
But Twinkies pulled herself up straight and held her head high when the chocolate mousse cake came her way.
Remember, you’re America’s favorite.
I bit the inside of my cheek when Brandon pushed his chair back to rise in greeting as Simone and Francis came over to our table.
“Cuz, Charlotte,” Francis greeted easily, tipping us a half-smile.
He actually looked quite pleasant today, barely sporting any of his scuff marks from his altercation with Brandon. “You two are looking good.”
My eyes narrowed slightly. It wasn’t that he looked specifically more pleasant—it was that he looked pleased about something. “You too, Francis. I can easily imagine why.”
I felt Brandon’s elbow gently nudge me on the side.
I knew without a doubt that he still disliked his cousin quite a bit but he did promise to Martin, after his father had a talk with Francis, to be civil about it.
Francis chuckled. “Well, it’s always a treat to be invited to the Championettes’ brunch. I’m rarely in the country at the same time it’s on.”
I tsked. “It’s not a bad habit you should break.”
I felt another small jab again. I wondered if Brandon would forgive me if I planted the pointy heel of my shoe in his toe.
“Hello, Francis,” my husband intoned, his expression all seriousness.
In fact, I was pretty sure he just put on a scowl especially as he turned to his ex. “Simone. You look lovely.”
You would look lovelier, Brand, with my handprint on your cheek. She is not lovely! Okay, she is, but you don’t tell her that while I’m standing right here!
I knew I was being irrational.
Jealousy usually was, too.
I knew Brandon returned Simone’s phone call that day when she called and talked to me, but he told me he just left her a voicemail message because she wasn’t picking up. We haven’t heard anything back since. Whatever she had to tell Brandon so urgently, she must’ve decided it wasn’t so urgent anymore. Or that she changed her mind about telling him.
“It’s nice to see you, Brand,” she greeted back smoothly, leaning forward to buss him on each cheek in greeting.
My hands clenched into fists and I had to struggle not to send them flying to rearrange Simone’s perfect bone structure. Man, for someone who limited her acquaintance with violence to just exaggerated verbal threats (like a dog which mostly barked instead of biting), I was surely having unreasonable violent tendencies. Not good.
The smile I gave her when she turned to me must’ve been a ridiculous combination of a glare and a little teeth-baring, but her own smiling expression barely changed when she leaned in to do the same with me.
“Charlotte, it’s good to have you join the Championettes,” she said as she pulled back and linked her arm through Francis’s own. “Melissa’s been pretty excited about having you on board.”
I caught her meaning. Only Melissa was excited about having me on board.
I guess she'll never forgive me for taking Brandon away even when he clearly left on his own. No matter how civil or nice I become to her, I will always be an enemy.
I fixed the smile on my face to resemble a proper one as I gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement. “Thank you. Melissa is a staunch supporter, not of me, but of the possibility that we can do a lot together with the Society."
“It’s not going to be easy,” she said and I could hear the double meaning.
I shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll tell you my secret, Simone: I’ve got practice. I endure, and I persevere.”
Brandon’s touch, when he slipped his hand over mine and squeezed gently, felt like steel filled my veins and thrust my shoulders up in pride.
“And she’s got me and my entire family and friends for support,” he added, the declaration in his tone evident. “We’re with her, wherever she chooses to go.”
Francis raised a brow. “Ah, yes. She is, after all, an official member of the Maxfield family. Isn’t she?”
A tendril of doubt slithered across my heart at Francis’s emphasis on his last sentence.
If it meant nothing, why do a theatric pause before enunciating that last part?
"I think the signed, stamped and filed marriage certificate, and the hundred or so guests who attended our wedding make it official enough," I snapped, keeping the volume of my voice in check. "In fact, I'm very much a Maxfield now—I mean, I now dislike you as much the rest of them do."
Francis's expression hardened. "They don't dislike me. Only Brandon does."
I gave a casual shrug. "Well, Martin's a saint and the rest are still pretty young. Give them time."
Brandon moved his body toward me as if to shield me from the shrapnels of Francis's temper exploding.
I didn't need it but I didn't mind.
I didn't want to get douchebag all over me.
“Baby, it’s okay,” Brandon leaned down and murmured into my ear.
Francis snorted though, eyeing me in disdain. “What did you marry, Brand? A wife or an attack dog?”
I swallowed hard at the instant Brandon’s body stiffened and strained with a temper he was fighting to control.
I caught this sleeve. “Brandon...”
He slowly turned to face his cousin, his voice low and sharp as he spoke. “I promised my father not to kill you, but I can beat you senseless if you utter one more insult toward my wife.”
Francis’s eyes narrowed into slits as he thrust his chin up. He looked like he was about to accept the challenge when Simone put her arm out and gently steered him away.
“We should probably go make our rounds before the induction ceremony officially starts,” she said, glancing at me, disapproval clear in her eyes. “We’ll leave you to enjoy yourselves.”
For some odd reason, I felt duly chastised.
I knew I shouldn’t have provoked Francis, who predictably provoked Brandon in turn, but my nerve endings were jittery with a paranoia I couldn’t figure out.
“I’d be careful of the games I play, if I were you,” Francis said. “Strategy’s only meaningful if kept a secret. Once it’s out, it’s only a matter of time.”
My heart jumping to my throat, I swivelled my gaze over to Simone who looked everywhere but at me and Brandon.
Well, what have we got here? A tattler and a traitor.
Brandon’s hold on my hand was so tight, I started to lose feeling in it, but I said nothing as I watched Francis and Simone go, praying that Brandon wouldn’t suddenly snap out of his shock and tackle his cousin to the ground.
The last thing we needed was an all-out confrontation—one where Francis could not-so-accidentally blurt out our secret in public.
“Let it go, Brand,” I slowly whispered to him, putting a hand on his arm in reassurance. “He’s just bluffing. He’s hinting that we’re hiding something and waiting for us to reveal it ourselves by taking his bait.”
Brandon’s hazel eyes were stormy as he turned to me. “Francis isn’t as subtle as that. He definitely knows something and it’s pretty obvious how he found out. I just can’t believe Simone would do something like this.”
“There’s desperate and there’s vindictive. The difference is in the motivation.”
“I’ll fix this,” Brandon said, pulling me into his arms and pressing his lips on forehead. “It’s my fault. I should’ve never said anything to her.”
“It’ll be okay, love.” I looked up at him and smiled. “We’ll figure it out.”
He nodded and gave me a half-smile.
“I hate to interrupt but I just wanted to check that everything’s good here.”
Brandon and I turned around and found Melissa standing behind us with a wary smile.
“I saw Francis and Simone come up to you and thought that they were a perfect disaster heading your way,” she added with a meaningful look. “I would’ve never pegged Simone down as someone who would date the least favorite cousin of the guy she’d dated before just to spite him but hey, what do I know? I don’t have enough drama in my life to qualify for one of those real housewives shows.”
I laughed, feeling instantly better.
Melissa had been constantly checking on me since we arrived, introducing me to people and openly showing her support. I appreciated her efforts but I eventually had to convince her to keep her husband company and actually have a good time instead of guarding me like the secret service. She was practically trying to be my body armor when people showed even the slightest disapproval and for that, I adored her. I didn't tell her about the incident with Bessy or the cold shoulder Layla has been giving me all morning (I guess if she couldn't trust herself to not say anything she might regret, she just opted not to say anything at all).
While it felt incredibly touching to have someone like Melissa stand on my side and protect me, I didn't want to subject her to retaliation.
I had pretty tough skin.
I could handle dealing with my critics and give it as good as I got, but I'd feel terrible if anyone else was dragged into the fray because of me.
I didn’t want my friendship with Melissa to cost her anything.
Of course, being as bull-headed as she was, she told me to get over myself and let her help.
“We’re good, Mel,” Brandon reassured her, some of the tension on his face draining away. “The friction isn’t going to disappear anytime soon but I’m not going to thrash my cousin around today—at least not without good cause.”
Melissa gave me an amused look and just rolled her eyes. “Good. Because as exciting as that would be to watch, I do need Charlotte’s induction to the Society to go smoothly. She’ll have enough bumps to ride through without her first day as a Championette becoming a complete disaster.”
I grinned. “I feel like I’m being groomed to run for president.”
Melissa laughed. “With the crowd we’re in, it’s going to feel that way for the next little bit. Don’t worry. As your campaign manager, I’ll help you navigate the waters and avoid the sharks.”
“Or make shark steak out of them,” I said brightly.
Brandon smiled in amusement and kissed my temple. “That’s one way to look at the silver lining.”
Melissa’s husband, Tom—who was a big, boisterous character as likable as his wife—came over and talked to us for a few minutes just before Anette Laurier, a Championette and today’s emcee, came up to the podium to announce the start of the induction ceremony.
Melissa gave me a quick, reassuring hug before heading back with her husband to their table.
I caught Layla’s eye from across the room—her pale blue eyes steely with challenge.
What? Am I supposed to back out now? The last time I checked, I had a backbone—one I put to good use quite often.
“You ready, babe?” Brandon asked, drawing my attention back to him.
His handsome face was lit with a proud smile, his hazel eyes warm with something that could only be described as adoration.
I smiled at him. “Never. Who’s really ever ready for anything anyway? I just wing it.”
Brandon laughed and guided me back to my seat. “Hmm, true. You wing it, alright—elbows and fists included. I’m well-acquainted with both. You certainly know how to improvise.”
Before I sat down, I glanced over my shoulder at Layla who was still looking at me, her eyes narrowed slightly.
I smiled and winked at her.
Let the games begin.
***
So, what do you guys think? The Lady Championettes Society's Annual Brunch is going to be wrought with a whole bunch of trials and tribulations for Charlotte so the scenes will extend into the next chapter where more's going to happen.
Hope you like it. As always, vote and comment! Thank you!
XOXO - Ninya
♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: Forever Girl by Forever The Sickest Kids ♪♪♪
You're my forever girl
All things aside just know
no matter what you do
I'll be there for you.
when the world starts bringing you down
I'll be there to stop
and lift you off the ground.
'Cause we've got that thing
people dream about
and see on silver screens
It's undeniable: you're the one,
the only one for me.
(Oohhh)
You're my Forever Girl
No matter what you do.
(Oohhh)
You're my Forever Girl
And I believe in you [x3]