Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  “Well, I had to at least get you flowers. Or, a flower.”

  He smiled shyly in acknowledgment, but I was too distracted by his appearance to care. He wore all black underneath his wool overcoat: a black three-piece suit fitted with a starched black shirt and tie underneath and polished, black wingtip shoes. It wasn’t much different from his normal business wear except for the lack of color, which contrasted with the mop of blond that he’d allowed to go unusually wavy to make him look even more like a lion than usual. He looked positively edible.

  His smile disappeared as he watched the trajectory of the rosebud over my cheeks and lips. His pupils dilated slightly, and he continued to stare at my mouth as he absently unbuckled his seatbelt and slid closer.

  “Come here,” Brandon commanded, nuzzling under my collar to access my neck. “God, you smell good. I missed you this week, you know that?”

  His nose trailed around my jaw while his big hand threaded its fingers through my hair. He pulled my face to his and fitted his mouth to mine, begging to taste as much as he could, nipping my bottom lip a few times before pulling back and letting me catch my breath.

  “Okay, I have to stop,” Brandon said. “Otherwise I’ll embarrass the hell out of David. He already has to wear headphones.” He shook his head. “Is it possible that you became even more alluring while I was gone?”

  He dove in for another quick peck, then slid back to his seat, but kept one hand on my knee.

  “Say something,” Brandon said. “Preferably something unsexy, if that’s even possible for you. Shit, do I have lipstick on my face?”

  I giggled as he dug out a handkerchief and started blotted his mouth furiously. I opened my clutch, a vintage beaded piece I’d found that morning, and pulled out my hand mirror and lipstick to reline my lips with the dark-red color Jane had also chosen for me. When I finished, I looked up to find Brandon staring again, desire etched so fiercely into his handsome features that a small line had appeared between his brows.

  I raised mine, amused. “You all right over there?”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” Brandon said. He shook his head and muttered something about “the goddamn tickets.” Then he pushed out another slow, labored breath as he rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s going to be a long night, Red. A long damn night.”

  The car stopped outside a building similar to many of the ones on the Harvard campus, with their brick exteriors and white ionic columns. I recognized it instantly.

  “You got us symphony tickets?!” I pressed my hands against the window, eager as a schoolchild.

  I had regularly scrounged student tickets to the New York Philharmonic until I graduated from NYU, but I had only seen the Boston Symphony play a few times in the nearly three years I had been here. I didn’t even care what they were playing; this was a treat.

  “I thought you might like it. I know nothing about classical music, Red, but Margie said this was supposed to be a good performance. I’m trusting you to educate me.”

  After David opened the door to let him out, Brandon came around to open mine. I stepped out and immediately threw my hands around his neck.

  “I love it,” I whispered into his ear. “Thank you so much.”

  Brandon wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me off my feet so he could nuzzle my neck again. His five-o’clock shadow scraped deliciously against the sensitive skin.

  “Glad you like it, gorgeous.” His low voice vibrated with pleasure. “I’d kiss you, but I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to stop this time, and we’d miss the whole thing.” He set me gently down and offered the crook of his arm. “So, shall we?”

  We followed the scattered groups funneling through the brass doors. I accepted a program from one of the ticket agents and gaped at the cover.

  “Oh my God, we’re seeing Caleb Chung?” I yelped, tugging on Brandon’s coat sleeve. “Do you know who that is?”

  Brandon grinned. I was going to have to send a note of thanks to his assistant. As we made our way to the coat check, I continued to babble about the performance.

  “He’s probably the best pianist in the world right now,” I said as Brandon helped me out of my coat. “Total prodigy—apparently he started playing at two or something crazy like that. Seriously, people call him the next Glenn Gould. Damn, and he’s playing Beethoven’s Concerto Number Four? Do you have any idea how amazing this is going to be? Brandon?”

  After a few more seconds without a response, I turned around to find Brandon standing in front of the coat-check box, still clutching both our coats while he gaped. His mouth actually hung slightly ajar.

  I blushed. He didn’t blink.

  “Everything all right there, Mr. Sterling?” I asked.

  I took the coats and gave them to the attendant, who handed me a chip with a knowing smirk.

  “Christ, Red,” Brandon said. “You weren’t kidding about the dress.”

  There was such an intense mix of awe and naked lust on Brandon’s face that I immediately blushed again. I looked down, surveying the outfit that Jane and I had found.

  I couldn’t have told you at the time why I had been so intent on finding something special. I wasn’t a huge shopper, although I did like fashion. While living in Paris, I had come to appreciate the power of the classic lines and simple patterns that epitomized French style. It made for a consistent style that I could count on, but the simple black and neutral separates that made up the majority of my wardrobe didn’t exactly scream “special occasion.”

  This dress, however, definitely did. It was dark-red crushed velvet—a nineteen-thirties-inspired, bias-cut frock hemmed just below my knees. The modest neckline draped Grecian style over my collarbone and then disappeared into thin straps that dropped directly to my waist from the shoulder, making the dress completely backless. Because of the back (or lack thereof), I wore sheer black, thigh-high stockings (instead of tights) to match the charmeuse lining. My hair was pinned on one side and spiraled down my back in generous barrel curls. The deep-red lipstick Jane had chosen for me matched the dress—and my coloring—perfectly.

  Maybe I didn’t know at the time why I needed such a special dress, but I knew now. The look on Brandon’s face told me everything.

  “Brandon?” I smiled, shy even though this was exactly the reaction I’d hoped for.

  Brandon blinked, finally able to move. He shook his head again.

  “You,” he said as he stroked my bare back, “are going to kill me. Come on, let’s find our seats before I combust right here in the lobby.”

  Brandon led me to our seats in the long, narrow auditorium. I had learned about it in school—the massive ceilings and slightly curved walls of the stage were some of the first built with modern acoustics in mind, and the shallow balconies prevented the sound from being muffled by too many bodies.

  Brandon guided me to the first row of the corner balcony, which looked almost directly over the orchestra, now starting the process of tuning their instruments. I could see everything: the musicians’ expressions as they closed their eyes and listened, the glossy hardwood floor beneath them, the shadows cast by the massive chandeliers above us. The dissident notes of the instruments were unhindered by the audience’s chatter.

  We had the best seats in the house.

  I turned to Brandon. “This is too much. Way too much. I would have been impressed sitting in the back row.”

  “Skylar, hasn’t it occurred to you by this point that I might like the nicer things in life too?” Brandon slung his arm around the back of my seat, giving his fingers room to play over my bare shoulder. “I’m not about to squash myself into the cheap seats just because my girlfriend’s the one person on the planet who hates money.”

  There was that word again: “girlfriend.” He’d used it a few times now. I’d assumed it was a hypothetical statement, but maybe not. I was more surprised, however, by how much I wanted the latter to be the case.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m bein
g a bit self-absorbed, aren’t I?”

  Brandon winked and squeezed my shoulder, clearly happy he’d won the argument. “Just enjoy the show, all right?”

  The lights in the giant hall dimmed, and the audience clapped as the conductor walked onto the stage and took a bow. He was followed by Chung, the pianist, for whom the applause grew even louder.

  “It’s a performance, FYI,” I said, leaning into Brandon’s ear. “No one calls it a show.”

  That earned me a massive eye roll. “I may have the money, Red, but you’re the snob.”

  The performance was amazing, of course. I spent most of it with my eyes closed, which sort of defeated the purpose of the box seats. Brandon seemed more into it than I would have expected, watching the musicians with an obvious fascination that couldn’t be faked. He asked me multiple times what this and that instrument was, and was particularly curious about the conductor. At the end of the final movement, when the conductor turned to the audience, Brandon was among the first to jump out of his seat, clapping furiously and whistling.

  “That was something else,” he kept saying as we filed back to the lobby. “Really amazing.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve never been before,” I remarked. “You seem like the kind of person they would probably court for donations.”

  “Oh, they do,” Brandon said with a nod. “But I haven’t actually been for several years. I didn’t know anything about it, and it was incredibly slow and depressing music. I give them money because I know things like this are important to a lot of people, but I never really wanted to go again. Idiot.”

  “Well, I’m glad you liked it this time,” I said with a grin as I squeezed his hand.

  I’d never dated anyone who enjoyed going to the symphony with me; most guys acted like it was tantamount to being water-boarded. I was even more flattered now, knowing that Brandon had gone out of his way to take me here, considering he obviously had thought he’d be bored to tears.

  It became clear just how valued a donor he was when, as we reentered the lobby, we were almost immediately accosted by people associated with the orchestra, either trustees or people involved with the marketing, all of them thrilled he’d made an appearance. To everyone, Brandon kindly introduced me as his date and just as kindly dismissed their attention as we slowly made our way to collect our coats.

  “Do you have the token?” he asked once we were closer.

  I fished it out of my purse. “Here.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he said and gave me a quick kiss before he joined the line.

  “Skylar?”

  I turned around to see a familiar face. My stomach dropped. Shit.

  “Hey, Jared,” I greeted him, allowing him to take my hands and give me a brief kiss on the cheek.

  “Wow,” he said, looking me over frankly. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “So do you.”

  Jared looked his usual handsome self, if slightly more dressed up in khaki slacks, a light-pink dress shirt, and a navy sport coat. His hair was combed neatly to the side. He looked like a Brooks Brothers advertisement.

  “So, what are you doing here tonight?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you here before. My family has season tickets, so I come all the time. Are you interested in classical music?”

  “She’s actually an amazing pianist.”

  Brandon’s deep voice boomed behind me, and a hand slipped around my waist. Jared’s eyes zeroed in on the hand and back up to Brandon. His expression was not particularly friendly.

  “Jared Rounsaville,” he said as he offered a stiff handshake. “And you are?”

  “Brandon Sterling,” Brandon responded casually, returning the gesture without removing his other hand from my waist.

  My gaze bounced nervously between them.

  Jared’s mouth dropped slightly before he recovered. “As in, Sterling Grove?”

  “And Ventures,” Brandon replied with a slight smirk. I nudged his ankle with my foot, but he didn’t alter his expression. “How do you know Skylar?”

  “Oh, we’ve gone out a few times. We know each other from school. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

  I frowned. “Brandon and I haven’t known each other very long, Jared.”

  “Didn’t you intern at his firm?”

  I could feel the flush bloom up my neck at the question. These sorts of connections were always going to be made by people; I just wasn’t ready for it to happen quite yet. Especially by a guy I’d gone out with once.

  “I don’t have much to do with interns,” Brandon stepped in gracefully. He released my waist and captured my hand instead, squeezing it like he somehow knew what I was thinking. “We didn’t meet until after she had left.” He smiled down at me. “Lucky me.”

  “Lucky you,” Jared replied blandly. He cleared his throat, brown eyes sharp and unforgiving. “Well. I guess I’d better be going. I’ll see you, Skylar.”

  “See you, Jared,” I replied weakly, giving a pathetic wave as he turned away.

  “I’ll have to find out for what dates the Rounsavilles’ tickets are,” Brandon remarked dryly as he watched Jared and his family leave. “Otherwise we are never coming here again.”

  I sighed, although not without relief. If that meant we were less likely to run into Jared again, I wasn’t going to fight it. Brandon looked at me to confirm, but his wry expression quickly morphed into one of overt lust as his eyes traced the curves of my body outlined in the clingy velvet. His gaze was so explicit that I fought the urge to yank my coat away from him and throw it over my head.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, beautiful,” Brandon said as he draped my coat over my shoulders and then put on his own. “If you’re not making me want to have my way with you in front of my driver, you’re making me want to punch the lights out of all the other assholes who want you too.”

  “You can’t blame me when you asked for the damn thing in the first place. I thought you liked my dress.”

  Brandon only perused my body again, making me feel naked even with the added layer of my overcoat. “Nope. It’s a lost cause.” He grabbed my hand. “Come on, Red. Let’s go back to the house before I get arrested for public indecency.”

  27

  We pulled up to the house on Beacon Street sometime past eleven after lingering over an amazing dinner at the new French-American restaurant a few blocks from Symphony Hall. I was stuffed. It had been an incredible evening, and I was more than ready to continue it somewhere private. If the constant looks and increasingly suggestive pinches were any indication, so was Brandon.

  “Am I already a foregone conclusion?” I teased as we stepped out of the car.

  Brandon led me up the stone steps of the house and smirked as he took out his keys.

  “Well, I could have tried to angle my way up to your place for a nightcap. Could we actually fit into that bed of yours?”

  I giggled as I followed him inside. His long legs would probably hang about six inches off the end of my small double mattress.

  “Where’s Ana tonight?” I asked over my shoulder as Brandon helped remove my coat.

  “I told her to take the night off.” Brandon traced his fingertips down my bare skin, down to the fabric that fell just below the small of my back. I hummed in response and arched slightly into his touch.

  The living room, with its bright fire shining a warm light over the plush white interior, looked even more inviting than I remembered. On a wine-addled whim, I slipped off my shoes and padded in my stockinged feet to the center of the room, in front of the couch, where I sank onto the floor and lay flat to feel the buttery softness of the sheepskin rug on my back.

  “Mmmm,” I purred, twisting like a cat on warm concrete. “I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw this rug.”

  There was no immediate response, so I tipped my head up to find Brandon leaning against one of the big wood beam foundations that guarded the entrance of the room, rubbing his chin meditatively a
s he stared down at me. I pressed my lips together in a sly smile.

  “Cat got your tongue?” I asked, propping myself up on my elbows.

  He opened and closed his mouth a few times as if he couldn’t quite get out what he wanted to say. I waited patiently, my sense of mischief fading as I watched him struggle to find the correct words for…whatever was on his mind.

  “You just…in the firelight,” he spoke quietly at last. “In that dress, with your hair all glowing all around you. You look like some kind of…I don’t know…primeval fire goddess.” He looked up, tapping his chin thoughtfully with one finger. “Wasn’t Hestia the Greek goddess of fire? Of hearth and home, right?” His glance flickered to the crackling hearth and then back to me, and he smiled. “God, I’m drunk. But it fits.”

  “If you say so,” I said as I stretched my arms over my head, eager to unwind after hours of sitting. “But I think Hestia was also an incorruptible virgin. I am definitely not.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  Brandon slipped off his shoes, then removed his coat and jacket. His big shoulders rose and fell with each step as he stalked toward me and then gracefully stretched his body alongside mine to lie on his side, head propped up while his other arm slipped comfortably over my waist. His face was now lit by the fire too, which rendered his mussed waves gold, his own primordial halo.

  “So,” he said. “Good Valentine’s Day?”

  I grinned. “The best. Really, Brandon, it was amazing. Thank you so much.”

  He nodded bashfully. “I know, I know. You haven’t stopped thanking me all evening. I’m glad you had a good time, Red. I did too.” His fingers traced absent circles over my stomach. “I wasn’t sure, you know, how it would measure up.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean, measure up?”

  Brandon shrugged, unwilling to meet my eyes. He was suddenly very occupied with smoothing out the wrinkled texture of my dress.