Because of Them: Heartfelt Romance
Page 13
It’s here, in the checkout line at Costco, of all places, that I find out the real reason Bram hasn’t called me. I’m not proud of it, but in a moment of weakness this morning, I set my phone to send me a Google alert when a news item pops up that mentions Bram or BGC Industries. Now, since I’m fifth in line behind people who must be buying in preparation for the Apocalypse, I pull my phone out from the bottom of my handbag and take a peek. I really wish I hadn’t. My home screen shows me about six items, just daring me to click on them.
Taking a deep breath, I click. Immediately my screen is filled with a photograph of Bram and Kat. The camera caught him in the act of zipping up the back of her dress. I’m so shocked, I drop the phone and it lands in Abbie’s lap. Crap, crap. I’m all thumbs as I try to grab it from her before she sees anything, but I’m too late. I can tell by her voice that she’s as confused as I am.
“What’s Uncle Bram doing with that lady?”
The drive home from Costco is a complete blur. I keep seeing the photograph of Bram and that bitch of a woman, in what was clearly an intimate moment. I do spare a second to wonder why in the world a photographer would be there when he’s undressing her, but with the telephoto lenses they use these days, the man might just as easily have not even been in the room with them. All beside the point. The point is Bram was undressing her. He slept with her last night, just like I was afraid of.
Now that we’re home, I distract the kids by sending them out into the back yard with sugar-free popsicles. I’m not proud of bribing them, but I need to read these damn alerts. From my seat at the breakfast nook, I can see the two of them happily licking away as they sit on the swing.
I blow out a long puff of air and click on the next link. It’s from an online tabloid, ridiculously called 'NYC Fairytales’. It claims to expose the secret love lives of New York's richest and most famous people. The large color photo on their cover shows Bram and the woman I only know as Kat. She’s definitely the woman who barged in on us in the apartment. Apparently, she’s the Morrison heiress, Katrina Rutherford. The picture shows them standing facing each other in a huge room that’s elaborately decorated, holding on to each other for dear life, lips locked. The portion of the picture that shows Kat's left hand has been enlarged to show a huge engagement ring. Yet again, I drop the phone like it’s on fire.
Is it possible? Could Bram have made love to me so passionately and sweetly just the day before he asked Katrina Rutherford to marry him? Part of me screams it’s not true, that the man I’ve come to know isn’t capable of being that much of a dick. But the part of me that’s been hurt so deeply by Mitchell Sanders is louder, and I’m afraid I’ve been right about Bram all along. He’s just a playboy, and a lying asshole one on top of that. I find my phone where it’s landed on the floor, under the table and see the other links, still sitting there, still calling out to me to click and see what other surprises they hold. I desperately want to be strong enough not to look, but I know I’m not, so I might as well get it over with. I have to know how complete Bram's betrayal is. One by one, I read every word of the hurtful articles and my eyes devour each and every picture. I don’t spare myself anything.
Thirty excruciatingly heart-wrenching minutes later, I look up as two sticky twins come in through the back door. Like a robot, I take them to the sink and wash their little hands and mouths, smoothing their sweaty brows with a cool cloth. The summer's day is quickly heating up into what is supposed to be one of the hottest days of the year. While I fix them a light lunch of cold ham and cheese on crackers, the pictures I had forced myself to look at earlier keep swimming in front of my eyes. Several of the tabloids had featured the same picture as the NYC Fairytales, but there were also pictures of the smiling couple greeting guests together at the front door of Morrison Mansion. Thanks to the articles, I now know that Kat’s home is the most expensive house on the Upper East Side. Which explains the luxuriant dining room where Bram is shown sitting proudly at the head of Katrina's table. They look like a couple in love.
By far, though, the picture that haunts me the most is in the last link, which took me to a page aptly called ‘The Rattle-Tattle’. Its name suggests it’s not known for accurate reporting, but then, the picture speaks for itself. It’s a larger version of the first picture I saw, the one where Bram is either zipping or unzipping Kat’s dress. In the first picture, the background had been cut out of the frame. This one, though, clearly shows that they’re in Kat’s bedroom. Her vanity table is there, full of what are no doubt expensive pots of make-up and perfumes. On the back of a chair, a silky bright red sexy teddy is carelessly draped. I wonder if Bram helped her out of that lingerie with as much care as he’s using on the zipper of that dress. The intimacy on full display makes me sick.
It’s all I can think about, Bram helping another woman to dress. Or undress. Like a carousel of sick slides, that picture alternates in my brain with the one where they’re kissing and her hand with its huge engagement ring is splayed across his back. Is he really going to marry her? This whole time I’ve been crying because I’m hurt that I’m not enough for Bram, but I had somehow managed to console myself with the fact that he isn’t a one-woman man. But really, it’s that he doesn’t want just me.
I’m devastated and want nothing more than to go cry it out in private, but the twins need me. Thankfully, the twins easily go down for their nap. I leave them sound asleep in their new bedroom and make my way back downstairs. The first thing I need to do is turn off that damned alert.
Just as I reach the bottom of the stairs, though, my doorbell rings. From where I’m standing, I can see outside through the fan-shaped window in the top portion of the door. I know that brown head full of chocolate brown hair scraped up into a messy man bun, and my heart falls into my stomach with a thud.
25
Bram
When I get home from Kat’s I’m surprised to open the door to a silent, dark apartment. All the way home I’ve been playing this scenario in my head. I get home and I’m greeted at the door by Tessa with a kiss. The kids are asleep in their beds, and Tessa and I go to my room where we have more of the best sex we’ve ever had. Then I tell her how I feel, that I love her and the kids, and I want to be a family. In this scenario, Tessa loves me back, and together we plan our future together. The cherry on top is when I tell her that I’ve solved our problem about where to live, so the last obstacle is out of the way and we can just concentrate on our happy family. Nowhere in my imagination did I come home to a dark, forbidding apartment.
I guess she’s still a little pissed off at me. I’m disappointed, for sure, but there’s nothing I can do short of knocking on her door and waking her up.
I really want to see her, to hold her and show her how much I’ve come to care about her. The excitement and anticipation of a life with Tessa and the kids is too strong to ignore. I walk quietly past the twins’ room and stop in front of her bedroom door, but there’s something nagging at me.
Something’s off.
That’s when it hits me. The mermaid night light in the twins’ room. It’s not on. The twins always sleep with that light on, because of the nightmares they’ve been having ever since their parents died. Maybe they’re just in Tessa’s room with her. Yeah, that’s got to be it.
I knock softly and wait, but there’s no response. I knock again and listen carefully for any sounds, but it’s quiet. Too damn quiet. Completely worried now, I throw the door open and switch on the light, hoping like hell a ticked off Tessa will sit up in bed and cuss me out for it, but the bed is just as empty as the rest of the house.
I realize now how much I’ve gotten used to the sounds of other people in my home. The background noises of daily life, like toilets flushing, water running, little feet scampering, laughter, voices; it’s all become something my ears expect and want to hear. It makes the stillness now that much more eerie. The only sound I hear is the central air kicking on in an attempt to fight the heat of a New York summer’s night.
They’re gone.
My heart feels like it’s going to jump its way right out of my chest. I wander aimlessly into my office, trying to think back to this morning at breakfast. Tessa had wanted to take the kids to the library today, and I told her I had to work and would also be gone tonight. I know she was upset, but why would that have caused her to take the kids and run?
A thought strikes me like a bolt of lightning. Surely, she doesn't think there's anything between me and Kat. We never really talked about her after she showed up here, but Tessa’s been fine, so I didn’t think it was a problem. Thinking about it now, though, I remember that Kat made a point of talking about tonight’s dinner party in front of Tessa. Ah shit. Tessa must have thought I skipped out on her tonight so I could be with Kat. I mean, I did, but not like she’s probably thinking. I should have just told her about it. Fuck.
In a real panic now, I search frantically for the paper the nanny gave me when she left, the one with her cousin’s phone number on it. I don’t even care that it’s past everyone’s definition of a decent hour to call and I punch in the numbers so crazily that I end up having to start over several times to get it right.
"Och, who’s wakin' me from my beauty sleep?" A very grumpy and sleepy-sounding Scotswoman finally answers.
"I'm sorry to wake you, Mrs. MacThomas. Have you heard from Tessa? When was the last time you spoke with her? Are the children with you?" I know I sound like a lunatic, but I really don’t care.
"What? You’ve gone and lost the lass and wee bairns?"
Shit. They’re not with her then. I really want to just hang up and go searching, but the realization that I don’t have the first clue where to look stops me. With no other option, I tell Mrs. MacThomas about the last few days. The only thing I leave out is the details of the time Tessa and I spent making love. I think the smart old lady gets the drift, though. She stated what should’ve been obvious to me and would’ve been if I’d been thinking straight.
“She’s taken the bairns home. To Oklahoma City. Where else would she have to go?”
Nowhere. Of course. I’m an idiot. I should’ve thought of that.
Right. Well, there’s nothing to do but go after her. I should call her. But I’m not sure what I’d say. The apology I owe her will sound better in person. And I’m not going to let the first time I tell her I love her be over the phone. Okay then, there’s nothing else for me to do but what Tessa’s wanted me to do all along. I’m going to Oklahoma City. I look down at the phone, ready to connect with Andrew to get the jet ready and notice I’ve still got Mrs. MacThomas hanging on. I make a split-second decision and ask her to come along.
“Will you come to Oklahoma City with me? I’ve got to get her back. I’m leaving tonight. Are you with me?” I’m going with or without her, but having her there might help my case, and the kids might need her. The kind old lady agrees that she should go, and I tell her I’ll pick her up in an hour. Then, I rush around packing, and issuing instructions to my assistant. In what is record time, even for me, I’m with the nanny on the plane headed to Will Rogers Airport.
I toyed with the idea of calling Tessa and letting her know we’re on our way but decided against it. For one thing, it’s late at night and I don’t want to disturb the kids. For another, there’s the element of surprise that hopefully will work in my favor. And I sure don’t want to give her the chance to tell me not to come. I have to. I have to do what I should’ve done earlier and just told her everything. So, no, I won’t call. I’ll go to the hotel, get some sleep, and go see Tessa in the morning.
I hope like hell I’m doing the right thing and haven’t already fucked up the best thing that ever happened to me.
26
Tessa
Oh my god, it’s Bram.
I can’t help but do a quick inspection of how I look. In deference to the heat, I’m wearing a white cotton sundress and as usual, my feet are bare. Katrina Rutherford would never get caught looking like this, I look like an orphan. That thought pisses me off. I am an orphan, and I’m not ashamed of it. It’s about time I stop fantasizing about fitting into Bram’s world and get comfortable back in my own.
Still full of righteous anger, the tears that have been falling on and off since I first saw those damn pictures run down my cheeks once again. I’m an emotional wreck and I’m not ready to face Bramble Carter yet, but since he’s ringing the doorbell for the third time, it’s becoming obvious I’m going to have to make him go away, not least of all because he’s going to wake the twins.
I take a steadying breath and throw open the door.
"Tessa."
Just hearing him say my name like that makes me want to punch him. How dare he come here and say my name in that tone of voice? He sounds like a man dying of thirst begging for water. He has no right to sound like he needs me. As always, when I’m angry, I cry. Since I was already crying because I’m sad, I’ve got to look completely miserable, which ticks me off and makes me cry even more.
“My God, are you all right? What’s happened? Are the kids okay?”
Oh sure, now he’s worried about me and the kids, after he’s gone off with his lover and thrown a party and got engaged. The nerve of the lying bastard.
“You just stop right there, Bramble Carter. Don’t take another step.” I manage to strangle out the words in between sobs. He’s towering over me in the doorway, reaching for me. If he touches me I’ll lose it, I really will. I do the only thing I can do and push his hands away, and try to shut the front door on him, but his whole huge body is in the way.
He drops his arms and doesn’t try to touch me again, but he doesn’t budge even a little bit, so shutting the door is impossible. He actually looks confused. How the hell can he be confused?
“Please, Tessa, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“I can read, that’s what’s happened. Stay here. If you come one step further into my house I swear on my parent’s grave, I will scream bloody murder, wake the kids, and call the cops.”
I’m upset by the look of pain that crosses his face, but he finally backs up and I take great satisfaction from shutting the door in his face. I can see him peeking through the fan window in the door, though, so I scurry around the house trying to remember where I left my phone. Think, Tessa. You don’t need your phone. In a fit of pure self-torture, earlier I’d gone to my computer and pulled up the offensive tabloid pics online and actually printed some of them out. Then I thought about the kids finding them and threw them in the trash, where they still sit. Grabbing them, I wipe off a bit of coffee grounds that tried to cling to the back side of the pic on the bottom and run back into the living room.
I throw open the front door and let the papers fall at Bram’s feet. Defiantly, I look up at him and dare him with my eyes to try to explain the damaging photos away. The damn bastard just looks even more confused and tries to reach out to touch me again.
“Leave me alone, Bram. I can’t believe you have the nerve to show up here after what you’ve done. My lawyer will be in touch, but until things get sorted out, leave me and the children alone. I don’t need you and the twins are better off without you.” Somewhere in the middle of my speech I begin to feel a strange calm take over me. The tears are still falling, but I don’t feel the need to lash out in anger anymore. I’ve just reminded myself that the twins are the most important thing here, not my hurt feelings. I’ll survive another broken heart, but I’ll be damned if I let this man break their hearts. Bram is staring stupidly down at the pictures. Staring back at him is a picture of a laughing Katrina, perched on the edge of Bram’s chair so
that she’s almost in his lap. Her arm is draped across his shoulders as Bram takes a drink of what looks like a tumbler of whiskey.
I shut the door firmly and deliberately this time, glad to be able to shut out the sight of the pain and confusion I swear I can see on his face. He doesn’t have any right to be hurt, this is all his fault. Suddenly I don’t even have the energy to stand. Leaning with my back against the front door, I slowly sink to the floor and sit with my head in my hands. I can hear him still out there, trying to reason with me to open the door and talk to him, but I’m done. I guess he thought he could do whatever he wants in New York and I’d never know. Well, asshole, the world is a lot smaller place these days. Twisting the knife in my heart some more, earlier I’d done an internet search on Katrina Rutherford. She’s an Instagram influencer apparently, and her every move is lapped up by a monstrously large group of followers. Well, Kat didn’t disappoint them today. Among an assortment of pictures from last night that echo everything I’d already seen was a close up of the ring and an announcement about their engagement. I almost broke my phone throwing it across the room.
Listening for noise outside again, I hear a car door shut. I crawl over to the living room window and peek out. Yes, he’s climbing into what looks like a brand-new Ford truck, a big bright red one with chrome shining all over the place. This man can’t do anything like a regular person. I bet he just flew into town and bought a brand-new shiny truck, just like that. Proving yet again, that he and I live in different worlds. Well, at least he’s leaving. An old expression of my mom’s pops into my head from out of nowhere. Good riddance to bad rubbish.