Legally Yours (Spitfire Book 1)

by Nicole French

  “Well, what’s she like?” I asked, trying to mask the pain I felt with an upbeat tone. “What’s her name?”

  “Well,” said Bubbe, clearly delighted to be the first to impart the news. “She’s a little thing like us. Good thing, since my Daniel’s no giant. She’s pretty, a bit young for him, but not too flashy. She’s from Queens originally, and half-Jewish, she said, on her mother’s side. I know her grandmother, Rachel Kremen, because we used to go to the same temple when we were girls. Good family, although they’re reform, you know—”

  “Bubbe,” I interrupted somewhat impatiently. “What was her name?”

  “Oh, yes, it was…ah…Katie…Katie Corleone. Her father’s Italian, of course, but she is half-Jewish.”

  “Yes, you already said that, Bubbe.” I was already pulling my computer off my desk and opening up Facebook. The name Katie Corleone sounded kind of familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Bubbe continued to describe the details of her face, her hair, her clothes, and any other elements of her general personality she could come up with while I typed in the name and location and perused the list of faces that came up. There were a few Katie Corleones in Brooklyn, but none that looked like the person Bubbe was describing to me, and none that looked familiar.

  After a few more minutes, I closer my browser and shut my laptop.

  “You don’t say,” I murmured as Bubbe recounted the latest gossip from that week’s Canasta game. I glanced at the clock. It was now close to ten. I desperately wanted to call my dad again, but I didn’t want to interrupt his first legitimate romance in almost twenty years. Poor Dad; all I’d ever wanted for him was someone who would really love him for the kind, caring person I knew him to be.

  “All right, bubbela,” Bubbe said. “I have to get sleep. I’ll tell Daniel you called when he comes back.”

  “Sure thing, Bubbe. Give Dad my love, and you too.”

  “My love to you.”

  I hung up the phone and tapped at my desk for a few more seconds. A date. Really? It was hard to wrap my head around, and I still couldn’t help but feel the sting of being left out of the conversation.

  ~

  Chapter 26

  I was waiting in the small lobby of my building when the increasingly familiar Mercedes pulled up to the curb outside.

  “Dang, that is a nice car!”

  Ray, one of the other denizens leaving the building, ogled the black behemoth with a whistle. I shook my head and followed him out.

  “How are you this evening, Ms. Crosby?” asked David as he opened the back door for me.

  The students watched openly as I quickly approached the kind driver. I wanted to get in and go before I attracted any more unwelcome attention from my classmates. Ray was in one of my classes—I knew I’d be getting an earful on Monday.

  “Fine, thank, David,” I replied. “You?”

  “Just swell, thank you,” he said with a brief nod.

  I slid inside the plush interior, where I found Brandon looking disappointedly at my coat.

  “I thought you were going to dress up!” he complained, reaching out to touch the plain, heather gray lines of my wool coat.

  The car started to move, and I fastened my seatbelt before answering him. I tip the toe of my black Manolos at him, also pointing to the sheer black hose I had one.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I did. And you’ll like it, I promise. But if I wore this dress in this weather without a coat, I’d probably freeze to death.”

  It had snowed yet again that week, but thankfully wasn’t in the forecast for tonight. Boston was still covered in white, but it was about this time of year that the fantasy of it all became more onerous than fun. I didn’t think my Manolos could take another schlep through snowdrift.

  “Well, this is for you.”

  “Brandon!”

  I started to protest what was probably another needlessly expensive gift before I saw that all he held out to me was a single red rose, probably the kind he could buy at a newsstand. It was wrapped with a bit of cellophane and garnished with Queen Anne’s Lace. Gingerly, I took it from his fingers and held it to my nose, inhaling its faint, sweet scent.

  “It’s perfect,” I murmured, charmed by the simple token. I twiddled the soft petals around my face and look at Brandon. “Thank you.”

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

  He smiled shyly in brief acknowledgment of my thanks, but I was too busy taking in his own dapper 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 leather wingtips shoes that were crossed casually over each other. It wasn’t much different from his normal business wear except for the lack of color. The contrast of the black with the mop of blond that he’d allowed to go unusually wavy made him look even more like a lion than usual. He looked positively edible.

  His smile disappeared as he watched the trajectory of the rosebud as it fluttered over my cheeks and hovered over my lips. His pupils dilated slightly, and he continued to stare at my mouth as he absently reached to unbuckle his seatbelt in order to slide closer to where I sat.

  “Come here,” Brandon commanded, dipping his head to nuzzling into the collar of my coat to access the soft skin at my nape. “God, you smell good. I missed you this week, you know that?”

  His nose trailed up my neck and around my jaw while a big hand reached around to thread its fingers into the waves that hung loose over my shoulders. He pulled my face toward his and fit his mouth securely on mine, begging entrance with his tongue as he worked to taste as much of me as he could. I couldn’t help but respond in kind. He savored my lips, suckling at each, and nipping the bottom lip one, two, three time before he finally released me. It took me as many seconds to catch my breath. His hand stayed entangled in my hair at the base of my neck while he stared, slowly pushing air out of his pursed lips.

  “Okay, I have to stop,” he said. “Otherwise I’m not going to be able to, and that would 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 released me, slid back to his own seat, but still kept one hand lingering on my bared knee.

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

  I giggled as he dug a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and started blotted his mouth furiously. I opened my own clutch, a vintage beaded piece I’d found with Jane 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. It wasn’t in my normal style wheelhouse, but it definitely fit with my look that night. When I finished, I shut the purse and looked up to find Brandon staring at me, 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,” he said, shaking his head. Then he pushing out another slow, labored breath as he rubbed a large hand over his face. “It’s going to be a long night, Red. A long damn night.”

  ~

  The car pulled to a stop outside a building similar to many of the ones adorning the Harvard campus, with their brick exteriors and white ionic columns. Although there was little in the way of signage out front, I recognized it instantly, as any classically trained musician would.

  “You got us symphony tickets?!” I pressed my hands against the cold glass of 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 found time to see 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. It was also incredibly thoughtful, given my background.

  “I t
hought you might like it. I know absolutely 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 his door to let him out, Brandon came around to open mine. I stepped out of the car and threw my hands around his neck, much to his surprise.

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

  He wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me off my feet so he could nuzzle into my neck again. The rasp of his five-o’clock shadow scraped deliciously against the sensitive skin under my ear.

  “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 then we’ll miss the whole thing.” He set me gently back down on the ground, and offered the crook of his arm. “So, shall we?”

  We followed the scattered groups people making their way into the historic building, funneling through the brass doors into a small lobby. 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 and shrugged. He didn’t; I’d have to send a note of thanks to his assistant at some point. As we made our way to the coat check, I continued to babble giddily about the performance.

  “He’s probably the best pianist in the world right now,” I told him as I let Brandon help 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 at me. His mouth actually hung slightly ajar.

  I blushed and walked back to where he stood, watching his gaze follow my form without blinking the entire way.

  “Everything all right?” I asked softly. I gently removed the coats from his hands and gave it to the coat check attendant, who handed me a chip to tuck into my purse with a knowing smirk. I gave him a small smile and turned back to Brandon.

  “Damn, Red,” he 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 started to blush. I looked down instead, surveying the outfit that Jane and I had come up with.

  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. When I did invest in new clothes, I bought pieces I thought would last a long time and go with everything. It made for a consistent style that I could count on, but the simple black and neutral separates the made up the majority of my wardrobe didn’t exactly scream “special occasion.”

  This dress, however, definitely did. After dragging me through about five overpriced shops on Newberry Street, Jane had ended up taking me through a few vintage boutiques around Porter Square until we landed in a tiny shop that sold a mix of vintage and vintage-inspired clothes. The owner had taken one look at me and pulled the dress I was now wearing. It was dark red, crushed velvet—a nineteen-thirties-inspired, bias-cut frock hemmed just below my knees. The modest neckline draped Grecian style across my collarbone, and then dropped directly to my waist from the shoulder, as it was completely backless. Because of the back (or lack thereof), I wore sheer black, thigh-high stockings (instead of tights) to match the charmeuse lining of the dress. 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 despite the fact that this was exactly the reaction I was hoping for. I felt like a million dollars.

  He blinked, finally pulling his stare up to meet mine. He shook his head again.

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

  After looking at our tickets, the ushers directed us up two flights of stairs. Brandon led me down a narrow hallway to a door that opened onto a shallow balcony that wound all the way around the perimeter of 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 understandings of acoustics in mind, and the shallow balconies prevented the sound from being absorbed and muffled by too many bodies and plush surroundings.

  Brandon guided me down to a pair of empty seats in the first row of the corner balcony that looked almost directly over the orchestra, who were now starting the process of taking their seats and tuning their instruments. From where we sat, I could see everything: the musicians’ facial expressions as they closed their eyes and listened, the glossy texture of the hardwood floor beneath them, the shadows cast by the massive chandeliers hanging above us. The dissident notes of various instruments were clear and unhindered by the audience’s chatter.

  We had the best seats in the house.

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

  “Skylar, hasn’t it occurred to you by at this point that I might like the nice things in life too?” he chaffed as he slung his arm around the back of my seat, giving his fingers room to toy with my bare shoulder blades. “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.”

  I blushed. There was that word again: “girlfriend.” He’d used it a few times, but it was when we were in the middle of a fight, and at the end of our first official date. I’d assumed it was a hypothetical statement, but maybe not. I was more surprised, however, by how I wanted the latter to be the case. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m being a bit self-absorbed, aren’t I?”

  Brandon just winked and squeezed my shoulder, clearly happy he’d won the argument. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy the show, all right?”

  I grinned. The lights in the giant hall dimmed, and the audience began to clap as the conductor walked onto the stage and took a bow. He was followed by Chang, the pianist, for whom the applause grew even louder.

  “It’s a performance, just so you know,” 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, though, as he spent most of the time watching the musicians below with an obvious fascination that couldn’t be faked. He leaned over multiple times to ask me what this and that instrument was, and was particularly curious about what the conductor did. At the end of the final movement, when conductor turned to the audience, Brandon was among the first to jump out of his seat, clapping furiously, and whistling as various musicians stepped forward to take their bows.

  “That was something else,” he kept saying as we filed toward the lobby with the rest of the patrons. “Really amazing.”

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

  Brandon nodded, acknowledging the truth in the statement. “Oh, they do,” he said. “But I haven’t actually been since I was a lot younger. I didn’t know anything about it, and it was incredibl
y 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, reaching down to squeeze his hand. I’d never dated anyone who actually enjoyed going to the symphony with me; most guys acted like it was tantamount to being water-boarded. I was even more flattered now that he’d gone out of his way to take me here, considering he obviously had thought he’d be bored to tears.

  It became just how valued a donor he was when, as we reentered the lobby, we were almost immediately accosted by various people associated with the orchestra, some of whom I gathered were either trustees or involved with the marketing. All of them seemed delighted that he’d actually made an appearance to the venue; it appeared this really was one of the first times he’d ever come. To all of them, Brandon kindly introduced me as his date, and just as kindly dismissed their attentions as we slowly made our way to collect our coats.

  “Do you have the token for the coat check?” he asked once we were closer to the lobby entrance.

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

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, and leaned in to give me a quick kiss on the cheek before he turned to join the small line at the coat check.

  “Skylar?”

  I turned around to see a familiar face in the crowds making its way toward me. 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?”