I picked out pretty, floral cotton sundress that was a bit loose-fitting and adjustable around the waist with a string belt. I picked up a brand new pair of white, wedge sandals that were displayed in a row of other pairs of shoes I have never seen before. Brandon must've gone shopping for more clothes for me because they couldn't have been for anyone else—everything fit perfectly.
He was bending over, pouring some citrus-scented bubble bath into the tub that was quickly filling up, when I walked into the light, breezy bathroom that held the same bright, whimsical charm as the bedroom.
"Do you have most of my stuff?" I asked as I set down my clothes on a bright green armchair propped against one corner of the bathroom.
"Yeah, they're in my closet," he answered, his eyes flickering when they followed my hands up to the first clasped button that held the shirt over my breasts. "We can move them whenever you want."
I paused in awkwardly unbuttoning my shirt and raised a brow at him. "Are you going to stand there and watch me undress?"
He set the bottle of bubble bath bottle and straightened, grinning at me. "Actually, I would, if you don't mind too much."
"No way, Jose," I said with a firm shake of my head. "I'm not stripping naked in front of you. I can take it from here. You can wait outside or something."
"You need help getting into the tub," he insisted, coming to me and moving my hands away from the buttons to replace them with his. "Trust me. I've seen a female body before, Charlotte. I won't drop in a dead faint."
I glared at him. "Thanks for the reminder, you rake."
His hazel eyes sparkled with humor as he made quick work of unbuttoning my shirt all the way down. A strip of skin that ran between my breasts to my belly and stopped right above the waistband of my panties was exposed but Brandon made no move to widen it.
"Jealous?" he asked, cocking his head to one side smugly. "Because I'll worship your body if you'll let me, you know? I'm not depriving you of anything you want."
Heat and color most likely suffused my cheeks and I made a face at him. "How about I deprive you of your balls once I've regained my full strength?"
Brandon threw his head back laughing before he picked me up in his arms. I had to clutch the front of the shirt to keep it from falling away and exposing my breasts to him.
"You're really quite ferocious, you know that?" he said as he lifted me over the tub and slowly settled me on my feet. I shivered at the warm, sudsy feel of the water. "Now, once you've got your footing, I'll let you go and turn around so you can fully undress and get under the water."
I had no issues following Brandon's instructions on this. He did more than prove I could trust him to a be a gentleman last night, despite his occasional, flirtatious teasings. No matter the circumstances of our first meeting, I instinctively trusted him now.
Once I was settled under the bubbly water, Brandon left me to my privacy with the promise to come back in half an hour to help me out of the tub. He was right about the bath helping with my sore body. Plus, it allowed me the peace to collect myself after my emotional confession to Brandon earlier about my father and the past I wanted to completely leave behind.
Leave behind for what? This make-believe life you're going to live for a year with the perfect prince and all the luxurious embellishments?
I knew that this strange sense of happiness I felt, despite my battered body, was temporary. So was this comfortable yet confusing friendship I somehow formed in my alliance with Brandon. I also knew I shouldn't get used to any of it but I was a little desperate for this sense of home and security that I couldn't refuse it.
I was nearly asleep when Brandon knocked softly on the door. He was freshly showered, dressed in jeans and a light blue, button-down shirt, his dark, messy hair still damp and combed back.
He offered me a big towel and turned his back while I wrapped it around myself. When I said I was ready, he picked me up and swung me out of the tub, setting me gently on my wet, dripping feet on the thick bath mat.
"I found your toiletries bag," he said, setting down a small, quilted drawstring bag on the vanity counter. "Anything else?"
I shook my head. "I think I've got it. Thank you, Brandon."
Twenty-minutes later, I poked my head out into the bedroom and found him sprawled on his stomach on my bed, playing a loud, arcade game on his cellphone, a bright red first-aid kit sitting next to his propped elbow.
"Brand, can you do me a favor, please?" I asked, stepping out in my sundress and sandals.
He silenced his game and dropped the phone on the bed as he sat up. "Yes, of course. What can I do?"
I handed him a wide-toothed plastic comb. "Can you please run this through my hair just to get the tangles out? I can't reach up high enough to do it comfortably myself."
He patted the space next to him on the bed and I gladly took a seat, turning my back to him so he could have access to my slightly damp hair. I squeezed out as much water from it as I could but since I was air-drying it, I needed the tangles undone at the very least if I had any hope of keeping it manageable with very little work.
We spent maybe ten minutes just sitting there, letting Brandon run the comb gently through my hair, working out the knots and tangles.
"Brand?"
"Yes?"
"We're still getting married on Saturday, right?" I asked as I absently picked at the damp bandages on my palm.
"If that's what you want. If you're certain you can do it."
"I can do it."
"Then we'll get married on Saturday," he said as he swept my hair over to my left shoulder, pressing a kiss on the line of my right one. "We might have to ditch the party early so you're not overtaxed but we'll do it."
I turned around slightly to look at him and found that his face was a only breath away from my own.
I licked my lips and let my eyes flutter close, aware that he was slowly leaning in to kiss me but the buzzer suddenly rang, startling us back into reality.
"That's probably Martin," I said, barely suppressing my groan of disappointment.
"He's still going to be riding up the elevator so we've got some time to change your bandages," he said as he took my hand and gently peeled off the gauze that covered it. There were only two cuts on it, one just at the base of my middle finger and another one on the heel of my palm. There was some dried blood around them and Brandon took out some antiseptic and coated the cuts, rubbing gently to press the medicine in and to also clean the area around them. He rebandaged it quickly and went to work on my knees, doing the same thing.
We could hear Martin hollering around the living room by the time we were done.
"Let's go." Brandon helped me up to my feet and led me out to the hall, bellowing back to his father. "Just a minute, Dad!"
Martin was pacing in front of the fireplace when he saw us walk in. He stopped and took in my appearance, his bright blue eyes flashing with concern.
"Sorry. Brandon was changing my bandages when you arrived," I told him with a smile as the old man walked over to me.
He said nothing as he gently put his arms around me for a loose hug. I glanced at Brandon who was standing back and watching quietly before I patted Martin's back.
"Hey, I'm alright," I told the old man with a chuckle. "You know I'm tougher than I look, Martin."
He pulled away and smiled at me. "I know you are, Charlotte. That was to thank you for everything you did for Anna last night—and because I'm relieved to see that you're doing okay despite what happened."
I beamed and winked at Brandon. "Your son's a good nurse. He makes the best instant chicken cup noodles in the world."
Martin glanced at his son and laughed. "Oh, don't settle for that. He knows his way around the kitchen. He used to be Evelyn's little sous chef."
"Oh, don't worry. He's already making me lasagna for dinner. Do you want to join us?"
Martin shook his head. "Not tonight. You should be resting, not entertaining guests. I just swung by on my way home from
a meeting to make sure you're okay. I was planning to come see you tomorrow with Mattie and Tessa and maybe even Anna if she's up for it."
I smiled broadly and nodded. "Yeah, that would be awesome. I'm hoping I'll be in better shape by tomorrow. I'm sure I could arrange lunch or something like that. You okay with that, Brand?"
He nodded. "We can make it happen. I don't want you expending your energy cooking. I can get Felicity to arrange for some lunch catering. You'll probably have a few more people coming to see you tomorrow."
I wiggled my brows in amusement. "Well, at least I know I'll have a high attendance rate to my funeral when I die if this were a standard to judge it by."
"Charlotte, that's not funny!"
I grimaced at Brandon's sharp tone and exchanged glances with Martin who seemed to share my humor at least.
"Come on, Martin," I said to the old man as I looped my arm around his, smiling conspiratorially at him. "Let's sit out on the balcony where the sun's nice and warm. I want to hear all about how Anna's doing..."
******
"Clyde, I really think you should decide whether you want Benjie or your career to be the love of your life because you only get to pick one, unfortunately. You can have both in your life but one has to be more important than the other or you'll never be able to prioritize."
"If Benjie loves him, shouldn't he understand Clyde's dreams and help him realize them?" Brandon asked, pausing from typing and looking up from my laptop which he balanced between his knees. It was later that evening and we were stretched out on my bed, facing each other with me resting against the headboard and him sitting across from me.
My dress was pulled up to my chest, a towel-wrapped ice pack sitting on my midsection after we realized we were yet to ice it since last night. Brandon draped the wrap over my hips to cover my panties and bare thighs as he played secretary and typed down everything I was dictating to him in my email replies. Some people were able to swing by again this afternoon, after Martin left, but most of them had inquired about my well-being through text (Aimee found my cell at the hotel and gave it to Brandon) and email. Brandon had responded to about a dozen emails already in the last half hour after an amazing lasagna dinner which we finished off with some decadent chocolate mousse. Brandon was a genius chef.
"He has. Benjie has been with Clyde for almost ten years but he's now at a point where he's no longer sure that Clyde even knows he's there since all his attention is on becoming an even more successful sytist," I answered. "You can only take someone for granted for so long, you know?"
Brandon pursed his lips in thought for a moment before shrugging. "I guess you have a point there. Alright. Sent. Moving on..."
He rapped on the keyboard for a few seconds. "It's from a Sally Norman. She says: Charlotte, hi! Do you remember me, silly, shy Sally from second grade?"
Brandon glanced at me with a smirk. "Does she happen to be selling seashells by the seashore too?"
"Read on," I said with a laugh. "I haven't heard from her in ages."
"Okay. Continuing: I heard the craziest news. You're marrying Brandon Maxfield? How did that happen? He's like a super-hot, hunky gazillionaire—," Brandon looked up with a smug look. "I can see she's an extremely perceptive and honest girl and—"
"Brandon!"
"Alright, alright!" He cleared his throat and started reading again. "I was so stunned when I found out because you always despised most rich people. Anyway, I wondered if your lightning-quick wedding is due to any bun already baking in your oven."
I groaned. "Oh, God, Sally. Not you too!"
Brandon looked up with a frown. "Is that what everyone's speculating? That you must be pregnant if you're marrying me this quickly? I actually never thought about that until I heard people mention it."
I gave him a disbelieving look. "Really? Didn't you think it was a little preposterous to get married in two weeks when we've never even been seen together before? You didn't consider the questions people would ask?"
He shrugged. "I normally don't wonder what people think of me. Not because I don't give a damn at all but just because it never comes up. People hardly tell me what they think of me unless it's flattering. Only you and my family and Jake fling my mistakes to my face."
"That explains the size of your ego," I said with a snort. "You don't have enough people telling you the truth when you're being an ass."
"Not that I like to be told that frequently," he replied, narrowing his eyes at me as he reached for my bare foot and tickled my sole lightly. I yelped and kicked him on the arm with little force but he quickly caught my ankle before I could do it again. "Now, now, don't squirm too much, Charlotte or you'll hurt yourself."
I glowered at him. "If only someone could just adhere to the rule that said No Tickling!"
He grinned at me. "Well, then you should stick to the rule that said No Insulting."
"It's not an insult if it's the truth," I muttered under my breath, fully aware that he could still hear me, but he just laughed anyway and continued on reading the email.
"Whatever the reason is, I'm happy for you. I hope it works out. You're such a lucky girl," Brandon read on. "By the way, I don't recall her very well but I'm pretty sure I saw your Mom a week ago. She looked about the same and her name's also Luisa but it's been so many years since I've seen her and—"
Brandon's head came up sharply, a frown on his face. "Where does Sally live?"
"Somewhere in Georgia where I don't intend to ever set foot in if my mother's there," I said with a loud groan, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping my ears would do the same.
I haven't seen or heard from my mother for years and I really didn't care to start now. She ceased to exist for me the morning I woke up to find her gone with all her stuff. She didn't even leave me a damn note but I had no doubt for a second that she was truly and completely gone. My father didn't come home for a couple of days actually. I was home alone, feeding myself soda crackers and milk and still walking to school and back as if everything was normal. I probably stopped being a child at that point in my life.
It's sometimes easy to forget I'm not an orphan when I feel like I've been one for a long time.
"Just reply to her: Thanks for the well wishes, Sally, and no, I'm not pregnant. Please don't mention my mother. Thanks."
Brandon pursed his lips as if deliberating. "Don't you want to at least know—"
"My mother is a closed subject, Brand, okay?" I snapped, instantly regretting my sharp tone. Softly, I added, "She's been a closed subject for years and finding out things about her now does nothing for me. She's not part of my life anymore. What she does or doesn't do has nothing to do with me now."
Brandon set aside the laptop. "It's just that I think—"
"Brandon, please. Just drop it," I pleaded in earnest, moving the ice pack off my abdomen and struggling to sit up. He was instantly there by my side, helping me up.
"I'm sorry, I won't mention her again," he said gently, picking up the ice pack and trying to put it back in place but I shoved it away.
"I don't want any more ice," I said sulkily. "I'm tired. I want to go to sleep."
"We need to ice it a little bit more, Charlotte."
I gave him a full-on glare. "I don't intend to be iced for twenty-some years like Ferdinand Marcos."
Brandon blinked at me a few times before a slow smile stretched across his face. "I never really thought about comparing you to the deceased Philippine dictator. I think they required more than just a little ice to keep him from decomposing all these decades. He's in a glass-topped coffin that acts as a refrigeration unit and he's pumped full of fomaldehyde."
I made a face. "That's creepy."
He laughed and placed the ice pack on my midsection again. I didn't fight him this time. "It's definitely something, but no, we're not doing anything like that."
An hour and another dozen emails later, I yawned out loud and plucked the ice pack off my midsection. It was practically a bag of liquid now.
"I think it's time for bed, baby," Brandon said, switching my laptop to sleep mode and taking the ice pack from me. He sat up straight and slowly lowered my dress back down to cover my hips and thighs before pulling the wrap away. "Where do you want to sleep?"
In your arms, forever.
I mentally kicked myself and gave Brandon a light chuckle. "Here in my room, of course, silly. We agreed to separate bedrooms, remember?"
"We did," he agreed slowly, his expression unreadable. "We agreed about two weeks ago, before a lot of things happened. It's your call."
Brandon should win first runner up to the cryptic award. Seriously.
As much as I itched to know exactly what he meant, I was afraid to ask because I didn't want to embarrass myself if it turned out that I was just being too creative with my interpretations.
"I'll be okay here," I said quietly, looking away. "Thanks for everything, Brand."
His lips pressed together into a tight line as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "Anytime, Charlotte. Goodnight."
He leaned down and pressed a kiss on my forehead and I clenched my fists tight to keep myself from grabbing him and hauling him down on the bed with me.
"Goodnight, Brandon."
He quietly left and I immediately felt the loss.
I tried to shake it away. This was how our arrangement was intended to be—separate rooms and separate lives as much as possible.
You got too spoiled last night and today. You shouldn't have let yourself rely on it too much. Brandon is a year-long job, if you care to admit it out loud. That's all that there is to it.
Sighing loudly, I carefully pulled myself up to a sitting position before slipping off the bed and heading to the bathroom to clean up and get ready for sleep.
I changed into a pair of pink cotton boxer shorts and a tank top and brushed what I could reach of the ends of my hair just to untangle the knots.
An hour passed while I laid awake in bed, shrouded by the darkness and choked full by the memories of my parents and the fantastic job they did raising me.
Everytime I closed my eyes, I remembered the rage on my father's face, the feel of every blow he delivered to my body, the biting pain on my scalp as he practically tore my hair off—I was shaking from the memories after a few more futile attempts to drive them out of my mind.
The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield Page 24