I winked at him. “I’m your wife, dear. That’s just how it goes.”
When we got to the self-checkout counters, Brandon helped me out of the cart before unloading some of our stuff.
“I think we forgot to grab some chocolate bars,” he said as he took out his phone to look at the checklist he’d created. “You told me about making s’mores and you said you needed Snickers.”
He glanced at me with a puzzled expression. “Aren’t s’mores just graham crackers, marshmallow and plain chocolate? Why don’t we just do it that way?”
“You could if you lack imagination,” I said smugly. “Can you imagine s’mores with gooey chocolate, caramel and peanuts oozing out of it? It’s like a campfire dessert orgasm waiting to happen.”
Brandon narrowed his eyes at me. “No talks of orgasms, please. Go get your Snickers bars. Hurry.”
I grinned at him before turning to stride back toward the candy aisle. I looked through the shelves until I found a pack of four. I grabbed two of those and paused by the other candy selections. I deliberated for about ten seconds before grabbing a bag of gummy worms and a small party pack of assorted bite-sized chocolate bars. Chocolate and candy felt like they should go with camping. Happy things often went together.
I was humming excitedly as I walked back to the checkout area but my smile disappeared when I saw one of the staff smiling up sweetly at Brandon as she punched in codes on the screen. She was a tall, perky blonde with pink and blue streaks in her hair and she was twirling a lock of it around her fingers as she beamed at my husband.
A sour and ugly surge of acid-like jealousy swirled in my stomach and I stalked toward them.
“Hey,” I greeted cheerfully as I stepped between the staff girl named Karla, according to her badge, and Brandon. “Did I miss the party?”
Brandon smiled at me, holding a pack of salami. “It wasn’t ringing up correctly. I’m pretty sure this isn’t turkey sausage.”
“Hmm, yes,” I said, my smile tight and thin. “It doesn’t look like it’s from one of our feathered friends but definitely some kind of dead meat—chopped up, ground up and pounded into a deli offering.”
Brandon’s brows rose at me for a moment before his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Karla was just helping us, honey.”
He put an arm around me and smiled at the now-wide-eyed girl. “Karla, this is my wife, Charlotte—an expert on dead meat. I always aim to avoid becoming one of her experiments.”
You couldn’t have been more obvious. All you’re missing is the heart on your sleeve and a placard with I LOVE YOU written on it in bold red letters. That’s no worse than being a jealous psycho because some girl is swooning over your husband. Even your grandmother would’ve swooned over him. They can’t help it.
Even in khaki shorts, a light blue shirt and preppy dark blue top-siders, Brandon looked swoon-worthy.
The girl looked seriously awkward as she gave me a half-hearted smile and moved away, back behind her counter where she oversaw the self-checkout section.
“You’re jealous,” Brandon said once the girl was out of earshot.
He dumped the salami into the bag and gave me a crooked smile as he reached for our next item. “It’s actually pretty cute.”
“Pfft.” I rolled my eyes and tossed him the chocolate and candies. “Jealousy implies I care, which I don’t.”
The moment the words came out of my mouth, I instantly regretted them
The light in Brandon’s smiling hazel eyes literally dimmed and his smile disappeared as his jaw tightened.
What the hell is wrong with you, Charlotte? You couldn’t say ‘I love you’ to defend yourself so you tell him you don’t care instead?
Sobering up, I caught his elbow as he turned away.
“Brand, I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely as I stepped in front of him and wrapped my arms around him. “I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s alright, Charlotte,” he answered quietly, moving away and turning his attention to the rest of our items still in the cart.
I stepped back and fidgeted as he rang the rest of the items through in an almost mechanical fashion.
I wanted to say something to make it better—to bring back the Brandon I had five minutes ago before I opened my big mouth and said the stupid words that caused him to shut me out.
It was a quiet walk back to the car.
I couldn’t take it.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I finally blurted out, stopping in the middle of the parking lot, staring at his retreating back, and gripping the grocery bag I had in each hand so tightly I temporarily lost feeling in my fingers. “I didn’t mean what I said.”
He slowed down his steps until he finally halted but he didn’t turn around to face me.
I didn’t care if anyone heard me.
Only one person mattered.
“I care, Brand,” I continued. “I care a lot. In fact, I care too damn much.”
Great.
I was pouring my heart in the middle of the parking lot while holding grocery bags and wearing denim cut-offs, a tank top and rubber flip-flops.
I felt like I was in one of those teenage TV dramas.
If you can't tell him the entire truth, at least give him parts of it. You owe him that at the very least.
"I didn't like seeing you with that girl," I admitted, my voice faltering slightly. "It was easier to deny why I felt that way than to admit the truth."
Tears stung my eyes and I tipped my head up to the side to blink them back.
Damn. You had a good thing going and you went and ruined it by wanting more.
"I know I say a lot of stupid things," I rambled on, lowering my head in defeat. "I won't blame you if you don't take my word for it when I tell you I'm sorry, and that I didn't mean to say what I did."
I sucked in a deep breath and chewed on my bottom lip. "But I really didn't mean it, Brand. I care about you—more than I should. More than what's smart."
My head swept up at the sound of rustling plastic and footsteps.
Brandon had already reached me and set his grocery bags down on the ground, his arms wrapping around me in a tight embrace.
I smiled just as tears filled my vision, lifting my own arms to wrap around his back, the spray cans inside the grocery bags I held banging together.
"I believe you, Charlotte," he murmured against my hair.
"I'm sorry," I said against his chest. "I didn't mean to hurt you with what I said, Brand."
"It's okay, baby." He stroked down my hair and kissed my right temple. "I'm sorry too."
I let him hold me for a while. A few cars honked at us but we simply ignored them.
When Brandon finally pulled back, he had a soft smile on his face and his eyes were tender.
"I understand how you feel," he said quietly, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "I feel the same way. But you know what? For the first time in my life, I'm happy not to do the smart thing. I'm just happy to care about you—and to care a lot."
My heart swelled and all I could do was give him a trembling smile and nod.
His smile quirked to one side, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're important to me, Charlotte. If you still don't know that by now, then I'm not doing this right."
Despite the rocky start we had and the contract that we’d both burn in hell for, I’d be blind not to notice that he’d done nothing but take care of me. Despite what we both said in the beginning, we got more than we bargained for.
“I do know,” I admitted with a sniffle as he took me in his arms again and kissed my forehead. “And I was jealous. I shouldn’t be but I was.”
“You should be,” he said with a light chuckle. “There’s just you and me, Charlotte. There’s no room and no chance in hell for anyone else in this relationship. If it had been you with another guy, I would’ve probably pounded on my chest and beaten him with my club.”
The image of Brandon as a barbaric man was hilarious especially since I’ve accused him of it a few times.
&nb
sp; I giggled. “Don’t forget to burn his body later with the fire you made with your flint. Might as well go all the way, caveman.”
A slow, deep laugh rumbled from his chest and I grinned.
It was amazing how within moments and with a few truthful words, the world was right again.
***
We were debating, and I was unquestionably winning, the wisdom of Brandon's decision to buy a brand new SUV to use for our camping trip, when we arrived at home.
He had spent the last fifteen minutes of our drive back convincing me that he had to, because all that he had in his humble, little fleet were a couple of sports cars and a pair of town cars—none of which were ideal to drive across rugged terrain, as if we were going through back country roads instead of the interstate.
We were just unpacking our grocery bags in the kitchen when the concierge buzzed us to say that Melissa Barrington was downstairs asking to see me.
"Who's Melissa Barrington?" I asked Brandon with a confused frown.
His brows furrowed together. "Barrington. Like Barrington Hotels, you mean? Wait, I know Tom Barrington. Of course! Melissa is his wife."
I went through my mental portfolio of names I remembered from Felicity's reports and started snapping my fingers as if that actually sped up the process.
"Is she by any chance a socialite? Like a Championette or something?" I asked, kneading my forehead with my other hand. "Wait, she is. Red head, right? Is she a red head?"
"I think so," Brandon replied uncertainly. "She may be a Championette. I mean, it won't be a surprise. The Barringtons are high up on the social scale."
I pressed a finger to my lips as her face and name matched up in my mental database. She was that red-headed woman smiling in amusement while I tossed up a storm in that Championette tea party.
Recalling her didn't really help in explaining her reasons to see me.
"What do you think she wants?" I asked Brandon as I ran in front of the mirror on a decorative wall by hallway off the kitchen and tried to fix my hair which had been just hand-combed into a high and bouncy ponytail. "I wasn't expecting company. I'm in shorts and a neon tank top. I'm missing pearls and leather pumps. And a tweed skirt! In pastel. Brand, help!"
He appeared beside me, chuckling softly, and put his hands on my shoulders. "It's your place. If she's coming to see you, you're not obliged to put on the Championette uniform. Besides, I prefer this look on you."
"Brandon, now is not the time get cuddly with me!" I reprimanded as I playfully shoved him away from me when he started to cage me inside his arms and kiss me on the neck. "She'll be here in like two minutes!"
The doorbell rang.
“More like two seconds,” Brandon said as he stepped away and smacked me on the butt. “Let’s go, my lady. I’ll say hi and I’ll leave you two to talk.”
I glanced at him nervously as we walked toward the door. “We look like a couple of hobos. I’ll definitely convince her I’m homeless. You don’t look like a business tycoon.”
Brandon wiggled his brows as he reached for the door handle. “Hmm, yeah. Let’s hope she doesn’t mind our little dump of a place here.”
A tall, lovely woman with deep auburn hair stood outside, her bright green eyes sparkling, and her rosy pink mouth curved up into a smile.
She definitely looked like the woman I saw at the tea party except that she was now dressed in dark skinny jeans, a red silk shirt and white ballet flats. She still maintained the poise I would expect of a Championette but she was missing the heavy layers of pearls and the dizzying pastels the Society was very fond of. Even her hair, which I remembered was pulled back by some kind of silk band then, was casually tousled and framed around her face in a stylish, chin-length bob with beachy waves.
“Hello, Charlotte. Brandon,” Melissa greeted warmly as she stepped forward and extended her hand. “I’m sorry for stopping by so late in the day but I heard you two were going to be gone for a long weekend so I thought I’d try to catch you before you leave.”
I glanced at Brandon in question, because I didn’t really think that a lot of people knew we were going away for the weekend, but he was already smiling back at Melissa and shaking her hand.
“No worries. Good to see you, Melissa,” he said, stepping aside and beckoning her in. “Please, come in and get comfortable. Charlotte and I were just packing for our trip and there’s no housekeeper around but can we get you anything to eat or drink?”
She shook her head as she followed us into the living room. “No, thank you. I don’t want to take up more of your time. I just wanted to talk to Charlotte about something, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Brandon shrugged and led us to our seats before dropping a kiss on my head. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything. See you, ladies.”
Melissa turned to me and smiled, taking my hand, which in turn took me by surprise, and shook it. “It’s nice to properly meet you, Charlotte. I’m sorry to inflict myself on you like this but my name is Melissa Barrington. I’m with the Championettes. I don’t know if you remember me.”
Her warm, friendly manner and the genuineness I could sense in her instantly disarmed me.
I smiled. “I usually remember the only person in the group who wasn’t staring daggers at me and ripping my character to shreds.”
“I’m so sorry about that day,” she said with a soft groan, her brows furrowing delicately with a frown. “While I enjoyed watching you put everyone in their places, I should’ve spoken up and done something then.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t think you’d want to get on their bad side—not if you have to put up with them being part of the Society.”
“No, it’s usually them who don’t want to get on my bad side,” she said with a sneaky gleam in her eyes. “I’m the granddaughter of Louise Clifton who founded the Society about fifty years ago. To be perfectly blunt, I could have led the Championettes many times over if I wanted to but I don’t like to be out in the spotlight too much. I’m there because my grandmother wanted it. She made me promise to join before she died. But I think that if she knew some of the women who are part of the group now, she wouldn’t be happy.”
“Well.” I shook my head at Melissa in surprise, smirking a little. “I’m in the presence of socialite royalty and I haven’t been scrutinized yet like an old, ratty rug in a flea market—the one with unidentifiable stains on it. It’s easy to see that you’re not cut from the same cloth as the rest of the Championettes.”
I leaned in conspiratorially. “Let’s just hope your grandmother is busy doing some more worthwhile things in the afterlife than watch a bunch of rich housewives live in society like it’s a reality show, because if she isn’t, I’m not so sold anymore on that salvation thing the church is selling.”
Things could’ve turned out two different ways after what I just blurted out—joking about someone’s dead relation (especially their grandma!) sixty seconds after you’ve met them wasn’t exactly something anyone could just pull off—and my chest loosened a little in relief when Melissa just blinked and threw her head back laughing.
I grinned. “I think my Grandma is busy bankrupting everyone in heaven who was silly enough to play poker with her.”
Melissa’s eyes widened. “Really? Was she a professional poker player?”
“No,” I said a little guiltily, shaking my head. “I’ve never known my maternal grandmother because she gave up my Mom when she was a baby. Then my Mom walked out on me when I was six.”
I looked into the distance and tried to recall Granny Ferris’s face. “My paternal grandmother died when I was only very little but I remember what she looked like—long gray hair peppered with silver and big, brown eyes. Since as a kid I didn’t know what happened to her after she died I used to imagine her having all kinds of adventures in the afterlife. Like becoming an old lady pirate manning a ghost ship. Or a hula dancer. I’m sure Granny Ferris had some moves.”
I glanced back at Melissa. “
Her name was Ferris—you know, like the ferris wheel? I imagined her being a sword-eater too. And that she could play the harmonica. Playing poker would’ve been a piece of cake for her.”
Melissa surprised me when she reached for my hand and gave it a light squeeze. “I’m sure that wherever your Granny Ferris is, and whatever she’s doing in the after life, she’d be proud to see how you turned out.”
If Granny Ferris had loved me as I’d imagined she did, she’ll just be glad to know that I’m not lonely anymore—not like I’ve been for a long time—when her own son forgot that he had a daughter of his own.
I gave Melissa a tight smile. “I’m not sure if marrying rich was all that she’d aspired me to do.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant, Charlotte. I meant that she’d be proud to know that you’re a kind and happy young woman with a brave, fighting spirit and fierce conviction."
"Wealth isn't what builds your heritage—it’s the generosity and kindness it affords you and that which you put to good use," she added with a smile. "At least that's what my grandmother told me."
I knew without a doubt that I liked Melissa Barrington.
It was actually quite a pleasant surprise.
"I'd still like to be able to find a way to help where I could and with the resources that I have," I told her. "I could work with the charitable foundations the Maxfield family is a already part of. I have a destination and many ways to get there."
"That's what I came to talk to you about, actually," she said as she leaned back to reach into her white leather purse. "I've pulled rank—or more like bloodline—and persuaded the Society to share my sentiment."
She handed me a cream-colored notecard envelope with the unmistakable Championettes' logo pressed into the purple wax seal. "We're officially inviting you to join us. Don't worry about Layla or the rest of them. They know better than to give you a hard time. If any of them insist on casting you out, I will step in."
My eyes rounded. "How are you going to do that? Layla is the new chairwoman. I mean, you heard her. She said it two dozen times."
The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield Page 41