No matter how much I get used to this, the glamorous life of being Mrs. Maxfield will always be surreal to me.
Oh, and everyone recognized me, alright.
Sure, many had seen and met me in some of the previous meetings and press cons I’d done leading up to this weekend but more importantly, I’d arrived arm-in-arm with Brandon who looked the intriguing combination of power and masculine appeal in his sharp black suit and bronze tie.
While my being wife to Brandon meant more to me than what the title represented, I’d taken care to look every inch the Mrs. Maxfield no one would miss, just with a few tweaks here and there that was still distinctly Charlotte.
I dressed to the nines in Vienne couture—a simple body-hugging, knee-length jersey-cut dress in a shimmering, nearly sheer rose gold fabric with a deep V-cut in the back and in the front, the fine edges of the gown encrusted with real, dark amber beads that made them look like they were splattered with stars.
My summer tan glowed with the color, accentuating my toned legs and collar bone especially since I’d put my hair up in a loose, nymph-style braid wrapped around into a bun, threaded through with small sprigs of white baby’s breath flowers. My accessories were simple—vintage gold and amber teardrop earrings, rust-colored ankle-strap heels and a pale gold satin-covered clutch.
“Nice dress.”
At the dryly amused tone, I looked up from the wrinkled sheet I’d tucked behind a program schedule I’d been handed earlier. I was going to do a quick speech sometime this evening—yes, a speech!—just right after Layla, and since I had a habit of saying things I probably shouldn’t in public, I thought I’d mentally practice so I didn’t forget.
My train of thought scattered in different directions when I found myself looking at a strikingly glamorous redhead.
Her rich, dark red hair the color of new pennies flowed in a wavy cascade down one creamy shoulder. Dressed in a flowing, deep turquoise, one-shouldered empire-cut gown and accessorized with earrings and a cascade necklace featuring large amethyst stones, she was feminine elegance personified.
“Thank you,” I managed to say with a crooked smile when I recovered from my starstruck moment. “It’s a lovely dress—a classic Vienne creation. I’ve only recently seen their collection but I can vouch that they have the most breathtaking dresses I’ve ever seen.”
The woman’s silver gray eyes shimmered as she smiled broadly at me. “I’m glad you approve since you’re walking one of our creations tomorrow.”
She chuckled lightly as my eyes widened, and extended a hand. “It’s my sincere pleasure to finally meet you, Charlotte. I’m Vivienne Cartwright.”
For some reason, despite the things people around me had said about Vivienne Cartwright—and they had all said quite a bit about her—I hadn’t envisioned her to be this stunning siren-like being.
“No, I’m not secretly a vampire, I don’t eat weak-spined people for breakfast, I’m not a spy, and I haven’t slept with George Clooney,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes as she released my hand and took a step back to wait for my reaction. “Although I did get offered the role of playing a Bond girl once.”
I blinked, unsure if I heard her words right, because surely, women like Vivienne Cartwright didn’t need a wicked sense of humor to heap on to her already being beautiful, rich, talented and fabulous.
Some people really do have it all—including a healthy dose of modesty.
“I would turn it down myself if only to avoid sleeping with someone who could screw my brains out as easily as he could blow it to bloody slush,” I found myself saying. “And while I’m relieved to know you’re not scouting me as your next breakfast blood bag, or your next mark, I’m still conflicted on the whole sex with George Clooney issue.”
She grinned, her gray eyes crinkling in the corners. “It’s the only rumor about me I partly wish was true.”
I wiggled my brows gamely, smiling back at her. “Really? There was that one where you’re believed to be descended from the ancient gods who used to swoop down in their mystical horses and walk among humans. I’d want that one to be true. I still want a unicorn—a better ride than George Clooney will ever be.”
Our eyes both widened at my words before we burst out laughing, loud enough that some people turned to look our way in amused curiosity.
There was no doubt about it—Vivienne and I were going to get along famously.
“It looks like fun here,” another young woman with dark auburn hair and warm brown eyes said with a smile and a flash of deep dimples as she came over to join us. She was a few inches smaller than Vivienne but just as elegant in a wispy, wine red baby doll dress. “You’re both sporting mischievous expressions on your faces and I want in.”
Vivienne grinned at the woman before turning back to me. “Oh, we were just discussing George Clooney, unicorns and what they have in common.”
Realization quickly dawned on the woman’s face and she chuckled. “I think I know enough to know it’s better I don’t ask you to expound on that, Viv.”
“Such a smart girl you are, Cass.” Vivienne winked before putting an arm around the woman. “Charlotte, meet my younger sister, Cassandra Vice. Cass, this is Charlotte Maxfield.”
Cassandra’s big brown eyes practically sparkled as she shook my hand. Between the her expressive eyes and adorable dimpled smile, Cassandra Vice was as disarming as her sister.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Charlotte. I’ve heard so much about you—even all the way out to Cobalt Bay. Viv and I are big fans of yours,” she said candidly. “You have no idea how many women I’ve listened to whine and wail when Brandon got married—and to you, no less. From everything they complained about you, we decided we liked you.”
A short, helpless laugh escaped me as I shook my head. “Well, people will decide which side of the coin they like. I’ve stopped caring a while back.”
“It’s the only way to do it,” Cassandra agreed with a sympathetic sigh. “I used to have a very private, low-profile life before my husband and I went public with our relationship when we started dating again four years after we broke up. It’s overwhelming at the beginning but you get used to it and you quickly realize it’s just the shiny veneer on your life—not the entirety of it.”
I smiled at her broadly. “Good point. I, for one, don’t mind a few scuffs. I don’t like things to be too perfectly shiny, you know? They won’t seem real.”
“What doesn’t seem real, love?” Brandon’s warm, smiling voice came from behind me and the three of us glanced up just as he and two tall, dashingly handsome men arrived.
One man had a stunning face, thick dark hair, and beautiful eyes as green as emeralds. He had the distinguished air of someone who knew his privileged place in the world. He would’ve been intimidating if not for the casual yet gentle way he put an arm around Cassandra and brush the tip of his nose against the crown of her head.
The other man, tall and lean and arrestingly handsome with the buzz cut and piercing ice blue eyes, exuded sleek, masculine grace. What would’ve been a steely gaze to other people, warmed as he pressed a hand against Vivienne’s back and subtly drew her against him.
Now here’s a showcase of amazingly good-looking couples. I feel like I’m on a TV show—oh, wait—this is actually my life.
I opened my mouth to respond but I couldn’t remember exactly what the question was until I felt the familiar, comforting touch of Brandon’s arm behind my waist, his fingers capturing my awkwardly fidgeting ones in a light interlace.
I looked up at my husband and met his melting hazel gaze. Like a sledgehammer to my gut each time, it knocked my breath away.
“Everything...” I found myself answering as I grinned up at him. “Everything seems unreal sometimes. Fairy tales are only stories, after all.”
“Not if my wife has something to say about it,” the man with the bright green eyes said with a smirk as he extended a hand toward me. He had a faint British accent to add to the deep
, husky voice. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte. I’m Sebastian Vice. Brandon and Jake are old friends of ours. We just haven’t seen much of them in the last few years, especially Brandon. Glad to see he’s very happily married to you.”
“It’s my baking, I’m told,” I said pertly as I shook Sebastian’s hand.
“We never thought we’d see the day he’d get shackled but one look at you and we completely understand,” the other guy teased as he took his turn to shake my hand. “Oliver Yates, at your service. We all tried to come to the wedding but it was kind of sprung on us and we couldn’t get out of our plans.”
I grinned. “Did you want to show up for support or to offer rescue?”
The two men chuckled, their women just smiling and shaking their heads.
“I was just glad to not have to bear the taunts from the two of you, plus Max and Stellan,” Brandon said with a good-natured laugh. “Although the both of you really can’t make fun of me because you’re just as nauseously happy as I am, having settled down.”
One look at these couples and no one could dispute Brandon’s statement.
There were practically stars in their eyes and they wore the look of someone whose complete attention was captivated by the most fascinating thing on earth.
“I wouldn’t pause in admitting to anyone how incredibly happy my life is,” Sebastian said in complete contrast to what I was expecting. It was rare to see a man so unabashedly happy about his married state. “It’s also quite something else to have children of your own.”
“I heard about the birth of your son,” Brandon said with a nod. “Congratulations.”
“Are you two thinking about toting a mini-Maxfield around anytime soon?” Cassandra asked with a meaningful smile.
I grinned at the image of mini-Maxfields. “Maybe in a few years. Practice makes perfect, you know?”
I flushed the moment I realized my words but everyone just burst out into laughter, even Brandon, who shook his head in amused resignation.
It was refreshing to find myself being as candid as I was around people who were clearly used to privilege and finding no censure from them.
We spent another twenty minutes together, talking and catching up, making distant plans in the future to come visit, before we finally got called up to the front stage where the official opening of the event was about to start.
Layla gave a nice, proper speech. She was in a shimmery black gown, impeccably elegant and charming to the crowd which gave her a warm round of applause right after.
I wasn’t sure who was in the audience really because when my name got called up, the clapping was a little heartier, mixed in with a few whistles and cheers.
“Don’t mind the people I bribed to come tonight and inconspicuously cheer for me—I’m pretty sure I forgot to pay extra for the subtlety,” I said with a crooked grin when I came up on the stage.
It was easier than I thought—being up there, beneath the hot, bright glare of the spotlight where you could only see a few people close up. You could see their familiar faces and reassuring smiles while the rest of the audience were shrouded in the shadows. You didn’t have to wonder about their possible criticisms or face their disapproving expressions.
To some, the spotlight could be the loneliest place in the world. But sometimes, it’s the only place where you could forget the rest of the world. It’s easier to be yourself when you can’t read on their faces who they’d rather see.
“To many of you, this may be the first time you’ve ever seen me around here,” I continued, gently crumpling the speech I’d written and practiced into a small ball in my hand.
I liked pretty speeches too but I was always the improvising type. “To be honest, around the same time last year, I was watching a feature of this event on the wall TV in the break room of a diner, as fashionable as one could be in a pair of spandex micro-shorts, a tight shirt and an apron.”
A burst of chuckles rippled across the room.
“All this,” I said with a sweep of my arm to the side, gesturing to the grand space that spoke of every privilege and luxury. “All this seemed like a faraway world from the other side. To the average person who doesn’t have as lofty a perspective in life as other people, what we’ll do here this weekend might seem frivolous and insignificant in the grand scale of the raw human condition outside of these glitzy walls.”
As my voice picked up a steady momentum and my words flowed out artlessly, a thoughtful silence drifted over the room.
You have, in your hands, something very precious—an opportunity. An opportunity to speak and be heard. An opportunity to let your message resonate. Don’t waste it.
After all, my life was a study of opportunities wasted by the two people who could've done something good with them.
“While not entirely scientific, I believe that the world turns on the momentum of a chain reaction spurred by perception. It’s so ingrained in us, it’s not worth changing entirely. The only thing we can do is adjust where we look. We can all look in instead of looking out, and gain a different perspective.”
I flashed the audience as best an encouraging smile as I could muster. “Whether it’s a marathon or a catwalk, it’s the same anchor at the bottom of every ship—it’s the desire to help in the best way we know how. The homeless guy who might have his first, nice hot meal in six months may not know a single fashion designer but that’s alright. He’ll know a more important truth—and it’s that the world can afford to be generous with their talents and time where there is great supply of both. At the end of the day, we’ve helped provide someone’s meal, enjoyed ourselves, and know in our hearts that we’re heroes all the same. We don’t have the cape or the super powers. All we have is our talent to translate our creative imagination to not only make beautiful things, but make beautiful lives.”
There was a pregnant pause as I stood back and surveyed the room, wondering if I should expect tomatoes to come flying at me.
It was barely took a few seconds when the first scatter of applause started before they rang out loud and clear all across the room.
My breath loosened inside my chest and I found myself breaking into a grin before a small laugh escaped from me.
I stepped out from behind the podium and executed a brief, graceful curtsy before coming down the steps.
Music blasted through the speakers again as the formal program broke up into the rest of the party. Numerous people came up to talk to me as I made my way back to our table.
Despite my reminder of my once not-so-glamorous life, people seemed enthusiastic about meeting me. A little surreal but that's my new life for you.
An hour or so later, I had just pushed the bathroom door open when I heard the unmistakeable voice of my favorite person in the world for bathroom verbal showdowns.
“I don’t understand why this weekend doesn’t work,” I heard Bessy grumble as I held the door half-open, trying to decide if I really wanted to step inside.
“She’ll be out of town and the cottage is free,” she continued although I couldn’t hear anyone else with her inside. “If there’s a fucking better chance to spend time with me, Donny, this would be it.”
I sucked in a breath.
Donny.
Of course—Don LeClaire.
Even though he really wasn’t the kind of guy someone would dare nickname without risking a limb, I couldn’t think of anyone else Bessy would be calling Donny.
Just like their whole wretched affair, the idea of Bessy giving babyish names to someone as sullen and sinister as Don LeClaire was ridiculous.
“I’m sick of your excuses, Don,” Bessy went on stubbornly. “You either want to be with me or you don’t.”
Well, that cleared up the guesses on our mystery man.
You can do this two ways, Charlotte. You can walk away and pretend you know nothing about this or you can open a can of worms and be prepared to eat them because that’s how it’s going to feel.
Yup. The taste of this ugl
y confrontation would go down my throat like a mouthful of slippery, squirmy worms.
I involuntarily swallowed hard and pushed the door fully open, clearing my throat loudly as I strode in. Huh. Guess I announced myself the way everyone did.
I beamed at Bessy who sharply glanced up at me like a deer in headlights, and set my clutch down on the vanity counter, turning my attention to the mirror.
“I’ll talk to you later,” she muttered in a stiff voice on her phone. “The cat just dragged in the usual trash.”
“Hmm, you’re right,” I said cheerfully as she took her spot next to me on the vanity, scowling at me on the mirror. “I could smell your stench on the way over here. I should’ve known to stay away.”
“My stench?” Bessy repeated with an incredulous laugh. “Even in nice clothes, people can smell the gutter where you come from, Charlotte. I’m amazed your Cobalt Bay friends weren’t gagging, trying to get away from you.”
I raised my brow at her. “Judge me when you stop reeking of your own dirty secrets, Bessy.”
Her jaw tensed and she narrowed her eyes at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This is the thing about accidentally eavesdropping on people in bathrooms,” I said with a sigh. “Sometimes, you hear nasty things that make you want to throw up. Romancing the cousin-in-law seems as bad an idea as slurping down an extra-large milkshake when you have a dairy problem—a huge, stinky mistake that explodes all over the place and drives everyone away.”
The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield Page 67