Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2)

by Nicole French

  Maybe he knows.

  Could he?

  Blue eyes or green?

  When he returned, I cleaned myself up with the damp cloth he brought, then curled into a ball under the covers. Brandon slid into bed, but didn't gather me close like he used to. Instead, he faced me, with at least a foot of space in between us. It might as well have been a mile.

  We didn't say anything, just let the sound of our breaths fill the room. A few streams of moonlight soared through the blinds, casting long shadows over the sharp lines of Brandon's face. He just watched me, with a curious expression I couldn't quite read. There was love there––there was always love there––but it was guarded. Mixed with something that looked like curiosity, fear, maybe even a bit of quiet, lingering anger.

  Several times Brandon opened his mouth as if to speak, but he always closed it again. I just hugged the covers tightly to my chest and pulled my knees closer. Eventually the silence overcame us both and we fell asleep.

  ~

  Chapter 18

  Brandon left early the next morning for one of his six a.m. runs. Although I knew he wouldn't like it, I couldn't sleep after he left, so I ended up getting dressed and heading back to the North End, where I spent the rest of the weekend holed up studying. We traded a few texts through the morning, but it was clear that both of us needed some space. Things had gotten very real.

  As much as I wanted it to, the comfort and lightness that had always seemed such an integral part of our relationship still hadn't returned completely. Darker elements loomed. We craved each other, but there were pains we were both trying to purge with our bodies instead of words. The truth was, we had both hurt the other badly. It would simply take time to work through all of the complications.

  Late Sunday afternoon, while I was finishing my weekend homework, my cell phone buzzed loudly on my desk. It seemed that Brandon was finally ready for a real conversation. That was good, because so was I.

  "What's up?" I answered.

  "Nothing much. Just finishing up some things for a few meetings tomorrow. I needed to catch up on a lot of stuff this weekend."

  It was an unspoken acknowledgment of the fact that I'd left early Saturday morning and he had been fine with it. I missed the days when I would camp out at his house for days at a time, but we clearly weren't there yet.

  "Anyway, I had a thought," Brandon said.

  I pulled my knees up onto my chair and rested my chin on them. "What's that?" I asked, happy to hear the fondness in his voice. His texts through the weekend had been friendly and flirtatious, but nothing matched his deep voice.

  "Sterling Grove is sponsoring a few tables at the New England Children's Advocacy Gala next Saturday. Want to go?"

  I sat up straight. This was a far cry from sneaking into hole-in-the-wall restaurants. This was the same group I'd mentioned to Ray and Susan the other night. It was the center of his philanthropy efforts, one of the only things that I had found on his Wikipedia page before we had even dated.

  "You want to go to a benefit together?"

  My heart rose at the thought. Maybe it wasn't as important to keep me hidden as he'd originally thought. I was already so heartily sick of being incognito, I would have accompanied him to a party even if I was only allowed to wear pajamas.

  Brandon sighed audibly on the other end of the line. In the background, I could hear the noise of what sounded like a baseball game on television. I could see him easily, sitting on his uncomfortable couch watching the game on the flat screen mounted over the fireplace. Alone in his palace in the sky.

  "Ah, well. Sort of," he said lamely. "I was thinking Eric could bring you as his date. I'll have Margie throw him a ticket at one of the firm's tables."

  I deflated.

  "What does that mean?" I asked as I hugged my knees closer. "How would we go together if you can't be seen with me?"

  "Skylar," Brandon said gently. "It's two weeks until the papers get signed."

  "I've heard that before," I mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. Like the rest of my apartment, it was old, the one part of the room I hadn't tackled with paint. Cracks ran through the plaster.

  "Skylar. I'm trying here."

  I sighed. "I know, I know. I just...why should I even go, then? Having to be around you and pretend like we're not involved sounds like a terrible way to spend the evening. I see how women look at you, even when you're practically all over me. This will drive me nuts."

  "It's not going to be like that," Brandon insisted. "I know it's not ideal, but the NECA is a really important cause to me. I'm on the board of directors, and it's one of the top charities I support."

  I glanced at myself in the mirror curiously. "Just how many charities do you support?"

  "Um...twenty-eight? I think? I'd have to ask Margie to be sure. I'm only on the board of five, though."

  I blew a long raspberry between my lips. "How did I end up with a married saint?"

  "Not a saint, Red. Just a sinner trying to redeem himself."

  "How very Catholic of you," I replied dryly.

  "Half of Boston is Catholic, babe. Even if you're not in the church, you're still practically confirmed just by association."

  I snorted, but the joke fell flat.

  “I’m not a perfect man, Skylar,” Brandon said, his voice slightly sad.

  “No one says you have to be." I doodled a heart on the margin of my textbook. "I’m not perfect either.”

  “Maybe not,” he said softly. “But you might be perfect for me.”

  My heart squeezed in my chest at his words, and I smiled a little bit. But one question still remained.

  "Is...Miranda...going to be there?"

  I hated even saying her name. Over the last thirty-six hours I'd managed to push her out of my mind most of the time. When I did see her smirking, refined features, I'd usually just think of Brandon, whose face could always distract. This time, though, that wouldn't work.

  "I'd be shocked," Brandon said. "The NECA isn't really her thing, and everyone from Sterling Grove hates her guts. Mark will be there. He loves giving her shit and isn't afraid to do it to her face."

  I couldn't help but chuckle at that. I had only seen Mark Grove, the other name partner of Sterling Grove, in passing when I worked as an intern at Brandon's firm, but I already liked him. He was short, spry, and sharp-faced, a bulldog with an acute bite. I could easily imagine him cutting Miranda Sterling's stately entitlement down to size.

  "Kiefer Knightly has a table, so Kieran will probably be there too," Brandon continued as a cheering crowd sounded behind him. "But more importantly, there are some people I'd like you to meet."

  "Who people?" I blinked with realization. "DNC people?"

  We hadn't talked any more about the bomb he'd dropped at the Petersens' house. I knew that Brandon had been waiting for me to broach the topic; he'd been dropping obvious lures, like random discussions of local political issues, all weekend via text.

  "It's a way for you to see what it's all about." I could hear the longing in Brandon's voice. "Please, Red. For me?"

  How was I supposed to say no to that?

  "All right," I mumbled. "I'll go."

  He laughed, his relief palpable even through the phone. I couldn't help but grin into the mirror.

  "I'll have Margie send a car for you and Eric," Brandon said in a much lighter tone. "And babe? Thank you."

  I couldn't help it. I grinned. It felt too good making him happy.

  ~

  Later that evening I was video chatting with Jane while folding laundry. Like me, she had been deep in study mode through the weekend and was desperate for some best-friend time. We had to make do with screen versions of each other while I decompressed from the weekend.

  From what I could see on the screen, Jane had turned her cousin's spare room into study central, with a mountain of notes splayed around her bed. Her mostly black, punk-inspired wardrobe was hanging on a rack behind her, and the menagerie of hair products she used was piled on a
small dresser. It was actually pretty funny seeing her semi-Goth paraphernalia scattered around a room that was otherwise decorated with pink roses and ruffles.

  My insides squeezed. Eric was a good roommate, but sometimes I really missed having my best friend around all the time.

  "Any more news about Princess Godfather?" Jane asked, popping her spiky-haired head into view again before ducking out of the frame to put away some clothes. It was laundry night for her too.

  I blew a massive sigh while I folded another shirt.

  "Dad still thinks I'm nuts about Katie," I said. "She's got him stuck in her damn spider web. I'm going to have to go down there and confront them myself, I know it."

  "That sounds...potentially dangerous," Jane replied from across her room. "Especially if she really is involved with Messina and his henchmen. I know you're not going to like this, but what about asking Brandon? Didn't you say he already has security watching your family? Why not just have them check her out?"

  I paused, holding a black shirt up against my body and checking myself in the mirror. "Goddamn it. I think that stupid dryer shrunk this shirt."

  I turned back to the computer, where Jane had framed her face with a filter that made her look like a unicorn. I laughed, and she gave me a cross-eyed grin, then took it off.

  "I've thought about that, too," I admitted. "He would probably do it, but I don't want to get him more involved than he already is. What if this mess gets back to him? What if it costs him his bid for mayor?"

  The idea still twisted my stomach into knots. Between my father's drama, Miranda's potential vendetta, and my recent personal choices, I felt like one big skeleton in Brandon's closet, which already had enough skeletons by itself. He hadn't even brought up that he was also trying to negotiate the fact that Miranda had served as a false alibi for him when he was just a twenty-year-old kid. That was the beginning of their relationship, and no doubt part of the divorce had to involve a non-disclosure agreement. Considering his goals for public office, her silence was paramount to his success. I couldn't get in the way of that.

  "I still think you should ask him," Jane interrupted my thoughts. "Just like I think you need to tell him about ––"

  "I know, I know," I cut her off. "But now I'm wondering if it's a good time."

  "Sky..."

  "Look at everything else we are having to deal with right now!" I cried, tossing several pairs of unmatched socks up into the air in frustration. "We're trying to rebuild our relationship in the middle of all of this shit. If we were smart, we'd just wait until everything settles down. Until Miranda signs the papers and I pass the bar and he's done running for whatever office he wants to run for and my dad is finally stable. And as if that weren't enough, I got a message today confirming that Janette is actually going to show up this week. Kids in tow and everything."

  Jane whistled. Even Jane had never met my mother, whose presence in my life was so sporadic she seemed more a product of my imagination than an actual family member. I flopped backward onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. I felt like I was trying to sprint through a marathon.

  "Sky?" Jane said finally.

  "What?"

  "Sit up, will you? This is a nice view, but I have something to say to your face, not your hoo-ha."

  I scrambled back up, and tipped the screen so it showed my face clearly. "Sorry. That better?"

  Jane smiled. "You have a nice mug. I like to see it when I drop pieces of life-altering wisdom."

  "And what wisdom would that be?"

  Jane took a dramatic pause, but then suddenly looked much more serious.

  "It's not ever going to get easier," she stated clearly. "You and Brandon are complicated people. That's just who you are."

  I frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  Jane shrugged, her frank yet friendly expression emanating good will through the screen.

  "It means you need to grow up, chick. Stop hiding from the truth and face the music. Together."

  "Is that what you're going to do?"

  Jane's eyes grew wide behind her large black frames, and then she shut them completely. "I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about."

  I glanced into the living room to make sure that Eric couldn't hear our conversation. But his bedroom door was safely shut, and I could hear the soft thump of electronic music.

  I looked back to the screen. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. I've just been nice enough to give you time to bring it up, but since you're not, I'm going to have to do the dirty work."

  Jane grimaced. "It was just one night. We've done it before."

  "That was three years ago, and it was a month, not a night. Plus, the two of you were strangers then. That is clearly not the case now."

  "The boy is a walking PSA against STIs," Jane replied as she ducked out of the frame.

  "And yet you slept with him." I held a sly finger up to my lips and cocked an eyebrow. "'Methinks the lady doth protest too much'."

  "Stop doing that; you look like a James Bond villain." Jane popped up again and pulled her glasses off so she could squeeze the bridge of her nose. "Look, it doesn't really matter, does it? I live in Chicago; he lives in Boston. We're all about to start the busiest years of our lives. And your roommate, bless his skanky ass, is good in the sack, but shit at intimacy."

  "So exactly like you, you're saying?" I said as I folded a pair of jeans.

  "Oh, don't be so proud of yourself," Jane said. "These emotional barriers are constructed by choice. When I'm ready, I'll take 'em down and dive right in. Eric isn't even aware he has walls up. He isn't aware of anything but his penis."

  I glanced back in the direction of Eric's room again, where the door still remained safely shut. The music, however, had gone down. He might have gone to bed. Alone. Same as the last seven days.

  "I think you're wrong about that, my friend," I said. "But that's all I'm going to say. It's your business, the two of you. I'm just enjoying my front row seat."

  "Don't get too excited," Jane said with a significant eye roll. "It's not going to happen again." She shook her head, refusing to look directly into the camera. "A tiger doesn't change its stripes, Sky. Once a slut, always a slut."

  I couldn't help but wonder if she wasn't just talking about Eric.

  ~

  Chapter 19

  The week passed uneventfully, with class in the morning and afternoons spent studying. Brandon was traveling for most of it, and other than a few study sessions with Jared, Eric and I mostly kept to our rooms to focus on a particularly difficult section of our class. By the time the weekend rolled around, I was more than ready for a reprieve.

  Just as Eric and I walked through the door on Friday evening after spending the afternoon studying at Jared's apartment, my cell phone buzzed in my messenger bag. I pulled it out and frowned at an unfamiliar number.

  "Hello?" I answered.

  Eric walked into the kitchen to get a drink.

  "Skylar? My goodness, darling, is that really you?"

  The voice was friendly, female, and also made my skin crackle.

  "Skylar?" she asked again. "It's Janette. Are you there, darling?"

  The buzzer to the front door cut through the room. I turned to Eric, who was nursing a beer. I nodded my head at the door, and covered the receiver end of the phone.

  "It's Brandon. Can you buzz him in, please? I have to take this."

  Eric grumbled unintelligibly to himself, but nonetheless trudged over to answer the buzzer. I didn't blame him; I hadn't even met the partners at Kiefer Knightly yet, but I certainly wouldn't be thrilled if they were sleeping over every weekend.

  "Thank you," I mouthed, trying to look appropriately apologetic.

  Eric nodded, and I took a seat at our small kitchen table.

  "Janette?" I said. "Sorry about that. You still there?"

  "Yes, darling, I'm here. How are you? You sound absolutely marvelous."

  "Um, I'm fine." I stared at the lacquered wood
tabletop. My mother was the kind of person who acted like she was your best friend in the world when she actually took the time to speak to you. The rest of the time, you didn't exist. It didn't matter if you'd known her for years. It didn't matter if you were her blood.

  "Did you receive your graduation gift? I picked it out myself. Well, a man from a piano shop in Boston did, but I spoke to him myself about it."

  This was also typical Janette: assuming accolades for normal actions that most people would just do without a single thought. I didn't know what she wanted me to say. Making a phone call didn't make her a saint, and especially not after being largely absent for most of my life.

  "Yes, I got it," I said. "It was definitely a surprise."

  "I'm glad you liked it!" Janette exclaimed, despite the fact that I'd said no such thing.

  I mean, it was certainly a nice piano and all, but aside from the fact that I'd barely be able to play it between studying and respecting the noise restrictions of an apartment building, there was also the awkwardness of receiving an extravagant gift from someone who barely knew me.

  The apartment door opened, and another person with a penchant for extravagant and at times inappropriate gifts strode in, stern until he found me, at which point I was rewarded with an ear-splitting grin that raised the wattage of the room by at least ten points.

  Janette continued to gab about the piano, but I barely listened, happy instead to ogle Brandon. He had clearly come from work, still dressed in the remnants of a summer suit: light gray pants and a starched white dress shirt, a dark red tie loosened around an unbuttoned collar. He tossed his jacket and briefcase on the couch and made a beeline toward me.

  "Hey beautiful," he whispered as he engulfed me from behind.