"Skylar, are you okay?" he asked me again as I sat down next to him. "Do you need to put your head between your legs or something?"
I took another deep breath, then exhaled slowly. I did it again. And again. Finally, when things seemed to be running normally again, I was able to look at Brandon. He still hadn't let go of my hand, and gripped it even tighter.
"This is..." I started, "really...unexpected." I tugged at my hand, and had to pull it away a bit more violently to get it free.
"So I guess that's a no, then," Brandon said dryly, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"Don't do that," I said quietly. "Please. This is a lot, you have to admit. On top of everything else."
"Do I?" he asked petulantly.
I bristled. "Yes. You do!" I took a deep breath. I didn't want to lose my temper, but it was incredibly frustrating that he couldn't seem to see what he was piling on me. "Brandon," I tried again. "Please listen."
As if unable to bear the short distance between us, he pulled me onto his lap, securing me against his chest while he played with my left hand, weaving his large fingers in between mine.
"I didn't plan it," he said as he toyed with my bare ring finger. His blue eyes blazed, more vibrant than the sky. "This moment. These last two weeks," he continued. "Skylar, it's been perfect, hasn't it?"
I softened. "Of course it has. It's been a dream. But Brandon––"
"I just want that to continue," he said, staring down at my fingers like they might combust in his hands. Like everything around us might evaporate.
When he looked at me again, his eyes were almost pained with naked yearning.
"I love you so fucking much, Skylar," he said. "You have no idea how much this time has meant to me. To wake up in the mornings with you in my arms. To know that even when I'm stuck on a conference call, I can hold you in my lap."
"Brandon, I'm not a lap dog," I said. "Even if we get married, I'm not going to follow you around like a puppy. I'm starting my own career in literally three days." I stroked his cheek, reveling in the feel of his soft hair.
His blue eyes cast downward. "I know. And I want you to have that, Red. I want you to pursue whatever dreams you want." He looked at me again, eyes full of love. "I just want to be there with you. I want to be your center, where you come back to. Because you're mine, babe."
I frowned and shook my head. "I'm not yours. I don't belong to you, like all your fancy things. I'm a person, Brandon, not something to collect."
Brandon chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then pressed his forehead to mine, so that we shared the same breath.
"You're right," he said finally. "I had it the wrong way around. You're not mine. I'm yours. I belong to you. You're like the sun to me, Skylar. I can't see without you."
All my reserve broke at his words, and I wished more than anything we were not sitting on a very public bench, surrounded by groups of tourists. I kissed him tenderly on the mouth. His hand slipped around my head as he held me there, reveling in my lips in the soft morning light. When he let me go, he smiled, but his smile dropped when he caught the look on my face. He must have seen the words I was going to say next.
"If I'm the sun," I said carefully, "and you're mine––because you are, Brandon, you really are––then I'm not going anywhere. And that's the truth. I promise."
I cupped his face and nuzzled my nose against his, delighting in the unique scent of him. The strong, lean arm around my waist tightened, but Brandon sighed.
"So that's a 'no'," he murmured. He said it lightly, but couldn't quite mask the regret.
"That's a 'not right now'," I corrected him gently with another kiss, as sweet as I could muster.
He caught my lower lip between his teeth, and pulled me in for something much more potent that took my breath away. When he released me, his eyes were bright blue fire.
"I'm going to hold you to that, Red," he said. His tone joked, but his face said otherwise. My stomach tightened in response, but with fear or anticipation, I couldn't tell.
"Okay," I said. "Okay."
~
Chapter 35
In Boston, we returned to chaos.
"Jesus," I said as we looked out from the tinted windows of the private airfield's reception area.
Behind us, the staff of the airfield watched curiously while they manned the nearly empty area. To their credit, they probably weren't totally unused to seeing paparazzi at an airfield that regularly serviced semi-famous clients. The agent had seemed more annoyed than anything else when she'd informed Brandon of their presence. They had at least tripled in numbers since we left.
Brandon pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. Still in his vacation clothes–– gray joggers, a red hoodie that hugged the contours of his arms, and his favorite frayed Red Sox hat––he looked a far sight from the CEO that most of Boston knew. His cheeks were still covered with dark blond shag I knew would be gone in the morning. Even after seven hours of flying and dealing with some serious jet lag, I wanted to devour him.
"Goddamn it," he muttered as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to check a message. He grimaced. "I should have requested security. I'm sorry about this, Red."
"Well, we knew this might be waiting for us."
I spoke casually, although the reality was actually kind of terrifying. The plane ride home had been spoiled with the news that Miranda had broken her story early. Apparently, Page Six had received a tip that we were in France together, so Miranda had decided to give an exclusive interview to People Magazine. It was a sympathetic puff piece in which she portrayed herself as the poor, blindsided wife who had only tried to make her marriage work. I, on the other hand, was a young, gold-digging homewrecker, but still anonymous, thank God.
"Maybe I should hang back," I said cautiously. "You don't need to be seen with me."
Brandon glanced at me with a frown. "Goddamn it," he said again. "No. We have nothing to hide, Skylar."
I clenched my teeth as I looked out at the mob behind the chain-linked fence. "If you say so."
I sighed and looked down at my clothes. After catching my reflection in the window, the idea of parading in front of paparazzi sounded really bad. Like Brandon, I was also dressed for comfort in black leggings, ballet flats, and a summer jacket. My hair was still in its braid over my shoulder, but looked a bit worse for wear, and I had foregone contacts in favor of my glasses.
"Should I at least change or something?"
Brandon snorted. "Don't give these leeches the satisfaction," he said.
He tugged me close for a brief kiss, ignoring the even more curious looks of the other few people in the small terminal.
"Stop that," he said as I reached up to pat at my hair. "You look fucking adorable. Don't change a hair on your head."
Brandon spotted David waving at us from the street.
"Come on, Red," he said as he pulled the bill of his cap low over his face. He glanced down at me as we walked toward the door. "You might want to put on your sunglasses instead."
As we walked out to the curb beyond the fence, Brandon worked to shield me from the wall of paparazzi, pushing back their eager bodies so that we could get down the sidewalk, although the clench of his jaw and the visible vein in his neck didn't go unnoticed, especially when one of them reached out to tug on my jacket.
"What's your name, miss? Are you Brandon's new girlfriend?" he asked.
"Hey! Step off, man!" Brandon pulled me more securely behind his large frame, and with a glare that should have turned the photographer to ash, tucked me into the backseat of the car, safely behind its tinted windows.
"Drive," Brandon commanded as the photographers crowded the car.
The Mercedes took off. Brandon looked at the smudge marks left on the windows with disgust.
"Fucking animals," he said, but his scowl morphed to sympathy when he got a look at me in the opposite corner.
I pulled off my sunglasses and took a shaky breath.
"Come her
e," Brandon said and pulled me into the crook of his shoulder
I sighed, letting my racing heart calm against his warmth, although I could hear his heart beating almost as fast. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend we weren't back in Boston. Brandon's hoodie still smelled like Marseille: of sunlight and grapevines and salty air. I inhaled deeply.
"I'm sorry," Brandon murmured, although he didn't loosen his grip around my shoulders.
I shook my head into his chest. "Not your fault."
"Well, it's my crazy ex that's doing it. It's partly my fault."
I wriggled out of his vise-hold to kiss him. The gesture seemed to soothe at least some of his guilt, and the tension in his shoulders fell slightly.
"We knew it was coming," I said. "I'll deal with it."
Brandon dipped his head for another kiss, this one a bit more intense than the last, and nuzzled my nose.
"Where did you come from?" he wondered with a sigh, and then pulled out his phone and started a text to Margie. "I'm going to hire us some extra security. It won't be like this for long, but I'm not a very good bodyguard."
I shrugged. I wasn't sure that was necessary, but then again, the wall of photographers had been pretty damn scary. I'd hate to be crowded like that if someone ended up getting violent. I fingered the edge of my jacket, still crinkled in the spot where the photographer had grabbed me. It was way too easy to see it getting worse.
I was surprised when the car merged onto the 26 toward Copley instead of getting off in the North End.
"Brandon," I said as I glanced toward the jagged buildings of my neighborhood, "I need to go home. I'm supposed to start work in three days, and I have stuff to do."
"I know," he said as he thumbed through his phone. "But I need to grab a few things at my place." He looked up, as if suddenly confused. "Did you want to stay apart tonight?"
I softened at his obvious desire to be close. "Well, I just thought...maybe you'd want some space. Watching me do laundry and clean my room isn't exactly exciting stuff."
Brandon perked a blond brow at me. "I don't know. You could probably make it pretty interesting. Especially if you do it naked."
I rolled my eyes, but still flushed at his wolfish expression. "Seriously, though. Don't you want a break from me?"
He sighed and absently kissed the back of my hand. "Um, no. I like the doldrums with you, Red. Did you forget that I asked you to move in with me just a few months ago?"
The lamps outside flashed across his face, which was warm, but inquisitive. I hadn't forgotten about that night, of course. A night when Brandon had made love to me on the massive piano he'd bought me (ridiculously), when he'd said he loved me, over and over again. When he'd asked me to live with him, I'd accepted. He showed me just how happy he really was about that, and then we'd promptly been discovered by his ex-wife.
It all seemed like a very long time ago.
I looked at his face for any kind of joke, but Brandon appeared to be completely earnest.
I cracked a small smile. "You want to play house with me."
With a grin that lit up the car, Brandon tugged at the braid on my shoulder. "Baby, I am dying to play house with you."
The sudden intensity of his blue eyes, somehow unfathomably bright even in the shadowy car interior, made me lose my breath. After a beat, Brandon finally dropped my hair.
"Besides," he said, "you don't know this yet, but you are barely going to have time to see me for the next, oh, five years or so. It will be everything I can do to convince Kieran to give you one night off a month."
I snorted. "It's not going to be that bad."
In return, all I got was a skeptical look that made the lines across his forehead wrinkle hilariously.
"You'll see," was all he said.
The car pulled into the garage in the back of Brandon's building, but there was another horde of paparazzi huddled outside the main entrance as we drove by. I shuddered.
"They really are vultures, aren't they?" I remarked.
Brandon just hugged me closer and kissed the top of my head. "Don't worry. They'll lose interest, and then we can figure the rest of this shit out together."
Once in the elevator, the fatigue of travel hit us both. It felt like it was five in the morning instead of eleven o'clock at night. By the time the elevator doors opened, I didn't care anymore about how much I disliked this apartment. I was ready to pull Brandon into his bedroom, and tire us both out to the point where we wouldn't wake up at four in the morning because of jet lag.
Unfortunately, we were going to have to wait. Cory Stewart was sitting comfortably on Brandon's couch when we walked in. His sharp glare found our clasped hands, flickered coldly to me, then looked to Brandon.
"Cory," Brandon said evenly. "It couldn't keep until the morning?"
"'Fraid not, boss. Miranda gave another interview that's going to be on the front page of the Globe tomorrow morning. Here, this is from a friend there."
He held out his phone to both Brandon and me to show us a proof of the story. An old picture of Miranda and Brandon, looking impossibly young and gorgeous together, was just under a headline that read "Local Boy Does Good or Does Dirty?" I took the phone and scrolled through the article. There was my name, printed loud and clear:
His new paramour appears to be a new Harvard Law graduate and former intern from Sterling Grove, Skylar Crosby. Their relationship raises several concerns about Sterling's ethics in the context of his rumored run for mayor.
The blood drained from my head all at once, and I was glad there was a sofa under my legs to catch me.
"Oh," I said as I leaned forward to put my head between my knees "Oh, God. Oh, fucking God!"
Brandon didn't say anything, just stared at the screen for a few seconds while his face turned bright red and looked like smoke was about to come whistling from his ear and nose. Then, all at once with an explosive movement, he picked up Cory's empty coffee cup off the table and hurled it the wall, where it shattered with a resounding crash.
"Fuck!" he yelled, tugging his hat off his head and sending it in the same direction as the mug.
He turned to Cory, who had the decency to cower a little bit, his eyes darting at the broken ceramic and coffee staining the white walls. I couldn't have cared less about the mess; I was struggling just to breathe.
"You couldn't have stopped this?" Brandon demanded. "What the fuck do I pay you for, Cory?"
Cory crossed his thin arms and frowned. "I'm not Miranda's keeper, boss. I did my best to hold off the Globe, but no amount of campaign access was going to stop them from running this story."
"They didn't need to bring Skylar into it. You couldn't have kept her name out of it?" Brandon growled, gesturing toward me. "Fuck!"
He sat on the couch next to me and reached a hand to my leg, but I curled inward, pulling my knees up against my chest and resting my forehead on the thin fabric of my leggings. I felt like I was going to throw up. Brandon looked like he wanted to tear apart the entire room. I just focused on breathing.
"I don't think I should go tomorrow night," I mumbled into my kneecaps.
"I agree," Cory said curtly above me.
When I looked up, he was watching me with a hard expression. I couldn't blame him. He was an asshole, but my presence in Brandon's life was making his job incredibly difficult.
"No," Brandon said even more emphatically beside me.
I looked at him. "Brandon. Let's be practical here. Tomorrow's announcement could be a way for you to deflect. You show up, look like your Camelot-looking self, and the whole city will think Miranda is just being desperate. But if I show up with you, I'll be the narrative, and you'll lose your momentum. Bad for you, and I really don't want this kind of attention."
Brandon stared at me with a pained expression, then shook his head. "Skylar, I told you, baby, I'm not doing this without you. If you don't come, Miranda wins. That's exactly what she wants!"
"No, she wins if I show up and pull the focus away from you,
" I replied. "All the more reason that I should stay away."
"I agree," Cory said again, although he seemed as surprised as I was that we were on the same page. "You have a chance to change the narrative here, boss. You make your announcement tomorrow night, and nobody's going to give a shit that your jealous, soon-to-be ex is throwing around her sob story. She'll just look like a desperate woman trying to hang onto the spotlight."
Then Cory sighed. "Look, I'll be straight. It honestly won't matter that much to you if she goes. You might look a bit like a ladies' man, but that's never stopped voters before." He bit his lip and nodded at me. "But it will matter for her. She'll look like the other woman in a town where half the people here don't believe in divorce. They'll say she's wrecking your marriage. That she only wants you for your money. You want me to go on?"
Brandon pressed his lips together so hard they turned white. I knew what he was thinking. For some reason, any mention of me as an extramarital affair, even though that's technically what I was, really, really pissed him off. He squeezed my hand hard enough that I had to pull it away and shake it out to make the blood return.
"I want to know where the fuck the Globe got a second source to confirm your name," he bit out.
"What the fuck does that matter?" Cory exploded. "The whole fucking world saw you holding her hand at the NECA benefit. This is what I've been telling you from the beginning!"
Brandon's eyes flashed at me. "You don't think Eric or Jane..."
I shook my head vehemently. "Absolutely not. And before you ask, neither would Bubbe or my dad."
Cory snorted, but quieted when I shot him a quick glare.
Finally, Brandon shook his head, and looked back at me, blue eyes pleading. "I still want you there."
"Brandon––" I started.
"Please," he said. "We can go separately, if it makes the two of you feel better. You can come with Cory, and he can bring you around the back of the hotel. There's no pictures of you anywhere yet; no one will know who you are. But I need to know you're there, Red. My family will be there––Ray and Susan are coming. And you're my family now too."
Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2) Page 37