Unexpected Heat: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “No, that is a surprise,” she says.

  Mom chooses that moment to walk in. She carries a small plate. A delicious smell accompanies her.

  “Thought you might like a little taste of my chicken before dinner,” she says.

  Mila leaves her position. “Yes, please. It smells so good.”

  Mom grins as she hands a paper towel to Mila and then one to me. I feel a lot more relaxed than when I came in, and it’s all Mila’s doing. It hits me then how much I’ve always needed someone to talk to. A person I can unburden myself to, after a long day.

  Brenda was not the kind of wife to sit with at the end of the day to chat. I hadn’t realized how much I had been missing. It makes a man feel good to know that he’ll spend the evening with his woman and that she’s strong enough to handle whatever he tells her.

  The chicken is as tasty as it looks.

  “You’re a wonderful cook, Mom,” I tell her as she waits for our verdict. “It’s delicious.”

  “It is. You have to teach me how to make this,” Mila says.

  A grin almost splits Mom’s face. “I will. It’s not difficult at all.”

  The doorbell chimes and I jump to my feet. “I’ll get it.”

  I open the door and groan inwardly when I see who the newcomer is. The court evaluator. A thousand thoughts go through my mind. She couldn’t have come at a worse time. I had hoped that she would come again after Mom left. I blink rapidly and wonder if there’s a way to get her to come back another day.

  That option quickly becomes moot when she makes her way into the house.

  “Good evening,” she says in a brisk voice. She clutches a file in one hand and looks around. “I take it everybody’s home?”

  “Yes,” I say, misery coating my voice. I remind myself to be cheerful. “Good evening to you too.”

  My muscles, which only a minute ago had been relaxed, are now tight with tension. What will my mother say to the court evaluator? I’m frightened because she is unpredictable when it comes to my personal life. I don’t trust my own mother. For all I know, she could be pretending that she’s happy with Mila only to say negative things to the court evaluator. I wish I’d had a moment to warn her about that. Too late, I think as I follow her into the living room.

  Mom and Mila are talking, and Mila stands up when she sees the court evaluator. She raises an eyebrow at me, and I know she has the same fears. I try to smile to reassure her. There’s no point in worrying ourselves sick. There’s not much we can do about it now.

  I introduce my mother to the court evaluator.

  “So, you’re the one who decides whether Isaac stays with his father or goes with his mom?” Mother asks, and my heart skips a bit.

  The court evaluator smiles. The first time I’ve ever seen her smile. “Not quite, but my report does have a lot to do with it.”

  “Good, because I have a lot to tell you,” Mother says.

  The court evaluator looks like she’s won the lottery. “I’d be happy to listen.”

  “Come with me to the kitchen. I’m cooking dinner. We’ll chat as I finish up,” Mom says and propels the other woman to the kitchen.

  My instinct is to follow them to the kitchen. I must make my mother understand that anything she says now could result in my son being taken away from me. An arm touches me.

  “Sit down,” Mila says. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “What if she says something…”

  Mila shakes her head. “She won’t. Trust her. She knows you’re an awesome dad, and in the last couple of days, she’s seen what kind of family man you are.”

  I sink into the couch, but my mind won’t rest. Images of Isaac being carried away from home screaming and calling for me, run through my mind.

  “I can’t wait for this to be over and we can go on with the rest of our lives,” I tell Mila.

  She keeps her hand in mine. Our fingers are interlaced, and she squeezes to let me know she understands. We sit quietly waiting. Muted voices waft from the kitchen. There’s no point in pretending to converse. It’s beyond my capabilities to talk and think at the same time.

  Mila instinctively understands this.

  The court evaluator emerges moments later. Her expression is stern as usual. She glances at us. “Your mother sent me to get Isaac for dinner.”

  She doesn’t wait for our response.

  At my mother’s insistence, she joins us for dinner. Mila and I are quiet. Mother dominates the conversation, regaling the court evaluator with tales of growing up in another era. The chicken, which had been so delicious earlier, now tastes like a piece of wood.

  My throat seems to have closed up, and I can’t bring myself to eat some more.

  My mom, ever eagle eyes, is quick to notice. “I thought you liked the chicken?”

  I fake a smile. “I do.” I attack it with renewed vigor. I can’t wait for the evening to end.

  Chapter 32

  Mila

  Mrs. Bennet and I have fallen into a routine. After the boys leave for work and school respectively, we clean up. She vacuums the carpets while I wash the dishes. Then we fold the laundry as I put it away. After the household chores, we part ways. I go to work while she gets ready for her day.

  It is while we’re folding the laundry that she asks about my work.

  “Brad tells me that you’re a very gifted artist,” she says. “I’d like to see your work sometime.”

  That takes me by surprise. Pleasure swirls through me. “I’d be happy to show you. I’m working on a few portraits at the moment. You may recognize the subjects.”

  Her eyes widen and twinkle. “How about now? Unless you don’t—?”

  “It’s fine,” I tell her. “I can show you.”

  “I’ll finish this later,” she says.

  We chat easily as we leave the house and walk next door. In the studio, I fling the door open and hold the door for her to enter first.

  “Oh, wow!” she exclaims. “The light here is unbelievable.”

  I grin. Everyone who enters the studio reacts the same way. I remove the white cloths that cover my two works in progress and stand to the side so that she can see. Butterflies fill my stomach. My work is the most sensitive part of me. A few careless words can paralyze me for weeks.

  She steps closer. Her mouth falls open. She looks from the painting to me as if she can’t quite believe her eyes.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she murmurs. “I knew you must be good because Brad said so, but this, this is genius.”

  I can tell from her voice that she means every word. “Thank you.”

  “They both look as if they’ll step out of the canvas at any moment,” she says, her voice still filled with awe.

  I chuckle at that. That’s what I strive for when I do portraits—to capture the essence of a person so that they seem to be alive. It’s the highest compliment anyone can pay me. The two works in progress are for the two men in my life. Brad and Isaac. This is a new thing for me as I never do portraits of my loved ones.

  Mrs. Bennet keeps staring at the portraits, and when she does look at me, it’s with new respect. She says more nice things about my work and then walks to the window where I join her. The view from the window is of the pool next door. A blush covers my face as a memory comes to mind. I had stood in this very spot and watched Brad cleaning the pool. It seems so long ago.

  I had rushed to wear the skimpiest bikini I owned and then hurried next door. Brad’s eyes had followed hungrily as I entered the pool, and he followed me in shortly after. We had proceeded to make out like horny teenagers. That was the craziest place Brad and I had fucked. The pool. In broad daylight, but of course, there had been no one to see us. My pussy twitches at the memory.

  “Brad tells me you were married before?” Mrs. Bennet says, jerking me back to the present.

  Her question feels like cold water has been poured over me. Divorce is not something that a person ever wants to talk about. It’s an admission of failure. I
t’s saying that you failed at something whereas so many other people excel.

  “Yes,” I say in a flat voice. “His name is Clay. He was a bully, and I desperately wanted to be loved.”

  “I know what you mean,” Mrs. Bennet says. “I was married before I met Brad’s father. He was a bully as well, and like you, I really just wanted a family to love me. Looking back now, it doesn’t seem like me. I don’t understand how I let him lie to me for so long.”

  I stare at her in surprise but recover soon. I touch her arm. “Now I know that such people are very good at what they do. They charm you in one moment and then bully you in the next.”

  “I’m glad you and my son have found each other,” she says.

  For a second, I think my ears must be deceiving me, and then she continues talking.

  “It’s taken me a while to admit that Brad and Brenda were never happy together. I didn’t want to admit that my son had an unhappy marriage.”

  I think over my next words carefully. “I suppose no parent wants to see their child unhappy.”

  She sighs heavily. “I did more than shut my eyes to what was going on. I believed Brenda over my own son. Even over my own eyes. I believed her when she accused Brad of neglecting her.”

  “Have you told Brad any of this?” I ask gently. It seems to me that mother and son need to have a serious heart to heart.

  She shakes her head. “I’m frightened of losing him again.”

  “You won’t. He loves you too much.”

  She turns her gaze to me. Her eyes are wet with tears. “Thank you for saying that. I’ll leave you now to continue working on those masterpieces. I can’t wait for Brad and Isaac to see them.”

  “Me too,” I say happily.

  She contemplates me for a few seconds without saying a word until I become fidgety.

  “I’m glad my son found you,” she finally says. “I’ve never seen him so happy. You’re just perfect for him.”

  The guilt comes then. Bucketfuls of it. It washes over me and renders me unable to speak. Mrs. Bennet is just a mother who wants to protect her son and grandson. She doesn’t deserve to be lied to. What will happen when the custody case is over, and Brad and I divorce?

  It’ll break her heart to think that her son can never find happiness with a woman. I hate to imagine what that will do to her. I wrestle with myself. Brad will help her recover. She’ll get over it. But I can’t push away the guilt. I can’t live with myself knowing an innocent person will be hurt by our fake marriage.

  I inhale deeply and turn to her. “Mrs. Bennet, there’s something I need to tell you.” My voice is shaky.

  “Yes dear?” she says.

  I brace myself by closing my eyes for a few seconds. When I open them, I can’t look into her eyes. Shame washes over me. Suddenly the decision, which had seemed so smart, now seems so evil.

  “Brad and I are not genuinely married. We got married to give Brad a chance at keeping Isaac with him.” I drop my head and stare at the ground.

  The silence between us stretches on. My breath comes out haltingly. I can’t bear to see the disgust in her face. A finger touches my chin and lifts up my face so that I’m looking into her eyes. I see compassion and understanding instead of the condemnation I expected. I inhale sharply.

  “I don’t care what you call it. All I know is what I see. And I have never seen two people more in love with each other,” she says. She smiles, drops her finger from my chin, and leaves the room.

  Brad and I in love with each other? The words keep playing in my mind. I desperately wish it was true. I know Brad is attracted to me. Okay, more than attracted to me, and the feeling is mutual. I know that when Brad sees me, all the blood in his body goes south. But attraction is not equal to love. On my part, I can’t deny my feelings for him. I’m in love with Brad Bennet. He makes me happy. I love his son like he was my very own.

  How I wish that what Mrs. Bennet said was true. If Brad was in love with me, he’d have already told me so. He’s a man who is not afraid to confront his feelings.

  I glance at my wristwatch and realize that I’ve wasted 15 minutes thinking about something that is beyond my control. It’s time to get back to work. I settle down in front of my work in progress, and as I’m getting my mind in the right frame, my cell phone vibrates.

  I swallow down my irritation at the interruption and reach for it. A new message. Dismay comes over me as I see the sender of the message. Clay.

  Just checking on you. Xoxo.

  I’m incensed. What does xoxo mean for a couple who are divorced? Tears prickle at my eyelids. I was so sure that he had gotten the message.

  Are you back home? I text back.

  A second later, the phone beeps.

  No. Decided to hang around and enjoy LA a little longer. And, I don’t want to be too far off when you change your mind.

  I hold back a scream. I can’t believe we’ve gone back to this. What is Clay playing at? I made it clear that we are done. I jump to my feet and pace. I need someone who will make him see sense.

  David. I grab my phone and find Jessica’s number. My hands tremble as I wait for her to answer.

  “Hi stranger,” she says.

  “Hi,” I tell her. The misery in my response is obvious, and Jessica quickly picks up on it.

  “What is it, hon? Is Isaac okay? Brad?”

  “They’re all fine. It’s Clay. He’s in LA,” I tell her.

  “What?” Jessica says then shouts to someone else. “Did you know Clay is in LA?” she comes back to the phone. “Are you sure? David doesn’t know about it.”

  “I’m sure. I met him yesterday, and he said he was going back home. He’s just texted me to say that he’s staying around in case I change my mind about going back to him.” The last couple of words are tinged with hysteria.

  “Don’t you worry about it. I’ll get David to call him now and tell him to haul his ass back home.”

  Jessica’s firm voice reassures me. If anyone can put sense into my ex-husband, it’s his cousin Michael.

  Chapter 33

  Brad

  It’s the perfect weather for paddling on the lake. The sun is warm rather than hot, and a slight breeze is keeping the air fresh. The blue skies reflect on the park lake, making it resemble the ocean. I’m the designated paddle person as Mila and Isaac lean over the boat to look into the water.

  Today is one of those days you never want to end. For once in a long time, I’m not worrying about Brenda or the custody case. The perfect weather has banished all my fears. I paddle our boat around the lake, enjoying the restful activity.

  Later, Mila gets a turn paddling.

  “I’ve never done this before,” she says, a gorgeous smile on her face. “I don’t know where I’ve been living,” she adds with a laugh. Despite the laughter, Mila looks sad.

  A whiff of anger comes over me. From our conversations, I’ve made a mental profile of her ex-husband. A man who has no business being near a woman. A narcissist. His joy had come from making Mila as miserable as he could. I let out a breath and try to push away the thoughts of her ex-husband. A man I would gladly strangle.

  “What else have you never done?”

  She looks away to think. “This one will surprise you. I’ve never been to a movie theatre.”

  I can tell from her voice and facial expression that she means it.

  “We will remedy that,” I tell her and make a mental note to leave work early the following week.

  “Can I help?” Isaac says, and Mila invites him to sit on her lap, and they steer the boat together.

  She loves him more than his own mother!

  That thought leaves me breathless. If only. I refuse to go there. I’ve been heartbroken before, and it almost crippled me. The only thing that kept me going was Isaac. I don’t know if I could bear it if Mila broke my heart.

  She won’t.

  How do you know? Brenda did.

  She’s nothing like Brenda.

  Brenda was
good too at the beginning.

  All women are not Brenda.

  But most are.

  An argument rages on in my mind. Sometimes I’m very sure of what I want. To live happily with Mila. Then the memories of heartbreak come, leaving my limbs weak. That is one thing I never want to go through again. Even the thought of it frightens me.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” Mila says, bringing me back to the present. She looks so beautiful with the sun behind her, lighting her hair to gold. I reach out to capture a strand of hair. “I was thinking about how beautiful you are.”

  Her skin flushes and a smile pulls at her lips. She cocks her head and raises an eyebrow. She knows me too well. “Really?”

  I grin. “Amongst other things which are not important.”

  “Dad, look, I saw a fish!” Isaac says, bouncing on his knees with excitement.

  I lean over to look. I can’t see a thing in the murky water. We spend the next hour just relaxing and taking turns paddling the boat. We resemble every other family in the lake. When we are done, melancholy comes over me. It will be difficult to get used to living life just the two of us. Isaac and I are so used to Mila. I feel as if she’s been with us forever. We go for ice cream afterward.

  “You have a smudge on your cheek,” Mila tells me. “Here, I’ll get it ...”

  I close my eyes and lean forward. Something cold touches my cheek. Isaac giggles. I pop my eyes open and find Mila and Isaac doubling over in laughter. I touch my cheek and find a fresh glob of ice cream.

  “Is that how it’s going to be?” I ask.

  They laugh, and I stifle my own laughter. I turn solemn and lean across the table. “Hey, look.” I point behind her.

  She reacts instinctively and looks. I take that moment to dab some ice cream on my finger. When Mila turns back, I smear it on her cheek. As I do so, I see the look of worry on her face.

  “Mila, Dad’s tricking you,” Isaac cries.

  Mila laughs, and so do I, but the sounds are hollow. Why did Mila look so worried moments ago? Protective feelings come over me. I want to make her feel safe again.

  I wait until we’re going to bed to ask her about it.