The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (47 page)

Perfect.

It was a word I hardly ever used in reference to my life, but it was one that more than aptly described the last few days.

After the thunderstorm rolled past us that night, the world had been nothing but full of sunshine, clear blue skies, the endless stretch of sea, and many precious moments with Brandon.

I thought I’d been pretty happy before that night of our failed camping trip. It was crazy how big a difference our confession made. 

There was happy and there was absolute bliss.

Because as fun as guessing games are, they’re the last thing you need when you fall hopelessly in love. What heart loves and hopes not to be loved in return?

I knew Brandon cared long before he admitted to his feelings.

There was no way I could deny that he felt something for me—I always saw his eyes light up when they looked my way. I couldn’t miss the variety of kisses he’d given me—from sensual to sweet to simply soothing. I couldn’t count the times he held my hand, or pulled me close to him, or kept us connected through the merest touch. No man who didn’t care acted that way. 

Oh, sure, it hadn’t been instantaneous. 

I could still clearly recall how arrogant and disdained he was when we first met. But somewhere along the way, soon after that, Brandon stumbled off the path and leapt off the cliff. 

He started to care—and care a lot.

But for that suspicion to evolve into an all-out revelation that Brandon more than cared about me—he loved me—it startled me so much I was still reeling a few days later. 

Yet even with that puzzle still broken up into jigsaw pieces in my head, the way we were after that confession seemed perfectly natural. The truth simply intensified the depth of our feelings for each other. 

It was like we’ve been doing this beautiful yet mysteriously magical thing all this time and someone finally explained it, and it made perfect sense.

Instead of the usual blasted doubts, my company became this sweet ache of happiness—a feeling so good it almost hurt.We woke up late the day after the storm and made brunch using some of the supplies we’d brought. The beach house (now called as such after I won the argument with Brandon that a shoe box was a cabin, not a beachfront mini-mansion) wasn’t used very often, but it had some basic, non-perishable supplies which was stocked by a housekeeping company Marissa hired to check in and tidy up the place every other month.

When the sun finally broke through the clouds late in the day, we got dressed and walked down the wooden boardwalk that led to the private beach. The rain had brought in a lot of seaweed and sediments to the shore but it made for an interesting beachcombing experience. 

Living in Boston, the ocean was never too far, but I didn’t have a mother or father to bring me to the beach on a weekend excursion or anything like that. 

I didn’t really have a set of high school friends, and Aimee, who was pretty much my bestfriend/big sister, had her plate full working as a nurse and being a single mother. 

The few times I went to the beach in my entire life, it was mostly with a practical purpose. I never got to just frolic along the shore, barefoot, my face lifted to the sun, smiling and laughing.

But that weekend with Brandon, I got to do all of that and more. 

We made our meals together, cuddled by the living room in the evenings, talked the time away, made slow sweet love well into the night, and did it all over again the next day. He'd used some extra protection, saying that the pill wasn't reliable at all in the first week or so, but that he'd been too far gone to care that first time we made love.

The possibility of having a baby stumped me at first, but Brandon just smiled and kissed me, saying that as much as he'd love to see little Charlottes and Brandons, he would prefer if we waited. 

"I want you to see the world first," he said. "Live and enjoy the life you're long overdue to have. We have a lifetime ahead of us, love, and you're still very young. We can have babies later."

"But what if I got pregnant?" I squeaked, worried that the decision might already be out of our hands because I was naive.

"Then we'll have the baby and we'll see the world and enjoy life together—the three of us. I'm ready whenever it's meant to happen. Fortunately, we have the luxury of living comfortably even while starting a family. I'm mostly just thinking about you."

The thought of a family with Brandon warmed me all over and yes, I would love to, but he was right. 

I wasn't ready quite yet. 

I had a lot of growing up to do first, despite the fact that I already felt too old for my years. 

I had no parenting skills except for the base knowledge that I should do anything but what my own parents did. 

I still also wanted to make something of myself. Nothing big—just something I could proudly claim as an accomplishment that meant something.

With those doubts smoothened out of the way, the rest of our stay had been pure heaven. 

When Sunday came, it was tough to summon the will to leave our paradise and head back to the city the next morning. 

At least, it’s not like you’re leaving behind a weekend of passionate, reckless abandon. You’re returning from that moment in time to a reality that has been altered to match what was only once your secret fantasy.

Brandon and I didn’t just escape to indulge ourselves away from any reminders of our situation—to go where we could pretend that we had more than just our arrangement. 

We went away to where we could lay bare our hearts and souls. 

We were returning to make the lie into the truth. 

I was free to know that what we had was ours, and not just merely borrowed moments. 

“It looks like you’ve been sorely missed,” Brandon remarked dryly as he pulled into the driveway in front of the entrance to Grand Hills.

There were a handful of paps loitering around on the sidewalk, keeping a good distance from the front doors where the building security banned them.

I rolled the windows down and grinned at some of the paps who started taking their cameras out at our arrival. 

Familiar faces smiled back at me.

"Hey, you guys!" I greeted them as I stepped out of the car just as the valet came over to help Brandon. "Were you planning on hanging out around here all day to wait for me? Or has some other more famous celebrity moved into the building while we were away?"

Dennis, one of the permanent members of this little league of paps who'd been chatting with me regularly for almost a month now, gave me a sheepish grin and a shrug.

"No new famous neighbors for you, Mrs. M," he replied. "And even if you did, you'd still be our favorite."

“You look good by the way, Char.” Chad, another one of the crew, flashed a crooked smile. “You really look like you had a few days under the sun.”

I smirked. "Still planning on leaving your wife for me, Chad? I hate to break your heart but Mr. M wouldn't be too forgiving if I ran away with you."

Brandon appeared beside me and put an arm around my shoulders, nodding at the paps politely. "No, I wouldn't be. What's up, gentlemen? We're pretty tired but if you've got something you need from us...ask away."

Look at that. Brandon's being nice to them. When you're in love, you're happy. When you're happy, you're good to others. Love really must be the cure for apathy and antipathy.

Marcus, another pap, handed Brandon a rolled up newspaper. "We just wanted to see how your camping trip went. And to confirm whether you were indeed the honored guests at Plympton's summer festival. It's in the papers."

I stood on my toes to peek over Brandon's arm as he spread out the newspaper. It wasn't any of the regular city papers—it was one of those county gazettes. On the front page was a large picture of the floats in the parade, and a collection of smaller ones, a few featuring us with Al and Sue. There was even one of us holding baby Stuart, standing by the sidelines, watching the parade.

My heart gave a fierce kick at the image of us with a baby. 

Slow down, Cinderella. Enjoy the ball, dance with your prince. Take it one day at a time.

There was an accompanying secondary article about us and how we saved the mayor's wife and how we were such warm, delightful guests, etc. 

There was even a picture of us with the newly crowned Miss Plympton and another one of us holding two large gift baskets the town's people insisted we accept. 

I giggled. "Those were some fun times."

"So it's true then?" Marcus asked in surprise. "You were at Plympton for their summer festival? You did save the mayor's wife and their son from being stranded on the highway?"

Dennis jabbed him on the side. "What did you think? That they were just edited into these photos? Knowing Charlotte, you shouldn't be surprised."

"I agree," Brandon added wryly. "It was nothing as adventurous as it sounds though. Susan's car broke down and we gave her a lift to Plympton where we were invited to stay for the afternoon and enjoy the festivities."

"And we've got goodies!" I said brightly, turning to the car which was already being emptied by one of the doormen into one of these luggage trolleys. I swear, living here sometimes felt like an overextended hotel stay.

"You're welcome to some of them, if you'd like." I started taking out a bunch of the stuff we got with the gift baskets and handing them out to the paps—cranberry muffins, cranberry jams, dried cranberries, cranberry juice and a bunch of other crafts. "We had some of them and they're really good. Mayor Al's family owns and runs one of the cranberry bogs there. They’re one of the biggest local producers around south of the state.”

Brandon looked on with amusement as the paps struggled to catch up with me as I started loading their arms with the treats. They murmured their thank-yous and smiled at me indulgently.

“As for our camping trip, we had a fantastic time,” I told them eagerly. “We got caught in a thunderstorm the first night but it was pretty awesome after that.”

“Did it rejuvenate you in preparation for your role as the newest member of the Lady Championettes Society?” Chad piped up. “There’s a lot of speculation that you’re joining. A lot of people are curious how things will turn out considering you aren’t exactly the typical Championette material.”

“What’s that supposed to mean exactly?” Brandon snarled but I quickly touched his arm to calm him.

Chad shrugged, looking earnest. “I don’t mean it as an insult at all. We know Charlotte’s background. We know she’s different—in a good way, and in so many levels. But not everyone’s going to appreciate that about her.”

I couldn’t help a smile. “You guys are too fond of me for your own good. But don’t worry about me. If I’m ever privileged with the chance to work with the Championettes in many of their charitable missions, I’ll do my best to get along with everyone. At the end of the day, it’s not about where any of us came from—it’s where we all end up. I’m hoping the destination would be a good and happy place where charity projects aren’t going to be necessary anymore because no one needs it as a means of survival. It’s a dream, a far-fetched one at that, but that's where we hope we to end up.”

Brandon reached for my hand and squeezed it as the reporters fumbled with their notepads, recorders and cameras, trying to catch every bit of that statement.

It actually felt good saying that.

Even before we arrived in Boston, I’d already made my decision about Melissa’s invitation. Saying out loud the words I just did, reasserted that decision for me.

After a few more minutes of catching up with the reporters, Brandon and I made our way up to the penthouse.

There was a baked pasta dish in the fridge with a note from our housekeeper.

Welcome back! Hope you had a good trip. -Gwen

The moment Brandon had all our electronics plugged in, his cellphone started ringing off the hook. 

We’d shut off all of our gadgets during the weekend. If there was an emergency, Marissa knew the landline number to the beach house. 

Brandon told me to ignore it and let it go to voicemail before he went off to the exercise room to get sweaty before showering.

The phone kept ringing after a five-minute pause in between attempts as if someone just kept trying again and again.

I was on my laptop on the desk where the charging station was, happily sending replies while waiting for our photos to upload when I just about had it.

I snatched the cellphone up and glanced at the screen: S. C.

“Who is this? Santa Claus?” I muttered before pressing the talk button.

I had just cracked my mouth open to speak when a breathy gasp rushed through from the other line.

“Brandon, thank God you picked up!” 

Simone’s voice was unmistakable.

“You probably just got back into town, and I’m sorry for calling you several times, but I really need to see you. We have something to talk about. It’s important. What do you say? You could come to my place so we can have some privacy. Whatever time works for you, I’m free.”

I wondered if I went partially blind because suddenly, I couldn’t see past the slit in my vision.