The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (68 page)

Brandon rose and went to him, squatting next to the boy and telling him about the insect.

I watched Nicole as she stared at her son, an expression of tenderness and a certain haunting sadness crossing her face.

“Do you still love him?” I ventured in a hushed tone.

She didn’t have to ask who I meant. 

She simply said, “What use is there to love someone you can never be with anyway? Someone who would never be the right choice for you?”

There was no straightforward answer in that statement but it was an answer in itself.

I felt a pang of sympathy. 

We all have certain truths we’re ashamed to admit—whether it’s a guilty pleasure or an unrequited love for the last man to deserve you.

“I can’t say I like Francis a lot but you must’ve seen something in him to have taken the risks you did with him,” I told Nicole as my own gaze averted to my husband whose shoulders Zach had climbed on as the two of them moved on to another flower bed, trying to chase after the dragonfly.

My heart thrummed with a warm, featherlight emotion as I watched both boys. “Sometimes, all an eternally-romantic heart needs is that one glimpse of the man he could be to bear it past the beastly facade.”

“It’s a terrible risk to take, especially when behind the beastly facade is an actual beast, well-skilled in luring you in like prey,” Nicole agreed, a hint of bitterness to her tone. 

Sometimes, the frog you kiss is really just a frog.

I had been lucky with Brandon. 

He actually turned out to be everything I ever dreamed of and more. But not every woman lived the life of Cinderella. 

“I haven’t seen Brandon in a long time, you know,” Nicole said and I arched a brow at her for the swift, not-so-suave shift of topic. She was smiling though. “The last time he came to see us was several months ago. He avoids visiting too often, not wanting to draw attention to me and Zach, but I think in his heart, seeing us made him feel guilty for what Francis had done even though it was in no way his fault.”

I sighed and sat back in my chair, taking a long sip of my cold mint tea. “Brandon thinks he has to fix everything and he doesn’t forgive himself easily if he fails. I’ve tried to cure him of it but he’s not as self-indulgent as I could be about my own shortcomings.”

“Being the Maxfield heir, the sense of responsibility is probably instilled in him forever,” she said thoughtfully. “But the Brandon I last saw more than six months ago and the Brandon who showed up at our door recently don’t seem to be the same person. He’s less serious, for one.”

I snorted. “Less stuffy, you mean? He has to be, to be married to me.”

Nicole gave a light chuckle. “True. But it doesn’t take much to see that you’ve been good for him. He seems younger, you know? Happier, too. He smiles and laughs a lot and he’s lost that look he used to wear as if the world was on his shoulders.”

I felt a rush of pleasure at the thought, especially as I glanced toward Brandon just as he threw his head back and laughed at something Zach said.

“We’ve been very lucky with each other,” I murmured softly, my gaze never leaving the man whose name was forever etched in the deepest recesses of my heart, untouched by anything in this world. 

Nicole reached forward and placed a hand over my own, her expression earnest. “I already know he’s extremely lucky to have found you and while I’m sure that there’s no need for me to point it out, I want to reassure you that Brandon is a wonderful man who will make you happy any way he can. He has a good, generous heart. I mean, just look at what he’s done for me and Zach.”

I warmed at the fierce conviction of her words. “You’re family, Nic. Of course, he’ll take care of you.”

She shrugged. “I guess but I know for a fact that Brandon’s generosity isn’t limited to his extended family. When he found me outside of the shelter, huddled and freezing with other people who were also waiting for a spot inside, he didn’t merely just come along to take me away.”

I leaned forward, intrigued. I didn’t say anything though—just simply waited for Nicole to continue.

“He deposited me in the car and went in to talk to someone in the shelter. He just... marched in... and people just gave way, even when a riot was nearly escalating as those waiting outside got more and more restless in the cold,” she went on, her gaze drifting into space as she replayed the memory. “He was gone for a good twenty minutes or so that I started worrying he was never going to make it out of there. It was one of those small, poorly organized shelters where they take in anyone, no questions asked, which was why it was so packed full. A little while later, a couple of school buses came and picked up everyone waiting outside who were unlikely to even get a spot in the shelter.”

“Oh. And where did the buses take them?”

“Where else but to a school?” Nicole said with an amused smile. “He didn’t tell me anything when he got back to the car. I read about it in an article someone wrote later that week. An anonymous benefactor had opened the doors to a nearby school gymnasium for these homeless people where they were provided cots and blankets. Staff had arrived with loads of hot soup and bread and water to last them through the night. Three months later, the entire block corner where the shelter was located was purchased by another anonymous benefactor and converted into a massive, well-funded and well-organized lodging for the poor and homeless. It was renamed St. Martin House, if you’ve heard about it.”

I remembered to shut my mouth close.

I knew St. Martin House. It was a very clean, very nice homeless shelter run by a compassionate and competent staff. They offered separated facilities and accommodation for men and women, clean, comfortable beds, good, hearty food, basic health needs, and some means of counseling whether it was to help people find jobs, or reach out to family or friends who could help them.

I choked down the sudden sob that swelled in my throat. 

“He never said anything about it but I know without a doubt that Brandon was behind the whole thing. It was even named after his father.” Nicole gave a decisive nod and patted my hand. “I think, if Brandon had a chance to sit still and see how the world suffers, he won’t be able to help himself and he’d try to help everyone he can.”

My smile was a little shaky. “I know. He doesn’t like to admit it but Brandon’s real wealth is his heart of gold.”

Sometime later that day, after we’d bid Nicole and Zach goodbye and went home, I confronted Brandon as he was cutting up the cucumber for the salad we were making for dinner.

“Did you build St. Martin House?” I asked.

He paused in his task, glancing up at me with a raised brow. “Why do you ask?”

“Just answer me,” I prompted almost impatiently. 

Sensing the significance I was attaching to my question, he set his knife down and faced me. “In a way, yes. The shelter was already there. I just expanded it.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay.”

His brows furrowed. “Why? What about it?”

My lips quivered as I fought to maintain my composure. “Do you know that it was named after Saint Martin of Tours, the patron saint against impoverishment, alcoholism, beggars and a whole variety of the unfortunate, among other things?”

His expression was inscrutable as he continued to watch me. “I know.”

“You do?” I asked with a faint smile. “I thought you named the shelter after your father.”

He didn’t smile. In fact, he looked quite serious. “In a way, he and the saint have some things in common.”

I laughed at that. “You’re right. They do.”

My brief laughter trailed off as I lowered my gaze and stared at the shiny surface of our marble countertop which was probably worth someone’s salary in a year.

It was a bit ironic, making dinner in our penthouse suite in the city’s most exclusive high-rise residence price-tagged in the seven to eight digits, when a few years ago, I was practically licking leftovers from a chipped and warped laminate countertop in a dilapidated shanty of a building.

“Why do you want to know about the shelter?” Brandon prompted again after our extended lapse into silence.

You’ve been trying to get around to this all day. There’s no use dissembling now. Say your thank you.

“There were times when I couldn’t stay with Aimee to avoid my Dad,” I started slowly, biting my lip and risking a glance at my husband.

He looked intent and impatient.

“I would sometimes pass the time taking the bus and walking around the city,” I paused, smiling a little at the memories. “Back Bay was my favorite—looking at all the pretty houses made me feel a bit better, ironically enough. I’d dream up of the life I kept telling myself I might still have a shot at someday—a charming, little town house with a good husband who would help me in the kitchen with the kids as we baked cookies.”

I couldn’t help my blush at how silly I sounded. “I was a teenage girl, you know? I had all kinds of ideas. They’d helped blot out the more dreary facts of my life then.”

I sighed and settled on one of the stools around the kitchen island. “I’d gone to Embers a few times before, just for a night here or there when my Dad was dangerously drunk. They didn’t ask a lot of questions, didn’t bother trying to call my parents at home when they all suspected I was too young to be wandering about on my own. I stayed for an odd night or two. One day, I came and it was this entirely new place called St. Martin House. It was very nice. Everyone there was very kind and helpful.”

I couldn’t help a smile. “It actually felt better than home the couple of nights I stayed there. I hadn’t gone back though because I left for Paris a few months after that.”

Brandon looked devastated.

His hazel eyes were full of tender sorrow even though his jaw was set tight with the intense emotions he was fighting to rein in.

I smiled broadly this time. “Don’t look so horrified, Brand. I wanted you to know about the shelter because it had been my refuge in the past. To know that you’d once seen what was home to a lot of us who were unanchored at some pretty low points in our lives, and had done something to improve it—it’s made me indescribably happy. You put those nice pillows under my head, those clean sheets to keep me warm. You put that bowl of hot soup in my hand so I could sleep with a full stomach. You put that fireplace there in the communal room where I curled up in a corner to read a book from the shelves you stocked full of classics. You did all that without even knowing I would be there, that you would someday find me and love me.”

I rose from the stool and rounded the kitchen island to stand in front of him.

His shoulders were rigid, his eyes stormy as they met mine. 

He didn’t move as I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on my toes, a soft smile curving on my lips. “Thank you for that act of kindness, my love. If you hadn’t done what you did, we may have never found each other.”

“Charlotte.” He choked out my name through a clenched jaw before his arms suddenly locked around me, nearly crushing me into the warm, hard frame of his body as he buried his face into my neck. His breath was warm and moist on my skin as he murmured my name over and over again.

Still smiling, I rubbed a hand in soothing circles across his back.

I knew Brandon hated to think of the hardships I’ve lived through but I needed to tell him in order to make him understand just how much he’d done for me without having even known me. 

You never know how far your actions echo into the future. Every choice you’re faced with is a fork in the road that maps the rest of your journey, and determines who will be waiting for you when you get to your destination.

Brandon gently released me just enough so he could look into my eyes. 

“I don’t think I will ever take anything for granted again,” he rasped, his large hands cradling the sides of my face, his thumb slowly grazing across my bottom lip. “To love you fully is to love you in every way possible, even in the smallest, most inconspicuous ways that will eventually all lead back to you.”

I grinned and held up a finger to stay him. “Can you hold that line for a sec while I go find a pen and paper?”

Brandon laughed, his cheeks flushing and his eyes sparkling with humor. “No, you’re not writing this down.”

I pouted. “But I have to so I don’t miss a single word! I want to have something to read to myself in case you’re too busy to tell me new declarations of love.”

Brandon stuck his tongue out at me. “I’d never be too busy.”

“What kind of hotshot CEO has time for corny declarations of love to his wife?” I asked with a dramatic roll of my eyes. 

“My kind,” Brandon said with a teasing grin before he suddenly swept me off my feet and clipped me to his side like a sack of potatoes big enough to feed a small village.

“Brandon! Where do you think you’re going?” I demanded as he strode out of the kitchen, my legs pumping into the air as I twisted and turned to see where he was taking me. “We were in the middle of making dinner!”

“I know,” he answered nonchalantly as he turned down the hall that led to the bedrooms. “I decided we’ll have dessert first.”

Even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was grinning.

I sighed and gave up my struggle. 

Hey, every good man deserved dessert.