The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (95 page)

He didn’t toss or turn or make silly sounds or pay attention to the cold draft in the room.

I got up on my feet and picked up the same blanket we’d wrapped ourselves in on the nights we’d made love here, in the same room, and carefully draped it over him. My fingers paused just for a moment before they fleetingly brushed the lock of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead, wanting to do more but holding back. 

Maybe I was still afraid—afraid that he’d wake up and I still wouldn’t have all the right words to fix what we’d broken. 

I couldn’t take that risk just yet, even when there was nothing more I wanted but to see his eyes flutter open, greeting me with that dark, melting gaze, the corners crinkling ever so slightly when he smiled even just a little because he couldn’t help it with me, no matter how hard he tried. 

Never had I seen a man so alive, so adoring, than when Brandon looked at me, his soul bared each time and not caring one bit about it at all. 

I wondered, as I have for days, how I could’ve kept thinking that I wasn’t good enough for him.

If Brandon had his way, the world wouldn’t be good enough for me.

I smiled, despite the prickling of tears in my eyes, and forced myself to allow a certain distance before I did something silly like put my arms around him and kiss him awake.

I wanted to but words needed to be said and apologies had to be made. It would be so easy to sweep everything under the rug and go for the happy ending but I didn’t want more dirt in the past. I was buried so deep in it, it had been choking me for a while.

I perched on the arm chair across from Brandon, my hands tucked between my knees, watching him and wondering how I was going to tell him. 

How would one propose the princess to say all the right words—the perfect words—like those fairy tales written by people who never thought about just how clumsy explanations could be in reality, when your heartbeat was faster than your tongue and your brain didn’t have a script ready for confessions of love that made the history books?

Write it, Cinderella. This is your story, after all.

Brandon’s brief case was already unlatched and as quiet as a mouse, I crouched down to lift the lid open and looked at the supplies available.

I found a fountain pen and a couple of blank stationery sheets with the Maxfield Industries letterhead.

Laying flat on my stomach on the carpet, I started to write, hoping I had enough time and paper to say what I needed to say and praying that they would be the right words.

Dear Brandon, 

I know it’s a little late for this but like most things in my life, I’m catching up, even on unsteady legs, and I hope that I make it before you completely sail away from me. Well, even if you did, I’d get on the next ship and come after you, short of swimming a metaphorical ocean, because I’m stubborn like that.

Yes, I’m stubborn, and I think you know this about me, better than I ever did. I’m so sorry for all the awful things I said to you when you invited my mother to Martin’s party. When the shock wore off, I realized how much I overreacted. Apparently, I’m not exempt from that. A little warning might have helped but in the end, I think you did what you did because I would’ve never agreed to it in the first place. People called me brave and for a long time, I thought I was, too. But the real test doesn’t come until you face the force that shattered you. I thought I was whole, protected by a fortress. But I was merely just throwing jagged pieces of my heart around in defense all these years, hoping they’d do the job of keeping others at a distance. It was still very much broken. Is it whole now? Probably not. Will it ever be whole again? Maybe. I hope so. 

I’m sorry for having kept you in the dark. 

Why didn’t I tell you? Other than the fact that I promised, I’m not sure. 

Maybe because there is already so much of the world who needs you, Brand.

I’m sorry, too, for not explaining the pictures. I felt that it would’ve made no difference, thinking you’d already made up your mind about me, but it meant a world of difference, didn’t it, Brand? I think you wanted me to tell you that it was all a misunderstanding—and you would’ve believed me—but I didn’t. I walked away instead because I was good at that. I wanted to get away before it could hurt more—before I could find out that no, you wouldn’t have believed me after all.

Jake and I are not having an affair. The truth is, he’s in love with someone else—someone who’s probably in love with him too but can’t quite admit it to herself. You’re going to have to ask him about that. I’m sure he’s desperate to tell you but DON’T kill him, please. He has honorable intentions.

As for the clinic—yes, it’s one of those sketchy places where they get rid of your ‘problem’ but I wasn’t there for myself. I was there for a friend who was in a real dire situation. Jake just happened to be with me when I got the call and followed me there, thinking something was wrong with me. The girl we came there for had nowhere to go so Jake let her stay at his place (and laid not one finger on her, at all) which explains the pictures you have of me coming in and out of his condo. I was being there for Jake and his ‘heart’ problems and he was there for me by offering shelter to my friend. As to who she is, I can’t tell you because she’s not ready for people to know. But I promise you that this is the truth. I’m not sure who sent you those pictures and what they have to gain from them but I never betrayed you, Brandon. If you listened to what I said that night when we fought, it was there, layered under all the hurt and anger. The problem, I think, is that when we’re hurt, instead of saying things that could make it better, we say things that hurt back. For this, I am very sorry.

I love you. 

I’ve got all kinds of advice for people but I only have one for myself—believe I’m worth it. 

You’re worth more than I will ever deserve. You are, after all, a modern day prince—but I’m not going to be afraid this time. I’ll reach for you and keep you in my heart.

I’m done running away, Brand. I’m so tired. 

I want to come home.

I want to lay my head somewhere at last—preferably on your chest as you hold me close, letting me listen to your heartbeat, to your tender words, to your laughter until they fill all the empty spaces in me. 

I love you.

Forgive me.

Yours always,

Charlotte

I don’t know how long I sat there—clutching my letter and gazing at Brandon.

Whispering a prayer and an I-love-you, I tucked the folded stationery under the blanket that covered him, lightly kissed his rough cheek and left.

He would find me when he was ready.

The next three days were the longest of my life.

When you’d written your heart out in a letter to a prince, you’d expect him to come riding down your doorstep on a white horse and take you away to the castle where you’d live happily ever after.

Fairy tales were far simpler in books than they were in real life because Brandon didn’t.

In fact, I hadn’t seen him or heard from him in the three days since I left him with the letter.

I contemplated many scenarios—that the letter fell forgotten on the floor, that he read it and decided it wasn’t good enough an explanation or an apology, or that he read it and in his haste to get to me, he slipped and hit his head, lying in a pool of blood alone in that house for days.

I had to yank myself out of my morbid thoughts and told myself to give him time. 

It was the least he could ask from me and while it wasn’t much, it still hurt.

Despite my bleeding heart though, I smiled my way through the days that followed, determined not to let anyone else down. 

Before we knew it, it was the day of the masquerade party.

I’d just gotten home from Oakley Stead after spending the morning making final rounds with the event planners, and I was sweaty and grubby from the physical work. 

The Championettes had a mini-meeting there too, and with a faint smile, I recalled the look on everyone’s faces when I said I wasn’t going to go and that Layla would do beautifully, giving the speech and thanking everyone who came for our cause. I didn’t mind working the hours away but I wasn’t sure I could fix a smile on my face and be an expert hostess tonight, when I was exhausted heart and soul. Also, I didn't want to be asked about Brandon especially when I had no real answers to give.

Catherine nearly had a coronary, blustering that it was a stupid idea for me not to attend when I busted my ass off working to get this ball underway and that if anyone deserved to see it in all its splendor, it would be me.

I thanked her for her compliment, which surprised her when she finally realized that she did give me one, and explained that it was enough for me to have done what I could to make it happen. I also told them that this was most likely going to be the last event I participated in with the Championettes. 

I was quitting.

Why? 

Because I wasn’t sure where my life was going to go from here. Before I can save the world, I had to find my own place in it first, now that I was adrift again. 

Whatever became of me and Brandon would change my life and I didn’t want to make promises I couldn’t keep. If Brandon didn’t want me back, I wouldn’t take any of his money, and without money, I was of little use to the Championettes. If Brandon came for me, then I had to devote my time to healing the wounds we’d left on each other. This time, it was the two of us who needed saving. The rest of the world could wait a little.

I’d just come out of the shower when I heard an insistent rapping on my door. 

It was four-thirty in the afternoon and I’d checked off my entire to-do list for the party. I was ready to get dressed, order in some Chinese food and maybe watch an old movie.

With my hair still wrapped in a towel, I slipped on my old, oversized robe and walked to the door.

Keeping the chain on, I propped the door open only to find four or five faces trying to cram themselves into my view.

Anna, Tessa, Felicity, Layla and Simone were all standing there, grinning broadly at me.

My mind still trying to process the sight, I opened the door completely but before I could even get a word out, they swarmed in, talking all at the same time.

All five women were dressed fabulously, a bright, cheerful palette of colours in their beautiful and extravagant ball gowns. Clyde announced himself right behind them with an outlandish hello, pecking me on each cheek before dropping his giant make-up box on the floor.

“Oh, you’ve just showered—perfect!” he said as he yanked the towel from my hair. “Felicity dear, grab her a chair, will you? We’ve got no time to waste.”

“Time for what?” I demanded as Clyde steered me by the shoulders and pushed me down one of the dining chairs that Felicity dragged over. “What are you all doing here? The party isn’t at my house!”

“A quick detour, sis,” Anna said as she pulled at the belt of my robe, untying it with one twist and exposing me in my cute but cotton underwear. She arched a brow at me in amusement. “Purple watermelons, really? You’re not twelve.”

“Good thing we planned this to the last detail,” Tessa said as she set down a large, wide box on the coffee table with Simone and Layla’s help. “We were a little late because of a slight change in plans but I think it worked out perfectly, didn’t it?”

She winked at Layla and Simone who smiled back mischievously before Felicity peeled off a small envelope on top of the box and handed it to me.

It was expensive, beautiful white linen paper with my name scrawled in bold, familiar strokes on the back.

With trembling hands, I opened it and drew out a small note card that simply said:

Charlotte,

I am no prince if not yours.

Brandon

I bit my bottom lip to keep down a sob but Simone waved a tissue in front of me.

“None of that now,” she said as I dabbed my eyes dry. “You don’t want to have red, swollen eyes at the ball.”

“But I’m not going to the party,” I said as I got up on my feet, only to be promptly pushed back down into my seat by Clyde. “I have to get dressed. I have to go talk to Brandon.”

“You will—at the ball,” Layla answered. “Read further down, will you?”

I didn’t even notice it at the bottom of the page. 

He simply wrote the date, time and the venue of the ball with the line: I will wait for you.

My heart pounding, I re-read the entire note, trying to make sense of it.

“Bessy came to see Brandon earlier today to tell him what really happened before she left for Florida for good,” Layla said slowly, touching me on the arm. “She thought this was the least she could do after all that you’ve done for her.”

My heart squeezed at Bessy’s kindness—the first and perhaps the last of it that I’ll ever see in this lifetime—but I didn’t miss the implications of her actions.

“And because she did, Brandon decided to finally believe me?” I asked a little angrily. “My word wasn’t enough?”

“Holy shit, Charlotte, calm down,” Anna chided. “I didn’t really want to spoil the surprise but before Layla and Simone called us to say that you made this melodramatic declaration of not going to the party and quitting the Championettes, Tessa, Felicity, Clyde, everyone—were already organizing things with Brandon who was going to meet up with you at the ball and sweep you off your feet like in some fairy tale.”

“It isn’t going to be one now that you’ve told her,” Tessa pointed out with a baleful look at her sister. 

“Well, it wasn’t going to be one anyway unless Charlotte here gets its through her thick head once and for all that Brandon loves her and believes her,” Anna argued before zeroing in me again. “It’s the stupidest thing, I swear. You should’ve seen my brother when he assembled our closest family and friends two days ago and explained everything that happened and that it wasn’t a hopeless cause because you still love him and he still loves you and he was going to make it right. He had this brilliant idea of us bringing you your dress and getting you ready for the ball—like Cinderella’s mice friends, eew—but anyway, he was going to have a white limousine pick you up, because a carriage ride from here to Framingham is just going to be ridiculous—“

“I had to point out the practicalities,” Felicity interjected with an apologetic smile at me. “But it was a really good plan, I promise.”

“He has this whole romantic production drawn up in his head and everything but the point is,” Anna paused for effect, leaning down and taking my hand in hers, a sweet smile on her luminous face. “The point is, Charlotte, that my brother has already made plans days before Layla and Simone brought Bessy to see Brandon and explain everything. He already believed you and you should have faith in him too, for all that you expect of the same from him.”

I was crying at this point.

God in heaven, am I ever a cry baby these days. 

“I do,” I said, uselessly dabbing my face with the already-soaked tissue. “I’ll have to constantly pinch myself until it no longer surprises me that he really does love me.”

“You’re the funniest girl,” Layla muttered with a smirk, handing me a fresh tissue. “Now that you’ve had that conversation, clean up and let Clyde do his wonders.”

“I’ll go get some ice cubes for your eyes,” Simone said before running to the kitchen. 

“I’ll go get her stuff to put in her clutch,” Tessa said before heading for the bedrooms.

“I’ll go get you some paper towels and more tissue,” Layla said before marching to the linen closet.

“Anna and I will carefully take out this ball gown and lay it on the couch while you get your make-up done,” Felicity said as she reached slowly lifted the lid off. 

Whatever was in there must’ve been shimmering because I swear, the room just got a bit brighter.

“And look!” Anna said, lifting a single silvery white shoe with delicate crystal appliqués curving around the side of it, giving the illusion of it being made of water or glass. “Cinderella’s shoe.”

It was incredulous yet incredible—the way things were turning out.

Prince Charming was waiting for me after all, as I get ready with the help of my sisters and enemies-turned-friends to see him.

There were no evil stepmother and stepsisters in this fairy tale.

Really, it was just one stubborn prince and an even more stubborn princess.

My smile was wobbly but just as a fresh batch of tears lined my eyes, Clyde tilted up my head by the chin, gently chastising me, “Stop crying now, Cinderella. You’ve got a ball to go to where your prince and happily-ever-after await.”

***

The dress was a beautiful silvery blue dream, layered with lace and shimmering tulle and studded with crystals like stars peeking through night clouds.

It was nothing like the gown I’d absently chosen to wear and promptly discarded after I changed my mind about going to the ball. 

If I’ve always had trouble imagining myself as a princess, the gown certainly decimated every single doubt.

The mask was featherlight—a dainty, silver hand-woven lace that followed the contours of my cheeks and nose. My hair was curled loosely and threaded with small crystals and pearls.

One look at me and there would be no question that fairy tales existed.

I looked liked I walked straight out of one.

Gilles complimented me and even gave me a rare smile as he held the door open of the white stretch limousine that waited outside for me, a matching black one just behind it where the other women scrambled into despite my insistence for them to join me.

Inside, perched on the seat, was another linen envelope, larger than the note card this time, with my name on it in Brandon’s handwriting.

 
I smiled and clutched it close to my heart.

I had a feeling that someone had written me back a love letter but I wasn’t going to read it right now. 

While Anna had pretty much spilled the beans on her brother’s grand plans, the mystery wasn’t ruined quite yet and I wanted to preserve it as much as I could. I also didn’t want to cry and show up a sobbing mess. 

The half hour drive to Framingham gave me time to soothe my frazzled nerves.

I was as bubbly as champagne inside but I still felt like I was on the threshold of a wonderful dream I knew I could wake up from anytime soon at the snap of someone’s fingers.

Breathe, Charlotte. Nothing can ruin this evening. It’s one for the story books.

Oakley Stead was transformed that night.

From where I stood after stepping out of the car, the place looked like it was where fairies and nymphs and enchanted creatures lived, surrounded by the magical woods that stood as fortress to the castle.

Walking through the short bridge recently built over a freshly dug-up creek and past the maze of gazebos wrapped in vines, flowers and firefly lights, it definitely felt like a dream.

The old house glowed with breathtaking splendour, brimming full of music and guests in glittering gowns, dramatic ensembles and mysterious masks. The party was already in full-swing, with wine and champagne flowing and the dance floor disappearing under a crush of elegantly-clad bodies.

I floated through the crowd of pairs dancing, smiling and saying hi to people who greeted me even though I could hardly tell who they were with their masks on.

As I stood and searched for the one face I wanted to see, the crowd parted slightly to reveal a tall man as elegant as a prince in regal, old-fashioned full dress—with a white bow tie and shirt, a silver gray waistcoat with a black double-breasted tailcoat over it and matching pleated pants. 

His face was clean-shaven, his dark hair combed back, his golden eyes gleaming with a smile as he stopped in front of me and dipped into a formal bow.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, offering me his hand just as the opening notes of a slow dance began.

I smiled. 

Damn me if it didn’t sound like a total cliche but Brandon was every inch a prince.

Slipping one hand over his and pinching my skirt with the other, I sketched a small curtsy, my gaze never breaking with his. “Of course. First and last dance is always with you.”

His smile stretched into a grin and in the blink of an eye, he had me held flush against him with less polish than what I suspected he was going for but he didn’t seem to mind because he had a satisfied smirk on his face.

He loved me, alright. 

He was also a little smug about it.

“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten,” he murmured, his arm circling behind my waist as he expertly turned us to the music. 

I gazed up at him, nearly giddy with disbelief that yes, I was really in Brandon’s arms once again, dancing with him, and he was smiling at me with that tender look he always got in his eyes when he was with me. 

“I don’t think I can ever forget anything about you, Brand,” I admitted, my hand lightly tracing the line of his jaw. 

His face turned slightly toward my hand, his lips pressing lightly on my palm. “And you should never have any reason to forget me, Charlotte, because I will be there with you every single day for the rest of our lives. What I know of hell I learned in the days when I thought I’d lost you, and I refuse to go back. I’ll fight it with every breath that’s left in me.”

I briefly closed my eyes to stop the tears that washed over me at the pain that laced his voice, pulling myself together to say the words I only wrote to him.

“I’m so sorry, Brand, for hurting you as I did,” I said through a ragged breath, lifting my eyes to look at him through my damp lashes. “I wanted to be so happy. When it finally happened, I’ve never been more terrified. When you’ve been fighting for so long and you finally win, you can’t quite believe it and you don’t know what to do with it.”

Brandon’s arms tightened around me as he lowered his head, his cheek resting on the crown of my head. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I'm sorry. Dropping your mother on you out of the blue probably felt like a brand new fight to you, with the past once again threatening your present and future. I’m sorry, Charlotte. You’re done fighting. I should’ve let it go.”

“We’ll never be done fighting,” I said with a smile. “We just have to know who’s in the fight with us and what we’re really fighting for.”

He nodded, a slight tremor rolling through his body as if his emotions were a physical force. “As for what I said about you and Jake—I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t see his face but I knew he meant it. 

“My greatest fear is that I may never be the man who can make you completely happy. And that a better man will come along.”

I smiled. “Now, that’s just silly.”

I heard him smiling back when he said, “There’s nothing rational about our deepest fears. If there is, we might learn to stop fearing them.”

Amen to that.

I touched his face, lifting mine away slowly because if there was one thing I needed right now, beyond the words forgiving the past and the promising the future, it was to feel the warm, soft touch of his lips against mine after what seemed like an eternity of heartache.

“I love you,” he whispered before capturing my mouth in a less than gentlemanly kiss, his lips relearning mine like they’d never been parted.

The world faded around us, content as we were with our arms locked around each other, our kisses measured but desperate, spiralling into dizzying climax—until someone cleared their throat very loudly—on a microphone.

What the hell.

Brandon and I broke off our kiss and looked up only to be greeted by our amused audience who were no longer dancing. We were very much alone on the dance floor, the lights a lot brighter than they’d been during the dance. 

My face burned as I heard the teasing chuckles but when I looked up at Brandon, he was just wearing a crooked smile.

Cheeky devil.

Layla stood by the podium in her deep emerald gown, smiling at us knowingly as she held the mic up.

Right. It was time for our presentation.

Jesus. Were we kissing that long?

“I don’t want to prolong this interruption to everyone’s good time but I thought we’d just say thank you to everyone who came tonight to have fun and contribute to our cause,” she said, gesturing to me. “I’d like to call the Championettes’ co-chairwoman and my friend up on the stage to join me. We have a short presentation to show you what the vision of Rainbow Roof is—what it means to us, to you, and to those who’d find more than shelter in your generosity.”“Meet me at the gazebo in the back garden after the presentation,” Brandon whispered as he released me from his embrace. “A carriage will wait for you outside to take you there.”

He pressed a kiss on my temple before letting me go to walk up the stage and stand next to Layla just as the video played on the projected screen behind us.

Half an hour later, after the video, our speech and the recognition of our biggest benefactors, Martin included, I clutched my heavy skirts and wove through the crowd, barely making conversation to those who tried to waylay me. 

I giggled, thinking that Layla was going to be horrified at how rude I was being to our patrons, depriving them of their time with one of the Society’s chairwomen, but I had a feeling that she was going to let tonight pass, as desperate as I was to find my husband and never lose him again.

As Brandon promised, a carriage waited outside, pulled by a pair of white horses and manned by a coachman in full livery. It was different from all the open ones that Danny had rented because this one was enclosed. It was lavishly appointed, from the gilded outlines and frame, to the red velvet curtains that provided the occupants privacy. It couldn’t have impressed more if it had been transformed from a pumpkin.

A waiting footman assisted me inside and the moment the door was closed, we were off.

It was a slow, leisurely pace and I was just peeking through the curtains to look at the stretch of woods that surrounded the property, lit mostly by the moonlight and the illuminated house, when I felt the carriage shift slightly.

I thought maybe we just hit a bit of a bumpy patch that the horses were pulling the carriage over but the door suddenly swung open and a large body slinked inside to the seat next to me.

It was dark inside but I instinctively knew that whoever just got in wasn’t my husband and that the man was dangerous.

“Hello, princess.” The rough drawl sent shivers down my spine as an arm snaked around my waist in an iron lock and a hand clamped down on my mouth. “When you’re not making a sound or trying to claw my eyes out, you actually smell and feel quite nice.”

My stomach plunged into an icy bath.

Don. Oh, God.

I tried opening my mouth so I could either scream or bite him—whichever I could manage first—but his hand was like a vise around my face that my lips were fused shut together. 

I started struggling, trying to twist my body free but he threw one long, heavy leg over my lap to keep me in place while he freed one arm.

At that opening, I immediately tried to scramble away from him but I froze at the cold press of a metal barrel just under my jaw.

Fear—jolting, helpless—seized my heart, stopping my breath.

The man could blow my head off to the sky with one finger tightening over the trigger. At the slightest provocation, he might just fire, and knowing how fond he was of me, he wasn’t going to even deliberate it for a second.

I swallowed at the painful dryness in my throat, squeezing my eyes shut to make myself aware of every movement since I couldn’t see very well in the dark carriage. I forced myself to focus and ignore the graze of his lips across my cheek.

“I came here looking for my wife but the moment I saw you, I decided that the person who deserved punishment the most was you,” he muttered in my ear, his tongue darting out to trace a wet line down my throat.

I fought the nausea, keeping as still as I could manage. He reeked of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke but more than that, he had a gun branding my neck. 

“You were a very bad girl, poking your nose into where it didn’t belong,” he went on, inhaling deeply against my skin it made it itch so badly. “Now, look at the mess you made. I now have to clean it up but I need money to do it and that sly bastard Layla calls father cleaned me out. I’ll need you to rectify that problem.”

Money. He wanted money? 

What was he going to do? Drive the carriage to the nearest ATM machine and make me withdraw some cash? We were going to stop somewhere any minute now. What was he going to do? Shoot everyone waiting for us?

The image of Brandon bleeding to death spurred me into action.

Do something, Charlotte. You didn’t survive this long to just die in the hands of a maniac.

“I’m thinking that I might take more than just your money,” he said, sucking on a bare spot on my neck, hard enough that I yelped with the pain, my fingers clenching and pummelling him on the shoulders, forgetting the gun that was still pressed up against me. 

A low, jeering laugh rumbled from him. Inflicting pain without consent was Don’s pleasure, after all.

“Oh, don’t act all indignant now, Charlotte,” he said, the hand holding the gun snaking down to the front of my bodice, rubbing against the swell of my breast. “Women can be made whores with the right man. Your dearly devoted husband bought in on the idea of you being one with all those incriminating pictures I sent him. When the guy I had tailing Bessy caught you and Jake on those pictures, I became inspired. I thought it would be a nice little payback for your interference.”

Fury clutched at me and it took all my will power not to give in to the nearly feral instinct calling to me to attack him, gun or no gun. 

“Now, all I have to do is make you a whore for real,” he added, pushing the barrel of the gun deep against the soft flesh of my breast until it hurt. “You’ll be screaming for more when I’m done with you. I’ll teach you to like it. You have a feisty side, after all.”