The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (98 page)

But Dad, like always, was the kind of parent some of us could only ever aspire to. 

He placed a light hand on Sky’s head and leaned in to gently tell her, “You know that princesses wear their crowns because they have responsibilities, right? Well, your Mommy is one of the best princesses I’ve ever known and one reason for that is because she takes her responsibilities seriously. Mommy has to make a speech first to all those who look up to her, and then she can come and see you, alright? Someday, you’ll do the same and be just as great a princess as she is.”

“But she’s not very tall,” Sam bluntly pointed out.

Sky glared at him. “Princesses will get taller as they grow up, Sam. Mommy always says so.”

We all chuckled at that, myself included, but I leaned down as Sam murmured a question to me.

“Do heroes get taller too?”

I smiled and clapped his shoulder firmly. “They do. Even if they don’t, they can be still heroes at heart.”

A smile broke out on my young son’s face, his eyes shining with relief.

What a blank canvas children could be. And what a selection of colours and paints their parents could offer them to make something of themselves.

Thankfully, the parade of graduates through the stage didn’t last too long.

A half hour later, after settling another debate between the twins about why dogs were better than bunnies for pets, the dean came back up on the podium.

“This year’s elected class speaker has a long list of accomplishments that would make her sound very impressive to any of you,” the woman said, beaming proudly. “And normally, I would recite that list, as I always have during the commencement ceremonies in the last ten years I’ve been dean of this faculty. But today, I’m taking a page off this graduate’s book, and doing it differently this time—a philosophy she has exemplified from the first day she showed up at my door. You can call this a tribute—and perhaps it is—for this year’s class speaker deserves more than a tidy summary of how much she’s accomplished. She deserves our open minds as much as this world does. Without further ado, because she honestly doesn’t care to be attributed a few dozen important-sounding things, I present to you, Charlotte Maxfield.”

I smiled and slowly shook my head as I watched my wife ascend the stage a little more gracefully this time.

Trust Charlotte to win over even the most fearsome law professor in the university’s history.

“Hello everyone,” she said, smiling broadly at the audience and waiting until the applause subsided. After several years of public speeches, social events and press interviews, Charlotte had gotten good at handling a crowd, but that may have more to do with the fact that she was just being herself more than the fact that she had just gotten a lot of practice. 

“First of all, I want to thank you, Dean Winslow, for not kicking me out the first day of class when I argued with you for half an hour about the rule of law,” she said, glancing back at the woman. “And for proving to me the many points you made that day in the last three years I’d spent under your guidance.”

She turned back to the audience and grinned.

“Many of you have listened to me talk so much in the last few years that the last thing you probably want today is do it some more just when you’re about to be rid of me.” She winked when the audience cracked up. “Don’t worry, I understand. I certainly hope that after all these years of your arduous study of law and the system that protects and promotes it, you can finally get out there and start serving those who need us because that list is never short. So I won’t hold you up much today. All that I really have to say is thank you—for making the choice you did and putting in all that time and heart into pursuing a purpose that demands not just the long years and money spent in law school, but the burning desire to make a difference that I hope would never die in you. People ask me all the time why I decided to become a lawyer when I could have done so many other things, and maybe the reason for me would never be specifically one thing or another. Occasionally, I just tell people that I love arguing with my husband and if I were to become a lawyer, I could insist I’m more right and win more often.”

Charlotte’s gaze settled on me, warm and adoring, and a breath loosened in my chest as I gave her a small wave. She smiled, her gaze moving over to the twins who sat still and quietly paid all their attention to their mother as she continued to speak. 

“Other times, I tell them that I want a better world for my children, where they could grow up safe and happy. And I do want the best for them, but I can only do so much to make this world a better place.” She turned her gaze to my father, her smile turning wistful. “And sometimes, my reason is just that I want to be a hero in the sense that I’m willing to take up arms, metaphorically speaking, and fight in the best way I know how. There’s nothing wrong with that. As a wise man once told me, when I was just an angsty fourteen-year-old undecided whether I loved or hated life, heroes aren’t heroes because they worship the light, but because they know the darkness all too well to stand down and live in it.”

As the crowd rose in applause, my heart clenched with a bittersweet ache. 

No matter how many lifetimes I spent loving Charlotte, I would never be able to erase the scars from her heart. Even if I could, I knew her well enough that she would probably refuse because they were badges of her strength, reminders of all that she’d lived through. The fact that they no longer hurt her would never fully satisfy me—I was selfish in that way where I wanted her to be completely untouched by pain from the past, present and the future. But like she’d taught me many years ago, when I let myself go too far to see to her happiness by bringing her mother back, the best thing we could do to make someone happy was just to love them as much as we were able. 

So in the last eight years, that was what I did—love her—every single day and every way I knew how.

I drove her to school on her first day as a freshman, stayed up late with her on nights when she had to study for exams, and attended college parties with her so she wouldn’t miss out on the full experience. I drove out in the middle of the night to get her the dim sum she constantly craved during her pregnancy, kept telling her every day that she looked beautiful even as she stubbornly insisted that she was as big as a whale, and held her hand tight as she laid on the hospital bed with a brave but fragile smile on her face even though she refused to look down past the blanket as she was given a C-section to deliver the twins. I threw her a party when she passed her LSATs, worked at home a few weeks to look after the twins when she had to travel out of town for conferences and seminars, gathered her in my arms, kissed her and made love with her last night when she couldn’t sit still with the excitement of finally graduating.

Several more lifetimes like this and still, I would never love her as much as she deserved, but if she was happy, then I was happy, too.

Later that evening in our townhouse, just a few minutes away from midnight, when the twins were finally sound asleep in their bed after joining the adults and the other kids in the grad party, my wife and I sat cross-legged by the large sofa just across from the unlit fireplace, smiling at each other as we enjoyed our mini-picnic of cheeseburgers and fries that we had delivered.

“The food at the party was excellent but I like this better,” she said, waiting as I dipped a fry into some of the ketchup and popped it into her mouth. “It might have something to do with the fact that I’m being hand-fed french fries by a gorgeous man like you.”

I grinned and leaned forward to kiss her slightly salty lips. “You might like it more when I give you your dessert later.”

She laughed and wrapped her arms around my neck, shifting herself up and over the small spread of food we had between us so she could straddle my hips. “What about giving it to me now?”

I didn’t care if the french fries went diving to the floor or there was now ketchup on my leg. 

I circled my arms around Charlotte’s waist, finding the desire glittering in her eyes, and surrendering myself to the sultry heat of her soft, smooth curves. 

"I love you, Charlotte."

She smiled. "I love you, too, Brandon—in this world and the next. Fate will just have to go with that."

Cupping the back of her head, I gently pulled her down for a kiss, my arms tightening around her like I planned to never let her go. And I wouldn’t.

Charlotte Maxfield was mine, and mine forever.