The Moment We Began (A Fairhope New Adult Romance) (5 page)

Instead, I pull the black dress over my body. It’s
snug and there’s no zipper, but the soft fabric has a little
stretch to it. Leigh Anne rushes over to help me pull it into place.

“Wow,” she says, her eyes wide.

I turn to look in the mirror and have to agree.
It’s gorgeous. It fits me perfectly.

Turns out not binging on chocolate might have
actually been worth it for a change. Maybe.

“Braxton is going to flip out,” Leigh
Anne says.

I groan. “How will I know if he’s
really flipping out over me, or if he’s just flipping out over
the thought of my parents’ money?”

Leigh Anne sits down on the bed. “Is that
really what you think about every guy you go out with?”

“What? That he’s probably after my
money?”

“No,” she says. “That he’ll
like your money more than he likes you?”

I bite my lower lip and turn to the mirror again.
I lift up on tiptoes, trying to picture which shoes will look best
with this dress and trying to ignore what she’s saying.

“Even if you were poor, you’d still be
just as beautiful,” she says.

“Would I?” I pull the tag off the
dress and hand it to her. “If I were poor, I wouldn’t be
wearing a $1200 dress that’s been sitting in my closet for four
years.”

I don’t mention how much the underwear cost.

Leigh Anne crumples the tag. “The dress is
great, but it’s the girl wearing the dress that’s
special. You need to learn to see that for yourself or you’re
never going to be happy.”

I shake my head. There’s no use arguing with
her. She just doesn’t understand. No one knows what it feels
like to be Tripp Wright’s only daughter. I can’t really
complain to anyone about it, because all they see is the money and
how fortunate I am to have all these things. If I complain, I look
like an ungrateful bitch who doesn’t realize there are starving
children in Africa or something.

Still, I know better than anyone that a lot of my
relationships are based on money. If I lost everything tomorrow, I
bet there are a lot of people I’d never hear from again.

I come to sit down beside her on the bed. “Enough
about me, I can’t believe I haven’t had a chance to talk
to you about the trial. I didn’t want to bring it up at the
restaurant with everyone standing around. What’s been going on?
How was your trip to Boston?”

I couldn’t believe it when I first found out
about what happened to her in Boston. At first, it really hurt my
feelings that she hadn’t told me earlier, but I was so proud of
her when she stepped forward and told the truth. Life has been tough
for her since then, but I have seen so much more of my old friend
again lately, and I think that means she’s healing. I don’t
think it’s ever the kind of thing you get over completely, but
it’s good to see her laughing again.

Knox is a big part of that. Who knew he was such a
sweet guy? I always thought he was just a loner, or a loser. Goes to
show you really can’t judge someone until you’ve walked
in their shoes.

“It’s been really hard,” Leigh
Anne says. “I was really happy so many other girls stepped
forward to tell the truth, but just going through the whole
re-telling of it so many times has been exhausting. I think I’ve
told the story at least twenty different times now to different
lawyers. I just want to be able to move on.”

I put my hand on hers. I have no idea what to say
to her. I know nothing will take it all away or make it any easier.
“It won’t last forever,” I say, but I know I sound
stupid. “And once it’s over, he won’t be able to
hurt anyone like that again.”

She gives me a small smile and squeezes my hand.
“I know. It’s just going to be a while before it’s
all over,” she says. “At least the media never really
covered Knox’s past like we thought they would. It could have
been such a nightmare.”

“The whole time he lived here, everyone
whispered all these stories about how he killed someone or beat the
shit out of someone and spent years in jail, but no one had any idea
what kind of crazy shit he’d been through,” I say. “I
still can’t believe it, to be honest. It sounds like something
out of a movie.”

Knox’s father, a very rich and influential
man in Chicago had called the police one night and gotten Knox
arrested for beating his step-mother. Knox went to juvenile detention
for two years for that, but it turned out he was never the one who
hit her. It had been his dad all along. Apparently, his step-mom
eventually got fed up with it and shot the asshole one day when he
got home from work.

That woman’s my fucking hero. I wish I had
the balls to go shoot the guy who raped my friend.

“Why do you think the press left it alone?”
I ask her.

She shrugs. “Knox thinks it’s because
so many of us came forward,” she says. “If it had been
just me, the media might have crucified me, saying I had a history of
making bad choices, but with so many victims coming forward, I think
it became pretty obvious that Burke really is a rapist asshole.
Suddenly the coverage switched to our side and they started pulling
all of his skeletons out of the closet.”

I snort. “Thank God for the fickle whims of
the American Media.”

She laughs. “You’re telling me,”
she says. “Anyway, most of the other victims have given their
affidavits have been taken and a new set of charges have been filed.
Now we’re just waiting for a court date. The attorney thinks it
could be as soon as December.”

“That’s not too bad,” I say.
“Did you decide for sure what you’re doing about school
starting back?”

She’d been trying to decide between going
back to school in Boston or enrolling here at Fairhope Coastal.

“Knox said he’ll come with me if I
decide to move back to Boston,” she says. “But I haven’t
really decided what I want to do. Up there, the trial will be my
life, you know? Plus, Burke still lives there, even if he’s not
allowed to go to classes. The last thing I want is to be running into
him every day.”

“I still cannot believe six women from the
school accused him of rape and it took the administration this long
to suspend him. What kind of bullshit is that?”

“I know, it’s disgusting,” she
says. “They kept saying he hadn’t been convicted of
anything.”

“Yet.”

She smiles. “Yet. Anyway, this conversation
is a downer,” she says. “Let’s talk about your date
with Braxton tonight. What shoes are you going to wear?”

I look at her and smile, wanting to tell her just
how impressed and how proud I am of her. How much I wish I could be
like her. Instead, I just wrap her up in a huge hug and pull her
toward the closet to help me pick out shoes.

Braxton pulls up to the gate at exactly seven on
the dot.

He’s driving a black Escalade with tinted
windows, so I can’t get a good look at him through the security
cameras.

Mom is pretending not to be interested, but she’s
walked by me about six times in the last ten minutes. When she walks
by this time, I turn toward her and smooth my hands down the front of
my dress.

“How do I look?” I’m wondering
if she’ll even recognize this dress.

She stops and raises a hand to her mouth, studying
me. “You look gorgeous as always, sweetheart,” she says.
“You really need a bracelet or a watch or something, though.
Your wrists look so bare.”

She unhooks the clasp on the ten carat diamond
tennis bracelet she’s wearing.

My mouth drops open. She’s never let me wear
her jewelry before. “I can’t,” I say. “What
if I lose it or something?”

“Don’t,” she says, a smile
growing on her face as she secures it around my wrist.

I twist my arm, watching the diamonds sparkle in
the light. It’s breathtaking, but it’s heavy and it
scares the shit out of me. I really don’t want this
responsibility.

If I take it off, though, she’ll be upset.

“Just give this guy a chance, okay?”
Her voice is soft and serious and when I look up at her, her eyes are
fixed to my face. “That’s all I’m asking.”

My stomach fills with a nervous wave of energy. Is
it so obvious that I’m closed off to every guy who isn’t
Mason?

The doorbell rings and I take a deep breath. I
really hope this guy isn’t a troll. Or a coin collector.

Our butler, Jameson, opens the door and I turn as
Braxton walks inside.

Definitely not a troll.

He’s tall and handsome with broad shoulders.
He’s dressed in a pair of jeans with a crisp white shirt and a
tailored black blazer. He smiles as I walk toward him.

“Penny?” he says as I give him a quick
hug. “It’s so great to meet you. You’re even more
beautiful than the pictures your mom sent.”

I glance back at my mom. “Thanks.” She
just smiles, but I make a mental note to drill her later about which
pictures she’s sending to people without my permission.

“Braxton, this is my mom, Lucy.”

She steps forward and he reaches for her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,”
he says. “My parents say such great things about you and your
husband.”

She practically swoons at him. “You are too
sweet,” she says. “I’m so glad we could finally get
you and Penelope together.”

I cringe when she uses my full name.

“We better get going,” I say, slipping
my arm inside Braxton’s. “We have reservations.”

“I actually canceled the reservations you
made,” he says, surprising me. “I hope you don’t
mind, but I wanted to take you someplace a little different tonight.”

Mom raises an eyebrow and gives me a look that
says this one’s different. I have to restrain myself from
kicking her, inching toward the front door instead.

“Sounds fun,” I say, praying he’s
not going to try to make me eat sushi or something. “Goodnight,
Mom.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she says.
She’s practically giggling, she’s so excited. “Call
me if you’re planning to stay out too late.”

I don’t respond to that, but I know the
implication is that maybe, for the first time since she started
trying to set me up with one of her friend’s kids, she finally
hit the jackpot. Maybe this is the one who will finally break through
to me.

I feel everything inside me rebelling against the
idea as we walk toward his car together.

Yes, he’s good looking and rich and probably
perfect for me on the outside, but there’s something about him
that’s too perfect. Too rehearsed. Definitely too good to be
true.

Besides, my heart has belonged to someone else for
so long, I can’t even imagine falling in love with another guy.
No matter how great he is.

He opens the door for me and as I climb inside and
wait for him to step around to the driver’s side, I think about
how crazy I am to be thinking about Mason right now. He flat-out told
me he didn’t want to be with me. That he didn’t love me.
Why am I still holding on? If he really, truly doesn’t want me,
there’s nothing I can do about it. Am I going to spend the rest
of my life heartbroken and alone?

God, I hope not.

As Braxton slips behind the wheel and drives off
toward some mystery destination, I wonder if it’s even possible
for me to open my heart to someone new.

“Where are we going?” I ask as Braxton
pulls onto the main highway.

He flashes a smile. “You’ll see,”
he says. “I figure if you’re anything like me, you’re
sick of these kinds of blind dates. And even sicker of always going
to the same boring place for dinner each time.”

I study him, but don’t admit that he’s
right.

“Your mom sets you up on blind dates a lot?”

He sits back against the seat, one hand high on
the steering wheel. “All the time,” he says. “After
the last one, I told her I was done for good.”

I can’t decide if he’s playing me or
not, but I’m definitely intrigued, so I ask the question he so
obviously wants me to ask.

“If you’re done, then why did you come
tonight?”

He looks over at me and his eyes flick from my
knees up to my face. “Because you’re not like those other
girls.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw your picture remember?” he
says. “How could I possibly say no? I figure worst case
scenario, I get to have dinner with a beautiful woman. Best case, we
actually hit it off.”

I know this is the part where I’m supposed
to swoon, but I can’t help feeling he set that whole thing up
just so he could impress me with how sweet and romantic he is.

When he pulls into a little Italian restaurant
near the beach, I don’t bother telling him I’ve been here
before. He seems really proud of himself for coming up with a way to
stand out from the crowd of other blind dates.

“I found this place a couple years ago,”
he says. “It’s one of the best kept secrets along this
part of the coast. If you like Italian food, you’re going to
love it.”

I guess he does get points for taking me off the
beaten path, but I can’t help wondering how many other girls
he’s brought here. Or how many times he’s used the line
about having dinner with a beautiful woman.

“I adore Italian food,” I say.

Inside, it’s dark and romantic. A pretty
girl with long, dark hair takes us to a secluded booth near the back
of the restaurant. Either we look like the kind of couple who wants
to be alone, or he called ahead to make sure his favorite table was
available.

We settle in and I long we have before he starts
trying to impress me with his knowledge of fine wines.

It’s something all the rich guys like him
do. Like they were given a dating instruction booklet when they were
kids called ’How To Bag A Rich Girl’.

It takes precisely thirty seconds.

“We’ll take a bottle of the Stag’s
Leap Cabernet Sauvignon,” he tells the waiter. He doesn’t
even look the guy in the eyes when he orders. “When I was
touring the vineyards in Napa last Fall, I fell in love with their
cab. At first, you taste the berries, but it finishes with a slight
hint of vanilla.”