Filthy Rich

by Raine Miller

  There had been only one negative back draft from the relentless media attention focused on our relationship. Her picture with me had sparked the memories of the many who had witnessed Aldrich’s altercation with Brooke—the ruined designer suits, the inappropriate advances he made toward her, and how she’d fought back by breaking his nose. It was an easy episode to remember for the people who saw it happen, or if they were one of the lucky few hit by the flying shrimp cocktails. The story was passed around to the extent that the details made it back to Mrs. Aldrich, who then sued her disgusting, cheating-ass husband for divorce. Hearing that bit had made me really fucking happy, I had to admit. Aldrich deserved it for how he treated women in general, and I hoped his wife got a helluva big settlement as a reward for putting up with the asshole for so long.

  Regardless of the fairly easy time we’d had overall with the paparazzi, my fears for Brooke’s safety were by no means erased. My team was on high alert now, as much as ever. Plenty of freaks in the world obsessed on celebrities and tried befriending them. In some cases they stalked and hurt them—their twisted minds justifying their needy, psycho behavior. There was also the worry she could be taken and ransomed, which scared me the most. I trusted very, very few in my immediate circle, and those in it were either my family, or had earned their way in through years of proving it to me. James still wasn’t convinced Patten’s family would stay away from Brooke. He hadn’t found anything that could prove they’d act on approaching her, but we were both aware that she knew a little too much about their criminal activity. It was a slight cloud hanging over us, but I had the luxury of unlimited resources to keep any unwanteds the fuck away from her. The Pattens knew how to hide their shit, though, so we both took comfort believing they thought themselves impenetrable.

  I’d made some progress on securing a place for us at the south end of Blackstone Island. My old friend, Asher, had pointed me in the right direction with a twenty-acre plot that abutted Brooke’s small property to the south. I’d made offers on other surrounding parcels as well, so we could have a secured oasis, with a great view, and the privacy I required. It would take some time to build a house, but the wheels were already set in motion. I really didn’t care where I lived; as long as I had Brooke with me, it would be home. She made it home. She wanted to live on the island, so that’s where we would live. It was that simple of a decision for me.

  Brooke was my most important priority now. My life had changed dramatically in just two short months, and I knew I could never go back to how I’d been living before. Every decision I made now was done with Brooke’s input or with her happiness in mind. The more I thought about what my dad had told me on his deathbed, the more I believed him. Despite my mother’s conviction Dad would’ve disapproved of my Brooke, I didn’t accept the idea. He would have adored her. He would’ve told us to go off and be happy together, and make him a grandfather.

  Someday.

  I pulled up a new text message.

  How is my sweet, beautiful girl feeling?

  I hoped she was doing better now than this morning, when she’d woken up with a bad headache. I figured she would have let me know by now if she wasn’t feeling up to going out to the Autumn Ball.

  Much better. Headache is gone. Winter and I are having our makeup and hair done. The bedroom is a beauty salon right now. When are you coming home?

  I was thrilled about the fact Brooke and my sister had hit it off. They had common interests, and seemed to find endless topics to talk about. They shopped for clothes and decorator items for the remodel. Winter had introduced Brooke to some of her colleagues at the South Boston Youth Center where she was interning for her master’s degree, and now had Brooke signed up to volunteer once a week. Brooke really loved helping the kids, and I could see the potential for her to make an even bigger impact on the center in the future. I’d not forgotten the story she’d told me about the woman who had helped her so much after she’d escaped her abusive marriage. Marni Cole. I wasn’t crazy about the neighborhood where she went to volunteer and made sure she was fully protected when she went there, but so far everything was settling into a good routine she seemed to enjoy.

  C: I have to pick up one thing and then I’ll be home. Can’t wait to take my Cinderella to the ball. xx

  B: I can’t wait to be taken by my Prince Charming to the ball. xoxoxoxoxo

  We still did the thing where we mimicked each other’s words. Somehow it never got old or felt cheesy, even though it totally was.

  C: I’ll “take” you after the ball, baby.

  B: Is my prince sexting me?

  C: Yes he is. Send me a picture please.

  She sent me a picture all right—wearing a strapless black bra with her hair in giant rollers, and blowing me a kiss.

  B: That’s the best I can do with others in the room. Lol. Use your imagination.

  C: Sexy. I always use my imagination when thinking of you. See you soon, beautiful.

  B: See you soon, handsome.

  I opened my desk drawer and pulled out the velvet box I’d been hiding inside there for weeks. I’d bought the gift on a whim along with the bracelet when I was in Abu Dhabi for the conference. I’d spent one evening browsing the shops in the hotel complex where the sessions were being held, when I discovered it in a window display.

  A ring.

  And a very unusual ring at that.

  Giving a ring to Brooke seemed like it would have been too much, too fast, at the time. So, I’d held on to it, knowing eventually the time would be right. The ring had been an impulse buy, because it was so perfect for her—for how we’d met—and I hoped she’d understand my thought process in choosing it. I hoped she would want it on her finger.

  I’d be finding out soon enough.

  I headed toward the elevators leading me down and out of the building, to where Isaac was waiting to take me home . . . to my very own Cinderella.

  Brooke

  Have you turned around, Caleb?” I called from the hallway into the living room.

  “Yes. I’m behaving myself, baby. You can come on out. I’m dying to see you.”

  My gut danced in nervous glee over attending this ball tonight with Caleb. I’d never gone to anything like it before, and hardly knew what to expect. I liked the fact the Autumn Ball was to benefit charity, and I loved my burgundy silk ball gown, but beyond those two points I wasn’t so sure. Caleb just kept reassuring me he would be beside me every second, and that everyone would be displaying their best behavior along with their frocks. The Autumn Ball was always well attended, and thoroughly covered by the media, both local and national. Caleb wanted us to attend as a couple, to hopefully end some of the fascination the press had about our relationship. It was completely nuts to me why they would care so much, but care they did.

  I stepped out slowly, testing how to maneuver in yards of silk and tulle. The dress I’d found was a work of art. Deep, wine-red silk, with a sash waist and a full-tulle skirt. The skirt is what sold me on the dress when I first saw it, because it was embellished with three-dimensional velvet cascading flowers. It was a Cinderella dress indeed.

  Caleb had turned away from the door as I’d requested. He was wearing a black velvet jacket I’d never seen before, and he smelled delightful. Even from across the room, his unique manly scent, combined with the delicious cologne he used, tempted me. He always looked good, too.

  When he’d arrived home to get himself ready, he had to use the guest room to shower and dress, because Winter and I had commandeered our bedroom for the beauty makeovers. He didn’t blink an eye over being deposed from his domain. He’d taken one look at the plethora of girly supplies in his bedroom and bathroom, and surrendered to us without a fight. He was so easygoing about such things. Just one of the many qualities of Caleb I adored. I couldn’t imagine my life without him now. He was a part of me.

  I loved him so much.

  “You can now turn around,” I said finally.

  He pivoted on his foot and swept
his eyes from top to bottom, and then back up. “You are Cinderella in that dress. I am speechless right now. Every man in the room will be envious of me tonight.”

  “Will they? And why do you say that, my handsome prince?”

  “Because I am the lucky bastard who gets to take you home at the end of the ball and help you out of your pretty dress.”

  “Ah, thinking ahead as usual, I see.”

  He stalked toward me, something small I couldn’t make out in his hand. “I’m very good at forward thinking, baby. I didn’t make my fortune on a string of lousy predictions.”

  “Indeed.” He stopped right in front of me where I could enjoy his intoxicating scent. “Do you have any predictions for the near future?”

  “Oh yes,” he said wickedly. “For example, I see Cinderella being kissed thoroughly before she gets taken to the ball tonight.”

  I couldn’t hold back the smile. “Cinderella likes your prediction.”

  He tipped my chin toward his lips with one finger and descended. I had to resist the urge to bury my hands in his hair and go to town as I usually did. I loved seeing his hair mussed with a just-fucked flag proudly waving, but this wasn’t the time for it. Instead, I melted into his demanding kiss and let him get me all stirred up. “You are fucking gorgeous, Brooke. I don’t know if I can let you out of the house tonight,” he said.

  “You will disappoint a great deal of people that way, I’m afraid,” I reminded him, even though I’d gladly stay home tonight if it were an option.

  “Not me they want to see, baby. They want to meet Cinderella tonight.” He nibbled on my bottom lip.

  My turn to sigh. “I hope you’ve remembered your promise to stay with me at all times. I’m nervous, Caleb.”

  “There’s nothing to be nervous about, and everyone will love and adore you.” He placed something soft into my hand. “I have a very special gift for you. I’ve been waiting weeks to give it to you, and now is the time.”

  “Oh!” I looked down at what I held, to see a small black velvet box. A jewelry box. My fingers trembled as they worked on opening the lid. I gasped. Oh, bloody hell.

  The most unusual ring I’d ever seen—an art piece which had to be one of a kind. A large, dark-pink stone, resembling a pearl, set in masses of pink and white stones—possibly diamonds—to form the shape of a flower. “Caleb . . .” I breathed. “This is stunningly beautiful.”

  “Do you really love it?” he asked. How could he doubt I would love this?

  “Yes. I really do. Tell me about this gorgeous ring.” I was almost afraid to ask what the ring meant, but knew he’d tell me anyway because he was always honest about everything he did.

  “It’s a peony—like the flowers I sent to you. The red stone is a forty-carat cabochon tourmaline. The rest of the stones are diamonds, rubies, and pink sapphires. I found it in the jewelry store window in Abu Dhabi, and went in there and bought it five minutes later. There was no question it was meant for you from the moment I saw it.”

  “How did you know it was meant for me?”

  “Everything about this ring reminded me of you . . . of how we met.”

  “The meatball lesson?” I asked him.

  He nodded and smiled. “After I went in the shop and they told me it was a peony, well . . . I knew it was fate at work again.” He took the ring out of the box and held it between two fingers. He slipped the empty box into his pocket. “Will you wear it tonight, Brooke?”

  “Y-y-yes,” I stammered.

  He slipped it onto the ring finger of my left hand. The engagement ring finger. I flipped my eyes up to meet his. “My whole life changed the moment I saw you, Brooke. I knew it then. It felt like the shades were drawn open, letting the sunlight in after being shut in the dark for years. That’s exactly how it felt for me.”

  If I could love him any more, I would. He made gestures like this one all the time, rendering me speechless with his thoughtfulness in choosing the perfect gifts. “I love the ring. And I love you, Caleb.”

  He took both of my hands and kissed me sweetly before pulling back to catch my eyes with his. “I realize you’re not ready right now, but I want you to know my greatest desire is to spend the rest of my life loving you—as my wife.”

  I gasped as he went down onto one knee in front of the picture window, the city lights of Boston a stunning backdrop beyond us. “Brooke Ellen Casterley, will you be my wife and marry me when you feel you are ready?”

  The swirling vortex had swept me up again and whisked me away to another time continuum—I was certain about that. It took me a moment to find my voice and to see through the veil of tears, which had welled up in my eyes, but I managed somehow. “I—I will, Caleb, my love.”

  He did something I’d seen him do before on a few occasions . . .

  He closed his eyes for an instant, and then looked up as if sending a silent prayer heavenward. It was a show of relief and gratefulness. My Caleb was so relieved I’d said yes.

  To own such power over another person was fearsome in a way. To have the burden of their happiness along with your own was a kind of terrible, beautiful treasure.

  Priceless . . . but so fragile at the same time.

  MY beautiful ring winked at me throughout dinner at the Autumn Ball. Caleb and I hadn’t said anything officially, but it was right there in living color for people to see, and if they put two and two together . . . well . . . we wouldn’t lie.

  Like most of our entire relationship, this engagement was a whirlwind of love and emotions with Caleb.

  Jesus, you’ve just become engaged to Caleb Blackstone!

  Just thinking about it felt like a guilty pleasure. But Caleb always had felt like a guilty pleasure to me. I needed to pinch myself that he was real and wanted to marry me. He was right, I wasn’t ready just this moment to get married again, but knowing Caleb was committed only to me, certainly put me on the fast track to becoming ready. When I’d told him that part, he’d beamed with happiness and said to just let him know when I was ready, and he would take care of the rest.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked.

  I turned to him. “Thinking about how good it feels for me when you are happy.”

  “I love you so much,” he whispered so nobody could hear, “and I wish I had you all to myself right now so I could show you without words.”

  As usual his sexy verses turned me into a puddle of goo. Usually it didn’t matter, but right now it did. Sitting down to a formal dinner, surrounded by Boston’s ultrarich high society, was definitely not the time or place for wanting to shag my fiancé blind, especially with people watching us from all directions.

  Rather a problem with Caleb’s effect on me, though. He was very good at turning me on at his will. “You’ve given me something very wonderful to look forward to when this evening is over,” I whispered and licked my lips.

  He groaned softly. “You’re killing me, baby.”

  MY headache decided to return with a vengeance after dinner. I was regretting the clam bisque and the champagne already. Neither were probably the best choices for me. I should’ve known better than to indulge in champagne when I’d had a brutal headache just this morning. It was so delicious, but the aftereffects could be downright deadly. Due to the hectic days leading up to Nan and Herman’s wedding and then the sudden move to Boston, I hadn’t had time to see the specialist regarding PBA. Caleb had put in a call to the head of neurology at Mass General, who was a friend of a friend—he had connections everywhere it seemed—but I still needed to set up the consultation appointment to begin the process of a proper diagnosis. It had been shelved for now, but Dr. Google had provided a little more on the topic for me to digest. I did wonder if my headaches had anything to do with my accident. Stress maybe?

  Being on the receiving end of expressions of thinly veiled hatred did not help my headache any. The Thorndikes had been throwing them my way ever since we’d been introduced earlier. I knew who they were, of course—the parents of his ex, J
anice. I hadn’t seen her yet, but I figured she would make an appearance at some point before the night was over. Caleb had been so stiff and cold when one of the hosts brought Mr. and Mrs. Thorndike over to meet me. I could tell their hostile reactions toward me had wound him up tightly, and I dearly hoped he wouldn’t lose his temper over it.

  I rubbed my temples with the tips of my fingertips.

  “Are you feeling all right, baby?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I’m fine, it’s just my headache from earlier has decided to return.”

  “We can leave if you’re not well,” he said.

  “No, Caleb, there’s still the silent auction and the awards to come. We absolutely cannot abandon the night just yet. I’ll be fine, and I still want to be taken for a spin around the dance floor with my handsome prince.” I gave him a smile. “I’ll take something for it if you’ll get me a glass of iced water.”

  “Consider it done,” he said with a kiss to my throbbing forehead. “Stay right here and I’ll be back in a flash.”

  I watched my man head off on his mission, admiring how handsome he looked in his tuxedo, and so full of love for him I could barely contain it. My eyes landed on my peony ring, and I felt my stomach flutter as I recalled the image of Caleb down on one knee proposing. I did love my ring. The stone looked like a wine-colored pearl—so unique and beautiful—I was afraid it would be damaged if I wore it all the time because it was a piece of bejeweled art rather than a typical engagement ring. It had to have cost a fortune.

  As I waited for Caleb to return, I indulged in some people watching. It was fascinating to imagine what people were feeling or thinking about as they went about their evening at a charity gala such as Boston’s Autumn Ball. For example, Caleb’s brother Lucas was definitely brooding from across the room. He appeared to be people watching, too. I followed his line of sight to Victoria and her fiancé, Clay Whitcomb, who I’d met a few weeks ago. If I had to make a guess, I’d say Victoria wasn’t in a much better mood than Lucas was, based on her body language and how she turned away from Clay while he was speaking to her. Victoria and Clay seemed like an odd pairing to me, but I didn’t know either of them well enough to make a judgment; it was more of an impression.