We held each other like that for a long time.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t go for our honeymoon,” he spoke up, still holding me. “I’ll take you another time.”
I smiled. “It’s alright. Where would you have taken me anyway?”
“Somewhere special,” he said. I couldn’t see his face but I could imagine it. “I think you would’ve liked it very much.”
I would’ve loved it but he doesn’t know that you know.
Lies and truths.
Sometimes, I wished we could stop telling the first one and start admitting the other.
Chapter Fourteen: Decisions and a Dance
“This isn’t one of those real housewives shows, is it?”
I cautiously eyed the elegant, plum-colored invitation Felicity handed me and scrutinized the gold, cursive text written on it.
Felicity smiled and shook her head, her shiny blond curls bobbing around her shoulders. “No. Not at all. The Lady Championettes Society is an old and esteemed group of influential women in the state who campaign for charity, social reform and many other important advocacies. Many of them use their financial and social connections to further their cause. To be invited as an honoree in one of their monthly tea parties is a big deal because that usually means they’re thinking of recruiting you.”
I wrinkled my nose and thoughtfully tapped one corner of the invitation on the patio table.
It was a couple of days later, on a warm, clear-skied summer afternoon, and we were out on the nirvana-like balcony of Martin’s hospital suite going over our weekly update. It was when Felicity would run through my schedule and a bunch of things I never even really worried about before. Now that I was officially Brandon’s wife, the interest in me came like a tsunami.
One of the meeting’s agenda was the invitation to a tea party hosted by the Lady Championettes Society who congratulated me on my wedding to Brandon and promptly expressed an interest in friendship with me.
From what I knew and heard of them, they were an event-planning powerhouse of socialites who threw really high-profile parties and fundraisers. The events were always highly successful but then they only catered to the wealthy and famous who had money to burn for a variety of causes.
While I appreciated their benefits to charity, I couldn’t help but feel that a lot of it was for show—and that wasn't something I wanted to sign up for. I didn’t want that kind of attention for myself especially since I knew that they only extended the courtesy to me because I now had Maxfield for a last name.
If I hadn’t married Brandon, they would’ve never heard of me and they would’ve never considered asking me to help participate in their charity campaigns—which was fair enough, I guess. If it wasn’t because they suspected there was nothing I could offer, it would be just because we wouldn’t really get along as well as any of us could hope.
They were the tweed-jacket-pencil-skirt-wearing types who most likely didn't approve of ripped-jeans-sneakers-wearing misfits like me. I could roll with it most of the time but I didn't relish the idea of being treated like the unwanted sixth toe that they had no choice but to drag along with them, harmless or not.
But you have different responsibilities now as Brandon’s wife. You knew this when you agreed to marry him and you promised you would do your best.
Whether my best was good enough, that was yet to be determined.
“Do you think Brandon would want me to go to this thing?” I asked Felicity before picking up my tall plastic cup of multi-colored layers of slushies and taking a long sip up the giant fat straw. “He might think this is kind of silly.”
Felicity shook her head. “I’m sure he won’t. The Maxfield Industries is one of their biggest regular sponsors. It couldn’t hurt to have someone from the family be part of the Society.”
“There’s Anna and Tessa. In my opinion, they seem to be perfect Championette material,” I said with an exaggerated shrug. “They have the beauty, poise, background and preferred number of pencil skirts and pearl necklaces required for this kind of role.”
Felicity giggled. “True, but they’re too young.”
“Too young?” I echoed. “Anna’s a year older and Tessa’s my age.”
“Yes, but they’re not married,” Felicity answered.
I blinked and waited—because surely, there had to be a follow up to that statement. On its own, it made no sense.
When I realized that there was none forthcoming, I widened my eyes at Felicity. “What? Is this the early eighteenth-century where being married instantly transformed a girl into a fully mature and reliable matron who could chaperone young ladies in society?”
Surprise flashed on Felicity’s face. “Are you some kind of Regency England scholar?”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Of course not. I read historical romances, silly. They are as accurate as it is convenient which is more than I can say about this little club. Being married doesn’t exactly ensure maturity and wisdom in anyone, male or female. At the rate couples are divorcing every year, you’d think it’s going the other way.”
Felicity grinned and shook her head in resignation. “I know where you’re coming from, Char. It’s just how they’ve always done it—you were either twenty-five or married at the very least to be even considered being invited a member. It’s just always been one of their quirks. It highlights their exclusivity, I guess.”
I grimaced. “It’s amazing how people get up in arms about being discriminated by the opposite sex but not bat an eye when we do it to our own kind.”
“And I thought I was the more politically-inclined between the two of us, Char,” Felicity said with an amused laugh. “Hey, despite the circumstances, it’s still at least an opportunity for you to get out there and get involved. I would join in a heartbeat if I could just because it’ll offer an incredible amount of exposure to whatever cause I can persuade them to take up.”
I pursed my lips, gazing into the distance as I weighed my options. “Hmm. I’ll join just for the chance to convince them of the silliness of their age and marital status restrictions. I think that anyone legally considered an adult with the interest and passion to devote to a worthy cause should be granted the chance to join. You’re going to be among the first people I’ll recruit into the club when that happens, Fel, don’t you worry.”
She just sighed and sat back, twirling her bright pink pen between her fingers. “If that’s what’s going to motivate you to take them up on their invitation, by all means proceed although I recommend you push forward a more urgent cause than our bruised egos.”
I grinned. “Good point. If the choice is between us and starving orphans or the homeless elderly, I think we’ll have to sit in the back-burner for a little bit.”
“You’d make a great addition, Char,” Felicity said with a firm nod and her typical can-do attitude. “I think that while you may be an awkward fit at first for what they usually look for, you’ll find a place for yourself there and who knows? You might mold everything else around you and make some positive changes in the Society.”
I snorted. “Yes, a sixth toe will require the extra room and need custom-made shoes and no one likes that.”
When she just looked at me with knitted brows as if I’d said I was from an alien race, I sighed and shook my head. “Never mind that last part. I’ll accept this invitation but before we send anything out, I’ll run it with Brandon later tonight. If he’s prepared to fund more than just the pencil skirts and pearl necklaces I’ll need for this role, then we’re in business.”
If I had my own money for me to spend as I pleased, I wouldn’t hesitate, but I was yet to work out my exact charity allowance that I’d asked for in my contract with Brandon and the means for me to access it. With the flurry of events in the last few days, I had no time to think about the contract.
“I have a feeling they’ll require more from me than just my creative ideas and labor,” I continued, tucking the invitation into my purse for later. “Something th
at’s more green, crisp and sporting a dollar sign. I hate it but I have to check with the Bank of Brandon.”
My husband of about five days now was still technically on holidays but with Martin being in the hospital, he’d been spending a few hours in the afternoon going to work and just making sure that everything was running smoothly and the investors were not getting restless. It would seem that despite his recent arrest, he still held quite a sway with them.
Half an hour later, Felicity and I wrapped up. She headed out to run some name-change errands for me and I went to check in on Martin. He was already awake, the top-half of his bed raised to help him sit up, watching some business news.
All the tubes and catheters had been removed yesterday. Normally, he was supposed to stay in the ICU until then but this suite had been equipped to function in a very similar capacity and Brandon had insisted (and probably paid a fortune) to have him moved here so his family could visit more comfortably. The doctors had agreed to it with the condition that Martin had a standby nurse to monitor him at all times for a couple of days. Sandy, his nurse, luckily hadn’t been the type to hover.
I smiled at him. The old man looked thin and weary, his skin a bit dry and papery but he smiled back and patted the spot next to him in bed.
“You know that the economy hasn’t crashed and burned while you were out of commission, right?” I said teasingly, plopping down on the spot next to him on the bed.
“I know, dear girl,” he replied with a nod, his voice still a bit raspy after he’d been able to finally talk properly again. “I’m not as indispensable as I once thought I was. That should be good though. That means I’ve trained my son well enough in the business to handle it all on his own.”
I tilted my head to the side to look at him. “Did you ever doubt that he couldn’t?”
“Not really. Brandon will learn everything there is to learn and do what is needed to be done to accomplish a task given to him,” Martin explained. “It’s his nature. He can’t help it. He knew since he was very young that this company would be left in his hands someday. He’s persevered in preparing himself for that responsibility.”
Then why did you threaten to give the company to his sleazy cousin if he didn’t marry me? Why did I have to be dragged into all of this?
To be honest, I haven’t been feeling that way anymore for a few days now. Despite the flash of guilt I experienced at Martin’s heart attack, my life had been relatively happy in the last little while. I may have been dragged into this kicking and screaming at first but I now felt like I was strolling happily in my own pace.
“I’m sure Brandon would have no problem being at the helm of the ship but I didn’t spend a lifetime training to be the metaphorical ship captain’s wife,” I mumbled. “Sometimes, I wonder how I ever convinced myself I could do it.”
Well, there was the million dollars and the guilt-trip he laid on me.
“There are plenty of good reasons for marrying my son,” Martin said, smiling at me softly. “But I think, for you, the biggest incentive is Brandon himself.”
I opened my mouth to automatically dispute what he said but with Martin’s blue eyes boring into mine meaningfully, I faltered and shut my mouth close instead.
I blew out a breath and rolled my eyes. While he didn’t really know the truth of mine and Brandon’s arrangement, Martin knew very well how infatuated I was with his son.
It was his own fault, actually, for regaling me with tales about Brandon in the time we’ve known each other through Marlow’s. Between the life lessons he supplied me regularly, he told me of his wonderful son who was only a royal title short of being a modern prince any girl would fall in love with.
I thought I was cured of that crush after meeting the man personally for the first time but it was fast becoming very obvious that I was either mistaken about that recovery or falling fast for him all over again—and this time, not just with this father’s stories but with the man himself.
“While you’re right about that, I sometimes still have to remind myself of it especially when he does reckless, idiotic things like beat up his cousin,” I grumbled, shaking my head. “Have I told you that Brandon has a quick temper? You never told me that about him. And that he reacts so fiercely at the slightest provocation, like someone rambling on something rude to me when it was obvious the guy’s just baiting him, or that since the guy can be a bit of a tool that no one should really waste time on anything he says.”
“No, not really,” Martin answered, his smile broadening. “In fact, Brandon can be quite indifferent with things he’s not focused on. He usually doesn’t care enough to get provoked by things easily.”
I frowned. “Are we talking about the same person? Or does your son have split personalities?”
Martin chuckled lightly, quickly catching himself before the strain of his laughter caused him discomfort. He took a deep, ragged breath and closed his eyes briefly before easing back on his bed. “I’m sorry, Char. I didn’t mean to make fun of what you said. And no, I don’t think my son is suffering from any kind of multiple-personality disorder. Maybe he’s just finally coming around to caring enough to react to things. That’s a good sign.”
“How can you say that? Did I tell you that Francis looked quite a mess after Brandon was done with him? He’s been banned from visiting you,” I told him as I pulled up his covers over him and tucked it carefully around his chest.
While none of us volunteered any information about Brandon’s fight with Francis, Martin quickly learned of it on his own from the news yesterday. He didn’t exactly scold his son who refused to explain why he fought with Francis or apologize for doing so. He didn’t seem surprised by the tension between the two because he’d just sighed and told Brandon to maybe steer clear of Francis until the other man returned to London.
Martin patted my hand. “He’s going to be like a child who just realized he could walk. He’ll be all over the place, tottering over relentlessly until he gets the hang of it. You just have to be patient with him.”
I put my other hand on top of his and squeezed gently. “Did you know that he was going to take me to Paris for our honeymoon? He doesn’t know that I know but I thought it was the sweetest thing. Paris is my favorite place in the world.”
Martin closed his eyes but he was still smiling. “It’s good to know that things have their own way of working out.”
I stilled. “What do you mean?”
“I’m tired now, Charlotte,” Martin said without opening his eyes. “I’ll rest for a bit, I think.”
I had a sudden urge to interrogate the old man because I was certain that there was something else he meant with that statement but I held myself back and slid off the bed, grabbing the remote to turn the TV volume down.
“Alright. I’ll wake you when the rest comes in for dinner,” I told him gently, pressing a kiss on his forehead.
I had just settled in the couch with a food magazine when the phone buzzed.
“Mr. Pelletier is here to see Mr. Maxfield,” Kurt from the security desk said. “I’ve advised him that he’s not allowed access but he said he wanted to speak with you.”
I sighed and put the magazine down. I didn’t really want to deal with Francis but someone had to do it. Besides, I was yet to give him a piece of my mind. “Please tell him I’ll meet him in the lounge in a few minutes. Thanks, Kurt.”
I paged Sandy so she could keep an eye on Martin while I stepped out for a few minutes.
I took my time making my way to the lounge, wondering exactly what he wanted from me. There was a lot that I wanted to say to him—mostly unpleasant things—but I had to take care because asshole or not, he was still a part of Brandon’s family.
And I thought I was done with all this family drama when my father died.
His back was turned when I came into the snazzy but empty lounge area in this floor where all of the luxury hospital suites were located. The room offered lots of seating, a game area, a row of high-end vending
machines and even a small reading corner complete with a large, well-stocked bookshelf.
“You look worse for the wear,” I remarked dryly when he turned around to face me. He was a bit bruised and scraped, his jaw unshaven and his hair messy.
His eyes narrowed at me. “I want to see Martin.”
I sat on one of the leather sectionals and crossed my legs. “Sorry but you can’t. Brandon had you banned and since Martin hasn’t particularly asked for you either, I figured he’s not that interested in seeing you himself.”
He snorted and started pacing in front of me. “I’m not surprised considering just how accurately Brandon would’ve relayed what really happened. He’s made it his lifelong mission to always make sure I look bad to the old man.”
I raised a brow. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that maybe you just do that yourself with no help whatsoever?”
Anger flashed in his eyes as his face tightened with restraint. “Martin has been more of a father to me than my own had ever been. I’ve lived my whole life trying to be everything the old man wanted me to be. It’s not my fault that Brandon has a problem with that.”
Martin might be fated for sainthood. He’s too good and honorable a person—and my soul will be damned for deceiving him.
A part of me sympathized with Francis—the fact that he seemed to be as much of a stray as I was that Martin picked up and looked after might have something to do with it—but I could easily tell that he was quick to deny accountability on his actions. I didn’t know the true cause of his rift with Brandon but my husband may have been right on point when he accused his cousin of owing no responsibility where he could use some.
“I can’t say it was Brandon’s fault either for losing it on you when you were talking about his father like he was already dead,” I pointed out, raising a brow at him. “It makes one wonder whether you worked hard to please the old man simply because you owed him that much or merely because you hope to gain everything he has to leave behind when his time comes.”
The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield Page 34
