The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  Okay. So I was being a bit of a female dog.

  It rarely happened—only around Bessy Mitchell, usually. The girl just had unparalleled talents in bringing out my worst.

  She was currently growling at me—either that or she was regurgitating last night’s dinner. From the strain of her efforts, it must’ve been half a cow or something similar.

  I took a deep breath, pressed my fingers between my brows and turned to Bessy.

  “I’m sorry,” I said with a sigh. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I—”

  “You’re a crass, little liar,” Bessy shot back.

  Could we simply conclude that I was extremely right in saying that she had unparalleled talents? Subtlety was never her prime characteristic which makes her all the more effective as a bully.

  “You don’t even know what happened at Bo Brommer’s party!” she continued hissing. “You weren’t even there because you would’ve never been invited in a million years!”

  I nodded. “You’re right, I was never invited. I came much later as part of the clean-up crew. Bo had one of his minions arrange for one because his parents were going to kill him if they came home to a trashed house after that weekend. I came in with a couple other people around two in the morning to start. We got paid eighty bucks each for three hours of work.”

  Bessy’s expression turned haughty. “Oh, so you were the janitress? You cleaned up my puke?”

  I raised a brow. “Actually, no. You couldn’t have possibly puked. Your mouth was quite stuffed with something else when I walked into the bathroom. Neither you nor that random guy even noticed me. I quietly left and decided to tackle a completely different part of the house—where there was a smaller chance I'd encounter a variety of bodily fluids. Forensics isn’t my strongest suit.”

  Mottled red wasn’t Bessy’s best color but I doubted that she would appreciate my opinion.

  I wisely chose to keep my mouth shut.

  I already got pretty nasty and it made me uncomfortable.

  I didn’t like to be a particularly hurtful person but when push came to shove, I shoved back really hard.

  Today though was not the time or the place.

  Bessy and I hadn’t been yelling at each other enough to really draw people’s attention but if she continued to push me down with her thumb and I kept pricking her for blood, the tension would be hard to miss.

  I already had a fight—albeit, currently in an unspoken ceasefire—with the Championettes. I didn’t need one with Bessy as well.

  “I think there’s been enough reminiscing of your high school days here,” Jake cut in gently, gliding his body between Bessy and me and giving me a pleading look. “Charlotte and I should probably continue on with our quest for the next pastry to try.”

  “Why want a cake you can’t have, Jake?” Bessy said meaningfully.

  Jake stepped aside as he turned toward her, giving me a full view again of the beautiful but hateful witch. “Excuse me?”

  Bessy gave him what I would admit as a very seductive smile. “You’re far too good to waste your time and charm on someone some helplessly infatuated idiot already went and married. You could have a different cake and actually eat it.”

  There wasn’t a lot that could make the bile rise up to my throat.

  That brazen, bald-faced play Bessy just made on Jake was going to get me reacquainted with my breakfast—or last night’s dinner, whichever came up first.

  “It may serve you well to remember that the man you just referred to as a helplessly infatuated idiot is my best friend in the world,” Jake said calmly although his firm warning was impossible to miss in his tone. “And I happen to like this particular cake, even if I can only look at it.”

  Bessy’s coy expression hardened into an offended scowl.

  “Good day, Ms. Mitchell.” Jake gave her a stiff but polite nod before steering me away by my elbow.

  We were quiet for a long moment as we moved away from the end of the very long dessert table where we left Bessy fuming enough steam to run a train.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally muttered. “I don’t have a lot of enemies but Bessy Mitchell gets under my skin like no other. I should’ve been the bigger person.”

  Jake gave me an amused smile. “She has at least four inches on you, Char. You couldn’t have been the bigger person.”

  I smacked his arm. “You know what I mean, Jake.”

  He laughed and patted my hand. “I know, I know. I’m just trying to lighten up your very dark mood. It’s a big day for you and I don’t want it ruined.”

  I sighed. “I know. I’m not even sure why she’s here. She’s not in the demographic of their guests here today. She’s too young. I’m only here because I’m married.”

  “Well, she’s Layla’s second cousin or something like that,” Jake answered. “That’s probably why she’s been invited.”

  My jaw went slack as I stopped and stared at him. “You mean to tell me that Layla LeClaire and Bessy Mitchell are related by blood?”

  A puzzled expression crossed Jake’s face. “Yeah... Why?”

  I smacked my head and closed my eyes briefly. “Nothing. Their shared genetics certainly explain their identical sentiments about me.”

  “Is Layla giving you a hard time too?”

  I let out a dry, ironic chuckle. “She was, but not at the moment. After the scene with Bessy though, she certainly now has additional motivation. This will be interesting."

  ***

  Oh, the day definitely got interesting.

  After my little run-in with Bessy, Simone arrived—with Francis as her date.

  Shocked would be a mild term for my reaction—flabbergasted was more like it.

  I managed to shut my mouth close in time though before they spotted me and Brandon at our table.

  “Brand, quick. Give me some water,” I mumbled to my husband. “I think someone drugged me and I need to flush it out. I swear I’m seeing Simone with your cousin right now. I think they’re holding hands. Shit.”

  “I beg your pardon?” The older lady with a mini pink flamingo on her fascinator and was sitting to my right, turned to me with a disapproving frown.

  I gave her a bright smile as I picked up an appetizer from the plate in front of us. “Uh, shrimp? The shrimp on this canape is phenomenal. You could taste the sea.”

  I popped it into my mouth, holding my smile in place as I chewed and swallowed it down. Then I turned to Brandon with a face and mouthed, You could taste the sea? Really?

  But Brandon just gave me a distracted smile and handed me a glass of water. His gaze kept darting toward Simone and Francis who were talking to another couple.

  My stomach churned—and not from the sea-tasting shrimp.

  Relax, Charlotte. Trust the truth. Even if it emerged from the lies. Trust Brandon.

  It was hard not to feel anxious.

  Glancing at Simone who was clad in a stunning rose-colored flowing dress, her dark hair arranged in a soft, seductive bun, I couldn’t refute the fact that she was like the decadent and sophisticated chocolate mousse cake while I was... Twinkies.

  There’s nothing wrong with Twinkies—they’re just not what you whip up when people are coming over and you wish to impress them.

  But Twinkies pulled herself up straight and held her head high when the chocolate mousse cake came her way.

  Remember, you’re America’s favorite.

  I bit the inside of my cheek when Brandon pushed his chair back to rise in greeting as Simone and Francis came over to our table.

  “Cuz, Charlotte,” Francis greeted easily, tipping us a half-smile.

  He actually looked quite pleasant today, barely sporting any of his scuff marks from his altercation with Brandon. “You two are looking good.”

  My eyes narrowed slightly. It wasn’t that he looked specifically more pleasant—it was that he looked pleased about something. “You too, Francis. I can easily imagine why.”

  I felt Brandon’s elbow gently nudge me on th
e side.

  I knew without a doubt that he still disliked his cousin quite a bit but he did promise to Martin, after his father had a talk with Francis, to be civil about it.

  Francis chuckled. “Well, it’s always a treat to be invited to the Championettes’ brunch. I’m rarely in the country at the same time it’s on.”

  I tsked. “It’s not a bad habit you should break.”

  I felt another small jab again. I wondered if Brandon would forgive me if I planted the pointy heel of my shoe in his toe.

  “Hello, Francis,” my husband intoned, his expression all seriousness.

  In fact, I was pretty sure he just put on a scowl especially as he turned to his ex. “Simone. You look lovely.”

  You would look lovelier, Brand, with my handprint on your cheek. She is not lovely! Okay, she is, but you don’t tell her that while I’m standing right here!

  I knew I was being irrational.

  Jealousy usually was, too.

  I knew Brandon returned Simone’s phone call that day when she called and talked to me, but he told me he just left her a voicemail message because she wasn’t picking up. We haven’t heard anything back since. Whatever she had to tell Brandon so urgently, she must’ve decided it wasn’t so urgent anymore. Or that she changed her mind about telling him.

  “It’s nice to see you, Brand,” she greeted back smoothly, leaning forward to buss him on each cheek in greeting.

  My hands clenched into fists and I had to struggle not to send them flying to rearrange Simone’s perfect bone structure. Man, for someone who limited her acquaintance with violence to just exaggerated verbal threats (like a dog which mostly barked instead of biting), I was surely having unreasonable violent tendencies. Not good.

  The smile I gave her when she turned to me must’ve been a ridiculous combination of a glare and a little teeth-baring, but her own smiling expression barely changed when she leaned in to do the same with me.

  “Charlotte, it’s good to have you join the Championettes,” she said as she pulled back and linked her arm through Francis’s own. “Melissa’s been pretty excited about having you on board.”

  I caught her meaning. Only Melissa was excited about having me on board.

  I guess she'll never forgive me for taking Brandon away even when he clearly left on his own. No matter how civil or nice I become to her, I will always be an enemy.

  I fixed the smile on my face to resemble a proper one as I gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement. “Thank you. Melissa is a staunch supporter, not of me, but of the possibility that we can do a lot together with the Society."

  “It’s not going to be easy,” she said and I could hear the double meaning.

  I shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll tell you my secret, Simone: I’ve got practice. I endure, and I persevere.”

  Brandon’s touch, when he slipped his hand over mine and squeezed gently, felt like steel filled my veins and thrust my shoulders up in pride.

  “And she’s got me and my entire family and friends for support,” he added, the declaration in his tone evident. “We’re with her, wherever she chooses to go.”

  Francis raised a brow. “Ah, yes. She is, after all, an official member of the Maxfield family. Isn’t she?”

  A tendril of doubt slithered across my heart at Francis’s emphasis on his last sentence.

  If it meant nothing, why do a theatric pause before enunciating that last part?

  "I think the signed, stamped and filed marriage certificate, and the hundred or so guests who attended our wedding make it official enough," I snapped, keeping the volume of my voice in check. "In fact, I'm very much a Maxfield now—I mean, I now dislike you as much the rest of them do."

  Francis's expression hardened. "They don't dislike me. Only Brandon does."

  I gave a casual shrug. "Well, Martin's a saint and the rest are still pretty young. Give them time."

  Brandon moved his body toward me as if to shield me from the shrapnels of Francis's temper exploding.

  I didn't need it but I didn't mind.

  I didn't want to get douchebag all over me.

  “Baby, it’s okay,” Brandon leaned down and murmured into my ear.

  Francis snorted though, eyeing me in disdain. “What did you marry, Brand? A wife or an attack dog?”

  I swallowed hard at the instant Brandon’s body stiffened and strained with a temper he was fighting to control.

  I caught this sleeve. “Brandon...”

  He slowly turned to face his cousin, his voice low and sharp as he spoke. “I promised my father not to kill you, but I can beat you senseless if you utter one more insult toward my wife.”

  Francis’s eyes narrowed into slits as he thrust his chin up. He looked like he was about to accept the challenge when Simone put her arm out and gently steered him away.

  “We should probably go make our rounds before the induction ceremony officially starts,” she said, glancing at me, disapproval clear in her eyes. “We’ll leave you to enjoy yourselves.”

  For some odd reason, I felt duly chastised.

  I knew I shouldn’t have provoked Francis, who predictably provoked Brandon in turn, but my nerve endings were jittery with a paranoia I couldn’t figure out.

  “I’d be careful of the games I play, if I were you,” Francis said. “Strategy’s only meaningful if kept a secret. Once it’s out, it’s only a matter of time.”

  My heart jumping to my throat, I swivelled my gaze over to Simone who looked everywhere but at me and Brandon.

  Well, what have we got here? A tattler and a traitor.

  Brandon’s hold on my hand was so tight, I started to lose feeling in it, but I said nothing as I watched Francis and Simone go, praying that Brandon wouldn’t suddenly snap out of his shock and tackle his cousin to the ground.

  The last thing we needed was an all-out confrontation—one where Francis could not-so-accidentally blurt out our secret in public.

  “Let it go, Brand,” I slowly whispered to him, putting a hand on his arm in reassurance. “He’s just bluffing. He’s hinting that we’re hiding something and waiting for us to reveal it ourselves by taking his bait.”

  Brandon’s hazel eyes were stormy as he turned to me. “Francis isn’t as subtle as that. He definitely knows something and it’s pretty obvious how he found out. I just can’t believe Simone would do something like this.”

  “There’s desperate and there’s vindictive. The difference is in the motivation.”

  “I’ll fix this,” Brandon said, pulling me into his arms and pressing his lips on forehead. “It’s my fault. I should’ve never said anything to her.”

  “It’ll be okay, love.” I looked up at him and smiled. “We’ll figure it out.”

  He nodded and gave me a half-smile.

  “I hate to interrupt but I just wanted to check that everything’s good here.”

  Brandon and I turned around and found Melissa standing behind us with a wary smile.

  “I saw Francis and Simone come up to you and thought that they were a perfect disaster heading your way,” she added with a meaningful look. “I would’ve never pegged Simone down as someone who would date the least favorite cousin of the guy she’d dated before just to spite him but hey, what do I know? I don’t have enough drama in my life to qualify for one of those real housewives shows.”

  I laughed, feeling instantly better.

  Melissa had been constantly checking on me since we arrived, introducing me to people and openly showing her support. I appreciated her efforts but I eventually had to convince her to keep her husband company and actually have a good time instead of guarding me like the secret service. She was practically trying to be my body armor when people showed even the slightest disapproval and for that, I adored her. I didn't tell her about the incident with Bessy or the cold shoulder Layla has been giving me all morning (I guess if she couldn't trust herself to not say anything she might regret, she just opted not to say anything at all).

  While it fe
lt incredibly touching to have someone like Melissa stand on my side and protect me, I didn't want to subject her to retaliation.

  I had pretty tough skin.

  I could handle dealing with my critics and give it as good as I got, but I'd feel terrible if anyone else was dragged into the fray because of me.

  I didn’t want my friendship with Melissa to cost her anything.

  Of course, being as bull-headed as she was, she told me to get over myself and let her help.

  “We’re good, Mel,” Brandon reassured her, some of the tension on his face draining away. “The friction isn’t going to disappear anytime soon but I’m not going to thrash my cousin around today—at least not without good cause.”

  Melissa gave me an amused look and just rolled her eyes. “Good. Because as exciting as that would be to watch, I do need Charlotte’s induction to the Society to go smoothly. She’ll have enough bumps to ride through without her first day as a Championette becoming a complete disaster.”

  I grinned. “I feel like I’m being groomed to run for president.”

  Melissa laughed. “With the crowd we’re in, it’s going to feel that way for the next little bit. Don’t worry. As your campaign manager, I’ll help you navigate the waters and avoid the sharks.”

  “Or make shark steak out of them,” I said brightly.

  Brandon smiled in amusement and kissed my temple. “That’s one way to look at the silver lining.”

  Melissa’s husband, Tom—who was a big, boisterous character as likable as his wife—came over and talked to us for a few minutes just before Anette Laurier, a Championette and today’s emcee, came up to the podium to announce the start of the induction ceremony.

  Melissa gave me a quick, reassuring hug before heading back with her husband to their table.

  I caught Layla’s eye from across the room—her pale blue eyes steely with challenge.

  What? Am I supposed to back out now? The last time I checked, I had a backbone—one I put to good use quite often.

  “You ready, babe?” Brandon asked, drawing my attention back to him.