I took both of Martin’s hands in mine and gave them a squeeze, smiling through the tender ache in my heart. “I want you to know that even though I drew the short straw on parents, I found more than a father in you—you were always my friend, my champion, my own wise fairy godfather—and I owe you so much. But most of all, I owe you for Brandon—for making it possible for me to have someone as wonderful and as loving as him in my life.”
“I didn’t know either of your parents, Charlotte, but I knew how deep the wounds they left you were,” he told me gently. “I did what I could from where I stood in your life. I’m glad I was able to do more and that you were able to finally find some happiness with my son.”
“If only I didn’t blow it, right?” I said with a self-deprecating laugh. “But I guess I’m just as fallible as the people I blamed for most of my own unhappiness. Sometimes, there really is no good reason for the mistakes we make.”
Martin sighed wearily and nodded. “I know why Brandon did what he did, asking your mother to come, but I don’t know if it resolved anything or if it just hurt you more.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know either. For a while, I thought it was better to never see her again. I didn’t want to find out she had a good reason for leaving me—maybe some kind of double-life or noble sacrifice she had to make to protect me. Something you’d see in books or movies. I wanted to be justified in being angry with her.”
“And did she have a good reason?”
I actually smiled a little. “No. She really just left because she couldn’t take it. Because she loved another man. She knew she would hurt me but she did it anyway.”
Martin grimaced but didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know if I’m relieved or not,” I continued, still confused but somehow clear on at least a few things. “All I know is that whatever she did, for whatever reason, doesn’t have the power to dictate what I’m going to do with my life. Her mistakes are her own. Just because she didn’t love me enough doesn’t mean Brandon isn’t going to either.”
Martin smiled and patted my head. “You took the words right out of my mouth. You know what you need to do, Charlotte.”
I still didn’t have a perfectly mapped-out plan after I left Martin but I knew one thing for certain—fairy tales had happy endings because despite the bump in the road, the prince and the princess followed their hearts.
And my heart must’ve known where it was going because half an hour after I left Martin, I found myself standing in front of the house Brandon had bought for us for my birthday.
Brandon and I had been by many times with Nicole as we ironed out the details of what we wanted so that the renovation project could start but the house was still beautiful in its bare bones.
Entering the front hall, I couldn’t see that much had changed since I was last here two weeks ago.
I hesitated, wondering if I was being foolish, searching one empty home after another for my husband, like a child chasing after the fading trail of a firefly.
I tiptoed inside, my fingers trailing past every little thing they could touch along the way, looking for clues or flashbacks as if I were clairvoyant.
The house was quiet except for the low hum of the new furnace and my shallow breaths as I fought the barrage of happy memories Brandon and I had made here in the few weeks since we’ve owned this house.
I slowly made my way up to the second floor, seeking the makeshift ballroom where he and I had danced and made love. The drapes were drawn in, bathing the room in shadows save for the pale shafts of light that came through some gaps.
The fireplace wasn’t lit but as I made my way toward it, I spied a form vulnerably curled in sleep on the old, pale blue velvet Victorian sofa that had been left behind in the house.
We’d brought it upstairs along with another abandoned furniture—a burgundy wingback chair—and set it by the fireplace where Brandon and I had passed a few nights cuddled together with a blanket around us.
My heart clenched as I stood over and watched my husband sleep, the profile of his perfect face despite being unshaven and fixed with a frown, arresting me on the spot.
His suit jacket was carelessly tossed on the floor along with his briefcase and shoes. His pants and white dress shirt were wrinkled beyond repair from having been slept in.
Based on the few empty brown paper bags, coffee cups and a couple of half-finished bottles of beer littered around, it appeared that this was where Brandon had been cooped up in for the last several days when he wasn’t at work.
Why he was still here, asleep, when it was already early afternoon, made me wonder, but recalling what Gilles’s said about Brandon’s private suffering, I decided it was something he could only keep up for so long before it destroyed him.
Oh, Brand. Why do we do this to ourselves?
I didn’t say it out loud but I felt it all the same as I sank on my knees on the ratty carpet we’d flung across the hardwood floor when we first set up this makeshift living room.
I was close enough to him that I could feel his deep, even breaths but not too close that I could disturb him. I had a suspicion this was the first time in days that he’d been able to actually sleep, if the faint shadows under the dark sweep of his eyelashes were anything to go by.
Just like everything Brandon did, he slept with intent and all seriousness.
He didn’t toss or turn or make silly sounds or pay attention to the cold draft in the room.
I got up on my feet and picked up the same blanket we’d wrapped ourselves in on the nights we’d made love here, in the same room, and carefully draped it over him. My fingers paused just for a moment before they fleetingly brushed the lock of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead, wanting to do more but holding back.
Maybe I was still afraid—afraid that he’d wake up and I still wouldn’t have all the right words to fix what we’d broken.
I couldn’t take that risk just yet, even when there was nothing more I wanted but to see his eyes flutter open, greeting me with that dark, melting gaze, the corners crinkling ever so slightly when he smiled even just a little because he couldn’t help it with me, no matter how hard he tried.
Never had I seen a man so alive, so adoring, than when Brandon looked at me, his soul bared each time and not caring one bit about it at all.
I wondered, as I have for days, how I could’ve kept thinking that I wasn’t good enough for him.
If Brandon had his way, the world wouldn’t be good enough for me.
I smiled, despite the prickling of tears in my eyes, and forced myself to allow a certain distance before I did something silly like put my arms around him and kiss him awake.
I wanted to but words needed to be said and apologies had to be made. It would be so easy to sweep everything under the rug and go for the happy ending but I didn’t want more dirt in the past. I was buried so deep in it, it had been choking me for a while.
I perched on the arm chair across from Brandon, my hands tucked between my knees, watching him and wondering how I was going to tell him.
How would one propose the princess to say all the right words—the perfect words—like those fairy tales written by people who never thought about just how clumsy explanations could be in reality, when your heartbeat was faster than your tongue and your brain didn’t have a script ready for confessions of love that made the history books?
Write it, Cinderella. This is your story, after all.
Brandon’s brief case was already unlatched and as quiet as a mouse, I crouched down to lift the lid open and looked at the supplies available.
I found a fountain pen and a couple of blank stationery sheets with the Maxfield Industries letterhead.
Laying flat on my stomach on the carpet, I started to write, hoping I had enough time and paper to say what I needed to say and praying that they would be the right words.
Dear Brandon,
I know it’s a little late for this but like most things in my life, I’m catching up, ev
en on unsteady legs, and I hope that I make it before you completely sail away from me. Well, even if you did, I’d get on the next ship and come after you, short of swimming a metaphorical ocean, because I’m stubborn like that.
Yes, I’m stubborn, and I think you know this about me, better than I ever did. I’m so sorry for all the awful things I said to you when you invited my mother to Martin’s party. When the shock wore off, I realized how much I overreacted. Apparently, I’m not exempt from that. A little warning might have helped but in the end, I think you did what you did because I would’ve never agreed to it in the first place. People called me brave and for a long time, I thought I was, too. But the real test doesn’t come until you face the force that shattered you. I thought I was whole, protected by a fortress. But I was merely just throwing jagged pieces of my heart around in defense all these years, hoping they’d do the job of keeping others at a distance. It was still very much broken. Is it whole now? Probably not. Will it ever be whole again? Maybe. I hope so.
I’m sorry for having kept you in the dark.
Why didn’t I tell you? Other than the fact that I promised, I’m not sure.
Maybe because there is already so much of the world who needs you, Brand.
I’m sorry, too, for not explaining the pictures. I felt that it would’ve made no difference, thinking you’d already made up your mind about me, but it meant a world of difference, didn’t it, Brand? I think you wanted me to tell you that it was all a misunderstanding—and you would’ve believed me—but I didn’t. I walked away instead because I was good at that. I wanted to get away before it could hurt more—before I could find out that no, you wouldn’t have believed me after all.
Jake and I are not having an affair. The truth is, he’s in love with someone else—someone who’s probably in love with him too but can’t quite admit it to herself. You’re going to have to ask him about that. I’m sure he’s desperate to tell you but DON’T kill him, please. He has honorable intentions.
As for the clinic—yes, it’s one of those sketchy places where they get rid of your ‘problem’ but I wasn’t there for myself. I was there for a friend who was in a real dire situation. Jake just happened to be with me when I got the call and followed me there, thinking something was wrong with me. The girl we came there for had nowhere to go so Jake let her stay at his place (and laid not one finger on her, at all) which explains the pictures you have of me coming in and out of his condo. I was being there for Jake and his ‘heart’ problems and he was there for me by offering shelter to my friend. As to who she is, I can’t tell you because she’s not ready for people to know. But I promise you that this is the truth. I’m not sure who sent you those pictures and what they have to gain from them but I never betrayed you, Brandon. If you listened to what I said that night when we fought, it was there, layered under all the hurt and anger. The problem, I think, is that when we’re hurt, instead of saying things that could make it better, we say things that hurt back. For this, I am very sorry.
I love you.
I’ve got all kinds of advice for people but I only have one for myself—believe I’m worth it.
You’re worth more than I will ever deserve. You are, after all, a modern day prince—but I’m not going to be afraid this time. I’ll reach for you and keep you in my heart.
I’m done running away, Brand. I’m so tired.
I want to come home.
I want to lay my head somewhere at last—preferably on your chest as you hold me close, letting me listen to your heartbeat, to your tender words, to your laughter until they fill all the empty spaces in me.
I love you.
Forgive me.
Yours always,
Charlotte
I don’t know how long I sat there—clutching my letter and gazing at Brandon.
Whispering a prayer and an I-love-you, I tucked the folded stationery under the blanket that covered him, lightly kissed his rough cheek and left.
He would find me when he was ready.
Chapter Thirty-Four: The Harrowing Road to Happily-Ever-Afters
The next three days were the longest of my life.
When you’d written your heart out in a letter to a prince, you’d expect him to come riding down your doorstep on a white horse and take you away to the castle where you’d live happily ever after.
Fairy tales were far simpler in books than they were in real life because Brandon didn’t.
In fact, I hadn’t seen him or heard from him in the three days since I left him with the letter.
I contemplated many scenarios—that the letter fell forgotten on the floor, that he read it and decided it wasn’t good enough an explanation or an apology, or that he read it and in his haste to get to me, he slipped and hit his head, lying in a pool of blood alone in that house for days.
I had to yank myself out of my morbid thoughts and told myself to give him time.
It was the least he could ask from me and while it wasn’t much, it still hurt.
Despite my bleeding heart though, I smiled my way through the days that followed, determined not to let anyone else down.
Before we knew it, it was the day of the masquerade party.
I’d just gotten home from Oakley Stead after spending the morning making final rounds with the event planners, and I was sweaty and grubby from the physical work.
The Championettes had a mini-meeting there too, and with a faint smile, I recalled the look on everyone’s faces when I said I wasn’t going to go and that Layla would do beautifully, giving the speech and thanking everyone who came for our cause. I didn’t mind working the hours away but I wasn’t sure I could fix a smile on my face and be an expert hostess tonight, when I was exhausted heart and soul. Also, I didn't want to be asked about Brandon especially when I had no real answers to give.
Catherine nearly had a coronary, blustering that it was a stupid idea for me not to attend when I busted my ass off working to get this ball underway and that if anyone deserved to see it in all its splendor, it would be me.
I thanked her for her compliment, which surprised her when she finally realized that she did give me one, and explained that it was enough for me to have done what I could to make it happen. I also told them that this was most likely going to be the last event I participated in with the Championettes.
I was quitting.
Why?
Because I wasn’t sure where my life was going to go from here. Before I can save the world, I had to find my own place in it first, now that I was adrift again.
Whatever became of me and Brandon would change my life and I didn’t want to make promises I couldn’t keep. If Brandon didn’t want me back, I wouldn’t take any of his money, and without money, I was of little use to the Championettes. If Brandon came for me, then I had to devote my time to healing the wounds we’d left on each other. This time, it was the two of us who needed saving. The rest of the world could wait a little.
I’d just come out of the shower when I heard an insistent rapping on my door.
It was four-thirty in the afternoon and I’d checked off my entire to-do list for the party. I was ready to get dressed, order in some Chinese food and maybe watch an old movie.
With my hair still wrapped in a towel, I slipped on my old, oversized robe and walked to the door.
Keeping the chain on, I propped the door open only to find four or five faces trying to cram themselves into my view.
Anna, Tessa, Felicity, Layla and Simone were all standing there, grinning broadly at me.
My mind still trying to process the sight, I opened the door completely but before I could even get a word out, they swarmed in, talking all at the same time.
All five women were dressed fabulously, a bright, cheerful palette of colours in their beautiful and extravagant ball gowns. Clyde announced himself right behind them with an outlandish hello, pecking me on each cheek before dropping his giant make-up box on the floor.
“Oh, you’ve just showered—perfect!” he
said as he yanked the towel from my hair. “Felicity dear, grab her a chair, will you? We’ve got no time to waste.”
“Time for what?” I demanded as Clyde steered me by the shoulders and pushed me down one of the dining chairs that Felicity dragged over. “What are you all doing here? The party isn’t at my house!”
“A quick detour, sis,” Anna said as she pulled at the belt of my robe, untying it with one twist and exposing me in my cute but cotton underwear. She arched a brow at me in amusement. “Purple watermelons, really? You’re not twelve.”
“Good thing we planned this to the last detail,” Tessa said as she set down a large, wide box on the coffee table with Simone and Layla’s help. “We were a little late because of a slight change in plans but I think it worked out perfectly, didn’t it?”
She winked at Layla and Simone who smiled back mischievously before Felicity peeled off a small envelope on top of the box and handed it to me.
It was expensive, beautiful white linen paper with my name scrawled in bold, familiar strokes on the back.
With trembling hands, I opened it and drew out a small note card that simply said:
Charlotte,
I am no prince if not yours.
Brandon
I bit my bottom lip to keep down a sob but Simone waved a tissue in front of me.
“None of that now,” she said as I dabbed my eyes dry. “You don’t want to have red, swollen eyes at the ball.”
“But I’m not going to the party,” I said as I got up on my feet, only to be promptly pushed back down into my seat by Clyde. “I have to get dressed. I have to go talk to Brandon.”
The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield Page 93
