Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2)

by Nicole French

  "Thank you for letting me help," Brandon murmured into the cotton of my shirt.

  His hands floated down to squeeze my ass briefly, then let go when my stomach grumbled. He looked up, blue eyes ablaze with happiness and humor. I pushed a few locks of hair off his forehead. It was getting just slightly too long again, curling around his ears the same way it did when I'd first met him. We gazed at each other, entranced by the obvious love flowing between us, until my stomach grumbled again.

  Brandon laughed and stood up. "Come on, Red," he said. "Let's get you some food. And then, unfortunately, I have to get going."

  "Another golf meeting?" I teased as I followed him out of the bedroom. A quick glance at the empty couch told me Jane must have found someone to go home with last night.

  "Not quite," Brandon said as he went to the refrigerator. "Tennis court this time." He darted a quick glance at me over his shoulder. "You don't play, do you?"

  I shook my head as I pulled a box of tea and my jar of honey out of the cupboard. "There aren't a lot of tennis courts in Flatbush."

  He gave me a knowing half-smile then turned back to his search. "I feel you. Not a lot in Dorchester either. I didn't learn until I was married."

  The word dropped between us like a mini-grenade––the fact that he had been and still was married to another woman. And not to just anyone. The kind of woman who belonged to a tennis club and who probably played golf too. Who wore real pearls as casual jewelry and only drank white wine and colorless liquor. I had seen Miranda Sterling née Keith. She was the kind of woman who never had a hair out of place, even in a wind storm. She was imperious and impossibly beautiful.

  But Brandon didn't love her, and most likely never really had. And I had a choice to make––stand with him while he finished cleaning up the mess of his youth, or leave him, just like everyone else had. I had already tried the wrong version of that decision; I wasn't going to do it again.

  He put the milk he had grabbed on the kitchen counter and welcomed me when I came to stand in front of him. I smiled and reached up to clasp his stubbly cheeks between my palms.

  "I love you," I told him, knowing that it was true.

  The words hadn't been said much since we had gotten back together––maybe once or twice in a fury. Brandon stilled for a moment, taking in the words before his face split with a massive grin. It was the thousand-watt smile I loved, the one that seemed to make an entire room light up without a single light bulb.

  "I'm glad to hear it," he said finally. "And in case you were wondering, I love you too. Like fucking crazy."

  I grinned back, then went up on my tiptoes to give him a brief kiss, which he turned into something much more thorough when he picked me up and set me on the counter. His kiss was no longer sweet––it yearned for something I couldn't quite put words to. His hands were just finding their way underneath my shirt when a door opened up behind us with a loud squeak.

  Brandon's hand innocently moved back to my waist. I looked over Brandon's shoulder to find Jane creeping out of Eric's room wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt. Her black bob stuck out in all number of directions, smudges of makeup outlined her puffy eyes, and a red pillow mark slashed across her cheek. It wasn't until she had pushed her glasses on her face that she realized she had an audience. Her mouth dropped open as her eyes darted between us, then closed with a scowl.

  "Not one word," she pronounced slowly, then shuffled to the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her.

  Brandon looked to me, eyes now full of mirth.

  "I guess she had a good night too." He leaned down to kiss me again, this time more tamely. "Looks like you've got some things to handle this morning, and I've got to get going. You guys have nothing to eat."

  "Sorry about that. I'll pick up some groceries for next time."

  "You going to keep house for me, Red?" Brandon joked as he walked to the door to pick up his shoes, then sat down at our small table to put them on.

  I hopped off the counter and shrugged. "It wouldn't be so hard to have some food on hand if you're going to be here more often."

  "What I should do is just rent you your own apartment so we can have some privacy," he said. "If, " he added with a churlish grin right when I was about to protest, "I thought you'd ever take it."

  He stood up and walked back to where I stood and smacked me with another brief, but thorough kiss. "I'll just have to wait until I can get you to move in with me again."

  I was about to argue that I'd never actually moved in with him to begin with, but was interrupted by Jane skittering out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, presumably to find a pair of pants in the overnight bag she'd left in there.

  Brandon looked back to me with an arched brow. "I'll call you later?" he asked. "I have to go out of town this week for a few days to meet with some investors, but I'll be back on Thursday. Can I claim Friday night again next week?"

  I smiled. "Sounds good."

  "Perfect." He grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone from the table. With a quick, panty-dropping grin at the door, he was gone.

  ~

  Chapter 14

  On Wednesday afternoon, I left my doctor's office in Cambridge with an extra spring in my step. After getting a check-up, I had been cleared for pretty much any physical activity again (including the kind that Brandon was clearly dying for, if his texts that week were any indication). On top of that, the IUD that the doctor in New York had inserted was good to go. There would be no more scares or decisions like this again in my immediate future, and for the first time, I felt like I could begin to move on from the black hole of the last month. At least, I could try.

  But there it was again: that strange feeling like I was being watched. In the middle of the sidewalk, I froze, trying to figure out where it was coming from, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary among the red brick buildings. I was starting to feel like I was going crazy. Frowning, I took out my phone to send Brandon a text.

  Me: is there still security following me around?

  There are benefits to dating someone who is basically married to his phone. One of them is near-instantaneous communication.

  Brandon: no one was ever following u, Red. they were just watching the apartment.

  Me: ...

  Brandon: relax. u r completely alone and unsafe. why do u ask?

  I glanced around, but still there was nothing but the busy din of sun-drenched tourists and summer students filling the intersection. I really was going crazy.

  Me: just checking. love you.

  Brandon: u have no idea.

  With a smile, I put the phone back in my purse.

  "Hey, Skylar!"

  I whirled around, my sage-green jersey skirt floating up with the motion. I shoved it down and looked for the owner of the voice, casting my hand over my eyes like a visor.

  Jared smiled as he jogged across the street in a momentary lull of traffic, looking golf-course ready in a pair of chino shorts and a red polo shirt with a turned-up collar.

  "Hey!" he greeted me as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. "What are you doing up here?"

  "Doctor's appointment." I gestured at the nondescript brick building behind me.

  "Everything okay?" Jared looked me up and down, as if trying to determine for himself what I might be hiding. His eyes flickered to the brass sign that clearly stated "Cambridge Obstetrics and Gynecology."

  I chewed on my lower lip as I followed his glance. "Um, yeah. Everything is fine. Just getting checked out, you know? What about you? What are you doing up here?" I was eager to shift the conversation away from my reproductive health.

  "Oh, I still live in the neighborhood," Jared replied with an easy smile as he shoved one hand through his floppy brown hair and adjusted his aviator sunglasses. "Porter Square, remember?"

  I nodded. Jared had the means to live alone in a one-bedroom apartment in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Boston, and had been doing so throughout his days as a poor law student.

  "I w
as actually just picking up a late lunch before heading to your place for our study group. Do you want a ride?"

  I blinked. "Oh, that's right! I'm sorry, I had completely forgotten you were coming over today."

  Jared frowned. "Is it a bad day? I mean, we can reschedule if you want, although we do have a lot to get through this week. I could use the help."

  I shook my head and clutched my purse to my chest, stepping closer to Jared as a large group of students crowded the sidewalk. "No, no need to do that. Does Eric at least remember that you're coming?"

  Jared nodded. "Yeah, we were talking about it in the car on the way back from class today, remember?" He peered at me curiously. "You sure you're okay?"

  I didn't say that I had been nervous about my doctor's appointment. I knew there was little chance that any complications had arisen, but too much time on Google had put all sorts of terrors in my head.

  "Just a lot going on these days," I said obliquely. "But I'll take you up on that ride if you're offering. Save me getting stuck on the Red Line again."

  I followed him to where the now-familiar BMW was parked in a small lot a few blocks away. Jared held my door open for me as I slid into my seat. He winked after I sat down and closed the door.

  "So, small world," he said once we were on our way. "I didn't know your stepdad was Maurice Jadot."

  I snapped my head up. "How did you know that?"

  Jared smiled easily as he steered onto Mass. Ave. "My grandfather mentioned it the other night. Apparently, Maurice requested a meeting with him. Grandfather said he's fishing for clients in Boston."

  I frowned. That was a little bit odd. Maurice worked for BNP Paribas, a massive bank headquartered in Paris. They had a big branch in New York, but as far as I knew, only had a small presence in Boston, and I couldn't for the life of me think why they would be interested in a tax law firm. Maurice was deputy CEO of the bank. Getting involved with what was essentially a satellite office was below him.

  But it wasn't the only thing that was bothering me.

  "Why does your family know who I am?"

  Jared quirked his mouth. "Are you always this suspicious?"

  I opened my mouth, then shut it again. With everything that had recently happened with my family, my instincts were verging on conspiracy-theorist levels. Poor Jared was about as harmful as a golden retriever.

  "Sorry," I mumbled. "New Yorker. It's in the blood."

  Jared laughed, a full-bellied shout that was almost too much for the remark. I smiled back anyway. At least he thought I was funny.

  "But really," I said, "I am curious why your family knows my name."

  Jared gave me a particularly boyish glance. "I, um, might have mentioned you a few times," he admitted. "I did have kind of a crush on you, if you remember."

  The innocence in his eyes shifted for a minute to something slightly more aggressive.

  I flushed and looked down to where I was clutched the thin leather straps of my purse. "Oh."

  "Anyway," Jared pivoted easily, turning the conversation as easily as he turned onto Memorial Drive. "So, your mom is coming to visit? You must be excited. Isn't she some kind of hotshot artist?"

  When we'd gone out on our one date, Jared had been particularly interested in my mother's "profession," although I hadn't been very forthcoming about the fact that she'd abandoned me and my father in supposed pursuit of that art. It was a bitter subject, especially since I also knew she hadn't really done a lot in the last several years.

  "I think she's mostly just involved with her family," I said as I stared out the window.

  Across the Charles River I could see the tall brick buildings of Back Bay, slowly giving way to the rows of ivy-covered brownstones clustered in Beacon Hill. It was one of my favorite neighborhoods in Boston, had been even before I became intimately acquainted with one of its most affluent residents. Brandon's house was so close.

  "Are you planning to see her while she's here?" Jared pulled me out of my reverie as he steered past the MIT campus.

  "Um, I don't know," I said, turning back. "We're not very close. Although she did contact me a few weeks ago. Sent me a graduation gift, actually."

  "Oh yeah? What did you get? Not a car, I know that. Let me guess: a down payment on an apartment, maybe?"

  I furrowed my eyebrows when I realized he wasn't joking. Jared's family clearly had some money, and, like a lot of my affluent Harvard classmates, frequently assumed that most of us had the same kind of wealth. He had a better reason for that assumption now that he knew who my stepfather was, and the truth was that Janette's gift was pretty damn extravagant, but still...it seemed a bit tone-deaf.

  "Um, no," I said. "It was a piano."

  "Oh, cool. Do you play?"

  I nodded.

  "That's so cool," Jared said again. "Maybe you can play for me sometime."

  When I didn't respond, he drummed his fingers on the edge of the steering wheel while I continued to watch the river.

  "So do you mind if I ask what happened with you and Sterling? I still can't believe he let you go, the loon."

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. There wasn't anything specific about Jared's comments that were that awful, but something about the way he said them made me feel like...prey. I bit my lip. Brandon and I were supposed to be keeping things on the down-low. But at the same time, Jared was a friend, and I'd already blown him off once before about Brandon. There was just something about the way he looked at me...it made me afraid of how he'd react if I did it again.

  "It's complicated," was all I said. "I don't know that he did, really."

  Jared pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. The movement made his hair stick out like floppy, light-brown ears so that he resembled a golden retriever even more.

  "What does that mean?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "It's...we're...I don't know. You probably know that he's married, right?"

  Jared nodded. "My grandfather was actually really good friends with Stan Keith, Miranda's father. Our families have known each other for years. I was actually really surprised when I saw you and Sterling together, to tell you the truth, because she's always talking about him."

  I cringed. Jared was on a first-name basis with Brandon's wife. And yeah, that night at the symphony had probably looked suspect to a lot of people who had known about Brandon's marital status. Everyone, it turned out, but me.

  "Right. Well, then you probably know that they're in the process of getting a divorce. We're...taking a pause until it's finished."

  It seemed safe enough to say. Let him know I wasn't really available without blowing Brandon's cover.

  "I know what most people know," Jared replied as he turned off the highway. "That he filed a few years ago and hasn't done much since to move it along."

  "That's because his wife wants to contest it," I countered. "She's nuts and won't let him go."

  Jared just gave a skeptical shrug. "Is that what he said?"

  "That's not fair."

  Jared shrugged again. "I don't know him, but I do know Miranda. She's not a psycho. Maybe that's just what he's telling you."

  We sat in awkward silence again while Jared drove down the congested streets by the Garden and into the North End. I crossed my arms over my stomach and tried not to let the seeds of doubt plant in my mind. Brandon and I were just starting to rebuild what we had. I wasn't going to let some rich kid who was clearly on the wrong side of the situation poison that process.

  We drove down my crooked, cobbled street, and Jared easily found a parking space. The guy had the best parking karma I'd ever seen. After he turned off the engine, he gave me a sympathetic look.

  "I'll say one more thing, and then I'll leave it alone. I think you can do better, Skylar. I think you deserve better."

  Someone like you? I wanted to ask. But instead I continued to sit with my mouth pressed into a thin line as I stared at the soft green fabric of my skirt. Jared reached out to squeeze my fist for a second, but when I didn't res
pond, he pulled his hand back.

  "All right," he said with a little more acerbity. "Message received. Should we go up and get to work?"

  I gave a brief nod, then turned to let myself out of the car. There wasn't anything more I could say, and we needed to focus on the bar exam instead of my complex love life.

  Jared followed me up to the apartment, where Eric was already sitting in the living area with his study materials spread over the coffee table.

  "Hey, sports fans!" Eric greeted us. "I got the homework divided into threes. I figure we can teach it to each other and then do a review. Thoughts?"

  "Sounds good to me," Jared said as he joined Eric on the couch.

  "I'm just going to change clothes," I said, and headed to my room, ignoring the way Jared's eyes followed me.

  While I changed into a pair of cozy black harem pants and a gray tank top, my phone buzzed on my bureau: another text from Brandon.

  Brandon: so i never asked: how's the day, beautiful?

  I smiled half-heartedly, even though I knew he couldn't see it. No matter how hard I tried, Jared's words still rankled.

  Me: Good. study session in a few. what's on your agenda this afternoon?

  Brandon: a barrel of laughs. I'd rather be studying for the bar again.

  Before I could ask what he meant, my phone buzzed again, this time with a photograph. I opened it up to see a screenshot of Brandon's schedule, where most of the afternoon had been blocked off with "mediation with Miranda."

  This time my smile was genuine. Jared had no idea what he was talking about.

  Me: good luck.

  I tossed my other clothes into my laundry basket. My phone buzzed again, and we traded a few more texts.

  Brandon: we're on for Friday?

  Me: yes.

  Brandon: I made a reservation. 7 o'clock here.

  A few seconds later I received a map pinning a Brazilian restaurant in Brighton called João's. I flipped through the menu. I'd never been there, although Boston did have a pretty big Brazilian community. It didn't look like a fancy place, which I was happy to see. Before I could reply as much, my phone buzzed once more.