Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2)

by Nicole French

  "Cory, I swear to fuckin' God...do you want me to toss you into the harbor this time?"

  "Hey man, it has to be said! You need simple right now, man, and she is not that. She's young and hot, I'll give you that. I'd want to hit that too––"

  "You can stop right the fuck there."

  "Brandon, the Brooklyn D.A. has an open investigation that lists her father!" Cory protested. "Not to mention that her grandfather was basically a runner for the Gottis until he was whacked. Don't even get me started on her stepdad. Maurice Jadot is one shady fuck. All I'm saying is, there are a lot of other redheaded fish in the sea, my friend."

  There was an awkward pause, filled only with the din of a car driving down the street. I froze, my insides twisted together. Say something, I thought, mentally urging Brandon to stand up for us like he'd always done. In all of my worries about the dramas in Brandon's life, I'd never considered the fact that my family's history might be his undoing as well. How naive.

  I was about to walk inside when Cory spoke again.

  "I see," he said to some unspoken communication.

  I wished more than anything I could see the expression on Brandon's face.

  "Then I have to ask," Cory continued. "Is there anything else we need to know about her? Anything else that might come up in a character attack? I'm not saying you can't run, my friend. If there's anything we know from this last election, it's that literally anyone can get elected. If I can't get you elected, I have absolutely no business being in marketing. But it will be a whole hell of a lot easier if we can control the narrative."

  "There's nothing." Brandon's voice was pulled tight as a drum.

  Cory waited a few beats, then sighed.

  "All right," he said, although he clearly thought it was anything but. "Just...be careful, will you? Keep it casual. Take it slow. Maybe don't be seen making out on the street together?"

  "We'll take it exactly the way it needs to go," Brandon said.

  I clutched my groceries tighter to my chest. What did that mean?

  But he didn't say anything else, and the conversation turned to discussing a press release planned for Ventures. I entered the house and walked up the short flight of stairs to the main floor.

  Brandon and Cory both turned from their seats on the balcony, beers in hand, with completely opposite expressions: a dark cloud over Cory's pointed features, while Brandon's chiseled face brightened immediately. Even with Cory sitting there, I couldn't help but smile back. The twisting in my belly lessened.

  "Hey beautiful," Brandon said as he stood up to greet me with a kiss.

  I didn't have to look at Cory's face to see the irritation at the affection.

  Brandon looked eagerly into the bags I had set on the dining table. "What do we have here?"

  "Oh, you know, the goods. Wine, cheese, bread, charcuterie. A bunch of local fruits and veggies." I sighed as I pulled out the food. "I'll never get enough of French markets."

  Brandon walked into the kitchen to grab dishes for the three of us. Cory meandered in and looked suspiciously at the food.

  "Isn't the cheese here unpasteurized?" he asked with a frown.

  I rolled my eyes. "Christ. The best cheese in the world is from France. You might actually like it if you gave it a chance."

  The words came out before I could stop them, and Cory flashed me another look of blatant irritation. Behind us, Brandon chuckled.

  Cory narrowed his beady eyes. "I'll try it," he mumbled.

  As Brandon set down our plates and glasses next to the impromptu buffet, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

  "Hold on, it's Bubbe," I said, and stepped out of the room, leaving Brandon and Cory to take their loaded plates back to the balcony table.

  "Hi Bubbe," I said once I was in the bedroom. "Is everything all right?"

  "Hi sweetheart," came my grandmother's low, thickly accented voice. "Everything is fine, it's fine. We were just calling to...check when you were coming back."

  I frowned as I sat down on the bed. "Really? That's all?"

  There was a brief silence, then a sigh.

  "Well...your father...it's nothing, but I think he'd like to see you."

  There was some shuffling, like she was moving to a different room. In a slightly hushed tone, she continued.

  "I just think he could use a pick-me-up from his daughter is all," Bubbe said.

  "Katie hasn't been coming back around, has she?" I asked sharply, my hand twisting the edge of the bed sheets. There had been no word from the security team, but that didn't mean she wasn't texting or contacting Dad in other ways.

  "No, no, no," Bubbe assured me. "Not since you were here last." She paused again, and something about the reticence in her voice made my heart beat a little faster. "But the thing is, bubbela," she continued, "he missed his group therapy session two days ago. He said he just went for a walk, but honey, I don't know...I couldn't reach him for several hours, and he lost the security."

  My spine prickled with the thought of where my dad might have ended up, depressed, upset, and alone. I toyed with the end of my ponytail and made a decision. This had gone on long enough.

  "Bubbe?"

  "What, sweetheart?"

  "Dad needs to get out of New York. It's time."

  There was a silence, then a long sigh.

  "Yes," she said sadly. "I think you're right."

  "I'm going to look into a program up here for him," I said. "Brandon will help, and I'll figure out the finances. But we need to get Dad out of Brooklyn. Out of that scene, at least until his hand heals. You could come too..."

  Bubbe scoffed openly, like I knew she would.

  "And what would I do up in that city?" she asked. "I am a Brooklyn Jew, bubbela, always have been, always will be."

  "You could be a Brooklyn Jew in Boston for a while," I offered, though I already knew the answer. Bubbe wouldn't leave Brooklyn as long as she had an active bone in her body.

  "I'll be fine here, Skylar," she said, although she couldn't quite get rid of the sadness in her voice. "You just get everything ready for Danny. Don't worry about me."

  Like that would ever happen. But instead, I just said, "All right, Bubbe. Will do. I'll call you when I get back next week, and we'll figure out the next steps, okay?"

  "Okay, sweetheart. You give that handsome man of yours my love, and a kiss for you too."

  I blinked. It wasn't like Bubbe to be so openly affectionate. Things must be worse than I thought.

  "I will," I said softly. "My love to you and Dad."

  ~

  The developments of the day hung over us like clouds as Brandon and I curled together beneath the gauzy canopy of the bed, the French doors left open to let in the warm night breeze. Our vacation had started out idyllically, but now the stresses of home had found us across an ocean and a sea.

  We lay separately, facing each other in the moonlight. Whether it was the unexpected disruption of Cory (and the awkward dinner that had gone late into the night) or Bubbe's phone call, which I'd relayed to Brandon after Cory had left, something had shifted. The carefree mood was gone, and we were left with what remained: the joy of being together, but the knowledge that another tide of change was coming.

  "I think it's good," Brandon was saying about Bubbe's and my decision. "It's progress, especially if we can convince her to move too at some point." He pressed his lips together, then nodded to himself. "I'll have Margie find an apartment for him close to a good rehabilitation center. We'll have David drive him to Boston next weekend."

  "You don't need to do that," I started to say, but Brandon silenced me with an exasperated look.

  "Stop," he said. "You're about to start a new job that is going to ask more of you than anything else you've ever done. I should know; I'm the one who usually does the asking."

  I rolled my eyes, but I knew he was right. Come Monday, I'd soon be working close to eighty hours a week for the foreseeable future. I'd barely have time to eat, let alone go down to Brooklyn every othe
r weekend to keep Dad out of trouble. It was why I had already admitted to Bubbe I'd let Brandon help.

  "All right," I relented.

  Brandon only offered a brief smile in return.

  We lapsed into silence again, content just to gaze at one another. Under other circumstances, I might have found us nauseatingly sweet, but right now, I just was content to enjoy the quiet.

  "God, you're beautiful," Brandon murmured for the umpteenth time on our trip. Every so often he'd interrupt our light conversation to say it, and each time, he made me blush.

  I buried my face in my pillow, but couldn't keep the silly grin away. "You are ridiculous."

  When I looked back at him, he was still staring at me. His tanned features were dark against the white of the pillow case, and in the moonlight, his eyes glittered like stars. He reached out a finger to trace the edge of my cheekbone.

  "I'm just a man in love," he said softly.

  The words warmed me all over. It was these moments that made me feel like we could last always, that nothing could break us. I wished with all of my heart that were true.

  Brandon played with my fingers. Our hands were so different: mine were so long and slim compared to his big paws.

  "You aren't..." he started as he stared at our interwoven hands. "Do you...you aren't hiding anything from me...are you, Skylar?"

  When he looked back at me, Brandon's eyes were wide sapphires in the night, but they glowed with something other than happiness.

  I hugged my pillow closer, trying and failing to ignore the pang of guilt in my stomach. Green eyes or blue?

  "Why do you ask?"

  He searched my face, then sighed and shook his head.

  "No reason," he said. "Just...sometimes I get the feeling like you're maybe holding something back." He shook his head with a rueful smile. "Sorry. It's probably all in my head."

  Now was the time to tell him. I had been waiting for months, waiting for a time when we weren't inundated with work drama, family drama, exam studying, and all the other excuses I'd amassed. If we were going to move forward, we had to be one hundred percent open with each other. I knew that.

  But.

  I opened my mouth, and nothing came out. The words clogged in my throat, and the pang in my stomach grew while my skin crawled and crackled, like it was made of glass.

  Brandon had been hurt so much in his life. By his mother, his father. His foster parents, his wife. By me.

  I couldn't bear to do it again.

  ~

  Chapter 34

  It was early on our last day when Brandon and I drove to Carcassonne. Cory had left early yesterday morning, giving us a final twenty-four hours together before we headed back to chaos. Instead of leaving from Marseille, we decided to lock up the villa early and fly out of the old medieval city perched on a hill above Provence, with a few hours to sightsee before our flight.

  We parked the rental car at the base of the hill and meandered down one of the side streets in search of a boulangerie where we could get a quick breakfast that we could walk around with. We walked up the road that wound around the base of the old city. The old part of Carcassonne was an almost perfectly preserved medieval city, a cluster of turrets, towers, and medieval-themed shops all encircled by a massive stone wall.

  We arrived just as the shops and inns were starting to open and meandered around the city for well over an hour, poking our heads into some of the older buildings and exploring the multiple courtyards and towers of the maze-like complex. As I watched Brandon inspect the execution block, I imagined him in a blaze of armor, gleaming silver in the sunlight. He really would have been the perfect knight.

  When he caught me watching, his smile was blinding. His hair, wavy and bright, caught on the wind. Two weeks in the French sun had bleached his mop of normally dark blond a vivid gold. Comfortable and relaxed, he looked the exact opposite of the stolid attorney I had first met last January.

  We picked up another few coffees and croissants before walking to the outer wall of the city to take in the view over the rest of Carcassonne.

  "I have to tell you something," Brandon said as he leaned over the stone edge.

  I turned to look at him. Behind him stood towers bearing bright blue flags from their conical roofs. I had no problem seeing Brandon, with his strong, tall back and sharp-lined face, as a feudal lord. He looked like a modern-day King Arthur, presiding over the streets of Camelot. It fit.

  "You're going to run," I said.

  He'd had that pensive look on his face all morning. Cory had left with a final admonishment to "make a fuckin' decision." Brandon couldn't put it off any longer.

  The wind turned up Brandon's hair, ruffling it lightly. He rubbed a hand over his chin, which currently had about four days' worth of growth on it. I knew it would disappear before Monday, and I was sorry for it. I was enjoying the Viking-look on him, particularly when he looked at me with a clear intent to pillage.

  "I am going to run," he said out loud as he looked over the stucco houses below, and beyond them to the vineyards and sunflower fields in the distance. "But only if you're on board. I can't do this without you. I don't want to do it without you."

  I gazed out at the view with him. We didn't touch while he waited for me to process his words. But I'd had enough time to process over the last few weeks. The sunlight gleamed on the silver bracelet he'd given me, and I considered the words on the inside. We were beyond the point of pulling away. A man like Brandon Sterling wasn't made to stay behind closed doors, and I didn't want him to. It was time to get over my fears and step out with him.

  "If this is what you want," I said, "then I'm with you."

  Brandon gave me a cautious smile. "Really?"

  I took his palm between my hands. "All in, right? Isn't that what we're doing here?"

  The smile turned up to about a thousand watts.

  "All in," Brandon repeated. Then he sighed and shook his head. "Mark's going to be pissed, that's for sure. So will the board of Ventures. They've all been trying to convince me not to do it." He grimaced. "I'm going to have to divest from both Ventures and Sterling Grove. I'll be able to give Miranda whatever she wants, but more importantly, I'll be free of any conflicts of interest."

  I didn't miss the slight thrill in the word "free." In the last two weeks, I had started to wonder just how attached Brandon really was to his companies these days. Whenever his phone rang, as it did multiple times an hour, he almost always scowled. When I'd met him, he'd said he enjoyed his job, but the longer I knew him, the more it seemed like he wanted something different. Apparently, it was this, the mayor's mansion.

  Something sunk in my heart, but I did my best to stay bright. It didn't matter whether or not I wanted him to do this. If this was his dream, then I wasn't going to stand in his way. If this was his dream, I just wanted to support him.

  Brandon wrapped his fingers around mine and squeezed.

  "So, if that weren't enough, I have a favor to ask you," he said.

  My stomach clenched even more. That couldn't preface anything good.

  "There's another event on Sunday after we get back."

  I pulled my hand away, already shaking my head. "No, no, no."

  "It's not going to be like last time. For starters, I'll actually show up on time." He flashed a sheepish grin, and I couldn't help but smile back.

  "Brandon, I just don't think...Cory has a point. It's best if I stay out of sight until everything is settled with Miranda."

  The thought of having to go back to being together incognito made me feel sick to my stomach, but it was better than the other option of inflaming Miranda to the point where she'd want to plaster our affair all over the tabloids. I could deal with a few more months of secrecy if it meant I'd get to be with Brandon in peace in the end.

  But Brandon shook his head adamantly. "I'm going to announce my candidacy on Sunday," he said plainly. His eyes were wide and blue as he spoke, searching my face for a reaction. "Please, Red," he said. "I ne
ed you there."

  We watched each other, letting the sound of the wind sweeping up the hillside and through the tunnels of the old city fill the space between us. A few strands of my hair escaped the braid on my shoulder, and Brandon reached out to gently push them behind my ear. We were locked in a trance, my green eyes lost in his blue pools, the earnest lines of his face tense as he waited.

  I took a bite of my croissant to buy more time. I really wasn't ready for this, but it was here. I could stay with him and deal with the fallout of the attention, or I could be left behind.

  I already knew which choice I would make. But before I could relent, Brandon spoke again.

  "Will you marry me, Red?"

  The question floated on the wind, so low I almost thought I'd imagined it. It wasn't until I caught his gaze, shyly and carefully watching for my reaction, that I realized it was real.

  I immediately choked on my croissant and started to cough.

  "Jesus!" Brandon moved quickly to pound me on the back.

  The tiny piece of pastry flew over the edge of the castle wall and into the dry grass piled below. I grabbed the edge to regain my balance, heaving breaths. In, out, in, out. It wasn't until I felt like I wasn't going to collapse that I looked back at Brandon.

  "Are you okay?" he asked warily.

  "Did you," I heaved another breath between my words, "just ask me...to marry...you?"

  Brandon quirked his mouth in a shy half-smile. "Yes...?"

  My jaw dropped, and I blinked. "You asked me to marry you. Like you were...asking for a Coke. Or if we should go get brunch."

  Brandon bit his lip, the amusement in his expression quickly giving way more to fear.

  "Well, I can do it again if you like," he said. "I could probably manage to kneel. Maybe rustle up some flowers. One of these vendors has to have something."

  I couldn't tell if it was a joke.

  "Seriously, though." He rushed in to stand closer, taking my hand in his and thumbing over my knuckles. His tall form blocked out the sun. His earnest face was all I could see. "Will you? Would you? Marry me, I mean."

  All of the blood must have completely drained from my face, because his hand dropped to my waist, and he steered me to the nearest bench.