Until We Fly (The Beautifully Broken)

by Courtney Cole

  Because her father is just as fucked up in his own way as my father was.

  That only pisses me off more.

  But now, instead of only being pissed at a dead man, I’m pissed at someone living, at a situation that I can actually change.

  Nora’s dad isn’t going to hurt her again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nora

  I put my earrings in, small diamond studs that shine in the lobes of my ears. With a sigh, I look at my reflection.

  My hair is pulled into a sleek chignon, I’m wearing makeup, and I’ve got on an evening dress, small and black.

  With a heavy sigh, I glance at the clock.

  We should leave soon. I both dread it and want to get it over with.

  I spray on some perfume and venture out of my room to find Brand.

  What I find takes my breath away.

  Brand is leaning against the windows, waiting for me, dressed in a perfectly fitted black tux.

  My breath holds on my tongue as I stop dead in my tracks and shamelessly stare.

  Sweet Mary. I thought that there was nothing sexier on the planet than Brand Killien. I was wrong. Brand Killien in a freaking tuxedo is unbelievable.

  He’s lean, he’s strong, he’s tanned, he’s blond. His blue eyes meet mine, and he smiles.

  “See something you like?”

  Gah.

  My knees literally feel weak as I cross the room and kiss him softly on the lips.

  He smells like the woods. And man. And Heaven.

  “Maybe,” I answer with a grin. “Do you have plans tonight? Because I have this thing…”

  He shrugs. “I could make myself available. I mean, I’m dressed for it and all.”

  Yes, he certainly is.

  I look him over again, at the way his shirt and jacket snugly skim his muscle, the way his pants hug his slim hips. I feel the butterflies fluttering around in my belly again, the adrenaline rush, rush, rushing through my veins.

  He’s mine.

  For tonight.

  For the summer.

  I glance down. “Where’s your knee brace?”

  Brand shakes his head. “It’s there. Under my pants.”

  “What else you got under there?” I purr, my hand running over his broad chest. Brand neatly catches my hand and restrains it with his own.

  “Calm down, Tiger. As much as you’d like to distract me, we’ve got to get this dinner over with.”

  I sigh and I feel my shoulders droop. “Fine. Raincheck, then.”

  Brand’s lip twitches. “Shall we go?”

  I nod. Brand takes a step and I stop in my tracks.

  “Where are your crutches?”

  “I’m not using them tonight, doctor. I’ve got the brace on. The doctor told me I could bear weight as tolerated. It’ll be fine.”

  I stare at him.

  He stares back.

  “You’re stubborn,” I sigh. He grins.

  He limps, but he walks to the car unassisted.

  After we’re strapped into my car, I turn to him.

  “If my father is rude to you, we’ll leave.”

  Brand rolls his eyes.

  “No, we won’t. We’ll do whatever it is that you need to go to do. It doesn’t matter to me if your dad is rude. Trust me, I can take it.”

  His voice soothes me. His presence soothes me. His smile soothes me. Everything about him is calming, like a tonic, and I nod.

  “Okay.”

  The drive doesn’t take long, of course, and while I wish we could linger in the car out in the driveway, we can’t.

  Brand looks at me. “Ready?”

  No.

  “Yeah.”

  My mother opens the door before we even reach it, pulling me into a hug. She looks beautiful, of course.

  “Ma belle fille,” she sings, kissing my cheeks. “I’ve missed you.”

  She pulls me into the house in a cloud of Chanel No. 5. She looks over my shoulder.

  “And you,” she beams at Brand. “Thank you for everything you did for Nora that terrible day.” She glances at his leg. “I’m so sorry you were hurt. It’s terrible. Can I get you anything?”

  I nod. “A water would be nice.”

  And a valium.

  Brand shakes his head. “No, thank you, Mrs. Greene.”

  “Call me Camille,” my mother instructs.

  She leads us into the formal dining room which is dripping with gardenias and roses and lit candles are everywhere. The long table easily seats twenty, although only two are currently at it now.

  My father and my brother, Nate.

  William is no where in sight, thank God.

  My father barely spares us a glance, doesn’t even stop speaking to my brother. But Nate’s face lights up and he gets out of his chair, crossing the room to envelop me in a hug.

  I introduce him to Brand, and they shake hands and everything seems fine.

  But then my father intrudes.

  “This was a family affair, Nora,” he chastises me. “I didn’t tell you to bring anyone.”

  My mother breaks in, laying an elegant hand on his arm. “Maxwell, don’t be rude. After all that Brand did for us, you should be nice.”

  Yes, Maxwell, be nice.

  If looks could kill, I’d be murdering my father right now. What’s that called? Patricide? Yeah. That.

  My father glares at my mother and she pretends to ignore it.

  Brand takes it all in stride… my father’s rudeness, my family’s very obvious dysfunction.

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” he says smoothly, shaking my father’s hand. “Nora wasn’t sure how large this gathering was going to be and she asked me to accompany her. I can’t say no to her.”

  Hell no, he can’t. I remember our day by the lake and smile inside. He might be stubborn, but I am too.

  My father sniffs. “Try harder.”

  Oh my God.

  Before I can make a retort, he returns to his chair, motioning to Nate to join him. Nate flashes me an I’m sorry, but what can you do? look before joining him.

  I personally want to chase Maxwell Greene down and punch him in the face. That’s what I can do.

  But I don’t.

  Instead, I turn to my mother. “Do we have a few minutes before dinner?”

  She nods.

  “Great,” I smile, putting my hand on Brand’s elbow. “I’m going to show Brand your gardens.”

  She smiles, grateful that I’m distracting our guest from my father’s rudeness. Once again, I wonder why she puts up with him. Other than the fact that she’s thousands of miles from her homeland, and my father controls all the money.

  I lead Brand out the massive French doors and onto the veranda overlooking the beach.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him when we’re alone. “I had a feeling he’d be like that.”

  Brand shrugs. “Like I told you, it’s fine. I don’t care what your father thinks of me. I’ve been in battle, Nora. Words don’t hurt.”

  I smile a little, and shake my head, thankful for his understanding even if it’s not true. Words do hurt. My father doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as Brand, much less be graced by his presence.

  I motion to the gardens below us, the lush greenery, the roses.

  “My mother’s hobby,” I say by way of explanation. “We have a gardener who helps her, a dear man who has been with us for a very long time, but my mother tends the roses herself. It’s her getaway, I suppose.”

  Her getaway from her reality of my father.

  I shudder. I can’t imagine being married to him.

  Brand stares down at all of it. “It’s beautiful. Like you.”

  He turns to me, his eyes meeting mine, his hand splayed on my back.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you and your father,” he says quietly. “But you’ve got this. I’m here with you, and you’re going to be fine.”

  He must’ve noticed my shaking hands. Great.

  I smile, putting ev
ery ounce of courage into it, to trick Brand into thinking that I’m brave.

  I’m brave.

  I’m fucking brave.

  “I’m good,” I assure him. “I’ve got this.”

  He nods. “I know you do. And your mom is gesturing to us. Shall we?”

  We make our way back inside, and sit at our places. I’m at my father’s left, Nate is at his right. My mom is across the table by Brand.

  I feel like we’re separated by an ocean and I look at him helplessly.

  He stares at me pointedly.

  You’ve got this.

  I take a breath.

  I’m actually fine for the first twenty minutes of dinner. My mother is chatting across the table with Brand, my father focuses his attention on Nate, and I’m left pushing my food around my plate, but I’m perfectly happy with that. As long as he leaves me alone I’m happy with that.

  Until William walks into the room.

  I feel like the temperature drops twenty degrees when he enters, and a chill runs down my spine. I stop chewing, I stop breathing.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Camille,” William apologizes without a smile.

  Ice water pumps through my veins at the sight of his face.

  It’s strange. I’ve known him my entire life, and while he made me uneasy throughout my teen years, I never knew why. I never knew that I should fear him… until last year.

  “It’s fine,” my mother answers, her distaste apparent. “You didn’t get back to me, so I assumed that you weren’t coming. Let me get you a place setting.”

  She rises gracefully, and William circles the table to me.

  “I’ll sit by Nora,” he announces.

  My skin crawls as he bends and kisses my cheek.

  Don’t touch me, you ugly Fucker.

  I want to burn it off. I want to race out of the room, go straight to the kitchen, dig out some matches and set my face on fire….all to burn off his lip prints.

  “Hello, my dear,” he murmurs as he sits down next to me. “You’re hard to get a hold of.”

  I’m numb, frozen to my seat and all I want to do is bolt from my chair. William rests his arm on the back of my seat, his fingers lightly touching my back. As if he owns me. As if he has the right.

  Across the room, Brand watches me like a hawk, his gaze intense, his eyes frozen to mine.

  Are you ok?

  I take a breath.

  Yes. I nod, barely moving.

  He stares at me still, unconvinced, ready to come to my aid.

  He’s right. I’m not ok.

  I’m not ok.

  But I have to pretend like I am.

  Appearances are everything.

  I keep eating, ignoring my father and Nate and William. I keep eating, keep pretending that this isn’t happening, that I’m not at the same table, breathing the same air as the man who raped me mere months ago.

  The man who raped me and then my father either didn’t believe me, or didn’t care.

  My ears roar.

  “Nora?” my dad raises his eyebrow. I can tell from his tone that this wasn’t the first time he said my name.

  “Yes?”

  My cheeks flush.

  “William just asked you to go sailing with him tomorrow. He’d like to discuss the Chicago deal with you. Answer him, please.”

  I look up at William and find him watching me with aging eyes. The wrinkles around his mouth tighten as he waits for my answer.

  My stomach rolls.

  I’m gong to throw up.

  I swallow hard.

  “You are the expert about that deal,” I say carefully. “I haven’t officially even started yet. William, you should discuss it with my father at this point.”

  My father shoots daggers with his glare, but I ignore it and sip at my water.

  I can do this.

  Brand is still watching me, still waiting to come to my aid. But he can’t. Because this is a family affair. There’s nothing anyone can do.

  “I’d rather discuss it with you,” William says, taking a swig of Scotch. “You’re more agreeable than your father. But if tomorrow doesn’t work for you, we’ll do it another time.”

  I glance into his eyes and his are icy, dangerous. He’s pretending to be understanding now. It won’t last. When I’m alone with him… when I’m alone with him… when I’m alone.

  My breath catches and I can’t take another one.

  I’m frozen.

  My mother comes to my aid.

  “Nora, if you’re finished, can you come to my room? I’m taking a trip to France in a month or so and I’d like for you to look at something.”

  Thankfully, I nod.

  Yes.

  Thank you, God.

  William stands when I do, and he presses my hand as I leave, his thumb biting into the pad of my palm. Hard. A warning.

  Don’t try and run from me.

  Gratefully, I trail after my mother down the hall and I feel William staring at me as I leave. I don’t look back, instead, I numbly stop in the bathroom and scrub my hand where he touched it before I join my mother in her room.

  Silently, I pray that Brand will be all right with the piranhas back in the dining room.

  My mother brings several items from her closet and searches my face.

  “Are you all right?”

  I nod. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

  Because she doesn’t know. Because I’ll never tell her. It’s too awful. Too humiliating. No one can ever know.

  “Are you ever going to tell me what happened? I know something did.”

  I paste a smile on. “Everything is fine. William is just… William.”

  My mother nods, unconvinced.

  “He’s difficult,” she agrees. “He always has been. He… er, he was slightly in love with me when I was dating your father, back when I first came from France.”

  I stare at her in shock.

  “Slightly in love? How can someone be slightly in love?”

  My mother smiles tightly. “He was in love with me. He made some unwanted advances. I put him off. I was still in love with your father, you see.”

  Her words are so telling. She was still in love with my father then, unlike now.

  “If he ever harms you, you must tell me,” she instructs softly. “Don’t go to your father. Come to me.”

  Her eyes are steely and determined, an expression I’ve never seen in them before. I stare into them, mesmerized.

  “And what would you do?” I ask softly, before I can help myself.

  “I would do what any mother would,” she says firmly. “I would take care of it.”

  Her words send chills through my heart, because her face tells me she means it. Which further steels my resolve to never tell her. I can’t have her doing something crazy and getting into trouble because of me.

  I shake my head, even though I desperately wish I could spill it all to her.

  “No, it’s fine,” I assure her, every word a lie. “He hasn’t hurt me.”

  Lies.

  My mother walks to her closet and pulls out several new items of clothing. “I’ll be going to France in a month or so, darling. Would you like to go? You can get away from here. A break.”

  She’s hopeful as she waits. But the only thing I can think of is Brand. I’ve only got a couple of months with him. I can’t waste them by going to France, as much as I’d love to get away from here. Permanently, actually.

  I shake my head.

  “Any other time and I would, maman,” I tell her. “But I can’t leave right now.”

  She studies my face. “I see,” she says softly. “You can’t leave Brand Killien. I don’t blame you.”

  She lays her clothes on the bed and pulls me over to look at them.

  “There’s a lot to be said for strength and honor,” she tells me firmly, turning me around to look into my face. She pushes back a tendril of hair. “Money isn’t everything. In fact, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized… money isn’t
anything.”

  I shake my head and point to the pink outfit. “That one. And what are you talking about?”

  She smiles, because she knows full well that I’m following her point.

  “If you love someone, don’t let money or lack of money, stand in your way. Being a good person is far more valuable.”

  It is. I know it is. And that’s the reason that I can’t truly be with Brand. He’s far too good for me.

  But I smile. “I know, maman. But why are you telling me these things? Your life has turned out okay, has it not?” I decide to go with the pretense that they’ve always kept, and that I’ve pretended to believe for the past decade.

  She looks away, and for the first time, she doesn’t smile and gush about my father. Instead, she simply says, “Things aren’t always what they seem, my sweet.”

  Her voice, so sad, startles me. “Are you ok?” I ask quickly. She smiles.

  “Of course. I will be.” She glances at the clothing again. “So you think the pink over the coral?” She changes the subject and I let her.

  Because things aren’t always what they seem and she doesn’t want to talk about it.

  That’s ok. She’s got her secrets and her feelings and her sadness, and so do I.

  So I certainly understand the need to pretend.

  I smile. “The pink. It complements your eyes.”

  And that is how we behave, almost always. Forget the issues, focus on the mundane. It’s how we’ve always survived.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brand

  Five minutes after Nora leaves with her mother, Maxwell approaches me.

  “Come have a scotch,” he instructs me. It’s not a request.

  I decide to humor him. What he has to say might be interesting.

  I limp to the sidebar where he pours me a scotch. I down it in one gulp, thumping the glass onto the bar, and turning back toward my seat.

  “Thanks for the drink.”

  He grabs my elbow. I pause and stare pointedly at his hand and then at his face.

  He lets go.

  He’s an asshole, but he’s not stupid.

  “Leave my daughter alone,” he says bluntly. “I know you’re having fun playing house, but you’re not what she needs. Just bow out gracefully.”