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 every 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.