Dedicated to LadyLuna4eva—because you can hear the music in the words and dance to the melody. She's one of my favorite readers. =)

A/N: Hello, everyone! Thanks for poking your head here again to see what's next with Brandon and Charlotte. This chapter is still a big chunk of the Championettes Brunch but it's an important phase for Charlotte who will go from high to low to high throughout the next few scenes. 

I hope you like this one. This story is a love story but somehow, it has grown to be a bit more—I think that many of us would like to be a little bit like Charlotte sometimes. She's not perfect but I personally think there's something about her that's full of heart and goodness that will continue to shine through no matter what.

As always, please vote and comment! And listen to the chapter soundtrack—it's been my constant favorite all month! =)

***

The official induction of officers and members felt like a graduation ceremony.

Names were called up on stage and people got handed some rolled-up certificates. Everyone applauded, and the valedictorian (Layla, in this case, although she got an F in Playing-With-Other-Kids-In-The-Sandbox class) did a pretty speech.

Like graduation, the ceremony heralded the start of something new (because weren't endings simply new beginnings, anyway? Like the half-full, half-empty glass of milk mentality) and in my case, it was the start of what I would dub from this day forward as 'The Charlotte Conspiracy'. 

A series of little accidents besieged me.

While I wasn’t the queen of subtlety myself, I would at least be smart enough not to be so obvious about sabotaging somebody—unless the point was to make it known that they were being sabotaged and hope that it would be enough to send them packing.

First, there was the cranberry punch someone spilled on my back on their way to their table before the ceremony started.

It splashed on my hair, shoulders and back because I was seated when the person stumbled past me.

Brandon jumped out of his seat, grabbing a table cloth to dry me but I simply groaned under my breath and calmly dried myself. 

I didn't know at that time that these little accidents I was about to have weren't very 'accidental' after all. Thanks to fate, their plan to send me up the stage with a giant red stain on my dress was thwarted by the fact that I was already wearing a red dress. Someone should've brought a different color of Kool-Aid.

Since my bun was quite soaked and I didn't have time to run to the powder room to fix the mess before I was called up onstage, I just unpinned my hair and shook it loose. 

My dark blond hair tumbled in wild, springy waves around me (the spackle that held it together was coming apart from the moisture), and the most I could do with it was tousle it quickly with my fingers so I didn't totally look like a science project on static electricity—or one made of plaster of paris. 

Brandon reassured me I still looked great with that bedhead-after-a-night-of-heavy-sex effect. 

I snorted and told him I didn't really relish have everyone speculate on my nocturnal activities. It felt oddly voyeuristic.

Anyway, on my way to the stage, someone accidentally dropped their gooey custard cake on the ground just as I was about to take a step forward.

I either had to stick my foot in the mush or lose my balance and break an ankle.

I winced at the mess but tried to keep walking. 

Whatever was on that custard though sure as hell wasn’t caramel. Probably some kind of amber-colored epoxy because my shoe kept sticking as I took a few more steps forward. 

People were waiting impatiently for me to make it to the stage and were craning their necks to see why I was taking so long. 

I kept a smile on my face as I limped my way over. 

Frustrated, I finally slipped off my strappy heels, balancing myself with one palm on the ground with my bum in the air. 

Thank God my dress had a couple of inches to spare on the hemline or I would be flashing all these people my goods. 

As soon as shoes were off, I grabbed them and practically sprinted to the stage to get my certificate—yes, barefoot.

There was a puzzled hush when I came up to take my certificate from Layla who was handing them out—a murmur of mixed amusement and disapproval rippling through the audience.

This was tricky. 

Everyone who was invited here today was either associated to a Championette by family or romantic ties, or an important current or prospective benefactor the Society was trying to secure for this year’s projects.

I could make or break the group’s future with what I do—or don’t do—next.

I caught sight of Brandon’s face. He was frowning as he started to rise from his seat.                      

Stand back, white knight. Damsel’s got balls—or whatever similar metaphor there is that’s more anatomically correct.

I smiled my most brilliant smile and shrugged my shoulders, lifting my shoes in full view of everyone. “My Granny Ferris always said, why wear high heels to reach high when you can run barefoot, take off and fly?”

I turned to Layla and dipped my head demurely before turning back to the audience again and executing a graceful curtsy. “We, Championettes, may walk around in high heels a lot, but you can sure as hell trust that they won’t stop us from taking our causes to new heights—even if we have to occasionally do it barefoot.”

The burst of good-natured laughter—mostly from the men—surprised me, but a few in the audience started clapping and the rest followed—even those who didn’t look like they appreciated my good-humored metaphor. 

I inwardly sighed. 

No wonder the geniuses are considered oddities, and the gifted as anomalies—with so many rules, mediocrity seems to be the only means of acceptance nowadays. I pity humankind.

As nice as it was to have approval as a contagious thing, I’d rather people stuck to their convictions and be persuaded on their own.

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth—take it and ride off into the sunset.

I grinned at everyone before turning to walk down the stage.

If I thought I got away practically scot-free (except for my ruined shoes which Armina would certainly weep over) from those two little accidents, I was wrong.

There were more in store.

I cleaned the glue off the sole of my shoe until it wasn’t as sticky anymore. When Brandon asked what happened, I just told him I stepped on some custard cake.

I didn’t want him to challenge anyone to a duel today. 

I didn’t do bloodshed well, even in a red dress and killer heels, pun intended.

I was also determined not to make a mess that Melissa would have to clean up so I decided to put it behind me and make the most of the day.

The actual brunch part of the whole event finally commenced because, really, how many kinds of appetizers could you feed people in a darned brunch? 

Anyway, the next thing I encountered was the hairball under my crepe.

I said nothing and simply handed the plate back discreetly to the server to ask for another one. 

It wasn’t until the second plate arrived that I became fully convinced something was up.

The second plate had worcestershire sauce instead of caramel sauce. I could smell it easily enough that I didn’t have to taste the damned thing. 

At least it wasn’t epoxy this time—that would’ve shut me up good.

Next, I found a couple of earthworms in my empty tea cup.

Worms, really? What are we? Four? Aren’t villains supposed to have a little more creativity than this? Trevor from second grade showed a little more imagination.

I waited until Brandon got distracted by a server filling his water before I tipped my cup over into one of the tiny flower pots that served as centerpieces on our table, depositing the worms on the soil.

Enjoy, my friends. Who knows where you’re turning up next? Life is uncertain—play in the mud. Smell the flowers. Leave the literal earth a better place for the life that comes after you.

The older woman to my right—Mrs. Pink Flamingo—caught me and gave me a sharp look.

“What are you doing, young lady?”

I flashed her a guilty smile as I slowly withdrew my now-earthworm-free cup away from the pot. “Just giving these lovely peonies a little refresher, that’s all. Tea is full of antioxidants, you know?”

The woman didn’t look convinced but she didn’t outwardly call me out for it. She just gave me a speculative look. “You’re a very unusual young woman.”

I glanced at her name card on the table, just beyond her plate—Mrs. Ellen Rossiter.

The last name sounded familiar. She was the wife of an ambassador of something but she came alone so I couldn’t figure out who her husband was and what he did. Without Felicity’s assistance, I was helpless with all these important titles and positions. Maybe because they usually didn’t matter to me.

“That’s one of the nicer things I’ve been called,” I told her with a mild snort. “I’ll take it.”

I was irritable enough that if Mrs. Rossiter decided to get on my case too, I was going to need to walk away to avoid being rude. But the woman’s brow arched and her expression quirked with reluctant amusement.

“You’re a little rough around the edges,” she said softly. “Just like any diamond before it’s polished to shine. I enjoyed your little speech earlier—even when you weren’t supposed to give one. It shows daring and grace and something that’s lost with the new generation—genuine optimism. The Championettes could certainly use some of that.”

Her praise caught me off guard that for a moment, I just stared at her.

Then I broke into a grin, a sense of self-satisfaction rushing through me. “Thank you, Mrs. Rossiter. Growing up poor and neglected taught me a few things, one of them being that in the face of miserable circumstances, you have two options—resigning yourself to fate or persevering in the hope of something better. If I have optimism, it’s because I wanted to live. Giving up meant a sure and swift death of my spirit so the choice had been easy.”

“As for my optimism,” Brandon butted in after he turned his attention back to me just as I was speaking to the older woman. “She is the reason for it.”

I rolled my eyes, fighting my warming cheeks. “Only because he grew up neither poor nor neglected. The very unfortunate man has no other alternative.”

The woman actually smiled this time. “Well, you have something else going for you, young one. You’re also so obviously in love. No wonder you’re happy.”

“Damn right, she is,” Brandon murmured against my ear just as he pressed a kiss on my temple.

I laughed but jabbed him a little on the side. “Don’t curse, Brand. Not in front of a lady. Not me, of course. I don’t count.”

“You are a lady,” Brandon insisted, turning to Mrs. Rossiter. “She’s a lady, isn’t she, Mrs. Rossiter? She’s got spunk but she’s every inch a lady.”

The older woman looked clearly amused by us now. “Why should she aspire being just a lady when she can be legendary instead?”

You can be legendary two ways—a total success or an epic failure. I'm hovering over the line.

“Hmm, I do like the sound of that better,” Brandon said, glancing at me, his eyes dancing. “I agree with Mrs. Rossiter, honey. You’ve got a higher calling.”

I groaned and laughed at the same time. “Stop, you two. My head is swelling up and if it explodes, I’ll be a different kind of legendary altogether.”

Mrs. Rossiter chuckled. “Alright, we’ll stop pressuring you with expectations. But I think you’ve got a lot of potential, Charlotte. I would be happy to help, should you ever need it. My husband is often away on official business so I’ve been mostly spending my time doing charity aid projects. I can give you a hand.”

“Really?” I asked excitedly. “But wait, why aren’t you a Championette?”

“I've been invited several times to join but my husband is always traveling, and I sometimes need to go with him on very short notice so I couldn’t commit,” she explained. “He’s retiring next year though so we’re going to be settling in Boston full-time. For now, I can lend you a hand here and there.”

Despite the calamity of my hair-soaking, my ruined shoe, my unplanned speech, and the disgusting things I’ve been served along with my food, I felt better. 

I felt like I made an ally in Mrs. Rossiter and in times like this, I could never have too many allies.

***

Once the main brunch had been served and people started to wander to different tables to socialize over biscuits and tea (inspired by a British tradition called elevenses—as it was a little past eleven), I decided to sneak out and repair myself before I made my rounds. 

Jake came over to our table to chat and I left him with Brandon while I dashed to the powder room which was inside the main house. 

Despite my notoriety, I was amazingly stopped by a few people on my way over. 

I thought that people mostly wanted to talk to Brandon and just merely smiled at me because I was pinned to his side so to have them approach me and talk to me like they actually cared about what I had to say caught me off guard.

And most of them were shockingly nice.

Shockingly because I already assumed that most rich people would always just turn their noses up at me.

There’s a lesson for you. You expected Brandon not generalize you along with every impoverished young woman out there who’s out to trap him for his money while you staunchly declared that everyone in his circle was insipid and shallow. You were just as presumptive as he was.

After doing this gig as Mrs. Maxfield for over two weeks now, I was discovering that just like the general population, the rich and elite didn’t always fit the stereotype. 

Labels—they’re best used on commodities, not people. 

The cynical, sarcastic side of me was guilty of using them all the time. 

It was hard to shake them off, with generation after generation of habits layered over each other, but if I could start with one, surely in time, I would be able to strip away most of them.

So I stopped and conversed and genuinely took interest in the people who approached me. 

I had just turned away from the owner of a local luxury hotel when Francis materialized next to me—the way bats, ravens and vampires would from a misty haze in a macabre movie. Okay, maybe not quite that way.

I reminded myself of labels but I didn’t really assign one to Francis—he just donned it on his own and proved the label fitting every time I had the misfortune of encountering him.

He had a faint mocking smile on his face as he sipped his drink and stared down at me.

“Networking, I see,” he said, a hint of snide in his voice. “Trying to get your claws into as many possible victims as possible, in other words.”

I smiled sweetly at him. “Why don’t you let me get mine into you so I can reach for your heart and rip it out? Oh, wait. You don't have one of those.”

A smile twitched on his mouth that for a moment I thought he was truly amused. But he schooled his expression back into frosty indifference, eyes narrowing slightly.

"You know, Charlotte, others might admire you for your brashness but if you're not careful, it'll lead you to a lot of trouble," he said meaningfully.

I shrugged. "Brash or not, I don't think it makes one whit of difference. I could be as close-lipped as a china doll and I'd still get into a lot of trouble. I'm afraid my blood just isn't blue enough for some things."

My righteous resolve about labels crumbled like sandcastles—or a badly-baked gingerbread house.

Sometimes, the only way to fight back is to fight dirty.

"And you worsen your situation by provoking people to no end," Francis replied, disapproval clear on his face now. "You can't afford enemies yet you're courting all the ones who can trample you with little effort."

My chin thrust up in challenge. "I may just be a mere pebble but I'm the pebble in your shoe—the more determined you are to step on me, the deeper I dig into your foot until you're blistered and bleeding."

His gaze lingered on me with disquieting intensity that almost made me squirm. I could practically hear him plotting in his mind.

"We'll see about that," he said. "Live your fairy tale for as long as you can but be certain of one thing—it always ends, and it's always fiction."

I gave him a bold smile. "It's always fiction to those unfortunate who have never lived one their entire life. It almost makes me feel sorry for you."

He scowled. "I don't care for your pity, Charlotte. If there's anyone who will have all this mess heaped over her head, it's you. Back off or buck up."

My shoulders squared as I faced him off in sheer defiance. "Bring it on."

And with that, I turned on my heel and strode away, sparing Francis no backward glance.

I didn’t have to see his face to know that he was probably staring after me in disdain—as if I were something uncouth—a wild animal.

The thing about wild animals is that they act purely on instinct. Threaten them, their home, and their family, and you’ll get ripped into shreds. 

Francis held a very important ace but he was yet to play his hand. 

I was still unclear on his agenda—except to constantly vex Brandon, and me, by extension. 

To what end was still a puzzle.

Francis didn’t strike me as completely evil—merely opportunistic to gain an advantage even through unpleasant means. 

Absolute evil was just evil for kicks.

Either way, I’m standing my ground. Now that I have so much to lose, I can't afford not to fight.

With a sense of fearlessness filling my spine with steel, I pulled myself straighter, marching forward with renewed determination to protect and fight for everything I have.

A few women were just exiting the powder room when I came in so I was relieved for the privacy as I hunched in front of the mirror to try to make sense of my tangled hair. 

The sight of it made my heart sink a bit.

The hair product made some chunks of the wild curls stiff, and my eyes watered as I tried to run my fingers through the coils to loosen them somehow.

It took about half an hour and a few pitying stares from women who’d come and gone into the room to do their business, to make the most of what I could of my hair. 

“I might cause Clyde a trip to the psych ward when he sees my pictures in the paper,” I murmured, resigned to the fact that the morning-after-wild-sex-during-a-crazy-concert-party-look was the best my hair could manage.

I studied my face in the mirror and decided that I didn’t look too bad.

A little unruly but passable—if you didn’t mind the mussed-up hairstyle.

Accept it, Charlotte. Some women are just born with it all—gorgeous genes, grace and the good luck not to be targeted by overzealous Laylalistas. 

I normally wasn’t so hard on myself about lacking in some things but then I didn’t often find myself measured up against someone like Simone Clark, for example, who must’ve been born without a single baby hair out of place.

Twinkies can never beat the chocolate mousse cake. The concept alone is far too basic to aspire to be something as sophisticated as the latter. It’s a matter of fate—it’s pre-ordained. Twinkies don’t grow to become chocolate mousse cake. 

I let out a loud sigh and forced myself to stop making the situation worse.

I already felt like a wet, awkward duck with rumpled feathers. The last thing I needed was to force myself to stand next to a beautiful swan. 

I don't even know why we tell ourselves that ugly ducklings will someday grow into beautiful swans. They're not even the same animal. It's currently a genetic impossibility.

Done with my business, I made my way back to the gardens. 

Not wanting to call attention to myself, I went through a detour I discovered on an earlier trip to the powder room. It went past the lush, well-manicured shrubs and flower beds that surrounded a private, romantic gazebo. It was a longer walk but it didn’t have much traffic, if any at all. 

With the day I was having, I needed a few moments of peace and clear-thinking.

“...not someone you should set your heart on. He’s going to hurt you...”

“...like you hurt me? Why should I... can't blame me!... if you’d come to see me... would’ve made a different choice...”

“... didn’t push you into his arms, Simone.”

“... when you left me... that girl!... thought we wouldn’t give up what we had!”

I froze as the intense exchange between two familiar voices cleared something very different in my head.

The angry, agitated man sounded very much like Brandon—and the frustrated, emotional woman sounded very much like Simone.

My heart dropped into my stomach, and despite my sudden urge to flee as fast as possible, my feet couldn’t move an inch.

It was altogether different when Simone was just speaking to Brandon on the phone—the physical distance gave me a sense of safety. She couldn't be there, available for him to drool over, to remind him of what he'd given up and what he'd settled with.

Brandon didn't settle with you. He chose you. You know this.

It wasn't something I should be questioning. 

He'd laid his heart out open to me when he admitted his feelings.

A guy who was settling with what fate dealt him wouldn't have made the declaration he did.

But it was hard not to wonder sometimes if it happened merely because I was the one he spent time with—that our marital business arrangement put us together in such close quarters there was no helping it.

I knew my feelings for him started from afar and from a few years ago.

Brandon didn't even know I existed until his father gave him the ultimatum.

And he was still enjoying his decadent chocolate mousse cake to worry about any other kind of dessert—especially the ordinary ones.

I needed to get a grip.

I needed to trust in what Brandon and I had—in our most unexpected truth amidst our biggest lie—and walk away.

If he had something to sort out with Simone, I had to trust that he would do it in a way that didn't compromise what we had.

Trust, Charlotte. You took a risk in loving Brandon. Give him a chance to earn it.

It was always easier said than done. 

Despite my many friendships with people, I was wary about trusting my heart to someone who claimed to love me. 

My mother walked away.

My father wasted away.

In the end, they did the same thing. 

They left similar-looking scars. 

Brandon's different. He's the good prince. And he chose you to be his princess.

"You can get out of this, Brand," I heard Simone say and I couldn't help but inch closer to the tall shrub that blocked me from their view. "Tell your Dad you went along with this plan because she'd forced your hand. At least when this blows up, the most you'll suffer is a long lecture from Martin."

I sucked in a breath and held it in, waiting for what Brandon would say.

It would hardly be any difficulty for him to go along with Simone's suggestion. I knew that despite the contract we signed, Brandon could turn this all around and place the blame on me. 

Knowing how big Martin’s heart was when it came to his children, he probably wasn’t going follow through on his threats to Brandon when this all blows up.

And it was going to blow up.

Simone and Francis knew the truth.

Knowing how either of them felt about us, it didn't require psychic powers to guess where they were heading with our secret.

When Brandon started to speak, his voice was low and solemn. "When this blows up, I will still be very happily married to my wife and you will be completely ripped out of my life, Simone, if you're playing a hand in all of this."

Simone gasped, and her voice came out trembling. "I'm not playing a hand in any of this, Brand, as hard as that may be for you to believe. I'm just warning you of what I know is going to happen—for the sake of what we shared, and because I care about you. There are people who want to see you unhappy and becoming besotted with your bride makes you a much easier target. She's been been your downfall from the moment you met her but you're too infatuated to see that."

My heart pounding, I forced myself to keep quiet even at Simone's pronouncement.

I wanted to defend myself, the precious love Brandon and I found amidst the lies and fabrications, but somewhere in my consciousness was a small voice that agreed with her. 

Brandon knew from day one that the plan was full of holes and risks. It was like a time bomb slowly ticking away, waiting to destroy us unless we could figure out a way to diffuse it. 

The fact that it was a lot of money and a lot of risks hadn’t stopped Brandon. 

I always knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, what my biggest reason was for accepting Brandon’s offer. The money was good and all but had it come from anyone else, I wouldn’t have done it. The fact that it was Brandon asking made the biggest difference and I could now admit that more freely.

Why he made the offer he did and persisted with it until I agreed, I didn’t really know until he confessed to me at the beach house.

‘I had no intention of marrying you at all—not even temporarily. When I saw you, those plans shifted into something else and I ended up proposing a marriage of mutual convenience, which was crazy enough considering how much we disliked each other at first.’

The memory of Brandon’s words brought a brief smile to my face, knowing how that first meeting must’ve driven him crazy since Brandon liked his well-organized plans and sticking to them.

I would give up half of my newly-acquired fortune to know what went through Brandon’s head during our first meeting—to know what he chose not to say despite saying a whole boat-load of rude things that day.

So you see, Brandon hasn’t exactly been as clear-eyed and logical about you since the day you met. Chances are, things turned out the way they did because something made him abandon his original plan that first day your two worlds collided. You’ve both been stumbling forward together, steered by your feelings. Simone’s right in that regard.

It didn’t mean though that just because Brandon discarded his typical careful planning, I was setting him up to fail. 

I may not have been what anyone would prescribe him as the perfect society wife but then I wasn’t a society wife. 

I’m just simply Brandon’s wife.

“I don’t expect you to cheer me on, Simone, after hurting you as I did,” came Brandon’s slow, gentle reply. “But I will not give up Charlotte—not when she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Whoever has a quarrel with me can give it their best shot but they ought to know that if there’s anyone I’d protect fiercely, it’s my wife.”

My heart felt like a melting chocolate bar at Brandon’s words.

I stepped out from behind the bush to declare my presence and stand by Brandon’s side but just as I opened my mouth to speak, Simone opened hers too—except that it headed straight for my unsuspecting husband and landed smack on his frown.

Her arms had come around Brandon’s neck as he took a step back from her, his hands grasping her by the shoulders to wrench her away.

Well. Either she’s dying and requiring mouth-to-mouth resuscitation or she’s trying to find Brandon’s heart through his esophagus. 

Simone had put her full weight forward, her body almost on a near-perfect diagonal, that Brandon had to hold her by the shoulders to keep from dropping her to the ground—which, in my opinion, wasn’t a bad thing to do considering the circumstances.

They both sputtered out words at the same time.

“Brand, please... I—”

“I can’t do this with you, Simone—”

My heart clenched with the jealousy that streaked sharply through me and I reminded myself that I needed to tread carefully.

“If you need to keep your mouth busy all the time, I heard there’s a few different careers for that,” I said slowly and evenly, looking directly at Simone as she and Brandon sprung apart.

Okay, it was more like Brandon dropped her like hot potato as he took a step back while Simone, ever graceful, stumbled forward a little before catching her balance. 

Brandon was scowling (better not be at me) and Simone was watching me, wide-eyed and nervous.

I was sorely tempted to have it out with the woman.

I had sympathized with her because if it weren’t for me, Brandon would probably still be with her. I had gone the nice, civil route at first, because I didn’t want bloodshed where one wasn’t necessary, and I had no quarrel with her. 

Despite all the animosity I received from the Championettes, which was partly due to their loyalty to Layla who in turn, owed hers to Simone, I withheld my temper (as best as I could manage anyway) but this latest stunt was just going a little too far.

“Charlotte, it’s not what you think,” Brandon said slowly.

I smirked. “Oh, trust me, Brand. It’s exactly what I think.”

I turned my narrowed gaze back to Simone. “Like Brandon, I’m sorry that we hurt you by the things that have happened and our decisions that accompanied them. I’m sorry, but I’m not stupid or spineless to let you throw yourself like this at my husband.”

Simone’s eyes darkened with a storm of emotions as she pressed her lips together so tightly they temporarily disappeared from her face.

“I won’t stand for it, Simone,” I continued with perfect calm and poise. “The next time I see you inflicting yourself on my husband like that, I will happily extricate you bodily myself. Let me assure you that while I’m fun-sized, I can be quite ferocious if the occasion calls for it.”

I ignored the quick flash of a grin on Brandon’s face that I saw in the corner of my eye. Instead, I focused all my intimidation on the woman next to him who stonily stared back at me.

“I hope you realize that you deserve more than what you hope to find with Brandon,” I added, gently this time, knowing that there was much about what Brandon and I shared that could be envied. “Someday, you’ll meet a man who will love you with his whole heart and make you happy. When you do, you’ll understand why I’ll fight to the death anyone who dares to take him away from me.”

And with that, I turned around and strode away, barely noticing Brandon shout my name as I marched my way back to the party.

“Charlotte! Wait up!”

In the space of a few seconds, Brandon reached my side, jogging slightly to keep up with my rapid steps.

“Not right now, Brand,” I said shortly. “Give me a few minutes to rid my brain of the image of you and Simone kissing.”

“We weren’t kissing,” he replied. “She was kissing me.”

I rolled my eyes, never breaking my pace. “Oh, pardon me. I just need a few minutes to rid my brain of the image of yours and Simone’s mouth having physical contact. Is that technical enough for you?”

“Charlotte, don’t be angry,” he persisted, catching me by the elbow to halt my march. We were just at the edge of the main gardens, still mostly out of earshot from the guests. 

“I only sought her out to confront her about telling Francis but she claims she didn’t say anything to him—that he learned it on his own and has some kind of proof.”

“She also claimed that she wasn’t that desperate to try and sleep with you but I’m pretty sure that kissing has led to the act several million times during the course of human history,” I retorted. “So forgive me if I have some trouble believing any claim Simone’s made recently.”

Brandon sighed. “You don’t have to but I’ll be personally relieved if she’s telling the truth. I hate thinking she would betray me like that.”

A pang of jealousy hit me for the second time in the last ten minutes and this time, it had the impact of a giant gong.

“Of course, you do,” I bit out through gritted teeth. “Simone’s so wonderfully perfect, she can do no wrong.”

God! I hated sounding so petty about it but I couldn’t quell my prickling insecurities at the moment, despite knowing better.

The sight of them lip-locking must've caused a screw to temporarily come loose in my head.

Brandon frowned. “Charlotte, you know that’s not what I mean.”

“Really?” I snapped. “Because I can’t think of how else you meant it, Brand. Are you sure it’s not her you’re so infatuated with, you can’t think straight and realize that she’s perfectly capable of doing what’s necessary to get what she wants?”

Brandon's face was creased with frustration. “I’m sorry if what you saw upset you but you shouldn’t let it worry you, Charlotte. Nor should you fret over the possibility that Simone is out to tear us apart.”

My temper exploded, jealousy coloring the rational part of my brain a bright, hazy red. “Why wouldn’t she? She lost you—to me, of all people! If we discover she has an altar with pictures of me red-X’d on the head and a map with my grave plotted on it, I wouldn’t be surprised. Unless you consider that possibility, you’ll be caught off guard.”

“I know what you’re saying,” Brandon said with a weary sigh. “But I’ve known Simone for years. I’m inclined to believe her when she insists she didn’t out us to my cousin.”

My eyes narrowed. “Is it the years of friendship, Brand, or is it the many steamy nights you spent in bed with her, that inspire your trust?”

I almost bit my tongue off with that comment.

My temper was getting out of hand, my comments becoming sharper and more hurtful. 

While I often gave people the benefit of the doubt, I became wary once they’d burned me once or twice.

“You’re not usually this bitter about people,” Brandon remarked quietly, his jaw clenching.

"Of course not," I snapped. "It's the first time I've ever had something I can't survive losing. I'm scared shitless."

Brandon's eyes softened and his mouth relaxed, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. 

My heart ached, my arms itching to wrap around him.

This day was making a turn for the worse and I just wanted to press up against him and have him hold me. 

But with the certainty of where Brandon and I now stood in each other's lives came new doubts about when this seeming dream was going to snap back to reality.

So you're not used to good things happening to you. You're not used to being happy. Now that you are, you're having a hard time believing it. You can't stop dreading the eventual loss. You can't stop fearing you'll never be enough.

I swallowed hard, unable to stop the questions anyway. "Tell me something, Brand. Do you prefer Twinkies over a chocolate mousse cake?”

Brandon’s dark brows knitted together in confusion. “Um, not really.”

I snorted despite expecting no different answer. “Of course, not. You’d prefer the more sophisticated choice. Comfort food’s for the miserable."

A moment of silence passed before Brandon's hazel eyes pierced me with understanding. 

"Charlotte, stop comparing yourself to Twinkies," he said with an exasperated sigh. "You're not a dessert treat."

I ignored him, too carried away now to hold back until my point's been made. "Everyone loves Twinkies but they're not what you show off when company's coming."

He frowned. "If you're the one feeding the company, I say you get the choice on what to serve them."

I rolled my eyes. "You're not getting the point, Brand."

"What point?" he demanded, his voice rising. "That you think yourself too ordinary? It's the value you place in something that determines its worth to you. Twinkies may be perfectly ordinary but I'd value it over every other kind of dessert treat if it's what makes me the happiest. It's what it means to me that elevates it from everything else. You could serve me chocolate mousse cake all you like but if Twinkies is what my heart desires, then Twinkies is my choice."

I blinked, my mouth going round in surprise and utter speechlessness.

Then I looked away to avoid bursting into tears.

Well. Battle Dessert's been won. Now, if only you didn't feel like a total jerk.

"Baby, look at me," Brandon murmured, softly this time, as his arms came around me.

"I'm looking at you."

"You're looking at my shoulder."

I sniffed. "It's a very nice shoulder. I don't look at it often enough. It might feel deprived."

His laugh was low and husky, reminding me of the times when we would playfully make love. "I have another body part that's demanding attention but I want you to do more than stare at it so I'm not going to show it to you here."

My cheeks warmed and I smacked him on the arm, looking up to see amusement sparkling in his eyes as he grinned.

We burst out laughing.

"There's my girl," he said, brushing the back of his hand across my cheek. "I know you're usually fearless but I know that sometimes, you forget just how precious you are. I'll have to work harder to make sure you always remember."

I arched a brow at him, still smiling that my cheeks ached. "I'm not sure you really want my ego to swell up that big. After all, we barely have enough room for yours."

He laughed. "I'm not sure that's true anymore. I've been brought down several pegs, thanks to my ever-managing wife."

"Can't see that my work's done yet," I quipped, winking. "There's a few more pegs left."

He leaned in close that our noses rubbed together. "You can do whatever you please with me, wife, but right now, I'm the one who wants something from you."

"What?"

Mischief twinkled in his eyes as he took a step back and did a formal bow. "May I have this dance with you?"

I glanced around and saw that while there was a primly-dressed band playing some indistinct tea music (should there be, in fact, ever such a thing), there was no one dancing. 

"Um..." I started, glancing back at my husband. "I don't think it's that kind of party, babe."

He shrugged. "I really don't care. I’d dance with you anywhere.”

I wrinkled my nose, hesitating. “People are going to stare weirdly at us.”

He lifted his hand toward me. “It's not about any of them. It's all about us." 

The adventurous gleam in his gaze was sorely tempting that I could feel myself almost literally teetering over in an attempt not to give in. "They'll think you're silly. And crazy."

"I'm pretty sure those are synonymous to being in love, which I'd happily admit to being guilty of." He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the space in front of the stage where the band was set up. 

"Brand, people are looking," I murmured, holding my smile in place even as my cheeks blazed at the guests who'd turned to us in puzzlement. 

Even the band paused and looked at us in question but a quick and firm nod from Brandon got them going.

"I love you," he said with a tender smile as he kissed the tip of my nose and pulled me close, guiding my arms around his neck before sliding his own around my waist. 

I beamed at him, momentarily forgetting everything else. "I love you, too."

The music changed to some kind of an upbeat but romantic melody. 

We were attracting a large audience now—I could tell from the corner of my eye—but Melissa stepped in after a while, dragging Tom with her and declaring that some new changes have been made to the brunch's regular program, dancing being one of them. 

There were curious murmurs but a few couples soon followed the lead and danced.

Amidst the beautiful, sprawling, lush colors of the gardens and under the clear summer skies, in the company of many important and influential people—some friends, some enemies, some dubious spectators—the only thing I cared about was how ridiculously happy I felt being held in Brandon's arms.

"Do you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world right now?" he asked after a while, touching his forehead against mine.

I pondered over his question, wondering at the sudden lack of voices in the back of my head which had been crowding me earlier.

In a moment of sheer clarity, I realized that Brandon could be somewhere else doing other things right now, yet here was, dancing with me at a party where I felt a bit like a fish out of water, telling me he loved me, and showing me and everyone else that I was important enough to him he'd defy convention for me if he had to—not just today but pretty much as he had from day one, when he decided to make a bride out of a diner girl.

I nodded and smiled. "Yes, I do."

He grinned. "Good, because you are."

***

So, what do you guys think?

Things are starting to get interesting and while much of this book is cliche, there's a lot about it that surprises me sometimes. 

I hope you learned something from this chapter and enjoyed the start of the bumpy road Charlotte is going to have to brave to protect everything she has.

As always, vote and comment! 

Hope you enjoy the soundtrack too. It's such a happy love song. I can't stop listening to it.

♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: All About Us by He Is We and Owl City 

(or Aaron Gillspie in another version) 

♪♪♪

Take my hand, I'll teach you to dance.
I'll spin you around, won't let you fall down.
Would you let me lead? You can step on my feet.
Give it a try, it'll be alright

The room's hush hush and now's our moment.
Take it in, feel it all and hold it
Eyes on you, eyes on me.
We're doing this right.

[Chorus:]
'Cause lovers dance when they're feeling in love
Spotlight's shining. It's all about us
It's oh, oh, all
About uh, uh, us
And every heart in the room will melt
This is a feeling I've never felt
But it's all about us

===========