A/N: Hi everyone! It's been a while, I know, but I've written a bit of the remaining chapters that I thought it wouldn't hurt to give you some of it now.

Also, I made a small tweak at the beginning of the story, placing Charlotte's house farther away geographically than I when I first wrote it. I didn't have plans of placing the story in Boston, it just kind of happened, so I stuck with it. But to be realistic, Charlotte can't afford a house close to downtown so I had to push it a bit farther out. It doesn't really make a huge difference except in the plausibility of the story.

Thanks!

************

As Brandon promised, we spent the next day together.

We started our morning touring the top three schools I was seriously considering: Boston University, Fisher College and Northeastern University. There were definitely a lot of options out there (especially now that I could afford most of them) but I wanted to stay in the city.

Looking at all the different requirements and deadlines the night before, after Brandon and I came home and happily and enthusiastically ‘reunited’, we decided that I would put off enrolling until the winter term started. Besides, my calendar was booked up with Championette stuff for the next few months, most of the biggest events all clustered together right before the holidays.

It was a fun morning, walking hand-in-hand around the different campuses like college sweethearts, wearing jeans, sneakers and preppy shirts. With the fall term being a week away, the campuses were starting to pulse with activity already.

I couldn’t help notice the cart-load of girls checking Brandon out and giggling to themselves, and I was instantly relieved that he wasn’t going to school with me because I would’ve been like a very jealous girlfriend who would snap and snarl at anyone who came prowling around him.

When we poked our heads into one of the admission offices just to get some pamphlets and brochures, Brandon made the mistake of introducing us to a woman who’d approached us in greeting.

At the mention of our names, she contemplated us for a few seconds before she lit up like a Christmas tree. To say that she was thrilled at the prospect of having me (the 'endearingly original Mrs. Charlotte Maxfield'—words she quoted from a society paper article) attend their school would be an understatement. For one, I was a notable philanthropist being the co-chairperson of the highly esteemed Lady Championettes Society. It didn't seem to matter that I was nineteen (almost twenty!) and as average as the next college kid.

The biggest incentive for them might be more the fact that the Maxfields were one of their important benefactors, Brandon having donated a new wing on the commerce building just over two years ago. I certainly felt the weight of that new wing on my shoulders when I realized just how much people will expect from me.

When we were heading out of the campus, I blurted out to Brandon, “Obviously, you’ve donated enough money to a bunch of these schools that if you really wanted to just pull strings, you could’ve. Why bother doing all of this legwork with me?”

He shrugged and smiled. “Because I wanted you to experience this as a normal person would. And I know how you much you dislike using the advantage of our name and money.”

I rolled my eyes. "Hard to avoid the reminder whenever I pass the Maxfield Annex."

"If you stop caring so much about it, so will other people," he said as he draped an arm around me while we walked to the car. "Anna and Tessa both go to BU where one of the dorms is named after my grandfather. They never mentioned that it bothered them."

I arched a brow at him. As if I really had to explain it. "Your sisters were born into this world, Brand, where they don't bat an eye at the prestige and privilege of being part of an important and powerful family."

Brandon glanced at me, his expression amused. "You know, sometimes I wish you were born with every luxury in the world so that you would've never had to experience one moment of discomfort or distress. But I realize that you wouldn't be the kind of person you are now if you were."

I smiled cheekily at him. "You're right. If I'd been born in the lap of luxury, I certainly would've asked for more than a million dollars to be your wife."

Brandon laughed although I caught the flash of anxiety in his eyes at the mention of the money. I opened my mouth to say something quick and light but he just slowed us to a stop, slowly turning me to face him.

"I don't care how much it would've cost me," he murmured in a soft, husky voice, tucking a stray lock of my hair behind my ear.

Standing in the middle of the cobbled pathway, amidst the tall, ancient evergreen trees that bordered the walk, and the busy smattering of people bustling about, Brandon pulled me into his arms and kissed me with scorching intent, whispering in the few seconds his lips released mine for air, "You're worth everything, Charlotte."

He kept kissing me and I kept kissing him back until someone cleared their throat loudly.

Seriously, why did people keep announcing themselves this way?

We broke away, Brandon's arms still wrapped tightly around my waist, and turned to the small, middle-aged man standing a foot away from us, his hands on his hips. He looked like a professor and he looked downright disapproving.

"I realize you, young people, live your lives for the highly idiotic purpose of broadcasting it to the world where other more civilized individuals are sometimes forced to be unwilling spectators, but you may want to consider the economic breakdown it will cause to run the pornographic film industry to the ground by video-tubing live sexual intercourse in public," he muttered sulkily. "There are other more private avenues for your amorous expressions where you may not assault other people's moral sensibilities and encourage further insolence from your fellow students."

He stood there, still scowling at us, a few other people having stopped to watch the scene, snickering to themselves.

I paused, glancing at Brandon first and catching the laughter sparkling in his eyes even as he struggled to keep a straight face and fight off the tinge of pink on his cheeks.

I grinned and turned to the old man, spotting the ID that was ineptly clipped on the lapel of his slightly wrinkled, wheat-colored tweed coat that was probably too warm for this weather. No wonder the eccentric Dr. Arthur Wiley, Professor of Philosophy, was cranky.

"That was brilliant!” I told him earnestly, ignoring the grumpy frown he was still trying to send my way. “Sorry to have caused such a stir but we were just in the middle of a... um, ah... a social experiment."

The man raised an imperious brow. "A social experiment?"

I glanced at Brandon again who just shrugged at me, giving me free reign on where this conversation was going to next. "Yes! A social experiment—purposed in determining society's tolerance on expressions of intimacy. To figure out the range of comfort before one's moral sensibilities feel assaulted and identify the factors possibly influencing this range, such as economic and cultural environments, age, gender, political and religious affiliations, educational levels—just to name a few."

Dr. Wiley looked at me, pursing his lips, almost as if he was trying to determine whether I was springing a prank on him or telling the truth.

He rubbed his chin for a moment before his eyes narrowed at me suspiciously. “You attended my Pandemonium Culture lecture this summer, didn’t you? I spoke strongly about the entitled, sexually rebellious and self-liberating youth of today’s generation and many of you are out for my blood.”

Before I could reply, he shrugged his shoulders almost dramatically. “If you wish to counterpoint my argument with your own research, go right ahead. I look forward seeing you try, Miss... um... What’s your name, child?”

“Charlotte...” I hesitated. “Um, Maxfield.”

Recognition didn’t flicker in his eyes but he looked like he was seriously jotting down my name in his mental notebook. “I expect I’ll see you in my Self Theory class this fall, Ms. Maxfield, where many of my critiques are signing up like it’s the season tickets draw to Eden.”

I had no idea what class he was talking about but I knew for certain I was going to take some Philosophy classes as soon as I could get myself enrolled. The man was surly but brilliant, brimming with conviction despite his apparent unpopularity because of it.

I didn’t have to agree with him to respect his intellectual causes.

“I’ll see you there, Mr. Wiley,” I promised him, smiling. I could feel Brandon’s gaze on me but I forged on. “It’s going to be one hell of a class.”

The man drew himself up proudly. “Nothing better than a room full of people actually putting their brains to work as designed. I’m curious to hear your opinion.”

Brandon cleared his throat, and I could tell that he was choking down a laugh. He put an arm around me and asked the professor, “Should we continue with the... social experiment?”

Dr. Wiley looked startled that the question was left to him and he looked conflicted for a moment. “Well... I’m not one to stand in the way of learning so if you must... then carry on. For the sake of knowledge, of course.”

“Of course,” Brandon answered, the light vibration on his arm telling me he was about to burst out laughing any second now.

Time to exit gracefully.

I beamed at the professor. “Thank you, Dr. Wiley! I’ll see you in class!”

He grunted some kind of acknowledgement before nodding and continuing on his path, striding with purpose, his shoulders hunched in thought as if they carried the mystery of mankind on them. They probably did.

I turned back to Brandon when I heard a chuckle or two, or three, finally slip out from him.

I smiled broadly at him. “I think I know which school I’m picking and what I’m going to take as my pre-law degree. What do you think?”

He looked thoroughly amused, his hazel eyes dancing as he grabbed my hand and pulled me to him. “I think that you’re going to be so much trouble, Charlotte. You’ll turn this school upside down.”

“Naturally,” I played along, fluttering my lashes at him. “This is promising, Brand. Since we’re not bantering so much anymore, I need another outlet for my inclination to debate. Think of all the many wonderful arguments I’ll have with other people.”

He smiled indulgently and pressed a kiss between my brows. “You’ll need to come with a warning label, love. Something like—Charlotte Maxfield: To be taken with food, fortitude, and only in small, non-lethal doses.”

I giggled. “I’ll have it tattooed somewhere. Then no one can sue me.”

“I’ll sue you,” he murmured, tightening his arms around me again, pressing me close against his body as the tip of his nose grazed mine. “For descending upon me with no warning at all—or at least a manual—and knocking me off my feet until I was falling hard and fast and for good. I now have to live a life dependent on your welfare and happiness, and forever suffering this soul-deep love you’ve inflicted on me and for which there is no cure.”

I melted a little as Brandon followed up his complaint with a sweet, slow kiss. “I think you like this suffering, Brand, and wish to be never cured from it.”

He grinned. “Never.”

And then he started kissing me deeply again, as he had been earlier before we got interrupted. I managed to push him off a little, giggling as I half-heartedly reminded him, “Brand, we probably shouldn’t stand here and keep making out.”

He didn’t release me an inch—just smiled smugly. “You heard the professor. We can carry on... for the sake of knowledge, of course.”

Whatever I had for a retort slipped away from my lips as Brandon leaned close to kiss them again.

Learning had never been so much fun.

***

Nicole agreed to meet us at this private garden cafe outside of downtown called Flower House.

It was mostly a charming, post-war bungalow on a sizable corner lot in the suburbs owned by an elderly couple who’d created one of the most beautiful gardens I've ever seen. It was brimming with lush, colorful flowers of all kinds still vibrantly in bloom even late in the summer. The canopy of trees and the vines creeping on the wall cast the cozy backyard in the shade and made you think of secret gardens and sun-dappled woods.

It definitely seemed like the perfect place for a discreet meeting. Brandon remarked it was somehow a well-known location for illicit lovers to rendezvous in.

When I arched a brow at him and asked how he would know such a thing, he just rolled his eyes and retorted that he could know things without actually having done them himself.

I actually believed Brandon but sometimes, it comforted me to make him squirm. It reminded me that his heart was at stake as much as mine was.

I know. I’m terrible.

Nicole and Zach were already there when Brandon and I arrived.

"Hi!" I said brightly when Nicole rose from the table and turned in our direction.

She was as I remembered from a distance—the small, slender frame, the light brown hair she'd pulled back into a half-ponytail, and the delicate grace of her every movement.

Up close, she was actually quite lovely with an almost ethereal quality to her. She had smiling hazel-green eyes, a heart-shaped face and a porcelain complexion. Her pale pink sundress only added sweetness to her dainty beauty like whipped frosting on an already perfect vanilla cupcake—the kind that went bad real fast if left out in the heat and at the mercy of harsh elements such as Francis Pelletier.

I took her hand in a tight clasp between both of mine. “Thank you for meeting us when I know you’re still trying to stay incognito. If the most forbidden lovers in this city can get away with meeting here, I’m confident we’re safe from any prying eyes. Brandon guarantees this place is Days-Of-Our-Lives caliber.”

Nicole blinked rapidly in surprise before bursting into a soft chuckle.

"Hello, Charlotte. It's great to finally meet you," Nicole said, sniffling back some of her laughter. “Brandon talks about you nearly as much as the local tabloids do that I thought I’d know you well by now, but you are still larger than life.”

I rolled my eyes, grinning impishly. “A little too large if you ask some people but that’s alright. I’d rather not get trampled on because someone didn’t see me.”

Brandon wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed my temple. “My wife can be a little overwhelming, Nic, but she’s a treasure.”

Nicole glanced up at him with a knowing smile. “And I can see why you just had to have her, Brand.”

My face warmed a little but I both gave them a broad smile. “I don’t think it was really because he wanted me. He merely wanted to save the rest of mankind by suffering me on his own.”

“I can see he’s in real agony,” Nicole said with a laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help him out of this. I think he fully deserves it.”

Some kind of cutlery fell with a clatter and we both glanced at the small boy, about two, who was studying us with big-eyed wonder.

He was perched on a high chair, chubby legs dangling, half his face covered in chocolate ganache from the mutilated cupcake in his hand.

Nicole reached out and took one of his sticky hands. "This little runt here is my son, Zach."

He turned his slow, blinking gaze to me as he clasped his mother's hand with his free one, his eyes lighting up.

I didn’t notice him right away because I was so focused on Nicole but my heart instantly melted into the consistency of the ganache smeared all over the boy's face.

"Hi, Zach!" I dropped to a squat so I could be eye to eye with the boy. "I'm your Auntie Charlotte. It's very nice to meet you."

I usually got along with children—I think they could sense the inner child in me (more often than I'd like them to, to be absolutely honest)—so it was no surprise when Zach gave me a gap-toothed grin and said, "Hi, Auntie Charlotte," which sound like "Hiyanneesharwot."

"Good enough, my man," I said with a laugh, dabbing at a small smudge of chocolate that was on the tip of his nose. He scrunched up his nose but didn't move away while I cleaned it up.

I glanced up at Nicole, who was smiling down at us, and grinned at her. "He's wonderful, Nic."

She looked pleased even as she shook her head. "He is until he gets chocolate handprints on your clothes. He thinks they're fascinating."

I turned back to Zach. "I looove chocolate handprints—during playtime, of course. Maybe next time we'll do them with paint and cover an entire big sheet with them. What do you think, Zach?"

His eyes were large and excited as he bobbed his head up and down. As to whether he understood what I said wasn’t clear but children seemed somehow wired to trust the adults.

"You know he's going to hold you up to that promise, right?" Brandon said as he came up behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders to rub them gently. "He'll be asking his mother about it every two hours until you eventually show up for it."

I rose to my feet and faced Brandon indignantly. "I'll do it. I don't break my promises to children."

Then I turned back to Nicole. "We'll set something up. Maybe you can bring Zach to the penthouse and I'll bring in other kids I know and we can make it a hand-painting day or something for all of them. I’ll make animal-shaped cookies and lots of cupcakes and they all get to decorate them!"

Brandon softly groaned while Nicole just chuckled.

"We should probably get a replacement housekeeper first if you’re about to turn the penthouse inside out," he said with a grimace. "I'm about to fire the one we currently have, if she hasn't disappeared from the face of the earth yet."

Nicole frowned. "Why? What's wrong with your housekeeper?"

I sighed, feeling again that tight knot of guilt which conflicted with my sense of justice. It irritated me, especially given the report that Brandon’s head of security, Ron, had given us while we were on our way to one of the schools. But in a way, I always felt that I may have been able to do something different that could’ve influenced Gwen not to betray us like that.

The what-ifs always come too late, don't they? If they didn’t, we would never ask them.

"She's the spy who mopped me,” I muttered under my breath but then I snorted at the cheesiness of my line. “Sorry, bad pun. Gwen is apparently the sleeper agent of He-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless-Until-He-Becomes-Worth-Our-Breath. Brandon will explain.”

“Oh,” Nicole’s eyes rounded as my words dawned on her. Her expression immediately strained, her lips pressing into a thin, anxious line.

“Why don’t we sit down and order something to eat first?” Brandon said as he pulled a chair out for me. “When we’re full and happy, we can properly talk about it.”

So we settled down and got some food first.

Zach and I did the Battle of Honey Mustard with our potato soldiers while Brandon quietly relayed the report he got about Gwen to Nicole.