Enjoy!

***

There was no shortage of events and functions when one was regarded a highly important and influential socialite.

Other than the Maxfield last name, I was also half the leadership seat of one of the most important charitable groups in the country.

It probably helped that I seemed to have gained and gotten stuck with the notorious reputation of being, hmm, unconventional, for a lack of a better term. For once, it became a unique advantage instead of a heavy chain strung around my neck with which I was expected to commit social suicide.

Since Felicity had gone back to school almost full-time this fall to start her masters, I’d been mostly dealing with my own scheduling, telling her that I could handle it just fine, now that I got the hang of it. Brandon counselled me to hire another personal assistant but I told him that since this new world didn’t seem so strange to me anymore, I could organize my own time. Problem was, I wasn’t always sure how to pick and choose my social commitments which resulted to me saying yes to a lot of invitations with little time in between.

This explained why Brandon and I were in one of the finest and most expensive country clubs in the city only three nights later, attending a fundraiser for an environment-conservation research project championed by a celebrity couple who called Boston home.

The fact that the guest list included a lot of A-list celebrities didn’t really sink in until we arrived and were introduced to a handful of them. They looked quite larger than life up close but many of them were quite friendly. My biggest shock was probably not that they were conversing with me as if we did this every day, but the fact that they actually seemed to know about me.

I figured, on the women’s side of things anyway, that it was mostly because they knew Brandon well (some of them intimately, as per Brandon’s gruffly mumbled admission when I poked his side after those who were extra-friendly to him finally wandered off). Because of our highly-publicized whirlwind romance and wedding, they couldn’t have possibly mistaken me for someone else.

While the thought of his past romances with incredibly glamorous and famous women unsettled my stomach (I was quite the average girl, after all, before we married), I managed quite alright because Brandon took special care in making sure I wasn’t hogged by other guests all night.

“This isn’t a Championette-sponsored event which means you don’t have to play the accommodating hostess,” he told me almost as soon as we arrived. “You’re mine all evening.”

Some of his old flames might have wanted to steal him away to rekindle the fire (pun intended) but you could drop a needle between me and Brandon and it wouldn’t find a gap to fall through. No matter how much anyone else wanted in, there was no room to come between us unless one wished to have his or her vital organs crushed. I would happily oblige anyone who persisted.

Because it was a star-studded event where one paid an exorbitant amount to gain a spot, a mix of Boston’s young and old rich crowd turned up.

Most of the Maxfield clan were there save for the youngest.

The sisters nearly bowled me over when they arrived separately, tucking a handsome date who was neither Jake nor Jason on their arm.

Jake came solo, his mood no better than it was the night of the Arts Appreciation dinner, and barely spoke a word to Tessa who came with Michael again.

“She’s pushing me over the edge, Char,” Jake muttered to me when I managed to check on him earlier, once I was certain enough that I wasn’t going to lose a limb by getting close enough to him. “She’s determined for us to move on, to get over our temporary madness.”

My heart bled a little for Jake but if Tessa wished to be with someone else, there wasn’t much I could do to force the issue. I still had a feeling that Tessa was looking for all kinds of excuses (I recognized the signs) not to give into Jake but it was going to take time and a considerable amount of epiphany.

Jason came without his wife in tow either. I caught snippets of gossip earlier about his troubled marriage and talks of divorce but if he was seeking separation because he was finally owning up to his feelings for Anna, no one could tell because the older Maxfield sister was bubbly happy with her date, whom she introduced as some aspiring young model. The two forbidden lovers kept a good distance between each other although I didn’t miss the surreptitious glances full of yearning here and there when they weren’t busy pretending they could care less about each other.

When I asked Anna what was going on with her and Jason, she just shrugged and said, “He doesn’t want it bandied around in the media that the reason he and his wife are divorcing is because of me even though he’s told her he wants to be with someone else. I’m not sure if he’s trying to protect me or he just can’t handle going all out with the truth.”

There was so much drama I felt like it was my duty to jump into the fray and save humanity from further suffering through this melodramatic episode worthy of a soap opera but I couldn’t muster the energy quite yet.

I’d spent the last couple of days organizing Danny and Riley’s transition to my old house, making sure they were well-supplied with food and necessities. I got a friend of mine who owned a body shop in the area to hire Danny for a pay-by-the-day job, doing some of his accounting and other paperwork. It was a temporary fix until Layla could get a hold of her father who won’t be back from a business trip until early next week.

Layla had pulled Riley out of school, knowing that Don was going to track him down that way, deciding that she would get him re-enrolled in the following semester once she’d found them a more permanent place to move to. Her accounts were frozen that night when we went out to search for Riley but she’d managed to move some money a couple of weeks ago into an account under a different name. She’d done it by buying an expensive piece of jewelry and then quickly selling it into a private auction she happened to just have access to because it was something the Championettes had been looking at for one of our more minor fundraising options.

Since I had a feeling that Don was going to watch my every move as well, I made sure that I made all these arrangements without once showing up at my old house. I had called the housekeeper who came in once a week to buy the groceries and bring them over.

I left the cash allowance at the Schuberts’ place, where I also met with Layla over tea the next day to iron out the details of our clandestine operation. That way, it looked like a friendly visit to my old friends in an area close but not too close to my old house. Since it was a seniors complex with plenty of ins and outs, Layla could sneak in and wait for me in the Schuberts’ unit because if anyone was tailing me, they wouldn’t get there until I did and they wouldn’t linger after I left.

It made me nervous, all this subterfuge, but I kept reminding myself of what was at stake. It had been three days and things seemed to have gone quite smoothly.

I was feeling quite optimistic actually until I Don LeClaire stepped into my view right as I turned away from the bar with an iced tea in my hand.

“Well, if it isn’t the woman I was hoping to see,” he said pleasantly although the smile he pasted on his face did nothing to warm the cold fury in his eyes.

I wasn’t normally one to back down and be intimidated but the fact that his eyes reflected no hint of soul made me pause, jarring me into a sense of awareness that I was dealing with something bigger and more impenetrable than anything that had come my way before.

I quickly swept the room with my eyes and found Brandon still talking to Jake and the city mayor, right in the same spot where I’d left him not more than five minutes ago to get a drink. If I screamed, he would make it to my side in less than three long strides so I calmed down a little.

Despite his naturally evil instincts, Don would know better than to try to choke me to death in the middle of a highly public event with my husband close by.

“You look a little nervous,” he continued, his eyes going up and down my body which gave me the sickening impression of being pawed. “That’s a nice surprise considering how feisty you got with me three nights ago.”

He still wore some pink streaks on the side of his face, like a scratch that had scabbed and had been peeled clean.

I remembered that he was just as vulnerable as I was to injury and the fact that he wore evidence of it on his face gave me a boost of courage.

“Too bad I missed your eye,” I said with a touch of regret in my voice. “I’ll aim better next time—maybe your male parts instead of going straight for your heart. When predators are too wounded to hunt for their next kill, it’s pretty much a death sentence for them—the slow, torturous kind.”

His lips curled into an obscene smile. “If you want to play rough, I have ideas that we would both find pleasurable. As annoying as you are, Charlotte, I won’t mind a little taste of you. You’d be a lively one.”

I seriously felt like barfing right then and there, and maybe it would serve him right, but Don was extremely dangerous. I had to handle him with care or he might blow up and cost me an arm in the process.

“Yes, and you’d be a dead one when I show you just how lively I can be in bringing the law over your head—after I’ve smacked you plenty, of course,” I countered with a sweet smile so that no one would quite suspect that I was making death threats to an esteemed member of high society, despite the rotting monster that he was inside. “You’re due your comeuppance, Don, and when it comes to your door, I’ll be the first to cheer.”

His eyes flared. “I’m aware that you like to make mincemeat out of those idiots who try to talk you down, like my wife, as a fine example, but you’re way in over your head on this, Charlotte. This is not one of your little games. You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

“Ah, too late for that,” I told him lightly. “You made an enemy out of me the moment you decided that you were above respecting people. I’m not playing games with you, Don. I wouldn’t hesitate to pave your path to prison. You’re lucky I have other people to think about for now.”

“You shouldn’t be too concerned with people who are none of your business,” he snarled softly. “Layla is my wife, Charlotte, and I’ll do what I please with her. If you turn her over to my care, I might just let you walk free and forget that you poked your nose where you weren’t supposed to. If you don’t, I can’t say I’d respond too kindly to those who keep me away from what’s mine.”

I arched a brow, fighting the itch to pop him right on the nose. Pugilism, despite the multi-million-dollar industry it had inspired, was still frowned upon in a charity dinner, among guests in their finest wear.

“Nothing is yours if you deserve none of it,” I answered airily, my eyes meeting his steadily despite the shot of cold I got from his gaze that ran down my spine. “As for Layla, I’m not sure there’s anything I can do, whether or not I know where she is, because she’s a consenting adult who can make her own decisions. If she’s decided to finally cast you off, then props for her and pity for you.”

This time, Don looked like he was the one having trouble stopping himself from strangling me to death in front of everyone. His body was taut like a tightly strung wire about to snap and take my eye out.

“You don’t think I know why she suddenly got so defiant?” Don seethed in a low, harsh voice. “An annoying little bug has been whispering in her ear—one I’d like to crush once I get my hands on it.”

And as if he couldn’t help himself, his hand caught my elbow in a slow but tight grip, his fingers digging into my flesh.

My eyes swept the area again to see if someone was thundering down on us but the party around us carried on normally. I only caught sight of another unfriendly face a few feet away from us, just past Don’s shoulder, watching the scene with unguarded resentment before storming away.

Oh, Bessy. This isn’t what you think it is, unless you like pain with your pleasure. I suspect you take all the pain and he takes all the pleasure.

“Take your slimy hands off me, Don,” I said in soft warning, my anger growing molten inside me at his nerve. “Before I peel off your fingers one by one, and break them as I go.”

His gaze dared me, as if calling my bluff, before the dark, ominous clouds in his eyes cleared up and he slowly released me, smiling in satisfaction.

“Bugs annoy me but they don’t stop me, Charlotte,” he said as he raised his glass as if to signal a toast with me. “Best remember that.”

He walked away and it wasn’t until a good full minute after he’d finally disappeared from my sight that I was able to release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

My hand holding my drink trembled as I slowly made my way to Brandon, desperate for the comfort his lightest touch could offer me.

He smiled when he saw me and I forced out a smile, lowering my eyes as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pressed a kiss on the top of my head.

There was such a stark contrast between Brandon and Don but then, good and evil sat at separate ends of the scale with a substantial distance between them.

Don seemed to have disappeared for the rest of the party, much to my relief.

That didn’t mean though that I was completely rid of him. Right after a quick stop to the powder room, just as I was stepping out to get some air (never mind that it was nippy because my fury hadn’t quite cooled down and I didn’t want Brandon to notice and be concerned) in a small garden just off the hall where the event was held, I ran into Bessy.

“Looks like you’re humping the tree you were barking up not so long ago,” she said silkily.

Right. Because the devil had recruits to proxy for him while he was away to do other reprehensible things.

“Er, no,” I blurted out. “There is nothing about your tree that I could possibly want.”

“It didn’t look like it when I saw you two earlier,” Bessy retorted as she started circling me—yes, seriously circling me. “Don likes a challenge and you’d definitely be one for him. But you’re not going to be.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did you hear me volunteering or tackling anybody down for the sign-up sheet? ‘Coz I sure as hell didn’t.”

She paused and glared at me. “I’ll give you the same advice you gave me about him, Charlotte—stay away. He’s mine.”

I furrowed my brows. “I’m pretty sure he’s your cousin’s but it’s not a connection I endorse so we won’t get too technical. Don is bad news, Bess, for you and Layla. I suggest you quit while you’re ahead.”

I never liked Bessy because in all the years we’ve known each other—she never gave me one reason to. That said, she was still a woman, and very much still a child (as petulant as she was) and despite all the things about her that often drove me to the point of hatred, I didn’t want to leave her vulnerable to the monster who was going to play with her before devouring her whole.

“I know he and Layla are having problems,” Bessy said a-matter-of-factly as if the condition of her cousin’s troubled marriage was old news. “After all, that’s why he came to me. It’s probably for the best that she’d decided to leave him now. He wasn’t happy with her. But he can be with me.”

I snorted. “Well, a punching bag needs to be occasionally changed, once it’s been sufficiently worn out. God knows why you’d volunteer.”

She didn’t flinch. In fact, she knew Don’s tendencies very well by the look that crossed her face. I didn’t want to explicitly divulge Layla’s secret but I had to test just how much Bessy knew. She knew way too much already and my heart twisted for her.

“Don gets rough but only because he has a lot of things stressing him out,” she explained as if I would buy one bit of it. “Layla isn’t helping his issues. Do you know that they’ve been married all these years but she hasn’t given him one child?”

Praise for Layla’s wisdom then, if it happened to be a conscious decision in her case. Why give the monster another victim?

“If I were her, I wouldn’t give Don a damn thing,” I scoffed. “And you shouldn’t either, Bess.”

“You have no say who I decide to be with,” Bessy snapped.

I stared at her thoughtfully. “It doesn’t sound like you have a say either. Are you in trouble with Don, Bessy?”

She stared at me a fraction too long before she threw her head back and laughed. “God, Charlotte. You’ve got to stop thinking of everyone as an injured stray you can fix or something. I’m not in trouble at all. I’m where I want to be.”

Something niggled at me despite Bessy’s declarations—maybe it was the fact that she seemed to be in need of convincing of her own reassurances as much as I was.

“You can laugh at it however you like but I’m serious when I tell you that he’s bad news, Bess,” I told her with a firm nod. “I don’t like you but I don’t want to see you repeat a history that’s still in the making.”

And before she could laugh at my face again or dismiss my warnings, I turned away and headed back to the party.

Sometimes, the illusion of love is nothing but a neat trick you fall for.

***

Despite all the machinations cooking just below the surface, things in the next week or so seemed relatively normal.

Layla had boarded a bus two days ago to go see her father who currently lived in Seattle, leaving Danny and Riley by themselves at my old house. It was going to be some time before she got there.

Meanwhile, the Maxfield clan was busy finalizing plans for Martin’s birthday party.

He told us that we shouldn’t make a big fuss about it—he was just getting old, after all—but his kids, especially the girls, were adamant to throw him a party befitting the king that he was to them, insisting they’d been planning one for months now.

“Who knows if he’ll be here next year?” Anna said when Martin was out of earshot later that day, shortly after the family lunch when he went upstairs to get ready to go golfing with Brandon and Jake. The rest of us were lounging in the sun room, waiting for the event-planning team we’d hired to arrive and finalize plans with us, and for Jake who skipped out lunch for a reason I knew perfectly well, to come by and pick up father and son.

“Anna!” I gasped out in horror. “Don’t think like that! Your father will probably live forever. Old wise men always do.”

“No, he won’t,” she countered in a grumpy voice even though I caught the anxious flash in her eyes. “After the scare he gave us this year, I’m not taking any chances.”