Chances Are (20 page)

Brandon yawned. The thought of Sebastian telling Veronique was ludicrous. In truth, the lawyer would be happier if
no one
knew the story. Sebastian had even called last week to try to convince him to keep quiet. And as he'd explained to the attorney, he had to tell Veronique. But he had plenty of time. Sure. He was worried over nothing. He smiled in contentment as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Sunlight streamed across the bed. Veronique's lids fluttered up, and she moaned at the sting of light. Brandon was standing by the window, his expression thoughtful as he stared out at the day. "Hi." She struggled with the covers as she tried to sit up.

Brandon turned at her greeting. Her voice was raspy from sleep—or not enough of it—and her hair was sticking out in about fifteen different directions. His eyes crinkled at the corners; he was crazy about her. "Good morning."

She made sure the blankets were secure at her breasts. As she did, one corner of her mouth lifted in wry amusement. After last night the thought of modesty was ludicrous. "What time is it?"

"Early... about eight. Want some coffee?"

"Thanks." She placed a pillow behind her back, then scooted up a little more. "Do you remember how I take it?"

"Yeah." His smile was easy as he headed toward her. "Kiddie coffee. Right?" He handed her the cup.

"Right." She held the cup to her lips and sipped. The coffee was hot, sweet and bracing. And right now she needed bracing. She felt so awkward—like a gawky teenager around a group of polished college kids. So much for the legend, she thought as she took another taste of the coffee. The daring Veronique Delacroix was only brave when she had nothing to lose. And today she felt as if she had everything to lose.

"How is it?" He sat on the edge of the bed.

Her gaze jerked back to his. "Perfect."

He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. They were warm and tasted of coffee. "No regrets?"

She smiled at the question. "No."

"I'm glad." He knew she was too honest to lie and returned her smile. "Spend the day with me."

Disappointment flittered across her features. "Can't," she said softly. "I promised Maman I'd come for lunch."

"Later then?"

Her cheeks warmed with pleasure. "Yes."

"Do you have time for breakfast?"

Veronique glanced at the bedside clock and felt frustrated. "No. I told her eleven-thirty, and I still have to go home and change." She winced as she thought of the gaudy gown.

Brandon kissed her again, then stood up. "Wait here. I have a surprise for you."

Veronique watched him cross the room to the closet. A surprise? Moments later he placed a large box on her lap. She stared at it a moment, then met his eyes. "What's this?"

"For you." When she paused, he said, "Aren't you even curious?"

Veronique laughed and yanked the lid off. "You bet. I love presents." She peeled away the layer of tissue, then blinked in surprise. In this situation she would have expected lingerie or perfume, but a bright red sweater, jeggings and a pair of the sparkliest, tackiest flip flops she'd ever seen. She wasn't sure what to say or how to respond. Where were the quick wit and snappy comebacks she relied on so often? Why couldn't she think of anything to do but throw her arms around him?

"I hope it's wild enough. I didn't quite know where to go to find something you'd like." When she didn't comment, he prompted. "You
do
like it?"

"Yes. Very much." She held the sweater up. It was made of loosely woven cotton; the boat neck, she was certain, was made to fall off one shoulder. She curled her fingers into the soft, nubby fabric. "Why..." She cleared her throat; she couldn't meet his gaze. "Why did you do this?"

Brandon reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered there, lightly stroking the smooth, warm flesh. "I didn't want you to have to go out wearing last night's dress."

Veronique's eyes filled. Her mother was the only one who'd ever treated her as if she were special. And now he was doing it, and all she could do was cry. "How did you know my size?" she finally asked, her voice thick with tears.

"I called Mimi," he answered simply.

Love washed over her. It was a small thing; it had taken him only minutes to make the call. She'd never realized before how true the cliche "it's the thought that counts" was. He cared enough for her to think ahead, to worry about her feelings, her reputation. And it meant the world to her.

Brandon stood and held out his hand. "Do you have time for a shower?"

"Yes," she murmured, and threw back the covers.

Chapter 10

Brandon loved her.
Veronique took one last look at the hotel before stepping into the cab. She knew it, even if he didn't. What they'd shared had been so much more than passion. There'd been something permanent, something possessive about the way he'd looked at her and the way he'd touched her.

Veronique leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The last time they made love—she shivered as she remembered—he'd handled her tenderly, as if she were made of the finest porcelain. And lovingly, as if she were the most important person in the world. He loved her, she thought again, smiling to herself. Now all he had to do was realize it.

Shaking her head, Veronique glanced out the window of the cab. It went against everything she'd learned growing up, but she actually thought there was a chance for them. It seemed too much to hope for, and yet... and yet she couldn't help believing their relationship would work. She laughed out loud and saw the cabbie look at her in the mirror. She didn't care if he thought she was a lunatic; she felt wonderful, felt for the first time in her life as if everything was going her way.

Nothing could burst her bubble today, Veronique thought as the cab pulled to a stop in front of her mother's house. Giving the driver a too-generous tip and a brilliant smile, she alighted from the cab and ran up the steps.

Her smile died as the door opened. "Grandfather," she said, trying to hide her dismay. Her eyes slid to her mother. She was standing behind him and looked tense despite her sunny smile. Today, Veronique decided resolutely, even her grandfather couldn't spoil her mood. "Maman," she murmured, brushing past him to embrace her.

"Hello, sweetie. You look radiant."

Heat crept up Veronique's cheeks at both the speculative look the older woman slanted her and the thought that maybe her mother had seen her leave the ballroom last night and had known why. "And you're as lovely as always, Maman." She turned toward Jerome. "And what do we owe this visit to, Pawpaw?"

There was no way he could miss the defiant tilt of her chin or the challenge in her eyes. Veronique felt satisfaction as his eyes flicked over her, then narrowed. "I would think you'd show your grandfather more respect," he said, his tone brusque.

Veronique delivered him her haughtiest look. "Why? You never show me—"

"I heard Winnie ring," Marie interrupted, relief coloring her tone. "Lunch is on the patio. Shall we?"

Without a glance at her grandfather Veronique slipped her arm through Marie's, and they started toward the patio. "What's he doing here?" Veronique asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"He just showed up," Marie whispered back. "I can't imagine why. He knew we were having lunch together."

"We'll make the best of it," Veronique said, lightly squeezing her arm. "So, what's new, Maman?"

Her mother's smile was almost sly. "I could ask you the same question, and I suspect your answer would be much more interesting." When Veronique blushed, she patted her hand. "I won't push."

Thank you, Veronique thought. It was too soon to share her feelings with anyone. First she had to be sure of Brandon. But when she was, her mother would be the first to know.

They took their seats at the rectangular wrought-iron table, and Veronique was surprised when her grandfather chose to sit directly across from her. He usually avoided any seat where he would be forced to look directly at her. Today he was staring at her, his expression almost fierce. When he caught her quizzical glance, his features smoothed into a neutral mask.

The first part of the meal passed uneventfully except for the fact her grandfather never took his eyes off her. He watched her as if she were about to pull a knife or make off with the family fortune. What was he up to? she wondered not for the first time. When she was growing up, he'd either belittled or ignored her; this ceaseless scrutiny was both unexpected and disconcerting.

When he suddenly spoke, she almost choked on her last spoonful of cream of leek soup.

"How's everything in
your
little world, Veronique?"

He stressed the "your," and her mother's spoon clattered against the bowl. "Now, Father, you know Veronique is part of our world."

"Oh?" He patted his mouth with the linen napkin. "Is that true, Veronique? Do I belong in your world?"

Veronique's fingers curled into her palms, and she dropped her hands to her lap. She should have known better than to expect him to pass up an opportunity to needle her. But she wouldn't let him get to her. He'd long since lost the ability. "No," she returned evenly, "you wouldn't fit into my world."

"You see, Marie." He paused as Winnie whisked away the soup bowls then deposited plates of seafood crepes in their place. "Veronique understands what I mean."

She understood all right—he was leading up to something; she just hadn't figured out what yet. One thing she knew about her grandfather, he never did anything without a reason.

"So, Veronique..." He paused to taste his crepe, then murmured his approval before continuing. "Are you going to answer the question?"

She tipped her chin ever so slightly. "Why the sudden interest? Did somebody die and leave me money? Or have you lost all yours in the market and need to borrow some?" He flushed, and Veronique smiled in satisfaction. Victory was short-lived as, from the corners of her eyes, Veronique saw her mother wring her napkin in dismay. She was like a small distraught bird, and as she had all her life, Veronique felt the urge to protect her. If that meant biting her tongue, so be it.

"You know, Veronique," the old man murmured, seeming to change the subject, "your cousin Michelle is getting married. Peter Vincent... do you remember him?"

All thoughts of being quiet or anything else flew from her mind, and Veronique paled. Of course she remembered him, and her grandfather knew it. Peter Vincent was the first boy she'd ever loved—she'd chased him unmercifully, only to have him laugh in her face. "Why would I have anything to do with an illegitimate outcast?" he had asked. "A nobody?" She dragged her thoughts from the past when her grandfather spoke again.

"Everything is as it should be, don't you think? They are perfect for each other—similar backgrounds, education, goals—"

"Portfolios," Veronique inserted caustically, regretting her outburst the moment she'd uttered it. He would see it as a sign of weakness, and he would be right.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "That's part of it, of course. But they have the most important thing in common—a flawless bloodline. That's the unbreakable bond, a bond that represents the future."

Veronique's chest tightened until it was difficult to breathe. She wanted to tell him to go to hell. She wanted to tell him his bigoted, elitist attitude didn't wash these days and that Brandon was different. But she couldn't because she wasn't sure she believed it herself. Her earlier elation and confidence seemed ludicrous now.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she tossed her napkin on the table. "Excuse me, I'll see if Winnie will bring us more tea." It took all her control to keep her head held high and her spine straight as she crossed the patio. Once through the door and just out of sight, she sagged against the wall.

How could she have let him get to her? Veronique wondered, squeezing her eyes shut and holding back the tears. And why did he have to be right? She'd been a fool to believe there was a chance for her and Brandon. Hadn't her own experiences taught her that wealth—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the crack of flatware hitting china, followed by an angry exclamation. That was her mother, Veronique realized in surprise. Concerned, she made a move to go back out onto the patio, stopping when she heard her own name.