The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (42 page)

While I sputtered on with the names, he had slinked his arm behind my waist and pulled me not so subtly against his side. 

“...so yeah, great game, guys. See ya! Toodles!” I inwardly cringed at the last word which I picked up from Felicity—it left no room for any other response because seriously, who even really knew what the word meant? 

But instead of standing around, I topped off my parting shot with a big smile and practically pulled Brandon out of the room, and trust me, he was dragging his heels.

“Why didn’t you tell them you were married to me?” he finally demanded in a low, sulky tone, his lips pressing together into a tight line.

He’d stopped in the middle of the front lobby where a few employees milling about had turned to look.

I hate grumps. I hate grumps who look hot while being grumpy even more—especially when they’re grumpy because they’re jealous.

“The last thing I wanted was to be regarded as someone completely unapproachable because I felt it important enough to point out to them that I was married to the boss,” I told him with an indulgent smile, my fingers catching the sides of his white shirt as I tiptoed closer to him. “Don’t worry about it, Brand. No one crossed the line. Even that guy Liam didn’t get far enough. I was about thirty seconds from introducing him to my elbow.”

His brows furrowed as he studied me for a moment. “Are you sure they didn’t do anything terrible?”

“Oh, they did,” I said with a shrug and a mock-serious expression. “They called me all sorts of rude names because I was kicking their butts. But I sympathize with sour grapes, you know? Since they can’t have what they want, I let them have their misery at the very least. I’m generous that way.”

A second passed before Brandon broke into a grin that cleared the clouds from his expression. 

“You’re trouble but you’re my trouble,” he said as he shook his head and slung his arm around me, steering us toward the front door. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, slipping my arm behind his waist. We passed by the front desk where Roger was still stationed and I smiled and waved at him. He looked uncomfortable for a moment but gave us a brief nod of acknowledgement. “Where’s your car?”

Brandon pressed the tip of his nose on my temple as we came down the front steps. “The car will be wherever we wish to be picked up later.”

I looked up at him with my brows scrunched up in confusion. “Okay. Why? What are we doing?”

He gave me a smile a near match of the bright afternoon sun. “We're going on our first date.”

I skidded to a halt at his words, my eyes widening. “A first date?”

“Yeah,” he answered with a shrug although a shy shade of pink tinged his cheeks. “We haven’t been out on one just for the sake of going on a date.”

That’s because our marriage is a practical business arrangement. Business partners don’t go out on dates.

I didn’t say any of that though because Brandon and I agreed on a year of being married for real and real couples went on dates.

He gazed at me warily, his hazel eyes hopeful but nervous. “Would you? Go out on a date with me?”

My heartbeat sped up so fast it felt like it would take off any moment. 

I grinned and bobbed my head up and down enthusiastically. “Yes! I’d love to!”

He laughed when I threw my arms around his neck, circling my waist with his own until he lifted me off my feet. 

Brandon Maxfield. Asking me out on a date. Imagine that.

And what a date it turned out to be.

I had never been out on a date before but starting out one with ice cream seemed like an excellent idea.

We walked to a small gelato place and ordered large sugar waffle cones, topped high with assorted ice cream layers. Then we wandered into a street closed off for one of the summer street art markets where all kinds of art pieces, jewelry and crafts were on display stall after stall. I bought a blue-green and white tie-dye scarf and a gray trucker cap hand painted with watercolor flowers on the front. A thick plastic film was layered over it to protect it from water and to give it a nice shiny surface. Brandon strolled over to a few different stalls while I looked through the scarves but came back empty-handed.

It was around five-thirty when Brandon declared we should probably have dinner. And by dinner he meant a full, sit-down meal at a fancy restaurant somewhere with all the works but I had something else in mind.

We walked a couple of blocks over to Charles Street which divided Boston Common and the Public Garden and bought some barbecue pork steamed buns and some bubble tea from a food truck set up next to a sidewalk.

“I’m not sure if buying street food is the way to go on a first date,” he said as he looked at our food thoughtfully before taking a tentative bite. 

I smiled at him lopsidedly through a mouthful of rice bun which took a while to swallow. “I don’t think proper dates always have to be fancy. They just have to be fun.”

He took a long sip of the bubble tea (which he’d admitted he’d never tried before) and smiled back at me as we started our walk to the Public Garden. “If I had more time to plan this, I would’ve probably booked an entire movie house for just the two of us or arranged for a carriage ride to a fancy restaurant or something movie-worthy like that.”

I know. You and your reluctant but romantic heart.

I touched the side of my head to his arm briefly as we walked. “I’m just an ordinary girl, Brand. I don’t need a mega-production.”

“There is nothing ordinary about you, Charlotte,” he said, dropping a kiss on the crown of my head. “It’s the only way I can explain how I feel about you.”

I wished I had the guts to ask him to expound on that statement but I was just as afraid of the truth as I was of the lies so I chose not to say anything and cherish the moment instead.

We spent the rest of the evening strolling around the Public Garden, standing by the bridge and leaning against the railing with Brandon’s arms wrapped around me from behind as we gazed out to the water. 

Holding hands, we made our way out of the park to where Brandon’s driver, Freddy, was waiting on the side of the street with the car.

Later that night, once we were in bed with my head propped on Brandon’s shoulder as he held up the book we had started reading together a few nights ago, he reached over to his side before dangling a small red pouch in front of me.

“What’s that?” I asked, glancing up at him.

“Something I got for us from the art market earlier,” he said as he slowly sat us both up, setting aside the book and taking my palm to place the pouch on it. “I had to get it rushed by the artist who delivered it here half an hour ago.”

“Oh,” I said in surprise, remembering the call from the concierge about a delivery. Brandon had mumbled something about it being from work before he went downstairs to get it. I had been on the phone with Aimee and Rose that I didn’t notice what he had with him when he came back up. 

I shifted the pouch in my hand to assess the weight and shape of what was inside it. “Can I open it?”

He nodded and waited as I loosened the tie and widened the opening of the bag. Something metallic glinted against the light. 

“Let me help,” Brandon said as he picked up the bag and slowly slid out the items onto my palm.

They were two narrow white gold cuffs with a plain design except for one of their ends. The first cuff had one end flowing into a script letter C and another into B. The larger one had the letter C and the smaller one had B. 

Inside each cuff, on the smooth surface under the band, was a line freshly engraved in old-fashioned script. 

I held both cuffs up to read the matching inscriptions.

...for the first date that will last forever...

My heart surged through a flash flood of emotions, swam hard against the overwhelming currents, and drowned spectacularly. 

Suddenly, forever wasn’t a word I was alone in using. 

Forever is you and Brandon. 

“Based on the tears shining in your eyes, I’m going to assume that you like it,” he said with a soft smile as he took the smaller cuff that had B in it and slipped it over my wrist. “The fact that I seemed to have rendered you speechless makes me hope that you love it.”

Oh, I love it, alright. Just as I love you.

Still unable to form any words except the ones that were right at the tip of my tongue, I picked up the other cuff that had C on it and slipped it over Brandon’s wrist, my fingers gently brushing the initial of my name on it which rested inside his wrist, pressed against where his heart pulsed.

“Never forget this day, Charlotte,” he said gently as his arms slid around me and pulled me close to him until I was sitting on his lap. “Not because of what happened at the tea party or any of the other reasons that made it a bad day for you.”

He tipped up my chin and gazed into my eyes with his luminous hazel ones that were warm with affection. “I want you to remember this day because it was our first date and we had a lot of fun.”

“Thank you, Brand,” I murmured as my lips quivered into a smile. “I will always remember today. I would never be able to forget it even if I wanted to.”

He smiled crookedly. “I hope you’ll never find yourself wanting to forget it. Because this is the first date of the rest of our lives.”

And with that, he kissed me softly.

Some wars were waged and battled today but only in this moment did I feel like I truly won something worth fighting for. 

"The smokies are better because they're already cooked. You just have to roast them in the fire a little."

I chewed on my bottom lip in frustration as I returned the package of hotdogs to the cooler shelf. "Do you even know how to build a campfire? I'm sure they don't offer premium campfire-building services lit from a gold-tipped, ivory-handled lighter."

Brandon rolled his eyes and pushed our shopping cart further along the aisle until he could grab a pack of cheddar smokies. "I ordered a special flint set from an outdoor supply company. A flint is a traditional fire starter."

It was late Thursday afternoon and we drove down to a nearby grocery to get food for the camping trip that Brandon planned as our special weekend getaway.

Yes, camping.

It was a far cry from the fancy Paris trip he'd planned for our honeymoon but I was as excited as a kid on Christmas morning because I have never gone camping before.

Yes, I have never gone camping. Not once.

It wasn't really all that shocking. My mother walked out when I was six and my father pretty much stopped being any kind of real parent to me since then. We didn’t go camping or fishing or any of those things that happy families usually did.

I often didn't have extra money to pay for any of the fancy trips and summer camps the kids at school went to. I was only in that school because it was the only one to offer a working-student scholarship in the area. 

What cash I did earn then, I certainly hadn’t wanted to spend on supplies so I could go off and live like a squatter out in the wilderness. I used to tell myself it was silly that people would spend so much money to live less comfortably and conveniently—only because it helped make me feel a little less left out. 

When you'd lived most of your life with your nose pressed up against the store window for something you could never have, you learned to tell yourself that what was beyond the glass wasn't really all that special, and you weren't missing out on much.

So yeah, that was my long, short story for why I never once went camping.

Apparently, Brandon learned this little fun-fact about me because when I asked him where he got the idea from, he said that his father mentioned it to him. 

The trouble with having Martin as a father-in-law was that I never thought he would be my father-in-law so I told him things I probably would've never said out loud to him if I’d known. But that was alright. The old man could get away with pretty much anything. 

Including mysterious motives, blackmail and arranged marriages.

“Yes, I know it’s a traditional fire starter,” I said emphatically. “I learned that in history class when we talked about prehistoric men, you know, back in the days when the human race discovered fire by striking two rocks together. I just don’t know why you’re still using it several hundred thousand years later.”

“Because it’s cool and it’s rustic,” Brandon defended, pushing our cart past the cooler aisle. “It’s your first time to go camping. I want us to do this right.”

“Ah, yes—doing it right. I certainly hope that a cart full of food, bug sprays, insect ointments, first-aid supplies, bear spray, batteries, sunblock and survival guide books is doing it right because I don’t think we’ll have enough room in the car if there’s still more stuff to get on your do-it-right list,” I retorted, sweeping a dramatic hand over our overloaded cart. “If you know of a zombie apocalypse coming, and this is your way of getting me to your bunker so that I don’t panic and cause mayhem, it’s not very subtle.”

Brandon grinned and slipped an arm around my shoulders as we continued our way down the aisle. “I just like to be prepared, okay? Nothing—and I mean, nothing—will ruin this weekend getaway.”

Looks like your newly acquired seductions skills are paying off. Too bad you’re married to a saint. A really hot and sexy saint.

I glanced up at him with a smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry. Have the past few days been torture for you?”

The pained expression on his face was hard to miss and I laughed out loud.

“If I can’t have you in the next twenty-four hours, a piece of my anatomy is going to die and fall off,” he groaned softly into my ear before his teeth lightly nipped the sensitive curve on it. “I should be awarded for my forbearance. You haven’t exactly been helping the situation.”

Of course not. I will not get in the way of my utter ravishment—the one I’m working so hard to achieve. Overeager, I know, but jeez, I’ve already gone and married the guy—then promptly fell in love with him. What other requirements are there?

I shrugged innocently despite the shiver that ran down my spine at the feel of his hot breath so close to my skin. "I disagree. I've been helping by reminding you of what's in store for you this weekend, thus keeping your eye on the prize. Delayed gratification is supposed to be torture. I'm just trying to give you the full experience."

"Hmm. I'll give you the full experience," he said with a playful glint in his eyes before leaning down to kiss me thoroughly.

I moved closer to him, my hands gripping the sides of his shirt and his own wrapping behind my neck.

I feel like there’s a rock show inside my heart. The song is sweet and earth-shattering.

We would've kept going, oblivious to the world, if someone didn't clear their throat so loudly I thought for a second that a lawn mower was running loose inside the grocery. 

Brandon and I pulled away and saw an old couple stopped in front of us, their cart opposite ours, their matching expressions of disapproval directed at us.

"Back in the days, we did not maul our ladies in the grocery aisle," the man said, shaking his head at Brandon. "We visited them in their homes under the supervision of a chaperone and wooed them with flowers and gifts. Then we asked their fathers for their hands and married them properly in a church."

I suppressed the giggle that was thisclose to bursting out of me as I watched Brandon's eyes widen and his cheeks flush. I would've had the grace to blush myself if I didn't find the situation too hilarious. 

A tiny noise that suspiciously sounded like the beginnings of a giggle came out of me and Brandon glanced at me with a raised brow.

I bit my lower lip and tried to keep a straight face on as he grabbed my left hand with his own and shoved them both in front of the older couple.

"Actually, we are married. Newly weds, in fact."

I flashed the couple a sunny smile. "Yes, just about two weeks. My husband is a very affectionate man, you know, so sometimes he can't help himself."

Brandon squeezed my hand as he gave the couple an equally bright grin of his own. "Yes, well. My wife is just so lovable. Pardon me for being overeager. You two still look amazingly in love. I'm sure you understand what it’s like."

I felt an odd tug at my heart at his mention of the word lovable in reference to me but I kept my focus on the older couple who glanced back and forth between us as if they were deliberating whether to believe us or not.

"Hmph," the old man grunted as he started to push their cart past us. "Still no reason why you can't take your wife home and seduce her properly."

"True, dear," the woman said, patting her husband's shoulder, as the two of them trudged past us. 

We waited until they turned into an aisle before we both burst into soundless laughter. 

"I say, based on that, you are falling short on your husbandly duties, dear," I told Brandon as I clutched my stomach between breathless giggles. "You've had me at home for about two weeks now but I've yet to be seduced properly."

“Oh, I know.” He flashed me a lopsided smile before scooping me up all of a sudden. I gasped out loud when he dumped me into the cart, just on top of the huge pack of paper towels, by the front where I just fit. “You should’ve never told me you were a virgin on our wedding night. Sometimes, I really wish you didn’t.”

“Brandon! Get me out of here!” I sputtered at him, twisting left and right with difficulty because my knees, which were draped on one side of the cart, were higher than my waist and there was barely any room for me to push myself out without toppling the cart over. “People are looking!”

“So?” He smirked at me as he started pushing the cart. “It’s a short trip to the till. Consider it my revenge for the suffering you put me through.”

I glowered at him, crossing my arms and leaning back as comfortably as I could in the cart. “I didn’t put you through it. You did it to yourself! I never asked you to be so chivalrous.”

I would rather you just said to hell with it and then proceeded to make love to me, virginity be damned.

“If you know the things that have been running through my head in the last few days, you wouldn’t call me that,” he said, smiling with mischief. “But that’s alright. I’m comforted by the fact that you’ll deserve every wicked thing I intend to do to you.”

My face warmed up several degrees but I fought the urge to break away from his gaze and cover it with my hands. 

I thrust my chin up instead and dared him with a look. “You know, I’ll believe you when you actually deliver. Until then, you’re just a tease.”

Brandon’s eyes flashed with a dark, sexual humor as a corner of his mouth turned up. “Tempting challenge but I think you’re suffering just as much as I am so I’ll pass. Two can play this game, you know?”

Oh, I know. Talk about skirting around each other on the game board. If this were poker, all you’ll need to do is call my bluff.

I was crazy in love with a husband I married for money—a man I would’ve gladly married for my heart, whether he be a pauper or a prince.

“Sir! No adults in the cart please,” one of the merchandisers called out to us when he looked up from his stocking cart and saw us coming down past the pet food aisle.

Brandon just smiled and rolled the cart past him. “I’m buying the cart too, don’t worry.”

“If you say you’re buying this cart because it was our cart, I’ll stop you right here and now,” I told him with an arched brow although I felt a secret thrill inside. “You can’t buy or hang on to every single thing that has sentimental value to you about us. You’re going to be a certified hoarder before the year is up at the rate you’re going.”

Brandon just sighed and rolled his eyes although a smile tugged up one corner of his mouth. “Married two weeks and you already know me too well.”

I winked at him. “I’m your wife, dear. That’s just how it goes.”

When we got to the self-checkout counters, Brandon helped me out of the cart before unloading some of our stuff.

“I think we forgot to grab some chocolate bars,” he said as he took out his phone to look at the checklist he’d created. “You told me about making s’mores and you said you needed Snickers.”

He glanced at me with a puzzled expression. “Aren’t s’mores just graham crackers, marshmallow and plain chocolate? Why don’t we just do it that way?”

“You could if you lack imagination,” I said smugly. “Can you imagine s’mores with gooey chocolate, caramel and peanuts oozing out of it? It’s like a campfire dessert orgasm waiting to happen.”

Brandon narrowed his eyes at me. “No talks of orgasms, please. Go get your Snickers bars. Hurry.”

I grinned at him before turning to stride back toward the candy aisle. I looked through the shelves until I found a pack of four. I grabbed two of those and paused by the other candy selections. I deliberated for about ten seconds before grabbing a bag of gummy worms and a small party pack of assorted bite-sized chocolate bars. Chocolate and candy felt like they should go with camping. Happy things often went together.

I was humming excitedly as I walked back to the checkout area but my smile disappeared when I saw one of the staff smiling up sweetly at Brandon as she punched in codes on the screen. She was a tall, perky blonde with pink and blue streaks in her hair and she was twirling a lock of it around her fingers as she beamed at my husband.

A sour and ugly surge of acid-like jealousy swirled in my stomach and I stalked toward them.

“Hey,” I greeted cheerfully as I stepped between the staff girl named Karla, according to her badge, and Brandon. “Did I miss the party?”

Brandon smiled at me, holding a pack of salami. “It wasn’t ringing up correctly. I’m pretty sure this isn’t turkey sausage.”

“Hmm, yes,” I said, my smile tight and thin. “It doesn’t look like it’s from one of our feathered friends but definitely some kind of dead meat—chopped up, ground up and pounded into a deli offering.”

Brandon’s brows rose at me for a moment before his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Karla was just helping us, honey.” 

He put an arm around me and smiled at the now-wide-eyed girl. “Karla, this is my wife, Charlotte—an expert on dead meat. I always aim to avoid becoming one of her experiments.”

You couldn’t have been more obvious. All you’re missing is the heart on your sleeve and a placard with I LOVE YOU written on it in bold red letters. That’s no worse than being a jealous psycho because some girl is swooning over your husband. Even your grandmother would’ve swooned over him. They can’t help it.

Even in khaki shorts, a light blue shirt and preppy dark blue top-siders, Brandon looked swoon-worthy.

The girl looked seriously awkward as she gave me a half-hearted smile and moved away, back behind her counter where she oversaw the self-checkout section.