Beauty And The Brooding Billionaire (South Shore Billionaires 2)

He doubted that. And the odd thing about it was that he wasn’t sure he wanted her to. There were so many feelings bubbling inside him, feelings he hadn’t been able to share with his family, or even with Jeremy and Cole. He could just imagine the looks on their faces if he shared his deepest thoughts. Those thoughts were pretty dark. But how long could he hold them inside?

Slowly, he made his way back to her and sat on the rock, resting his elbows on his knees. “Here,” she said, taking half the chicken sandwich he’d made and handing it to him. “Eat half. There’s too much in here for me anyway.”

He took the sandwich and took a bite. She did the same, and after she chewed and swallowed, she lifted her face to the sun again, drinking it in. He stared at the column of her neck and had trouble swallowing his bite of sandwich.

When she lowered her chin, he took another bite and moved his focus to the sea spread out before them. True to her word, she didn’t say anything. Just ate the lunch he’d prepared—the sandwich, some sliced apples and a couple of cookies he’d had in the pantry—and drank the water bottle full of lemonade he’d put inside.

She took a drink and then offered it to him. He accepted, took a long pull of the sweet and tart liquid, and then handed it back.

“Your lemonade is very good.” She smiled as she offered the compliment, and then bit into a chocolate chip cookie.

“Thanks.”

She grinned. “After your stories last night, I kind of thought you might have servants to help with things like picnic packing.”

Bran angled her a sideways glance, and realized she was attempting to lighten the mood by teasing him. “Oh, my parents still do. The perks of an affluent childhood—never having to lift a finger.”

“Or have the satisfaction of accomplishment?”

His lips dropped open in surprise. “Yes, I suppose.” He pondered for a moment. “I guess that’s the difference between entitlement and actual achievement, isn’t it?”

“There’s something rewarding about self-sufficiency.”

Jess’s lips set in a line as she said it. He wanted to ask her what she meant, but was afraid of either of them prying too deeply into past issues. Instead, he turned to the topic at hand, and gestured toward her bag with her sketching materials.

“Your drawings are coming along okay?”

She nodded. “I’m having so much fun. It’s a combination of things, I think. The location is simply amazing. But I also think I finally got to a place mentally where I am ready to create again. It feels like the magic happens from both things coming together at the same time. Just the sketching is giving me so much joy.”

He hesitated for a long moment, then said, “Do you ever feel guilty for being happy?” He couldn’t look at her, but he felt her gaze on him. Nerves churned in his belly just asking the question. Not that he was happy. He wasn’t. But could he go through his whole life like this? Did he want to?

“You mean do I feel guilty moving on after grieving someone so close to me?”

He nodded, unable to speak. It seemed they were going to get into the difficult subjects anyway.

“Not now. But I did for a long time. I felt as if I didn’t deserve to be happy. That I somehow owed it to Ana to be miserable. And so I was.” After a pause she added, “It’s a hell of a way to live. I did the same after my mother died, though it was different. My parents divorced when I was ten. I guess I just... I don’t know. Didn’t feel as emotionally safe with my family as I did with my best friend. She’d never given me a reason to doubt. Besides, I think we grieve different people in different ways.”

Another few moments of silence, and then she spoke again. “And I didn’t lose my spouse and my child. I can’t know what you’re going through, Branson. I just know that someday you should be happy again, and not feel as if you’re betraying them by moving on.”

Tears stung the back of his eyes. She had spoken in a plain manner, with truth and gentleness, and said words that not even his best friends could manage.

They tried to bring him back to the world of the living, but they didn’t talk about the grief. It was painful relief to be able to do so.

“It’s been two years. Owen would have been three now. We might have had more children. And I can’t remember...” He swallowed heavily, fighting tears. “I can’t remember the exact sound of his voice when he said Dada. Why can’t I remember that?”

He didn’t realize he was actually crying until Jessica put the bag aside and shuffled over, putting her arms around him. Then he noticed the wetness in his beard and on his cheeks. He was mortified to be falling apart in front of her, but he was helpless to stop it.

“It’s okay,” she said, rubbing his back. “Every single thing you feel and say is okay. There is no one way to grieve and no timetable.”

He sniffed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m so sorry. A week ago I was yelling at you and now I’m bawling all over you.”

“Don’t apologize. I get it. It’s probably easier with someone you don’t know.” Her hand still made circles on his back, and it felt warm and reassuring. He’d been so touch starved. He should move away, but he wasn’t ready to yet. She rested the crest of her cheek on his shoulder for a moment. “When Ana died, it was like all the light went out of everything. She was my rock and my best friend. She’d seen me through creative slumps and successes. Through relationships that came and went...she was my person. When I lost her, I lost my anchor and my compass all at once. But eventually I realized that she would be so angry with me for not living.

“It wasn’t like flipping a switch, you know? It wasn’t like I decided to live again and just started doing it. I had to take baby steps. I stumbled a lot. I pushed through when joy was just not showing up. But happiness is a little like creative inspiration. Sometimes we can’t sit around and wait for it to show up. Sometimes we need to go looking for it. Or at least put ourselves out there so we can grab pieces of it when it rushes by.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You will. Something will snag in your brain, and you’ll feel the urge to write it down. Or little snippets will come to you, and you’ll write a bit and hate it, maybe, but little by little it’ll happen. And when it does, you mustn’t feel guilty about it.”