Brant's Return

Was it that he didn’t want children at all or that the thought of children with me was unpalatable? We hadn’t talked about that topic, of course. We were only dating. But I’d just assumed Brant would want children someday. And if it was with me, that I would be the one fearful of the idea. I froze, sitting back on my heels, pulling the sheet up over my naked breasts, feeling suddenly exposed, chilled.

Brant ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just . . . Christ, Belle. Haven’t we both lost enough? What if—God forbid—something happened to a child of ours? What kind of man would I be if I let you experience more heartbreak? If I didn’t protect you from that?” Let me experience more heartbreak?

A buzzing had begun in my ears and I felt mildly sick. He was irrational, so misguided. Coming from a place purely based in fear. God, I could relate—though I’d moved through that stage. He never had. He was stuck and unwilling to extricate himself from the mire of pain. “I don’t need you to protect me from loss. That’s not your job, Brant. And it isn’t possible, anyway.”

“Some things vastly decrease the odds,” he muttered.

I stared at him. “What if I’m already pregnant?”

His face registered no reaction but his body tensed. I remembered back to the day he’d come back to Graystone Hill proposing marriage, recalled the hope in his expression when he’d suggested I might be pregnant. What a difference a few weeks made. Strangely, the change in his reaction brought me some measure of hope. He was afraid now because his feelings for me had deepened since then. I hoped. Then again, hope was a tenuous thing to hang a relationship on. “We’ve been careful.”

“Not always.”

I watched his expression as he thought about that, recognized when he recalled the night of the party at Graystone Hill. He breathed out a sigh, running his hands through his hair again. “Let’s just hope we got lucky.”

Lucky.

Lucky?

My idea of luck was clearly different than his in this case. And that left me feeling so terribly, terribly despondent.

“Belle,” he rasped, clearly despondent as well. He moved toward me, taking me in his arms and lying back on the pillows, pulling me close. “Please, we’ll talk about all this later. This is an adjustment period for both of us, and I have the big opening coming up. We . . . we’ll figure it all out, okay?”

He’d said that before. We’ll figure it out. It had brought hope the first time, and now it only brought emptiness.

I nodded, having lost my fight. I was tired, emotional, and I just wanted to lose myself in sleep. And yet it was a long time that night before I finally did.

**********

I went for a long run on the treadmill in Brant’s home gym the next morning, my mood elevated slightly after the much-needed workout. My heart was still heavy after the night before, but I was not one to sit and wallow. My relationship was already on the rocks, Brant never wanted children—one of my dearest dreams—and even though I’d only been away a short time, I was homesick beyond measure. But what good would it do to sit around and cry? I’d made my proverbial bed, and now I had to face the consequences. And from my experience, sometimes the best course of action was to let things breathe for a day or two. Perhaps Brant would come around, perhaps we’d both gain some clarity . . . perhaps, well, I didn’t know. But if anyone knew that sometimes you just had to force yourself to put one foot in front of the other, it was me.

I showered and dressed, and then called down to the doorman, requesting a driver. Brant’s opening was that night and I needed a dress, shoes, and possibly jewelry. I really wished I had a friend who knew more about these things who could come with me and tell me what to buy. I’d called Paige earlier to check in with her and get some advice, but she hadn’t answered.

I wondered how much an appropriate dress would cost. Thankfully, I had some savings as I rarely spent much on myself, and my living expenses were provided for at Graystone Hill. Brant had left me his credit card, but I didn’t feel comfortable using it and so I left it where he’d placed it on the kitchen counter that morning. Something about the sight of that thin piece of plastic caused a heavy feeling in my chest. He’d share everything he had with me . . . except his heart. I didn’t want his millions, didn’t want his luxurious apartment in the sky. I only wanted him—all of him.

I suddenly remembered the moment he’d brought the jewelry box from his bag in Kentucky and presented it to me in bed as we’d sat naked before each other. I recalled the way he’d bared his heart then as he’d given me the purple orchid of Caspian Skye—the pin he’d called inexpensive, but to me was priceless beyond measure because it spoke of our connection. It spoke of the fact that he knew what would move me when he let his heart guide him.

My spirit suddenly lifted and I rushed to the master bedroom where I’d put the box in the top drawer of the bureau I was using. I opened it, gazing down at the pin, my eyes moving over the chips and dings that told of its age, of the history it held in its petals, and of the fact that it had once been loved. I thought then what I’d thought when Brant had given it to me. You’re in need of a second chance, aren’t you? Me too. Me too.

Hope flared inside me as I held the symbol of the love story Brant had told me that night in the old distillery. Caspian Skye. A would-be king who’d given up his kingdom for love. It was perfect. If I wore this tonight, maybe it would be a good reminder of who we’d been together. Maybe it was just me who needed to remember Brant as he’d been that night—open, uninhibited, no pretense at all. I loved all of him, but that was the Brant I first fell in love with. I could only hope this symbol would mean something to him too.

Twenty minutes later, full of a renewed sense of optimism, I was stepping out of the car and heading into a beautiful boutique on a street the doorman had suggested when I’d asked him the best place to go. “My wife dreams of shopping there,” he’d laughed as he’d written down the address and handed it to me. Classical music played softly in the background and the luxurious smell of mingled perfumes calmed my frayed nerves.

A woman who looked about my age greeted me when I stepped inside. She was wearing a fitted white suit and her blonde hair was expertly swept into a chignon. I smiled. “Hi, I need a dress for this evening. Something formal.”

She frowned slightly. “This evening? You won’t be able to have alterations done, but let’s see if we can find something that fits. I’m Chandra, by the way.”

She took me by the arm and I breathed a sigh of relief. This stylish woman would help me find what I needed, something appropriate. I felt so out of my depth and I was sure she knew that.

“One thing, Chandra.” I brought the pin from my purse. “I’d like to find a dress to match this.”

She frowned down at it. “Is that a . . . pin?”

“Yes.”

“Um, well . . .” Chandra said, pursing her lips. “It’s just that it’s quite . . . large. I can’t think of what it might go with.”

“I’m sure we can find something. The simpler the better I would think.”