CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

Isabelle

 

I loved New York, I did. The sights and sounds, the hustle and bustle, the many different people with their vast array of styles. I loved the street performers and the food trucks, the plays and musicals, the sidewalk cafes and tourist attractions. It didn’t feel like home, but of course it wouldn’t. I’d never been out of the Midwest. It was going to take some time. But was it natural that I felt so lost . . . so out of sorts when I was supposed to be having fun and relaxing?

Loosen up. This is just a vacation. Live a little, Isabelle, I chastised myself. Aren’t you the girl who wanted adventure? Or maybe I’d just wanted stability. I couldn’t even remember anymore.

Brant worked during the day and then showed me the sights in the evenings. We spent several early nights and late mornings in his giant four-poster bed, discovering every secret place on each other’s bodies. I woke up happy, but during the day I missed him and didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d wander his apartment, my mood sinking, my heart constricting with longing for all the things this place could not provide.

“You look pale,” Brant said over dinner at the end of the week. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel fine,” I answered, spinning a forkful of linguine, but not bringing it to my mouth.

“Hey,” he said, reaching across the table and putting his hand over mine, “what is it?”

I put my fork down. “It’s just . . . I’m not sure what to do with myself during the day.”

“Not sure what to do?” He sat back. “Belle, the city is your playground. I have a driver that will take you wherever you want. See a show, try a new restaurant, go shopping.”

“Shopping?”

He picked up his plate, nodding to mine in question. I pushed my unfinished dinner toward him. At the sink, he turned back to me. “Remember, you do need a dress for my opening tomorrow night at least. Something formal.” He walked back to me, placing his hands on my shoulders and massaging. I breathed out, his touch calming me, as always. “I can’t wait to show you off.”

I smiled. I’d almost forgotten I needed to buy a dress, though Brant had told me a couple of times. “I’m going to look for a dress tomorrow.” I paused. “I did a search on the Internet . . . there’s a horse farm right outside the city that offers riding.”

Brant’s hands stilled and then came away from my shoulders. He took a seat in his chair again, scooting it closer. “Belle, we’re here to enjoy New York, not make it into Kentucky.” His eyes moved over my face, concern in his expression. “Sweetheart, I know you’re homesick, but you have to give it a chance if you’re truly going to love it here and look forward to coming back. It took me some time too, but I promise you, this will feel like a second home before you know it.”

I nodded and when he put his hand on my cheek, I leaned in to his touch. “I know.” He smiled, sitting back. I knocked on the table, seemingly made out of the same mysterious material as so many other pieces in this apartment. “What is this?”

Brant raised a brow. “Is that a trick question? It’s a table.”

“No, I mean, what material is it made from?”

He frowned, looking down at it. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“You bought a table and you don’t even know what it’s made from?”

He reclined in his chair, regarding me with amusement and concern, as if he thought I might be slightly crazy. “A designer picked it out. I just went with it.”

“Huh,” I said, running my hand over the table. It belonged to him, but he hadn’t chosen it. A designer had picked it out. It struck me that New York felt like being one step removed from . . . everything.

That night I dreamed of Elise. She was just beyond the fog, calling for me, and I reached for her, swatting desperately at the swirling white, but she only seemed to fade farther away, out of my reach. I woke up with tears on my cheeks and a choked sob on my lips, reaching for the tiny person who was no longer there. Too far away. You’re too far away. My heart felt crushed beneath the weight of the love that now had nowhere to go.

Brant gathered me to him, whispering words of comfort as my tears dried and the feeling of the dream faded. His heart beat against my own, his skin both smooth and rough. I pressed against him, needing him to fill the emptiness that seemed to be growing within me. “I want you,” I said, just as I had that night he first made love to me in the old distillery. He worshipped my body slowly, and I closed my eyes, pretending we were there, under a dusty paint tarp in an abandoned building rather than the luxurious king-sized bed made up with silken sheets.

Afterward, I lay in his arms, replete, our skin still dewy, our heartbeats slowing. I turned into his chest, breathing him in, clinging to him as though he were my shelter in a storm. “I love you,” I murmured, because I did, and I couldn’t hold the words back any longer. I loved him.

His heartbeat sped up beneath my palm, though everything else seemed to still. I held my breath for a beat . . . two and then released it on a loud exhale. His hand resumed the slow stroking movement up and down my arm from a moment before, and he leaned his head down and kissed my temple. A lump formed in my throat and my heart thudded dully in my chest. “Belle . . . I . . .”

I shook my head against his chest. “No, Brant, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot—”

“Christ. I don’t even think I’m capable of love.”

I tilted my head back, looking at him. The expression on his face was so . . . tormented. “Everyone’s capable of love.”

He sat up, turning and swinging his legs off the bed, hanging his head. I propped myself up on my hand, looking at his hunched-over form, the beautifully muscled expanse of his back. I’d done this to myself. Again. Another man who couldn’t love me. How many could I wrack up in one lifetime? Ethan had never promised me love, and neither had Brant. Oh, Isabelle, you fool. Brant turned toward me, the gray city lights seeping around the edges of the blinds highlighting his beauty. He was so handsome I almost didn’t want to look at him. Ever since that day I’d been injured in the yard, I’d felt him pull away, distance himself emotionally. It was slight, so slight, and yet I’d seen the wariness in his gaze sometimes when I caught him staring at me. Now, now it would be worse, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t that he couldn’t love me, it was that he didn’t want to. And that made it all the worse.

“I’m sorry, Belle.” He looked at me, beseeching. “I want us. I love what we have together, and you’ll always have me . . . I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you with everything in me.”

I suddenly felt so weary, so tired, but angry too. I didn’t only want to be protected. I wanted to be loved. And Brant was not only denying me his love, but denying himself love as well.

“Brant, you think you can’t love because you’re afraid of losing. You’re afraid to experience the deep pain you felt when you lost your mother.”

“Don’t, Belle.” His voice was low and held a warning I didn’t heed.

I moved forward, grasping his arms, the arms that had held me so lovingly only moments before. He would love me with his body but nothing more? No, I wanted his heart, his soul.

“You have to face it, Brant. There, here, somewhere. You can’t ignore it and expect it to go away.”

“It’s worked just fine for me all these years, Belle. Don’t tell me what I need to face and what I don’t.”

“You need to hear it. Oh Brant, I know it hurts.” I squeezed his arms more tightly, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I know. I know. I had to acknowledge my true feelings about Ethan before I could find peace. I don’t know what’s locked inside your heart, but you have to face it. It will be hard, but it will be worth it, I promise.”

He made a strange choking sound in his throat, and it bolstered my courage, made me believe I might be getting through to him.

“Let it out,” I beseeched. “I’ll help you. I can protect you too, maybe not with my strength, but with my love. You have to, Brant, because someday when you have children, you’ll have to face the fear of—"

“Children?”

I let go of his arms. “What? Don’t you want children someday?”

“Children,” he repeated again as if the word didn’t make sense to him.

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.” 

Three hours later, exhausted, I dropped my shopping bags, draped my garment bag over a chair, and fell onto the couch. Who knew shopping for a few items could be so tiring?

Brant had said he’d be home just in time to get ready to escort me to the opening. I glanced behind me at the clock on the kitchen wall then jumped up. I barely had enough time to do my hair and makeup and dress before Brant got home. I needed to hurry.