“Brynne! Your phone!”
Fastening my earring, the back not quite wanting to slip on, I dart through the master into the living room. I hear my ringtone buzzing from somewhere, but the house is too big and foreign to me to know where the sound is coming from.
Fenton comes around the corner from his office, my phone in his hand. “This is becoming a habit—me finding your phone.”
I stand on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. He grabs my ass.
“This is my mother,” I gasp, fear blazing through me. “Hello?”
“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”
I don’t answer her. “How are you, Mom?”
“I’m a wreck, to be honest. I’ve eaten a half a piece of toast in two days and your father is starting to drive me crazy with his pacing. I’m losing my mind.”
“Is Aunt Donna there?”
“Yes, thank God. She got in last night.” She sniffles. “You know, I look at her and I realize how awful this must be for you. If something happened to my sister, it would kill me. And you’ve lost your brother.”
The phone muffles and I wait for her voice to come back. I watch Fenton stride around the room before finally landing in a chair under a large painting.
“We just heard from Senator Hyland’s office,” she says, returning to the phone. “The chatter from Nekuti has picked up in the last couple of days.”
“Chatter?”
My eyes follow Fenton as he leans forward, his hands steepled in front of him, and rests his chin on top. His eyes are narrow as he listens to my end of the conversation.
“We don’t know if it’s from the video being released or . . . something else.”
“No . . .” I can hear what she’s saying without saying it. My stomach drops to my feet. “No, Mom. It’s not that. It’s something else.”
Exchanging a worried glance with Fenton, I head to the large windows. I watch the sea roll in and out and try to match my breathing to the regularity.
“I hope.” Her voice breaks. “Just pray, sweetheart.”
“I pray all the time.” A door bangs closed and I wheel around. Fenton is gone. It’s unlike him to walk away like that and to nearly slam the door is odd. I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong with him too.
“Is everything okay?” Mom asks. “I can hear the stress in your voice, honey. I know you’ve been put on the back burner so much with this whole thing and I feel terrible about that. I just can’t—”
“Mom. No. Don’t worry about me.”
“Of course I do. You’re my daughter.”
I smile. “I am. Now go take care of my dad and tell Aunt Donna hi. I have some things I need to do today, okay?”
“I will. I love you, too, Brynne.”
“Love you, Mom.”
Clicking the phone off, I hold it to my chest and try to get myself together. Taking a few cleansing breaths, I head to the door and knock gently.
“Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course,” he says.
I open the door and step inside. He’s standing over his briefcase and I hear it click as the door shuts behind me. He turns to face me, his features creased.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “Did something happen?”
He shakes his head warily. “I’m fine. How are you, rudo?”
“That was my mother,” I say finally. “More bad news from Africa.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice gruff.
“There’s been an increase in chatter from Nekuti.”
He studies me for a long minute. “Don’t panic. It could mean a million different things.”
I pace across the room, not having a destination in mind, but needing to move. To think. “I suppose, but right after the video? I really have a bad feeling. They said in the video they would be making demands, which we know the government won’t do anything about. What if . . .” My voice cracks.
I look at Fenton, dressed for the day we had planned. He’s in jeans, sneakers, and a plain grey t-shirt that matches his eyes. He could have walked straight off the pages of a magazine, all casual sophistication. Yet the look on his face tells a completely different story, one I’m not sure about.
“You can ‘what if‘ yourself till the cows come home, Brynne,” he gulps. “The fact is, you can play those games and never know anything for sure. You just have to believe the best.”
Fenton starts to turn away but pauses, seemingly torn about what to do. I can’t offer him any advice because I don’t know what to do with myself. I just watch the uneasiness, the apprehension, wash over his face before he gives a subtle nod and turns away.
He leaves the room and I watch him walk into his office on the other side of the living room, a room I was in only briefly this morning. I hear a few drawers slide open and shut, keys jingling, before he marches back into the master. His hands are to his side, his fists closed. His features are on lockdown and I can’t read what he’s thinking.
He makes a beeline for me like a man on a mission, stopping a few steps in front of me.
“I want you to have this,” he breathes, extending a hand towards me and dropping a bundle of metal into my hand.
Holding it in my palm, I pick it up with the other. It falls, a delicate gold chain with the head of an elephant on the end. It’s small, so small I can’t imagine crafting the intricate design. It’s smooth and cool, and when I look up to Fenton, I see he’s holding his breath.
“Fenton?”
He forces a swallow, his brows pulling together. “It was my mother’s.”
Gasping, my hand trembles. “I can’t take this.” I try to put it back in his hand, but he steps back and out of reach. “Fenton, I can’t take this. It’s beautiful and I’m honored you’d want to give it to me, but I can’t. Really . . .”
“I want you to have it.”
“But why?”
He looks at the floor, his sneakers shuffling around before he speaks. “Elephants represent strength and loyalty. My mother would wear that necklace before she would go into a meeting and was unsure about the outcome or when she felt beaten down by the world. She would touch the emblem and say it reminded her to be loyal to what she believed in. I actually kept that in my pocket for a few months after she passed away.” His eyes shine as he draws them to mine. “And I want you to have it.”
I close the distance between us quickly and wrap my arms around his waist, the necklace secured safely in my hand. There’s so much I want to say, but the lump in my throat keeps all words away. We just stand in the middle of the room and hold each other, in a way, letting each other know we’re here together. That right now, liking each other is enough.
By the time I pull away, something has passed between us and when I look at him again, he’s still the handsome cashmere I know him to be, but he’s something else. Something deeper, something more intimate, something more . . . important.
My throat feels parched as I realize what this feeling is. Love. I love him.
I’ve known it was possible to love Fenton for a long time. Even though I haven’t given myself permission to feel it, I’m there. It’s an overwhelming, breathtaking moment, and I know now that I’ve never been in love before. Not like this.
He makes me happy, gives me hope, makes me feel protected. We have undeniable chemistry and being with him is the easiest thing in the world. He’s handsome and smart and sexy and kind.
And I love him.
“You okay, rudo?” he asks, his voice soft.
“I don’t think I can accept this,” I say again, watching the light reflect off the gold in my hand, still reeling from my realization.
“I want you to have it. Please.”
“Are you sure? It was your mother’s.”
“It was. And she would have loved you.”
I grin shyly. “You don’t know that.”
“I do know that. She’d like that you keep me in my place and she’d like your heart. She’d like that you make me think about things. She always said that if what you’re doing is easy, it’s not worth doing. And I think . . . I think I fell into that trap a little bit and you’re forcing me out.”
“Well, I won’t let you take the easy road,” I joke.
“I’m sure.” He steps behind me and lifts the necklace out of my hand. He lays the charm on my chest and brings the chain to the back of my neck. His fingertips sweep the hair off the back of my neck, my skin breaking out into goose bumps at the contact. He fastens the piece of jewelry and moves to face me again. “It’s perfect.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
He nods, his gaze glued to the elephant. “I’m absolutely sure. It’s right where it belongs. When you get scared or nervous or start losing your faith, I want you to touch it and remember to be loyal to what you believe in. And that I believe in you.”
“Okay then. Thank you,” I whisper, blinking back tears.
His lips lower to mine in a soft display of something. What, I’m not sure, I just know it’s not love. Because he doesn’t believe in love. But me? I just fell head over heels.