Chapter Twenty-Five
Amanda
The next few months pass in a blur and it all still seems so unreal to me. How can I, a poor working girl from San Francisco, be getting married to Texas royalty? That it started off as a business proposal and turned into genuine love – I still want to pinch myself sometimes.
Okay, most of the time.
After Brady proposed, we knew it was time to start getting our other ducks in a row. He's been spending a lot of time at Keating Technologies, doing what he has to do and learning the ropes around there. And I can see how it's changing him. I can see a fire burning inside of him when he comes home. No, he might not be the engineer type who can actually build some of these technological innovations, but he's talked to me about some of the ideas he's had and that he's becoming increasingly passionate about.
Brady is starting to lay the groundwork for his legacy and I can't possibly be prouder of him.
Of course, with him being so busy at KT, I'm doing most of the wedding planning – which is fine by me. I actually like making some unilateral decisions for a change. Although, I will give him credit – Brady is better about not making every decision for me.
Baby steps though. We'll get there. I'm far too independent for that kind of crap and that is one habit I am most definitely going to break him of. If it kills me – or him. I've already put him on notice that the next time he does it, we're going back for another sparring session at PowerCore. He smiled and promised to make sure he watched himself.
Finished with the cake designer – for now, anyway – I smile at the thought as I walk back out to my car. I have to say, this is one decision I don't mind that he made for me. As I look at the BMW gleaming in the sunlight, I still can't believe it's mine.
“Amanda?” a woman's voice calls. “Amanda Johnston?”
I turn around and see a tall, thin blonde standing on the sidewalk. She's stunning and I think could probably a model. But I have no clue who she is.
“Yes?” I say slowly. “Do I know you?”
“Well, not really,” she says. “But I know you.”
Okay, yeah, that's not creepy or anything. “Know me how?”
“You're marrying my half-brother.”
And then like a two-by-four to the gut, I know who I'm talking to. “Tiffany Greene,” I say.
She smiles brightly. “Yes, that's me.”
Knowing what she's done to Brady and what he thinks about her, I know to be wary. Cautious. I know I can't trust her – so why has she tracked me down?
“How can I help you, Tiffany?”
She seems to recoil at my use of her first name, but she pushes through it quickly. “I was hoping we could have a chat.”
“A chat about what?”
“Please,” she says. “Will you join me for a glass of wine? I have something I think you need to see.”
The red flags are waving in my head and my instinct is telling me to climb into my car and drive off. But there's something in me – a morbid curiosity perhaps – that's urging me to sit with her for a little while and hear what she has to say.
“One glass,” I say.
She nods. “Fair enough,” she says. “Thank you, Miss Johnston.”
We walk to a small cafe a few doors down from the cake designer. Taking a seat on the patio out front, we wait until the waiter has brought us our glasses of wine before getting into the meat of the matter.
“So, you're marrying my half-brother?” Tiffany asks.
“That's the rumor,” I say.
“I wonder,” she says. “Do you know what kind of man he actually is?”
“What kind of man he is?” I ask. “Of course, I do. He's a good man. A good father.”
“I believe you are correct on the latter,” she says. “I've always said he is a dedicated father. But I would have to disagree with you on the former.”
I scoff at her. “He's told me about you, you know,” I say. “Told me how conniving and manipulative you are.”
“Neither of which are things I deny,” she says. “But when a man has those qualities, he's believed to be a tough and firm businessman. If a woman dares have them though, she's labeled a ruthless bitch.”
It's a point I can't really disagree with, although I hold my tongue. I'm not here to debate feminism or the sexism inherent in society.
“What do you want, Tiffany?”
“I've known Brady for a long time,” she says. “And you've known him but a few months –”
“The point?” I ask. “Get to it or I'm leaving.”
“I only want you to know what you're getting yourself into,” she says. “I want to open your eyes before you make a big mistake.”
“And what might that mistake be?”
She looks at me like it's the most obvious answer in the world. “Marrying somebody who doesn't know how to be faithful. It's something of a – family tradition.”
I sit back in my seat and take a deep breath. I don't like this woman. Not one bit. Everything about her reads phony to me. She's trying so hard to sound sincere, but I can see right through her. She's got an agenda, there is no question about it. And I have no doubts that it has everything to do with her taking control of the Keating empire, like Brady told me.
“Listen, Tiffany,” I say. “I know what you're trying to do here and –”
“I'm sure my half-brother has told you some not so flattering things about me. And has given you plenty of reasons not to trust me,” she says. “But you can't deny the truth when it's set right in front of your face.”
“What are you talking about?”
She digs into her bag and tosses a file folder onto the table in front of me. I look at it like it's a coiled snake that's ready to strike.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Open it,” she says. “Don't take my word for anything. See it with your own two eyes.”
I reach out slowly, not sure I want to open the folder – yet, I'm unable to stop myself. I flip it open and find a stack of photographs. In each of them, it's Brady sitting at an outdoor cafe with a dark-haired woman. My heart sinks a little more with each picture, and by the time I reach the final photograph in the stack, I feel ready to be sick. The last picture in the series is of Brady kissing the woman.
“What you're looking at are photographs of my half-brother and Nicholas' mother – Angie Willows,” she says. “And please, note the time and date stamps on the images.”
I look at them and have to fight off a wave of nausea. I shake my head, trying to deny what I'm seeing. But the eight by ten color images sitting in front of me won't let me. Tears well in my eyes and I feel myself start to shake.
“I take it he didn't tell you she was in town?” Tiffany smirks.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“Would you believe me if I told you it was because I believed we women have to stand together against men who trash and oppress us?”
I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes away from the picture of Brady kissing the woman – Nicholas' mother.
“Frankly, you can believe what you want to believe about my motivations,” she says. “I honestly don't care. But, I feel that you had a right to know before you marry an unfaithful pig like Brady Keating.”
With a trembling hand, I close the folder. I just want to get out of there. I don't know where I'm going to go yet, but I just need to get away from Tiffany. I slide the folder back across the table.
“Keep it,” she says as she gets to her feet. “I've got copies.”
And with that, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving me to pick up the shattered pieces of my heart.
~ooo000ooo~
It's close to ten when I pull into the driveway at Brady's house. After leaving the cafe where Tiffany had dropped the bomb that had cratered my life, I drove around aimlessly. My head was spinning and a million different thoughts were racing through my mind.
I felt used. Betrayed. And most of all – angry.
Brady came out of the house as I get out of the car, a worried look on his face. “Where were you?” he asks. “I've tried calling. I've been worried sick.”
“I – I was driving,” I say. “I needed to clear my head.”
He looks at me closely and I can see that he's genuinely concerned about me. Or at least, he's putting on a good show of it – you know, selling the illusion.
“What's wrong?” he asks. “What happened, Amanda?”
“Did you fuck her?”
He looks like I slapped him across the face – something I'm sorely tempted to do.
“What are you talking about, darlin'?” he asks.
“Don't even give me that darlin' shit, Brady,” I snap. “Did. You. Fuck. Her?”
He shakes his head. “Honey, I have no idea what you're talking about. Who?”
Reaching into the car, I pull out the file Tiffany had given to me and hand it to him. He looks at me for a moment and then opens the folder, thumbing through the pictures. As he looks at them, an inscrutable expression crosses his face and he starts to laugh.
“That evil, conniving bitch,” he says. “I take it you got these from Tiffany?”
“Let me ask you again, one more time,” I say, my voice cold. “Did you fuck her?”
“Darlin', I did not fuck her,” he says.
He looks me square in the eye and I want to believe him. Want to believe that he's sincere and isn't lying to me. But my head is so twisted, I can't even think straight at the moment.
“Then why are you kissing her in that picture?” I ask.
He sighs. “Let's go inside and talk about this?”
I shake my head. “Answer my question, Brady,” I say. “Why did you kiss her?”
He looks at me for a long moment before speaking. “She kissed me, Amanda. Just out of nowhere,” he says. “If Tiffany had bothered to give you the pictures of what came after this, they'd show me pushing her off of me.”
“I want to believe you, Brady.”
“Then believe me, darlin',” he says. “I've never lied to you.”
“Then why didn't you bother telling me Nicholas' mother was in town?”
He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Because honestly, I didn't think it mattered,” he says. “I figured she was just going to blow town again. She's flaky, Amanda.”
I look at him and although he looks sincere, I just can't be sure. I don't trust my instincts at the moment. Not when it comes to Brady.
“Why was she here?” I ask. “What was she doing in town?”
“Apparently, to help Tiffany set me up,” he says. “I should have known her running into me after my meeting with Tiffany wasn't a coincidence. She asked me to have a drink with her because she wanted to talk about being a part of Nicholas' life. Wanted me to grant her visitation or something.”
“And you didn't think that was a big enough deal to even bother mentioning it to me?”
“No, because I told her it was never going to happen,” he says. “Ever.”
“I can't believe you didn't even mention it to me, Brady,” I say. “It's kind of a big deal.”
“It's really not,” he replies. “She walked out on us – end of story. I'm not going to let her worm her way back into my life, not to mention Nicholas' life, only to have her walk out again. It would destroy him. And I will not stand for that. I won't let that happen.”
I stare at him, look deeply into his eyes and try to see the truth of the matter. The problem is, I can't. I can't see anything other than my feelings of hurt and betrayal in that moment. I can't differentiate the truth from the lies.
Brady steps forward and reaches out to take my hand but I recoil and step away from him. He looks at me with an expression of pure pain upon his face.
“Amanda, I'm telling you, nothing happened,” he says. “I did not do what Tiffany is trying to make it look like I did. I love you, darlin'. I'm going to marry you.”
I shake my head. Marry me. Marriage is about the last thing I even want to think about right then and there. I can't marry somebody I don't trust. And in that moment, I don't know that I can trust him – and I hate Tiffany for making me question that.
“I don't know if I can marry you, Brady,” I say.
“What? Amanda, please –”
“And given what's happened between us – I can't go back to having this be a business arrangement either,” I say. “I – I don't know if I can do this.”
He shakes his head. “This is crazy, Amanda,” he says. “This is Tiffany trying to –”
I hold up my hand to silence him and he stops talking. I look into his eyes and I lay my hand on his cheek.
“I love you, Brady,” I say. “I didn't expect to, but I do. And right now, I just don't know what to think about any of this.”
“What are you saying, Amanda?”
“I – I'm saying I need some time,” I say. “And I need some space.”
“How much time do you need?”
“I don't know, Brady,” I scream. “I don't fucking know. Just – leave me alone for a while. Don't call me, don't text me – just let me have some space.”
Without waiting for him to respond, I jump back into the car and slam the door. Starting the engine, I pull out of his driveway, racing away down the street. Tears are rolling down my cheeks and my body is shaking as I head back for the only place I can find some peace in that moment – my old apartment.