AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 35
In Boston, we returned to chaos.
"Jesus," I said as we looked out from the tinted windows of the private airfield's reception area.
Behind us, the staff of the airfield watched curiously while they manned the nearly empty area. To their credit, they probably weren't totally unused to seeing paparazzi at an airfield that regularly serviced semi-famous clients. The agent had seemed more annoyed than anything else when she'd informed Brandon of their presence. They had at least tripled in numbers since we left.
Brandon pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. Still in his vacation clothes–– gray joggers, a red hoodie that hugged the contours of his arms, and his favorite frayed Red Sox hat––he looked a far sight from the CEO that most of Boston knew. His cheeks were still covered with dark blond shag I knew would be gone in the morning. Even after seven hours of flying and dealing with some serious jet lag, I wanted to devour him.
"Goddamn it," he muttered as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to check a message. He grimaced. "I should have requested security. I'm sorry about this, Red."
"Well, we knew this might be waiting for us."
I spoke casually, although the reality was actually kind of terrifying. The plane ride home had been spoiled with the news that Miranda had broken her story early. Apparently, Page Six had received a tip that we were in France together, so Miranda had decided to give an exclusive interview to People Magazine. It was a sympathetic puff piece in which she portrayed herself as the poor, blindsided wife who had only tried to make her marriage work. I, on the other hand, was a young, gold-digging homewrecker, but still anonymous, thank God.
"Maybe I should hang back," I said cautiously. "You don't need to be seen with me."
Brandon glanced at me with a frown. "Goddamn it," he said again. "No. We have nothing to hide, Skylar."
I clenched my teeth as I looked out at the mob behind the chain-linked fence. "If you say so."
I sighed and looked down at my clothes. After catching my reflection in the window, the idea of parading in front of paparazzi sounded really bad. Like Brandon, I was also dressed for comfort in black leggings, ballet flats, and a summer jacket. My hair was still in its braid over my shoulder, but looked a bit worse for wear, and I had foregone contacts in favor of my glasses.
"Should I at least change or something?"
Brandon snorted. "Don't give these leeches the satisfaction," he said.
He tugged me close for a brief kiss, ignoring the even more curious looks of the other few people in the small terminal.
"Stop that," he said as I reached up to pat at my hair. "You look fucking adorable. Don't change a hair on your head."
Brandon spotted David waving at us from the street.
"Come on, Red," he said as he pulled the bill of his cap low over his face. He glanced down at me as we walked toward the door. "You might want to put on your sunglasses instead."
As we walked out to the curb beyond the fence, Brandon worked to shield me from the wall of paparazzi, pushing back their eager bodies so that we could get down the sidewalk, although the clench of his jaw and the visible vein in his neck didn't go unnoticed, especially when one of them reached out to tug on my jacket.
"What's your name, miss? Are you Brandon's new girlfriend?" he asked.
"Hey! Step off, man!" Brandon pulled me more securely behind his large frame, and with a glare that should have turned the photographer to ash, tucked me into the backseat of the car, safely behind its tinted windows.
"Drive," Brandon commanded as the photographers crowded the car.
The Mercedes took off. Brandon looked at the smudge marks left on the windows with disgust.
"Fucking animals," he said, but his scowl morphed to sympathy when he got a look at me in the opposite corner.
I pulled off my sunglasses and took a shaky breath.
"Come here," Brandon said and pulled me into the crook of his shoulder
I sighed, letting my racing heart calm against his warmth, although I could hear his heart beating almost as fast. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend we weren't back in Boston. Brandon's hoodie still smelled like Marseille: of sunlight and grapevines and salty air. I inhaled deeply.
"I'm sorry," Brandon murmured, although he didn't loosen his grip around my shoulders.
I shook my head into his chest. "Not your fault."
"Well, it's my crazy ex that's doing it. It's partly my fault."
