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Chapter 26
Two weeks later, David was driving us to The Martin, one of the fanciest restaurants in Boston. I'd been there once before with Brandon––for years, it had been his restaurant of choice to wine and dine clients, and he'd cultivated loyalty from its staff that all but ensured discretion.
We were there to celebrate our engagement, which had just been announced to the press a few days before. Although I'd just wanted a small family party––if anything at all––Cory and Hope had both insisted it would be the perfect way to continue rolling out my rebranded personality to the public. So, a big fancy affair it was, complete with a hundred of Brandon's closest friends who also happened to be campaign donors.
I wiped my hands, which were damp and clammy, with a handkerchief and used it to blot my carefully made up face.
"How do I look?" I asked for what must have been the tenth time.
Brandon, who was looking indecently good in a black suit and robin's-egg-blue shirt that matched his eyes, looked over the sleek black cocktail dress that fit me like a glove. He growled like a cat, making me giggle.
"Good enough that I should probably avoid looking directly at you when we're talking to donors," he said with a cocky half-smile. "You don't need to be nervous, Red. It's a party for us. And I'm the one asking for their money anyway, not you."
I reached back to touch the simple ponytail that Mary, the stylist who had done me up for Brandon's announcement speech and who had since become a standard part of his entourage, had put together. My look was understated, but it was the first time I'd been styled for an event like this and felt like myself.
From where he’d sat in the living room with the rest of Brandon's core team, Cory had taken one look at me when I'd come out of the bedroom and balked.
"She can't wear black," he'd protested. "It's too boudoir! Mary, we're tryin' to get away from the dirty mistress thing, not shove it in their faces!"
"Cory!" Brandon had shouted from the bedroom, where he was still getting dressed.
Jane, who had flown in for the party and was enjoying an early glass of wine with Hope and Omar, had shaken her head with disgust and muttered something to herself about "this guy." Mary, who had come out to retrieve a few more things to tend to Brandon, had just stared Cory down until he looked away, although his pinched expression remained.
"Get over it," she'd said. "She's Carolyn Bessette, not Jackie Onassis."
"Exactly!" crowed Jane from her spot at the bar. Brandon had surprised me by flying her in for the weekend, sensing I might need some moral support at this thing.
"Ohhhh," Hope had said approvingly from her spot next to Jane. "Yeah, I definitely see that. Good eye, Mary. "
Cory had opened and shut his mouth in a firm line, but followed directions. Strangely enough, Mary seemed to be the only person in Brandon's entourage he didn't argue with. As much, anyway.
As the Mercedes was stopped in traffic a few blocks away from the restaurant, I was shocked when I looked over and saw Brandon pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He had rolled down his window a bit and was in the process of bringing the lighter to the end of the cigarette when I finally found my voice.
"What the hell are those?"
He pulled the lighter away, looking at the cigarette and the lighter as if they had appeared in his hands by mistake. "What? You don't ever like a cigarette when you're nervous?"
I frowned. "No. And you don't either."
Brandon just quirked a brow. "Maybe I do, and you just don't know it, Red. I have to keep some mystery in our relationship."
I scowled, then glanced up as he was starting to light it again.
"Hey!" I said, once again interrupting his progress. "You're still going to smoke it?"
Brandon turned in surprise, the unlit cigarette still hanging from his lips. I had to admit, it did make him look sexy, in a cartoonish sort of way.
"Don't," I tried. "Please. Look, I'm not judging if you need something to cope with all the stress you're under...but don't do that. Don't shove carcinogenic shit into your body. And besides...well..."
Brandon quirked an eyebrow with a bit of amusement. "Besides what?"
I blushed. "I like kissing you. Like, a lot, as you know. But I won't anymore if you start tasting like an ashtray."
All traces of amusement were immediately wiped from Brandon's face. He looked down at the pack and lighter in his hands, then back at me. "Seriously?"
I nodded. "Seriously. I've been with smokers. My dad's a smoker. It's gross."
Brandon blinked for a second. Then, like lightning, he threw the cigarettes and lighter out the window.
