Page 25 of Brant
“What?”
“Honey…” Her friend waved a hand in dismissal. “You’re living with the guy, a very gorgeous guy, I might add, one who you said yourself displayed an acute feeling of jealousy, so much so that he dragged you from that ballroom and almost pulverized the guy who was touching you inappropriately. It shows that he feels something for you.”
“And the next morning, he wrote me a very stiff, apologetic note and has not called since.”
“So, call him.”
“And say what?”
“That you’re checking on him. That the apartment is on fire, that you’re sick or horny and…”
“What?” Indigo held up a hand, a laugh escaping her. “I would never say that.”
“But you are horny. Right?” her friend prodded with a grin.
“That might be the case, but I’m not desperate. Oh, who am I kidding?” she asked in despair. “I’m desperately afraid that he’s with someone else. I was visiting my brother yesterday, and he asked when he’s going to meet the man responsible for him being in that fancy rehab, and I couldn’t tell him that I’m ashamed. Caleb is a recovering drug addict, and Brant O’Keefe is from a very old and very wealthy family. There was an interruption before I could say anything to him, and I was so grateful.” She sighed sadly. “I love my brother, and he’s the only family I have left, but I would not want Brant meeting him. God, that sounds awful.”
“Stop being so hard on yourself,” Juliet said firmly. “Your husband knew of your circumstances before he married you. And yes, Caleb did some pretty awful things, but he was under the influence. Nobody is perfect, honey. I’m pretty sure Brant O’Keefe did some pretty awful things himself. He’s not a monk. His reputation…” Her voice petered off as she realized what she had been about to say. “Anyway, he’s not perfect,” she amended lamely.
“You’re right,” Indigo responded quietly. “And that’s why I know without a doubt that he would not be interested in me. I know about his reputation with women. I’ve seen the photos and read what the reporters said about him.” She shook her head. “I would be deluding myself if I think he has changed his ways and is suddenly interested in a relationship with me. It’s best if I try and keep things easy and normal between us so that when the time comes for the marriage to be annulled, it would be less painful. A year is not too long, and afterwards, I will be able to go back to my old life.”
Her friend’s steady gaze had her lowering hers to the glass of beer that had now become flat.
“If you believe that, then you’re not only an idiot, but you’re also deluding yourself, and also lying to both of us. The Indigo I know is always a straight shooter.”
*****
The Indigo I know is always a straight shooter.
The words reverberated inside her head until she swore she was going crazy. She had left the bar and come to the apartment, the very silent and quiet apartment, and was now seated around the immaculate counter, eating her solitary meal of roast chicken and wild rice with some vegetables on the side. She had triedtelling Mrs. Holt that she did not have to come in for the week since it would be only her at home, but the woman had stared at her as if she was taking away her livelihood.
“I have work to do.”
“I’m just saying that since Mr. Brant is gone for the week, there’s no need for you to be here.”
“Mr. Brant did not say that I should not come, and I have work to do,” the woman had insisted stubbornly.
Indigo had given up. It occurred to her belatedly that the housekeeper did not think she should be taking orders from Mr. Brant’s fake wife. She was not an idiot and had the run of the house. Because she did, she would notice that the couple did not share a room. So, the housekeeper had presented herself and cooked the meal as usual, a meal Indigo was not taking full advantage of.
She was listless and depressed. The conversation with Juliet had stirred up some troubling issues. She was married, but in name only. She was in love with a man who was as unattainable as the stars.
And she would have to stay for the year. That was the deal: twelve months, during which time they would quietly annul the marriage and go their separate ways. At first, she had not thought about it. The arrangement had seemed suitable, and she had been desperate at the time. Now that she was not faced with bankruptcy and sure homelessness, she had time to think about her life. She wanted children, which was another problem as well. She had been told by her gynecologist that there was a distinct possibility that with her particular problem, she might not be able to conceive.
That was one of the reasons it had not bothered her too much that she wasn’t in a relationship. But now she had fallen in love, she could not help but have hopes and dare to dream, and to despair. Because even if by some impossibly slim chance, Brant was into her, and if by some stroke of luck, he wanted to start something with her, and make the marriage into a real one, he would want an heir, and she might not be able to give him one.
Pushing away the plate, she reached for the glass of wine. But that was beside the point. Brant O’Keefe would never be interested in her, not by a long shot, and it was time she put that nonsense out of her head before she went slowly mad. Finishing the wine, she got rid of the half-eaten meal and tidied the kitchen.
*****
The meeting was interminably long. Or perhaps it was the fact that his attention span was at an all-time low. He could not seem to concentrate on what his associate was saying. The conference room of the elegant Hotel de Russie was the location of the meeting.
He had left the club to fly straight here and would be spending three days, during which he hoped to negotiate a very lucrative deal with a major import and export company.
His Italian was fluent, and so was his French, which made it easy for him to negotiate without the aid of an interpreter.
But for the life of him, he could not concentrate. His suite of rooms had a stunning view of the gardens and Piazza del Popolo, which usually made an impression on him, but not this time. He found himself thinking that this was somewhere Indigo would have loved to visit. His coming here had not made him forget her.
In fact, he was sorely missing her. What he had hoped to accomplish had been hopelessly dashed. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He damn well could not stop picturing her in that dress or forget the way she felt in his arms when they were dancing. Or even forget, damn her, how she had allowed that bastard to have his hands all over her. It made him so crazy and violently jealous.
