13. Butterfly

What I’d just done and said was completely unfair. I didn’t doubt my desire for Brand was equal to his for me. I wasn’t ready to give in on the friendship agreement quite yet, though. It had only been two days.

I’d been attracted to, crazy about, in lust with Brand Ripa since the day I met him eleven years ago. A lot of life had happened in that span of time for both of us. While part of me wanted to say “fuck it” and crawl in bed with him tonight, the smarter part of me knew the ramifications of a relationship between us not working out.

I’d see him. Probably for the rest of my life. At least once a year, most likely. I could hardly ask Tara to pick between her newfound and much-adored brother and one of her best friends. It would be an impossible choice.

What if he found someone else to spend his life with? I’d be subjected to seeing my unrequited love on display, ripping my heart to shreds whenever we were in the same place at the same time.

I’d say our families were close, but that was mostly due to Kade and Merrigan, who seemed friendly with my mom and dad—albeit separately since they hadn’t been together since I was a toddler.

Brand worked for them—it was a condition of his parole—as did Aine’s husband. Ava’s husband was Kade’s business partner, and in addition to being Kade’s daughter’s husband, Mercer was also a founding partner of their firm. Tara’s husband had worked for them full-time at one point, but now only did contract work.

That left me. Other than my four friends, I had no connection to the Butlers.

Again, I might be invited to gatherings. Me, who would remain unmarried and childless, in a sea of blissfully wed couples with gorgeous offspring. Brand and his future wife included.

I couldn’t risk it. I had to know without any doubt that he truly meant it when I’d asked what he saw as the outcome of a relationship between us and he responded, “Simple. You. Me. Together. Forever.”

If only I could trust in that. Stake my life on it.

I hadn’t personally witnessed many marriages that lasted more than a few years. Sure, those of my four closest friends might last forever, but none of them had even reached the five-year mark. Among our collective parents, no one was on their first marriage, not even Kade. He’d divorced Quinn’s mother years ago.

I could look to my grandparents’ relationships, but I hadn’t had enough time with any of them to be able to ask the questions an adult woman would. Like, how they’d managed it in a world where so few did.

“I would say if you toss the linguine and sauce much longer, it might turn to mush,” said Tara, standing beside me.

“Right. Sorry. Lost in thought.”

“Obviously, and give that to me.”

I handed her the bowl and watched as she slid it into the warmer, then put the garlic bread I’d completely forgotten about in the oven.

“Ten minutes, and dinner will be served,” she said in a raised voice. “Knox, be a darling and open some more wine, would you?”

She froze, and her eyes met mine. “Oh my God. I’m my mother.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You are not your mother. The words you spoke just sounded like her.”

She opened the drawer and pulled out a wooden spoon with a long handle. “If I do it again, smack me with this. Hard.”

I took it from her grasp and put it back in the drawer.

“So, what’s up with you and Brand?” she asked.

“It’s complicated.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “No shit. Brand is complicated, and you’re, well, intricately perplexing.”

“Excellent vocab, Tara, and thanks a bunch.”

“As if any of us are any different.” She motioned to Quinn, Ava, and Aine, who were talking amongst themselves. “So, back to Brand.”

“He’s staying here.”

She raised a brow.

“On the fifth floor.”

“Ew. Why?”

“Promise you won’t say ew again.”

“I’ll try not to.”

I took a deep breath. “We, uh, had sex while we were in California.”

She didn’t react.

“He didn’t tell you, did he?”

Tara opened the oven door. “This will cook faster if we broil it. But then, it will probably burn.” She closed the door. “Listen. It’s obvious to everyone, even Ava’s husband—who I sometimes wonder if he’s really a spy—that you and Brand are crazy about each other. I’d go so far as to suggest you’re in love. That you had sex doesn’t surprise me. That he’s staying on the fifth floor does.”

The timer went off on the bread. “We’ll have to continue this conversation another time.” I carried the bowl of pasta to the table and asked everyone to be seated.

I’d intended to wait until every guest found a spot, but when Brand pulled out a chair for me, it would’ve been rude to not accept it.

Conversation flowed easily throughout the meal. The only person who needed to be coaxed into participating was the guest of honor. While he wasn’t the least bit surly, he was reserved. He smiled easily and complimented the “perfectly prepared entrée.” Our arms occasionally touched, but otherwise, he kept his hands to himself.

A couple of times, I caught him looking at the envelope his father had handed to him earlier but suggested he open in private. That, along with my mixed messages, must have had him perplexed—intricately so, as Tara had said. I snickered, remembering her words.

“What’s funny?” Brand leaned over and asked.

“Something your sister said.”

“She’s humorous, that one.”

I laughed again when he rolled his eyes.

“I’m curious,” he added.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Yes, later. We have much to talk about later.” He shifted in his chair, facing me with his back to the rest of those seated at the table, and leaned closer so his mouth was near my ear. “Is it terrible of me to be anxious for them all to leave?”

Before I could respond, he faced the table once again and asked Aine, who was seated on the other side of him, to pass the garlic bread.

My friends insistedon helping clean up at the conclusion of our meal to give me time to put the finishing touches on dessert—a Swiss meringue celebration cake. I hadn’t made it myself; there wasn’t time, but the baker, who delivered it personally, made sure I knew the correct placement of the sprinkles and made me promise not to spoil it with more than the one thin sparkler he left with me.

“Can someone please dim the lights?” I asked once the candle was shooting sparks in every direction. I held the cake out in front of me and carried it to the counter where Brand stood.

Rather than the obligatory birthday song, we all wished him many happy returns and watched as he attempted to blow out the candle I wasn’t certain could go out without a fire extinguisher.

“I hope you made a wish,” said Tara after he was successful.

Brand raised his head and looked into my eyes. “It’s the same one I’ve wished for every year since I was eighteen.”

“I thought you didn’t celebrate birthdays,” I said softly.

“I still made a wish.” Our hands were resting close enough on the counter for him to brush mine with his little finger. “What about you, Butterfly? What do you wish for?”

“If you tell someone, it won’t come true.”

He leaned closer so our arms touched. “You can tell me. I’m the one with the power to grant it.”

He was certainly right about that, but would he?

Fearing Brand’smother and father might linger after the others left, I suggested we all walk out together. Brand retrieved his mother’s coat, and I handed Richard’s to him.

“We should talk tomorrow once you’ve had the chance to open your gift,” I heard Richard say before they shook hands and said good night after we’d waved the others off.

“Bloody hell,” I heard him mutter when we made our way back inside, no doubt in reference to his father’s comment.

My tribe had made sure everything was spotless before they left, leaving me without an excuse to avoid the inevitable conversation Brand and I needed to have.

“Would you like a glass of port?” I asked when he settled on the sofa in front of the fire.

“Please. Perhaps you should bring the entire bottle.”

I picked up the two glasses I’d set aside earlier, grabbed the wine, and joined him on the sofa.

“Ah, tawny, my favorite. But then, you knew that, didn’t you?”

I nodded once and poured us each a drink. When I relaxed against the cushions after handing him one, I noticed he held his father’s envelope in his other hand.

“I think it best to get this out of the way,” he muttered, taking a healthy swig before setting the glass on the table. He leaned back like I had and put his arm around my shoulders.

“Are you going to open that?” I asked, motioning to the envelope he still held.

“Yes, but…”

“But what, Brand?”

“Touching you, feeling you next to me, soothes me. I need that right now. I pray I’m not making you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not.”

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “We need to discuss what happened earlier, but not just yet.”

I rested my hand on his leg. “You don’t have to do this tonight.”

He straightened his neck. “If I wait, it’s unlikely I’ll get any sleep.” He sighed, took his arm from around me, and sliced open the envelope with his finger.

“Do you want me to give you privacy?”

He turned to look at me. “God, no.”

I shifted closer so my body pressed against his. Something told me he needed me to soothe him with my touch now more than ever.

“Do you know what’s in it?” I asked when he still hadn’t removed the contents.

“Not precisely.”

“But you suspect what it is?”

“It’s something Tara warned me about long enough ago that she probably doesn’t recall doing so.”

“God, Brand, it sounds scary.”

“I fear you’re right in your assessment.”