The doorbell rings, no doubt with our food. I grab my new black Versace trench coat, which I adore, hurry back to the bathroom, and spray myself with the Chanel No. 5 on the counter before heading downstairs. Once I’m in the foyer, I hang my coat and purse on the rack, and walk through the archway to find Shane standing at the island facing me, talking on the phone with his head bent. As if he senses my entry, he looks up, his eyes traveling my body and warming with appreciation.
“I’ll have the check cut by noon,” he says, motioning me forward. I walk toward him, and he rounds the counter to meet me. “I’ll call you back,” he says to his caller, ending the conversation and setting his phone on the counter.
His hands settle at my waist. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. Do you like it?”
“I love it, Shane. Thank you. I feel spoiled.”
“Stop saying ‘thank you.’ It’s not a gift. It’s our life and it’s not about being spoiled.” He doesn’t give me time to argue that point. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d be. I put the food in the oven to keep it warm. You ready to eat?”
“Very,” I confirm, and together we sit at the island, talking about the food and the snowstorm that’s coming down outside, and we even plan a weekend movie escape. Everything is great, including our food. It’s a good morning, a prelude to what feels like many to follow. But even so, there are random shadows in Shane’s eyes. A glimpse of what the man who punched that mirror faces this morning.
We head to the door, and Shane pulls on a long gray trench coat before helping me with mine, his hands lingering on my lapels, and that feeling that he is battling some internal war hits me again. “You’re very stressed,” I say, cupping his cheek.
He covers my hand with his and pulls it between us. “Why do you say that?”
“I see it in your eyes.”
“Impossible. I could beat a world champion poker player with my courtroom face.”
“I’m not a world champion poker player and this isn’t a courtroom, Shane. It’s me and you, and I’m the woman in your bed.”
“My mother did warn me about the woman in my bed.”
“She warned you about me?”
“She warned me in general.” He smiles. “And I’m teasing you. Apparently, my delivery is lacking today. You’re right. I’m on edge.”
“It’s Brody, right?” I ask, relieved that he’s willing to talk to me. “Did you know him well?”
“I didn’t know him well, but I know that he had the world in his palm, and based on the press he’s gotten in the last few days, it seems he ended up on the wrong path. Like my brother has gone down the wrong path.”
“And you’ve tried to right him,” I say, understanding completely. “Like I did my brother, but you see where that ended. I think it’s right that I tried to save him, just as it is that you’ve tried to save Derek, but don’t hold on too long like I did.”
“I’m done holding on to Derek.” There is a finality to his voice and a hardness in his eyes that delivers relief and sadness, as I know what it’s like to be betrayed by a brother.
“Acceptance,” I say, remembering what he’d told me about knowing versus accepting. “That’s where you’re at.”
“Yes. That’s where I’m at.” He strokes hair from my eyes, and seeming to guess where my mind is headed, he promises, “You’ll get there too, and believe it or not, it’s a relief.”
“Is it?”
“I didn’t say you’d celebrate, just that you’ll find some peace when you get to this place.” He motions to the door. “Ready?”
I nod, and we head to the door, and then onward to the elevator, where we ride in silence, his thoughts a heavy weight between us, but so are mine with thoughts of my brother. It’s kind of surreal to realize that the idea of talking to my brother again comes with dread. I don’t feel like he’s my blood. Now, he feels more like the enemy.
I blink and we’ve exited to the garage, and Shane breaks the silence. “Look out for alligators.”
I laugh, and he drapes his arm over my shoulder. The memory of yesterday and the black Escalade pops into my mind, and I open my mouth to ask about it, but think better. He’s letting go of a brother, and dealing with the upcoming loss of his father, two things I understand more than many would. He said he’d tell me and I have to give him room to do so on his terms. I have to let go of my past to have a future here, and judge Shane by Shane. I have to trust him or we are nothing before we are ever something.
* * *
Shane parks the Bentley in the private section of the office building garage and kills the engine, rounding the car to help me out, then popping the trunk. “Why don’t you leave your coat down here with mine?” he offers, shrugging out of his and sticking it inside.
I let him help me remove it, and he shuts both inside, offering me the key to the car. “This is the extra for you to keep.”
“I’m not going to just drive the Bentley, Shane.”
“Yes, you are,” he says, firmly.
“What if you need it?”
“I have another Bentley in New York that I’m going to have shipped to us. One I bought myself so believe you me, I’d rather drive it.”
“Your father gave you this one.”
“And I hate it.”