Page 20 of Conflagration
HE’S KISSING me again like he means it this time, and I don’t know what to feel. What to think. Or even how to act at this point. When he pulls away, his hand palms my cheek, his eyes boring into mine, and I want to know if this is real or fake. Because it sure as hell feels real. And if it’s not, then I need to jump ship, because if I stay in this limbo, I’m going to drown and I don’t think Branson will be there to save me this time. No, not when he’s the one pulling me underwater.
When I entered his room this morning, I had a feeling that the goodbyes were inevitable. I was being discharged and had no reason to stick around Nashville. No reason, that is, other than him. For some reason, I’d been okay with hospital delaying my release. Then, when Kim told me that it was time for me to hit the road, I felt a weird twinge of disappointment. Because even though Branson’s been playing hot and cold for the last week, I’ve been getting used to being around him. To seeing his family. And even in the quiet moments when we’ve been alone, I’ve started to enjoy, and to expect, his company. So the thought of saying goodbye hurt worse than I had imagined it would.
But all thoughts of goodbye went out the window when the doctor came in. I never, in a million years, thought anyone had expectations of us living together, especially since they know now that I live in Atlanta, but the minute Branson said that I’d be staying with him, I knew I couldn’t back out. I owed him at least that much, and then, when his bitch of an ex-wife showed up, I knew I couldn’t leave. So I agreed, and then he pulled me in for the hottest kiss of my life.
Here I am now, reeling from the feel of his lips on mine yet again.
His kiss is slow and sweet, and I have to fist my hands in the bed sheets to keep myself from running my hands through his hair as I fight the urge to deepen the kiss. A throat clears behind us, and Branson grins against my lips before giving me one last peck and pulling away. I’m about to turn to face his parents when he catches my chin with his hand.
“You were right, you know?” he tells me, laughing at my puzzled expression. “I didn’t know how to pick them. And that’s not an insult to you, since you’re the one who picked me.” His hand comes down to capture mine, where he rubs a thumb over my engagement ring.
I grin down at him. “If it makes you feel any better, my taste was pretty damn lacking, too. I think that’s changing. And as far as frigid? She couldn’t be further from the truth,” I tease, giving him a saucy wink.
When he groans and leans back against the bed, a feeling of satisfaction washes over me as he tries to discreetly adjust himself.
Turning to look at his parents, I can see that his mom’s beaming from ear to ear and his dad looks uncomfortable. Not that I blame him. After having just met hischarmingex-daughter-in-law, I can imagine that he’s not used to seeing Branson performing any displays of affection in public. Although, if the way his other two sons and their significant others act is any indication, I’m not sure why his cheeks are pink from witnessing that kiss. Either way, it’s endearing, and I’m quickly beginning to fall for this family.
“Okay, you two. You heard the doctor. As long as Ari’s okay with moving in, you can both go home,” Amelia gushes, clearly in love with the idea of Branson and me playing house. “We’re just going to head over to the house and get it ready. I’ll bring you a change of clothes, too, honey,” she tells Branson, who smiles in appreciation.
His dad slips an arm around Amelia’s shoulders, and they leave us alone, the room descending into silence. When I look back at Branson, he’s watching me quizzically.
“What?” I ask, not sure what he’s thinking. And hoping like hell he’s not regretting the situation I’ve put us in.
“My family likes you,” he says, his expression turning thoughtful.
“Well, I did just meet your ex. I think your family would like pretty much anyone after her,” I tease.
He gives me a, “Touché,” and I grin at him.
“For what it’s worth, I like them, too. They’re not what I expected at all. They feel like…well, family,” I admit, and I realize it’s true.
This past week, I’ve missed Lyssa. But as for my parents? I haven’t really given them a single thought. I should feel guilty, but strangely, I don’t. Suddenly, I wonder how differently my life may have turned out if I’d grown up in a warm, loving household instead of a cold atmosphere that cared more about keeping up with the Joneses—or, in my family’s case, the Bridenbaughs—than actually raising your children.
“What about you, Ariana? I know why you left Atlanta, but what about your family? Why hasn’t there been anyone here to visit you?” he asks as he takes my hand, his thumb running along the length of mine.
I’ve managed to go the entire week dodging questions about my family, but it looks like my luck’s finally run out. “No one knows I’m here. Well, no one except for my sister, Alyssa, and I asked her not to say anything. I’m not close with my parents. If they knew I was here, they’d be trying to talk me into going back to Atlanta and marrying Benjamin as soon as possible.”
He frowns and continues to run his thumb along mine. The move is oddly comforting, and the fact that he seems to care warms my heart. “They’d have to get through me first,” he growls.
Shaking my head, I laugh. “I’m sure you could take them, babe. My parents are the complete opposites of yours, and I’ve spent my entire life trying to please them. I went to Auburn, as expected, just like my father. Majored in accounting, as requested, then went to work for my father as soon as I graduated. And then I accepted a blind date—and, later on, a proposal—from the man my father thought was best for me for my future. I’ve always done what was expected of me, up until the night of the accident—the night of my rehearsal dinner.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m pretty damn glad you came to your senses,” he tells me as he gives me a little tap on the tip of my nose. “Even if I did end up in the hospital because of it.”
“I’d say I’m sorry, but that’d be a lie. Well, I’m sorry you got hurt, of course,” I explain. “Just not sorry about the rest of it.”
“I get it. And I’m not sorry either.”
“This past week, I’ve had a lot of time to think. Looking back, I think the reason I always went along with what they wanted because all I wanted was their acceptance. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I have you to thank for my coming to my senses. Or at least for planting the seed in my mind. If I hadn’t met you that night last winter, things may have turned out so differently.”
Branson rests his head back against the pillow and looks up at the ceiling, his eyes searching for something I don’t think he’s going to find. When he looks back at me, his gaze is questioning.
“Are you ever going to fill in the blanks from that night?” He pauses then lets out a deep sigh. “When I woke up the next morning, I almost believed that I’d dreamt you up. I couldn’t picture your face or hear your voice. And then, when I rolled over onto the pillow you’d slept on, I smelled the distinct scent of coconut.”
“My shampoo,” I whisper, and he nods.
“That smell—that’s when I knew you were real,” he continues.
Then his hand slips out of mine and he leans over to the side table to grab his wallet. I watch as he opens it and pulls out a small, folded piece of paper. My eyes widen when he hands it to me and I realize what it is.
