Until I'm Yours (25 page)

“Come on down to the studio.” Kerris washes her hands, drying them on a towel draped over the oven handle. “I’ll show you the pieces I’ve been working on.”

The jewelry is as delicate and unique as its creator. Several pieces lay on the windowsill, drying and in various stages of completion.

“I’d buy this right now.” I touch a bangle studded with rough stones. “I love all of these, Kerris. You’re really talented.”

“Coming from you, that means a lot.” A blush steals over Kerris’s high cheekbones. “Thank you.”

“I mean it. I’m pretty stingy with compliments.” I grin to remove any possible sting from my comment. “So how would you like to be a Haven artisan?”

“Your assistant gave me a little of an overview.” Kerris sits down on her workbench, gesturing for me to do the same. “But tell me more.”

I unpack the Haven vision for Kerris the way I did for Trevor, including the charitable efforts and future plans to expand into clothing, household items, and furniture.

“That’s amazing, Sofie.” New respect creeps into Kerris’s eyes. “I kind of always thought you were just a pretty face.”

“Oh, I am a pretty face.” I tap my finger to my temple. “I’m just also very smart. I keep that a secret because if girls knew I had that going for me, too, I’d have even fewer friends.”

Kerris laughs, shaking her head.

“That’s sadly true in a lot of ways,” she says. “Okay, I’m in. What’s the next step?”

“You’re in?” I clap my hands, a wide grin taking over. “That’s great. I’m thinking we call your line K. Bennett for Haven. Whaddaya think?”

“I love that.” Excitement lights Kerris’s face and eyes. “Let’s do it.”

We talk through a few details, both sketching ideas on a pad on her worktable. My phone dings with a text. I grimace when I read the message.

“Everything okay?” Kerris returns a few of the pieces back to the windowsill.

“My guard dog was just letting me know he’s back.” I slip the phone into my purse. “He dropped Stil off at the office and is outside when I’m ready. Apparently a few reporters somehow got wind of the fact that I’m here and are outside. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t even worry about it. Has it been awful?” Kerris asks. “I mean, I know some of his supporters have been especially…”

“Vicious?” I finish for her. “Yeah, they have, but no one has actually threatened me or walked up to me saying awful things. Mostly online. There’s been a lot of support, too. The security is just a precaution.”

“I heard you have one person’s support you can absolutely count on.” A teasing smile plays at the corners of Kerris’s mouth. “Trevor Bishop.”

“Does Walsh tell you
everything
?” I complain, mock exasperation in my voice.

“Pretty much.” She laughs, walking toward the door, allowing me to leave ahead of her before turning off the light.

Something occurs to me. I’ve never thought there was much I could learn from a girl like Kerris. We’re nothing alike. Our priorities live on different planets, but she makes it work with a man from a completely different background, who grew up driven by completely different things. They figured it out and have one of the happiest relationships I’ve seen.

“Let me ask you something,” I say as we climb the stairs to the kitchen on the main level.

“Ask away.” She straddles the bench at the farmhouse table, facing me. “And take a load off.”

I sit, resting my elbows on the table before turning my head to look at her squarely.

“You mentioned Trevor Bishop.” I pass my hand over my hair, feeling a little self-conscious. “We are…seeing each other, like you said, even though we’re keeping it kind of quiet. We’re just so different. The press is even calling us the Sinner and the Saint.”

“Oh, gosh. Why can’t people be as interested in their own lives as they are in everyone else’s?”

“Well said and preaching to the choir.” I laugh a little. “How do you and Walsh make it work? I mean being so different.”

“I let our differences keep us apart for a long time, as I’m sure you remember.”

She gives me a knowing look, probably because I exploited those differences to keep them apart in any small ways I could, too.

“I married Cam for all the wrong reasons,” she continues. “We had such similar backgrounds, grew up with the same struggles, even survived similar traumas, but in the end, none of that kept us together.”

“So what
does
make it work?”

“This will sound like an oversimplified answer.” She leans forward, her eyes serious. “But it’s love. I love Walsh more than I knew I could love anything, and I’m absolutely confident he feels the same way about me.”

She laughs, dipping and shaking her head, dark hair caressing her shoulder.

“Me, the girl who comes from nothing and no one, who doesn’t even know her parents, ended up with a guy who comes from everything and a family that everyone knows.”

“It didn’t make sense to me either,” I tease.

“I still pinch myself sometimes, that this is my life.” She waves her hand around the don’t-be-fooled-by-the-quaint expensively outfitted kitchen. “Not all this. These are trappings. This isn’t my life. My life is that man who works harder than anyone I’ve ever met, but tries to make it home in time to tuck in our girls. He doesn’t always make it, but he wants to. He wants this life with me.”

“But how does it
work
?”

“Because we want it to.” She twists her wedding band and ring. “Because it
has
to. He’s more important to me than I am to me, and I’m more important to him than he is to himself. We find ways to put each other first and to—even though we’re so different—value the things that matter to the other. To make sure the other person is positioned to achieve what matters to them. Whether that’s me creating a home for our family so Walsh can focus intensely on Bennett Enterprises, or him supporting my ventures and loving me unconditionally, making sure I’m fulfilled, too.”

Her sweet mouth takes on a hard curve.

“I know what it’s like being in a bad marriage with someone who makes perfect sense.” She shakes her head. “Give me the challenges of making it work with someone who makes absolutely no sense, but I can’t live without. It’s that desperation that makes you fight for it because you realize you have no choice. The alternative is to be without Walsh, and I’ve done that. I found out that I can’t do it. Or at least I never
want
to again. It’s miserable, and you ache like half of you is missing. And it
is
missing because even though on the surface we’re vastly different, he has my heart.”

I’m not sure what to say. The concept of loving someone so much that I put them first is almost completely foreign to me. It’s not the operating system I saw in my parents’ marriage, or in any of the Upper East Side unions I saw growing up.

A plaintive cry comes across the monitor on the countertop. Kerris walks over and grabs it, turning the volume down.

“That’s Brooklin,” Kerris says. “And Harlim’ll be next.”

Sure enough another cry comes more faintly over the monitor she’s holding.

“Productivity is about to go down considerably.” Kerris smiles. “You’re welcome to stay for a while, though.”

“No, I’m sure you’re busy.” I stand and we head toward the foyer.

“Actually, it was nice talking to another adult.” Kerris pulls my coat from the coat tree in the corner. “With Mama Jess and Meredith still in Rivermont, and the girls consuming so much of my time, it’s been hard to connect here in the city.”

Mama Jess is like the mother Kerris never had, and Meredith is her best friend and co-owner of Déjà Vu, Kerris’s shop in North Carolina. I can imagine the transition into New York society without them has been challenging. I take my coat, meeting Kerris’s cautious glance with caution of my own.

“Maybe we could…” Kerris looks to the floor, then back up at me as the two cries, nearly indistinguishable from each other, reach us from upstairs.

When I don’t respond, but just stare at her blankly for a few seconds, she walks me to the door, a polite smile in place of the openness I’ve seen from her over the last hour. I would have bet my favorite pair of Loubs that we’d never be in this place, but I think we are. I think we’re going to be friends one day. I turn from the open door to face Kerris briefly, giving her a small smile.

“Hey, Kerris?”

She looks at me with raised eyebrows, half of her attention already up the stairs and in the nursery.

“Maybe we could.”

Our eyes hold for an extra second before she nods, smiles, and closes the door.

J
ohannesburg is one of my favorite cites in the world. It’s gorgeous and cosmopolitan and sophisticated, but those aren’t the qualities that draw me to South Africa’s crown jewel. The dark, ugly shadow of apartheid could have defined this country forever. By all rights, it should have, but the courage and endurance of one unifying figure made something that seemed impossible a reality in a nation divided by hate and violence and prejudice—
forgiveness
. Of course it wasn’t just Nelson Mandela who abolished apartheid, but every revolution needs a hero, and he was theirs. He led this nation in a revolution of healing, showing the world that we don’t have to be defined by our mistakes. We can be redeemed. We can do better.

As much as I love this city, I want to be done with our business so I can get back to New York. Back to Sofie. I can’t help but think of the scandals of her past Kyle’s team has resurrected. She may not be leading a revolution, but what she is doing takes tremendous courage. She’s risking a lot; taking hard blows to see if her hurt has the possibility to help. Wondering if her past mistakes make her irredeemable. I know they don’t, and I’m so damn proud of her.

I sip from the glass at my elbow, savoring the Vergelegen V, one of my favorite wines from the famous Cape Town vineyard. I raise the glass in a toast to Henri. She always makes sure I have it when we’re here.

“Is it good?” She sips her merlot, eyeing me expectantly.

“Always.” I flake off some of the blackened panga, a South African fish seasoned with turmeric, cumin, and nutmeg, before turning my attention to the man joining Henri, Harold, and me for dinner. “And your steak, Thurston? Good?”

“Very.” He speaks between chews. “How’d you think the meetings went today?”

I take my time answering, savoring every spicy bite.

“Satisfactory.” I set my fork on the plate, giving this exchange my full attention. “I’ll be interested to see how some of the Collective members who have been around for a while respond to the transparency measures I outlined.”

Thurston pauses, fork hovering between his plate and his mouth.

“Maybe you don’t know, but I
am
one of the original members of the Collective, Trevor.”

“I actually did know that, Thurston.” I give him stare for stare until he finally grins, and I grin back.

“I see.” Thurston resumes eating, eyes sharp and set on my face. “You’re that rare man who doesn’t deal in bullshit, Bishop.”

“I’m not sure that I’m rare,” I say. “But you’re right that I don’t have much tolerance for bullshit, so tell me how you think the transparency measures will fare when we vote tomorrow.”

Harold and Henri exchange nervous glances, but my eyes never leave Thurston’s face.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the casual dinner I thought it would be?” Thurston asks.

“No harm in making conversation over a delicious meal.” I lean forward. “Thurston, you know as well as I do that the Collective can’t afford another scandal if we’re to maintain our corporate and philanthropic integrity. Members disclosing possible conflicts of interest and voluntarily submitting tax records, which are public anyway, are just a few ways we can protect the organization against corruption and self-interest, the very things we’re fighting with most of these countries’ leaders.”

“And will you be disclosing information about your personal life, Trevor?” Thurston’s tone is casual, but his eyes remain sharp. “Rumor has it that you’ve been making some very, shall we say, interesting personal alliances lately.”

I push my plate away, and set my elbows on the table, linking my hands into a shelf I rest my chin on.

“To what are you referring exactly, Thurston?”

“Well, is it true you’re seeing Sofie Baston?” Thurston drops his eyes to the meal in front of him, conveniently avoiding my direct stare.

“I’m the one who proposed the transparency measures, Thurston, and will be more than willing, of course, to fully cooperate within the confines of the requirements, which doesn’t include who I’m seeing romantically.”

“So you
are
romantic with Sofie Baston?” Thurston looks up, eyes gleaming for a moment with a light that is all male. “She sure is something. I can’t blame you. Few men could turn that down.”

I’d hate to bash Thurston over the head with the Michelangelo Hotel’s fine china, but if he oversteps, I will.

“It’s really no one’s business who I’m seeing.” I take another sip of my wine, using precious seconds to control my irritation with the direction this conversation has taken. “It has no bearing on my work with the Collective.”

“Surely you’re not that naïve, Bishop.” Thurston’s cynical laugher irritates me even more. “Just be careful. It can’t leave this table, but you are definitely the leading candidate to assume leadership. Everyone loves your ideas. It’s apparent you have integrity and vision. Your business and personal record are above reproach. You’re young and vibrant, which is something we need. I’m in your corner. That’s why I tell you to be careful. Ms. Baston has made a very powerful enemy. If you’re involved with her, then so have you.”

I’m just about to tell Thurston what he and the rest of his cronies can do with their sage advice and inappropriate concern, but Harold, who knows me too well, cuts in.

“I’m sure the transparency measures will pass tomorrow,” Harold says. “It’s good business practice and will go a long way toward restoring public faith that we remain committed to the best interests of the nations we’ve been tasked with serving.”

Thurston and I lock eyes across our overpriced hotel food briefly before sharing a guarded smile. Henrietta further steers the conversation in a different direction with a few anecdotes from the last Collective gala, which eases more of the tension until we’re all laughing, finishing our meal and considering dessert.

“None for me.” Thurston stands, rebuttoning his suit coat. “I have to watch my youthful figure.”

He shoots me a grin, patting his stomach where it pokes against his coat.

“We aren’t all doing Ironmans in our spare time to keep fit.”

I grin back and wish him a good night.

“Did he just stick us with his bill?” Harold looks from Thurston’s scraped-clean plate to his departing back.

“Thurston’s bill is the least of our worries.” Henrietta sits straight as a line in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. “Did you hear what Thurston said, Trevor?”

“Which part?” I keep my tone casual in the hope that this isn’t going where I suspect it will.

“Come on, Bishop.” Henrietta’s eyes narrow at the corners, her lips tightening. “We need to talk about this.”

“No, Henri, we don’t.” I pick up the dessert menu, even though I’m sated and don’t want another thing. I need something to look at besides Henri’s disapproving face.

“Hen, leave it alone.” Harold spears the last of his fish. He always was a slow eater.

“No, Harold, this needs to be said.” Henrietta turns her resolved expression my way. “That woman is going to cost you everything, Bishop.”

Oh, hell. I didn’t want to do this here. Now. Ever, really. I lower the menu and meet her concerned eyes.

“Henri, I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” It may be a question, but her expression already has the answer. “The man I’ve known for the last decade does not chase supermodels all over New York City.”

“Hen,” Harold half protests.

“He doesn’t risk everything he’s worked for,
we’ve
worked for,” she continues, “because a beautiful woman gives him some attention.”

“Henri, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” I keep my voice as even as I can with anger building in my chest like a brick wall. “Stick to the business at hand. The
real
business at hand, not my private life.”

“And poor Fleur!” Henrietta’s eyes go wide and outraged. “To be exposed to that woman at the event last week.”

“
Exposed
to?” I snap. “Sofie’s not a virus, Hen, and you’d best watch how you talk about her. And have you forgotten Fleur and I broke up a year ago? Am I supposed to mope about it forever?”

“You broke the engagement, and for no good reason, so why would you be the one moping?”

“My reasons are my own and none of your business.” I crush the linen napkin in my fist, hoping it helps me control my temper. “Fleur knows why we aren’t together, and my reasons existed before I met Sofie and still remain.”

I lean forward, fixing my eyes on my friend of more than ten years.

“What exactly do you dislike about her so much?” I ask. “That she’s beautiful? That she posed nude? That she’s been in high-profile relationships? I know women can be petty and jealous about her, but—”

“Jealous!” Derision twists Henri’s mouth. “That woman has nothing I want.”

“Do you even know what she’s in the middle of?” I demand. “The allegations she’s leveling against Kyle Manchester, the ‘powerful enemy’ Thurston referred to?”

“I’m sorry if what she says happened to her happened, but—”

“It
did
happen to her, Henri.” Tension knots the muscle in my jaw.

“How do you know?” She tilts her head, eyebrows up. “What if it’s just a scheme to get more attention? Like posing for
Playboy
? And did you know she had an affair with a married man? Someone’s
husband
, Trev.”

“She didn’t know he was married.”

“Is that what she told you?” Henrietta rolls her eyes, disgust marring her face. “And of course you believe her.”

“The woman was raped.” The volume of my voice doesn’t rise, but my displeasure is inescapable.

“If it’s true, I sympathize with her.”

“Aren’t you a feminist? A defender of women’s rights? Women who’ve been subjected to injustices like FMG? Why would you, of all people, vilify the victim?”

“It’s hard for me to see Sofie as a victim, Trevor. You can’t compare her to someone like Halima.”

Yet Halima recognized the same strength in Sofie that I saw right away. I can’t help but remember how she connected with Sofie at the event, and I know Henrietta is wrong about her.

“I know her, Hen.”

“No, you’re screwing her, Bishop,” Henrietta says. “There’s a difference.”

“That’s enough, Henrietta,” Harold interjects harshly, eyes distressed behind his spectacles. “Drop it before you say something you’ll regret.”

“Oh, she already has.” I lean forward, colliding my eyes with Henrietta’s. “You’ve been a faithful employee and a great friend, Hen, but if you ever talk about Sofie that way again, things will have to change.”

“You would choose that woman over your friends?” Hurt floods her eyes. “Over our friendship? You’ve known her what? All of two months? Been on a few dates?”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I slide it out to check the screen. I put an alert on Sofie’s name to keep abreast of what’s developing back in the States. These Collective meetings have consumed my attention and focus almost completely. The brief snatches of conversation with Sofie each day don’t come anywhere close to reassuring me that she’s okay. And I suspect she’s not telling me all that Kyle’s campaign is up to, how difficult they’re making things for her.

“Trevor, are you hearing me?” Henrietta asks.

I hold up a finger, silently asking for a reprieve from our battle royal so I can peer at my screen. My teeth clench at what I see.

Model Behavior: Details from a wild past continue to cast doubt on Sofie Baston’s allegations of misconduct by Kyle Manchester, frontrunner in next year’s U.S. Senate race.

The video that accompanies the article only affirms my suspicions. Sofie emerges from Jalene’s barre studio to face a clump of reporters, throwing questions at her, snapping photos, pressing to get a better shot. The huge guy at Sofie’s back can barely fend off the mass of people for the short distance from the studio to the black SUV waiting at the curb. Sofie’s face remains composed even in the midst of the chaos. She slips the hood of the sweatshirt she’s wearing with her leggings over her head, concealing her face. My Princeton sweatshirt.

These meetings and the delicate nature of the transition of power have required an inordinate amount of focus. I’ve always been that guy who doesn’t have to be in charge, but usually finds myself in that position nonetheless. And this week has been no different. Someone had to step into the leadership void left by Clarke’s arrest. One thing I’ve never been is hesitant.

Seeing the firestorm now surrounding Sofie in New York pushes me to the brink of that singular focus I’ve never had trouble maintaining. Frustration boils beneath the surface of the face I keep expressionless. I want to be there for her, with her. I want to hold her and reassure her that she’s doing the right thing, to make sure she’s not swayed by the dirt Kyle’s hurling at her head. I want to be there.

And I will.

“I’m going back to New York.” I flip my phone facedown on the table and prepare myself for all the objections Henri will make that won’t change my mind.

“We all are in three days.” Henrietta doesn’t look up from the dessert menu, but I know I have her attention.

“I’m leaving tomorrow after our last meeting.” I pour myself another glass of Vergelegen V. I need it.

Harold only nods, pushing away his plate and picking up the dessert menu. Henrietta drops her menu, eyes widen.

“You’re leaving early? But why? We have more meetings over the next couple of days.”

“All goodwill stuff. Checking on investments. Nothing new and nothing you two can’t handle.”

“You’re seriously going back to New York?” She lets out a scoffing laugh. “Weren’t you the one saying you couldn’t wait to be done with that city? Oh, let me guess. Now it holds a certain appeal.”

“Have I ever missed a meeting I needed to be in?” I run a steady hand over my face, exhaustion hitting me for the first time since we touched South African soil last week. “I’m tired, Hen. I’ve been going nonstop, and yes, I want to be there for Sofie. You may not believe she was raped—”

“I didn’t say I don’t believe her,” Henrietta says, her voice softer than it’s been. “Her past just makes things awkward.”