The Elf and the Ice Princess (10 page)

His earring
caught the light, a silver stud that set him apart from the traditional set. He
also had a tattoo of a dragon on his right shoulder and kanji on his left
wrist, hidden by his watch. She’d always loved that little wild streak in him.
It was what had first attracted her, the way he braved and bluffed his way
through life, this rich kid who could pay for anything he wanted, but liked
fighting for things anyway.

No, that wasn’t
right, though. Lincoln didn’t fight
for
things. He just liked yelling at the
darkness. It made him feel like a rebel.

He shuffled
back and forth a few more times before blowing out a soft sigh and smiling
wistfully at her. “You look amazing, Carrie. Really, you do. Welcome home.”

She ducked
her head. Insults and witty banter she could handle from him. Honest niceness?
She needed to walk away or damage the best eye makeup she’d ever applied. “It’s
been a long time since this has been home, Lincoln.”

“Yeah,
well, if you want to walk around later, I can show you the whole place again.
If you want to see what we—what’s changed.” He sounded earnest, even excited
about the idea as the momentum in his voice escalated. “A little memory lane
for old time’s sake. Some of the colors you and I painted are still here.” The
old heart-melting grin surprised her with the power it still held.

No. She was
supposed to be immune. After what he did, she
should
be immune.

“God, that was
fun. Painting with you. I’ve got a lot of good memories of us, Carrie. I know
things ended…well…” Was that regret in his eyes? She’d spent two years thinking
he’d never looked back. “I’m glad you came.” He held up his elbow. “Tour the
house?” 

She was
tempted. She loved the house, and maybe Erica hadn’t messed it up too much. And
this Lincoln? This friendly person with hope in his eyes and a spry step? This
wasn’t the man who’d walked out. This was the guy she’d fallen for. It was who
he’d been for most of their time together. They’d had
a lot
of fun. Dinners and
trips and quiet evenings at home. They’d been amazing until…until they’d tried
to get pregnant, and her body had betrayed them both.

For the past two
years, the memory of how it’d ended had overshadowed those joyful years, but
seeing him again brought all of it back, the good as well as the bad. She
reined in tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes. “A tour sounds nice.”
It did, didn’t it? She’d decided to face this place again and let go. A house
tour would be good for that. They could be adult about their past, let go of the
anger and be civil with each other. A couple more glasses of champagne, and she
thought she could do that. Holding onto her anger didn’t help her move on. She
took another sip. “I’d better let you circulate now, though. I don’t want to
take up too much of the host’s time as everyone’s arriving.”

Lincoln
smiled happily. “Then stay late! We’ll wander. Oh, you should try the little
fish thingies, they’re right up your alley.” He leaned over and, to Carrie’s
horror, planted a kiss on her cheek before striding off to slap an old
fraternity brother on the shoulder.

She backed
into the dim light of the hallway, her cheek tingling from the touch and her lungs
aching like an asthma attack. With one hand, she fanned herself as the other
lost hold of her wine glass. She grabbed for it and missed, then shut her eyes
for the embarrassing crash.

But none
sounded. Instead, an arm encircled her, a hand put the glass back into her
fingers, and a kind voice whispered in her ear, “You look magical.”

The smell
of pine soothed her. Brett. Opening her eyes, she found herself inches from his
smile. His shoulder was firm and comforting, so she leaned against him as she
retaught herself to breathe. He must have seen the whole thing. How
embarrassing. Was he angry? “Brett…”

“Your ex?” His
voice was light, but it sounded intentional. For once he was trying to hide his
feelings, and it worried her.

“Yeah. I used to
live here. First time back in two years, since we separated and I moved out.”
It felt like cutting into herself to talk about it. But tonight wasn’t going to
be easy. If her behavior was erratic, Brett needed to know it wasn’t him.

“You okay?”
He squeezed her tightly to him for a wonderful moment.

Finally she
managed, “I’m fine,” with a voice that barely shook. She set the glass on a
side table and took his hands. Brett kept a neutral face as she tried to find
the words to explain what happened. “It’s not that I want Lincoln back. I never
wanted him to come back to me.” She licked her lips and squeezed Brett’s hands
for strength. He squeezed back, and the gentle pressure helped her go on. “I
wanted him to never have left. Desperately so. I felt so broken.”

And now Brett
would leave, too, because she was an emotional mess, and why would anyone in his
right mind put up with that? He transferred both her hands to one of his and
his palm cupped her jaw. She darted her gaze up to his face where a confusion of
emotions so varied she couldn’t guess at them struggled for dominance.

Her breath came
out loud and shuddering. Whatever he was going to say, she wished he’d get it
out.

“Thank you for
telling me.”

She looked up at
him and frowned. “Why?” Why would anyone want to listen to her whine about her
past?

He tried again.
“Thank you for trusting me that much. I won’t let you down.”

A weight she
hadn’t even realized she carried lifted from her back. Not only had he
listened, but he wasn’t going to judge her for it. He was staying. Her heart
pounded as a feeling more powerful than she’d thought herself capable of sparked
inside it. It wasn’t a full-blown fire yet, but with time and the right fuel it
would become one. With her confession and his acceptance, things had changed
between them. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

His eyes gleamed.
“Yeah, I know.”

She laughed.
“You’re also an arrogant prat.”

He kissed her
hair, and the casual affection from him felt good. “Everyone’s amazing in their
own way.” He frowned. “Scratch that. Everyone has amazing
in
them. Some people
don’t live up to it.” His sourness sounded like jealousy, and she thought he
might be referring specifically to Lincoln.

How human of him.
She ran her hand down his shoulder, as if smoothing ruffled feathers. “Well
then, you have extra amazing in you.”

His good humor
came back. He took criticism well, but it seemed he didn’t mind an ego stroke,
either. Was it possible he was nervous about tonight, too?

She took his arm
and turned toward the party. They should get into the thick of it. She had an
article to write and he had…whatever it was he was doing here. What
was
he
doing here?

As they started
for the stairs, Brett spoke again. “I know you have work to do, but I can stay
with you as much as you like. I wouldn’t mind in the least.”

“About that. You
implied you had a job, too, but I don’t see you carrying trays. And what is
this suit, silk?” Now that she had the wherewithal to study it, his suit was as
soft and rich as it had looked from a distance. His green bow tie appeared to
be silk, too, and was definitely not a clip-on. More than the suit, though, the
way he carried himself down the crowded staircase had a confidence just shy of
swagger, like he knew he belonged here.

“I
do
have a job.
I’m just not working tonight.”

“Brett Vertanen!
There you are!” shrieked a woman behind them.

He winced. “Or
not working much, anyway.” He winked at her and whispered, “Once more unto the
breach.” But when he turned them around, his demeanor had altered to pleasant
and professional disinterest. "Good evening, Wanda."

What the heck?

A woman drowning
in chiffon waddled over, two other biddies in tow.

Brett smiled
graciously as they crowded his space, attempting to shuffle Carrie out of the
conversation. But Brett held her firm, tucking her tighter to his side.

The leader’s
bloated smile softened even as her eyes turned flinty. “Who’s your guest?”
Carrie found herself critically and curiously surveyed until the woman
stiffened in recognition. “Oh. Miss… Dear me, I don’t believe I know your name
now.”

Carrie
knew the women by virtue, though she hadn’t remembered their names, either.
Charity mavens did a lot of good raising money for various causes. In person,
they were sometimes less kind. “Carrie Martin.”

“That’s
right. I apologize, I always thought of you as Mrs. Lincoln Bryant.”

Carrie’s
plaster smile turned brittle and threatened to crack. Brett stiffened.

The woman
added insult to injury by rubbing her arm like they were friends. “How does it
feel to be back around the old house?”

Carrie
shrugged her shoulders, shooting for nonchalance. “Erica’s taste is
interesting. That tree is right out of a catalog. Oops! I mean a magazine. Has
she been photographed?”

The woman
pursed her lips. “Have you seen her yet?”

“No.”

“You’ll
have to find her before you leave. She’s looking positively radiant.”

All Carrie
needed was to talk to a radiant Erica. “I’m sure she is.”

The woman
turned back to Brett. “Brett, dear, I’ve been trying to get my daughter Lucy in
to see you for weeks, but you’re impossible to locate around the holidays.
She’s being taken for a fool by some musician and doesn’t see it. Of course,
I’m sending her to you to fix it. Children. What can you do?”

Carrie wasn’t
positive, but she thought Wanda’s daughter was an adult by now, and the woman
had no business interfering. And what was Brett supposed to do about it?
She glanced at him, trying not to blink and betray her confusion. Maybe he was
a hit man, and Wanda was sending him to off the déclassé boyfriend.

She almost
giggled at the thought. Yeah, right.

He clucked
his tongue and shook his head sympathetically. “So sorry, Wanda. You know how
busy the season gets. And the Geirson estate has been taking up much of my
time.”

Estate? No,
really. What the heck?

“I forgot
you’d been put on that kook’s caseload.”

“Handsome
kook,” another woman pointed out.

Wanda
harrumphed. “Well, do be a dear and find room for Lucy.”

Brett
nodded indulgently. “Call up Cindy and have her make room on my schedule.
Things should be clearing up within the next two weeks. I can’t guarantee
anything until after I hear her complaint, but I’ll listen.”

“You are a dear!”

If Carrie heard
the word “dear” one more time…

Brett turned his
feet toward the bar. “I’ve promised to get Miss Martin a drink, so if you’ll
excuse me?”

They nodded
diamond smiles at him and venomous ones at Carrie as Brett escorted her away.

“Is Geirson
here?” Carrie heard Wanda ask. “We should find him! That boy’s got a great
tush.” The women giggled and then were out of earshot.

Carrie
leaned up to whisper, “What was that about?”

Brett
shrugged and continued toward the satin-coated drink table. “I told you I
worked for the Bar.”

Carrie
stopped, halting Brett with her. “You’re a lawyer?” A mighty successful one,
too, it seemed.

Looking a little
embarrassed, he nodded.

“I thought you
were an elf.”

“Can’t I be
both?”

“Not normally,
no.”

“Well, pick the
one you like best and think of me that way.” He tugged her toward the punch
again as he added, “Though I’d rather you think of me as an elf.”

They
reached the green and ivory draped table, and Brett poured her ruby punch from
a bone china bowl to a crystal glass, rich to rich to rich. Just like he,
apparently, was. She didn’t know how to feel about that turn of events. It was
almost disappointing.

“What about
being a caterer?”

Brett sighed
and fixed himself a cup of herbal tea. “It’s hard, you know? I do want to be a
caterer. And sometimes I think I’d be happier. But it’s hard to give up steady
work and”—he motioned around the floor—“all this. I never had anything like
it growing up.” He looked thoughtfully down at his tea. “It’s why Ryssa and I
didn’t work.” The quiet way he said it made her think Ryssa’s defection was far
more compelling to him than the silk suits and parties. “And some of my clients
really do need me. I draw a large enough clientele that I can pick to work with
whom I choose and tell the rest to leave. I don’t know.” He looked deep into
her eyes, as if her answer mattered. “Do
you
think I could make it as a
caterer? I have enough saved aside to get started, but there’s no guaranteed
income and that’s…terrifying.”

He meant it. On a
gut level it scared him, and given the things he’d said about his past, his
fear made sense. Still it floored her to hear that Brett had insecurities. He’d
been a vault up until this point, unbreachable. Sympathy made her take his hand
and squeeze. She hoped the pressure gave him the same peace it had given her
when he’d taken her hand earlier.

He blew on his
tea and didn’t meet her eyes, but his hand clutched hers back.

She didn’t know
what to say to him, though. It was one thing to tell an out-of-work actor to go
for it. It was another to tell a wealthy lawyer with financial insecurities to
quit his day job. “I think you’re talented enough. But even with talent, it’s
a risky career.”

He nodded. “If I
knew I could make a reasonable living…” He let her hand go to stir his tea,
gaze flicking from her to the spoon as he spoke. “I just met this great girl,
you see, and I’m not sure quitting my job to chase a crazy idea is the best way
to start things off with her. I told her I’d be a good boyfriend, and I keep my
promises.”

Did he emphasize
the “I” just a little? Trying to prove he was different than Lincoln, maybe? He
didn’t need to do that. She knew. She took his tea away and set in on the table
so there was nothing between them.