Brianna
“COME ON, COME ON, come on,” I say under my breath as the cabbie slowly drives his car. We wind through the streets of St. Moritz, the gorgeous Alpine town where my cousin Tate is getting married—he’s no doubt wondering where I am.
I glance at my watch and groan inwardly. I hate being late. Absolutely hate it. I actually pride myself on my punctuality, but divorce court ran late, and that left me running to the airport to board Granddad’s private plane. By the time I took my seat, the Learjet had been waiting on the tarmac for hours. Granddad’s personal flight attendant gave me the once-over. Probably because I looked like I’d just come from the rinse cycle and had been hung upside down on the line to dry. Although I’m anything but dry, thanks to the turbulent flight and the humid summer air way up here in the Alps.
I pull my damp blouse away from my skin and steal a quick glance at my watch again. Dammit, the bridal party dinner started fifteen minutes ago, and Tate—considerate man that he is—would have held the meal for me. A double dose of guilt hits at having so many people waiting, because I got tied up, and now I’m in a cab with a whistling driver who is moving at a snail’s pace. The New Yorker in me wants to jump in the front seat and press down on the gas pedal. Hard.
“Relax, we’re almost there,” the cabdriver says, clearly picking up on my tension. He waves a hand. “Look around. Enjoy the view. No one can feel anything but peaceful when surrounded by such beauty,” he says in a heavy French accent that’s almost difficult to understand.
I exhale a slow breath and look out the window. My God, I’d forgotten just how magnificent the high Alpine town really is, how it’s unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been. I marvel at the sun-kissed mountains, their peaks white, even in summer. My gaze travels to the towering Palace Hotel positioned over Lake St. Moritz. I smile as old memories bombard me. As a teen, I spent a lot of time here with Granddad and Tate, especially after my dad left and my mom disengaged from life. But thinking of Granddad brings on another blast of guilt.
Over the last few years, his health has been failing, which is why Tate recently moved his law practice from Boston to Manhattan to be closer to him. I’ve been so damn busy at work, putting in sixteen-hour days to prove I’m partner material at the firm, I haven’t been around as much as I’d like to be. Then again when I am around, Granddad spends most of the time grilling me about when I’m getting married.
I’m not.
Ever.
A garbled sound crawls out of my throat, and I catch the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Seriously though, I’m a divorce lawyer. I face couples squaring off against each other every day, and I’ve come to learn that what starts as love always turns to greed and hate. If that’s not enough to make me jaded, all I have to do is look in my own backyard. Most of the men in my family have a penchant for younger women and are never able to settle down for very long, hence the ironclad prenuptials they always have drawn up. On top of that, the last guy I dated seriously turned out to be a two-timing asshole. And of course I can’t forget the sting of rejection from that one notorious guy during my University of Oxford undergraduate years. A gorgeous Italian god every girl wanted. One incident was all it took for that arrogant stuffed shirt to shake my confidence for years afterward.
Cynical much? Oh yeah, like 100 percent. Now when I’m with a man, it’s on my terms. No love. No romance. Just physical one-night stands with no tomorrows. That’s how I like it, and whether Granddad approves or not, he has no choice but to accept it.
“We’re here,” the driver says as he slows his car down in front of Raydolins Hotel, one of the many opulent resorts my granddad owns here. I grab some bills from my purse and quickly hand them over. The cabbie slides from his seat and pulls my luggage from the trunk, and I slip from the back seat and check my reflection in the car window. When I take in the hot mess that is me—Brianna Carson—I cringe.
My hair is a big ball of frizz, and no amount of spray can fix that in this humidity. I swipe at the black smudges beneath my heavy-lidded eyes and only manage to make matters worse. Great, now I look like an angry raccoon jacked up on pain meds. Maybe a bit of lipstick will help brighten me up. Then again I’m not here to impress anyone. I wish I had time to shower and change, but I’m not about to keep Tate or his guests waiting a second longer.
“Relax. Enjoy it while you can. You’ll be back in New York before you know it,” the cabdriver says. As he saunters back to his car, I can’t help but feel a tinge of envy. My life is fast-paced, hectic and mostly chaotic. I wish I could be so laid-back. Cripes, if I’m not careful, I’m going to end up having a heart attack before I hit twenty-eight next month, and for what, really? Am I really making this world a better place? Doing work that is meaningful?
I grab my bag and head inside. The bellboy opens the door as I approach and the cool air washes over me. I widen my arms and let loose a grateful moan. I hurry to the registration desk, sign in quickly and leave my bag for the concierge to take to my room.
My heels tap on the marble floor as I pick up the pace and head to the dining room where the private function is being held. Before I enter, I take a deep breath, let it out slowly and plaster on a smile. I step inside, work to present a well-put-together woman, and search the long table for Tate. When he sees me, he jumps up, comes over and picks me up in a crushing hug.
“I’m so sorry, Tate. I got tied up, and the cabbie—”
“Hey, stop. It’s okay,” he says, and when I take in his big smile, my heart beats a little faster. I’ve never seen him happier, and that warms me from the inside out. Summer Love, his beautiful fiancée, has been so good for him, and he deserves all the happiness life has to offer. Still, there is a small part of me that worries about their future. They’ve only been together for six months. Is that enough time for a strong bond to build? Lord knows love can become venomous pretty quickly. At least I know Summer isn’t marrying for money, and Tate is one of the good guys. That doesn’t stop me from throwing up a silent prayer for him, a request that he doesn’t end up like the other men in our family, with a long list of exes.
“Come on. Everyone will be so happy to see you,” he murmurs over the din of the crowd as he puts his arm around my waist to guide me across the floor.
I glance at the elegant table with its crisp white linen, fine china and crystal glasses. The wine has been flowing, but no food has been served. “Yeah, only because they’re starving,” I shoot back.
Tate laughs and it’s so exuberant, I can’t help but laugh with him.
“What’s so funny?” Granddad asks as Tate pulls out the empty chair beside him.
“Oh,
