Here I Am. Rochelle Alers

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      Brandt didn’t want to believe that his sister was pestering him to introduce her best friend to his best friend. Alexander Fleming was not only his teammate, but he roomed with him during away games. He was also the bride’s brother and in the wedding. It had been Alex who’d introduced him to Aziza when he was thinking about getting a new attorney.

      Alex Fleming, who despite being a much sought-after bachelor, had always managed to keep a low profile when it came to his relationships. He’d recently split with a woman who he’d been seeing for several years, and had just begun dating again. What Brandt had noticed during the rehearsal and the dinner that followed was that Alex appeared enthralled with Jordan’s half sister, although Stephanie Andrews hadn’t given him a passing glance.

      “Please excuse us,” he said to Leona, who sat slack-jawed at her daughter’s request. Reaching for his sister’s hand, Brandt led her out of the ballroom.

      “Where are you taking me?” Clarissa asked, breathing heavily as she tried keeping up with Brandt’s long strides. If he didn’t slow down, she would certainly turn an ankle in her four-inch stilettos.

      “Somewhere where we can’t be overheard,” he said over his shoulder. Maneuvering around two couples who were standing in the hallway outside the ballroom, they made their way to the suite where he’d spent the night. “Sit down.” Clarissa sat in a club chair, crossing one leg over the other. Brandt pulled up a straight-back chair, and reached for Clarissa’s hands. They were ice-cold. “What’s going with you?”

      Clarissa averted her eyes. “What makes you think something is wrong with me?”

      “I didn’t say wrong. Something has you on edge, and I’m willing to bet it has nothing to do with me refusing to set Alex up with your girlfriend. Every time I see you you’re thinner and thinner. How much weight have you lost?”

      She lifted her bare shoulders. “I don’t know.”

      “You don’t know,” he repeated. “Is that a new gown?” Clarissa nodded. “What size is it?”

      “I think it’s a two.”

      Brandt tightened his hold on her fingers. “What’s next, Clarissa? A double-zero?” He leaned closer. “What does Harper say about you losing weight?”

      Clarissa stared into a pair of eyes much like her own. Brandt had always been her favorite brother. Garth and Sumner were always too caught up with what was going on in their lives to pay much attention to her. And in a family where the birth of a boy was celebrated like that of an heir to the throne, she had always tried hard to get attention.

      “He says he likes me slim.”

      “Slim or emaciated? You look anorexic, Clarissa. Are you losing weight because Harper asked you to, or is it your decision?”

      Although she was thirty, her body now seemed prepubescent. When she lowered her gaze Brandt knew the reason why his sister looked so frightfully thin. He wondered if their mother had noticed the drastic change in Clarissa’s appearance. “Why are you letting someone else control your life?”

      “I don’t want to marry him.”

      The admission stunned Brandt. July was almost over, and in another four months Clarissa was expected to exchange vows with the man she’d planned to share her life.

      “You don’t have to marry him, Rissa.”

      Clarissa’s eyes filled with tears. It had been years since Brandt had called her by her childhood nickname. “But Mother expects us to marry.”

      “This is not about Mother, and what she wants or expects. This is about you. If you don’t want to marry the guy, then you don’t have to. Whatever you decide, you can count on me having your back. And I’m certain Sumner and Garth will support you, too.”

      “I don’t want any trouble from Sumner. He and Harper can’t stand being in the same room together.”

      “Don’t worry about Sumner,” Brandt said, hoping to reassure his sister that their hot-tempered brother wouldn’t cause her soon-to-be ex-fiancé physical harm. Of all the Wainwrights, Sumner was the one who wouldn’t hesitate to use his fists in a confrontation.

      “I’m going to talk to Mother and Daddy first. Then I’m going to give Harper back his ring.”

      Brandt curbed the urge to smile. He’d never liked Harper Sinclair, because the man reminded him of a snake-oil salesman. He talked too much, grinned too much and spoke to Clarissa as if she were a child instead of his partner.

      “I’m leaving for North Carolina tomorrow morning. Call me on my cell and let me know how everything turns out. If Harper decides to give you grief, then he’ll wish it was Sumner rather than me jacking him up.”

      Clarissa laughed and a rush of color flooded her face. “No one believes me when I tell them my brothers are thugs.”

      “Remember, we’re only three generations removed from the Wainwrights who fought their way out of the Lower East Side to become wealthy.”

      “Please don’t remind me of the so-called good old days when Grandfather and his brothers were always one step ahead of the police.” Leaning closer, she rested her head on Brandt’s broad shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, Brandt. Saying I don’t want to marry Harper aloud is what I needed to end this sham of an engagement. I know Mother will be disappointed, but this is not about her happiness. It’s about mine.”

      “Good girl.”

      “Let me get back to Harper before he comes looking for me.”

      “You’re going to be all right?”

      “I’m good.”

      Brandt released his sister’s hand, and watched as she walked out of the suite. He knew she was going to be all right. After all, she was a Wainwright.

      Chapter 3

      Ciara Dennison held a small plate filled with spicy shrimp in one hand as she tried balancing a glass of chilled lemonade in the other, slowly wending her way through the throng that had gathered in the ivy-ringed backyard garden called the Ninth Ward. The restaurant, a brand-new New Orleans–inspired restaurant, had become an East Village favorite for down-home cooking.

      It wasn’t often that she got a chance to hang out with the people who worked at the hospital where she’d begun her nursing career, but she was glad she’d come to her former supervisor’s retirement party. Katie O’Brien had given up supervising young graduate nurses to teach.

      The glow from the flickering candles and low-wattage lightbulbs behind old hurricane shutters provided the only illumination inside the restaurant. The backyard garden with its fountains, wrought-iron fleurs-de-lis and shrouded, backlit statue of voodoo high priestess Marie LaVeau made Ciara feel as if she was truly in New Orleans instead of the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

      “Aren’t you going to try the catfish po’ boy?”

      Ciara felt her heart stop for a few seconds before it started up again, this time at a runaway pace that made her feel slightly lightheaded. СКАЧАТЬ