Here I Am Read online

  A minute later Rhett and Noah, followed by the rest of the wedding party, descended the curved staircase as the string quartet began playing “One Hand, One Heart” from West Side Story.

  Chapter 2

  As the music began to play, Brandt experienced a strange, unsettling feeling. He’d attended plenty of weddings involving family members, friends and teammates. But this was the first time he’d been part of the wedding party. As he stood next to Jordan, the love between bride and groom seemed so palpable, Brandt felt as if he was the one exchanging vows with his future bride. It was the first time he’d ever thought that.

  When Aziza’s father escorted her down the rose-petal-strewn carpet, Jordan released an audible sigh upon seeing his bride for the first time. Because it was her second marriage, Aziza had insisted that everything be low-key. But there was nothing simple about the bride, with her flawless brown skin and the body and face of a runway model, as she walked down the aisle effortlessly exuding grace and elegance. She wore a platinum-colored, strapless mermaid gown with silk tulle that wrapped around the skirt and a waist-length veil. Her thick, dark hair was brushed off her face and pinned into a chignon with jeweled hairpins.

  Brandt smiled when his gaze went to the magnificent pear-shaped blue-and-white diamond earrings and the matching pendant, nestled between Aziza’s breasts. He’d accompanied Jordan to a jeweler where they’d spent a couple of hours going over designs for his bride’s wedding jewelry, and then another hour examining a collection of loose stones. When they left Brandt was more than familiar with intricacies of diamonds’ cut, color, clarity, carat weight and certification.

  He turned his attention back to the proceedings, and he smiled when Jordan cradled Aziza’s face between his hands and pressed his mouth to hers, sealing their vows. They were no longer bride and groom, but husband and wife.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, friends and family, I’m honored to present Mr. and Mrs. Jordan Wyatt Wainwright,” announced the black-robed judge in a voice that carried easily in the expansive space.

  Thunderous applause quickly followed as Christiane Wainwright dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a linen handkerchief. Her blue-gray gown complemented her summer tan and ash-blond hair that was pinned up in an elaborate twist at the nape of her long, slender neck. Leaning to her right, she hugged Diane Humphries-Andrews, the two women sharing a bond as adoptive and birth mother.

  Diane, only two years younger than Christiane, was stunning in a royal blue sheath dress that showed off her still-slim figure to its best advantage. Her hair was cut into a becoming style reminiscent of First Lady Michelle Obama. Her features were delicate, but it was her large light brown eyes framed by a face the color of golden-brown autumn leaves that garnered the most attention.

  How very civilized, Brandt thought. If it had been left up to his great uncle Wyatt, he doubted whether the two women would’ve ever met. He felt the utmost respect for Jordan and Aziza in bringing the two families together.

  The wedding party proceeded out of the expansive foyer to the elevator that would take them to the solarium, where they would spend the next hour posing for photographs. Meanwhile, the guests were escorted into the ballroom where cocktails and hors d’oeuvres awaited them before they were seated for a seven-course dinner. The menu included filet mignon, Alaskan salmon, lobster tails, stone rock crab and carving stations with roast turkey, prime rib and trays of foie gras and caviar.

  Brandt escorted his mother to an area of the ballroom that had been set up like a large parlor with sofas, settees, floral arrangements, candles and enormous floor pillows and ottomans scattered around the marble floor. He led his mother to a settee, and sat down next to her. He watched Leona Burroughs-Wainwright’s impassive expression. His mother didn’t smile during dinner, when the many toasts were made, or when wedding cake was cut and passed around to the guests.

  “What’s bothering you, Mom?”

  Leona forced a smile. “What makes you think something is bothering me?”

  His eyebrows lifted a fraction. “First of all you’re answering a question with a question, and secondly you look as if you’ve just lost Smooches.”

  “Bite your tongue, Brandt Wainwright. My baby may have a few years on her, but the vet said there’s still a lot of life in her.”

  Brandt rolled his eyes. Smooches was overweight, visually impaired and eighteen years old. Seemingly the only thing the toy poodle lived for was low-fat treats. “If it’s not Smooches, then why the long face?”

  Leona patted her coiffed silver hair. “I would have liked it if you were the one getting married tonight instead of Jordan.”

  He shot his mother an incredulous stare. “Don’t tell me you have your nose out of joint because Christiane married off one of her children before you did?”

  “Jordan and Aziza know Clarissa’s wedding is scheduled for the fall, so why couldn’t they have waited until next year? It’s not as if Aziza is pregnant.”

  “Whether Zee is pregnant or not has nothing to do with you,” Brandt chastised in a soft tone. “They didn’t need to check with you to get the go-ahead.”

  Leona pouted, a gesture that never failed to get her whatever she wanted. “How do you expect me to compete with this…this extravaganza? When I contacted Signature Bridals more than a year ago I was told they have a two-year waiting list. Jordan gets engaged in February and yet he manages to get them to plan his wedding.”

  “That’s because Jordan and Zee know Tessa Sanborn personally.”

  Leona turned to her eldest son. “You’re just like your father. You have an answer for everything.”

  “The difference is you don’t like my answers,” Brandt countered. Leaning to his right, he kissed his mother’s cheek. “Clarissa will have a beautiful wedding. You’ve waited a long time to marry off your daughter, so come November it will be your turn to be the mother-of-the-bride. And what a magnificent mother-of-the-bride you’ll be.”

  Leona’s expression brightened. “Do you really think so?”

  Brandt smiled. “I know so.”

  He couldn’t understand how a woman who’d managed to marry one of New York’s most eligible bachelors and had given him four children whom he adored continued to compete with her in-laws for status. Most of the Wainwright men had married women who’d gone to finishing school, had coming-out parties, were in the Social Register and had attended elite colleges. Leona had been the exception, and most times she’d tried too hard to become a high-society grande dame. What she hadn’t realized was that Fraser Wainwright had chosen to marry her because she was different. She wasn’t affected or a snob. During their thirty-five-year marriage, however, Leona had changed—becoming a social climber in the hopes that her mother-in-law would accept her. Unfortunately, it hadn’t happened. And in Leona’s mind, the only thing she had done right was to give her mother-in-law, Francine Wainwright, grandchildren.

  Leona, whose natural beauty hadn’t faded despite having recently celebrated her fifty-fifth birthday, flashed a dimpled smile. The fuchsia-colored silk suit complemented her smooth, peaches-and-cream complexion. “Brandt, you’re going to make a wonderful husband for some very lucky woman.”

  “I’m going to have to find that very lucky woman first before I can even consider getting married.”

  Leona sobered. “Are you against marriage?”

  His mother’s question had caught him off guard. He’d never been one to advertise his relationships, but it had been a long time since he’d brought a woman home to meet his family. It was just that he wasn’t ready to settle down.

  “No.” The single word answer hung in the air. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “It’s just that it’s been a very long time since you’ve introduced us to one of your girlfriends. By the way, I ran into Courtney Knight last week and of course she asked about you.”

  Brandt averted his gaze. He’d been engaged to Courtney for less than two months when he’d discovered that she was sleeping with one of
his college buddies. In response, Brandt had issued an ultimatum: either she break off the engagement or he would disclose why he wasn’t going to marry her.

  “That’s nice,” he drawled sarcastically.

  “There you are, Brandt. I thought you’d left.”

  He turned to find his sister standing a few feet away. Rising to his feet, he smiled at her. “What’s up, Clarissa?”

  The enormous diamond on Clarissa Wainwright’s finger sparkled like a headlamp. She was a tall, blue-eyed blonde with striking features. But every time Brandt saw her, she appeared thinner than she’d been before. Tiny blue veins were visible under her eyes, which were framed by long, dark lashes.

  Slipping her hand into her brother’s, Clarissa gave him a tender smile. “Do you plan to host any parties at your place before the end of the year?”

  “I don’t know. Why?” Aside from the New Year’s Eve bash at his penthouse, get-togethers were usually spontaneous. In the off-season, he would sometimes invite his teammates and their wives or girlfriends to his place for a casual dinner party.

  “My friend Tonya wants you to introduce her to Alexander Fleming.”

  “Clarissa!” Leona gasped.

  The younger woman waved a hand. “Please, Mother. Let me handle this.”

  “There’s nothing to handle,” Brandt retorted. “You know I’m not into matchmaking.”

  Clarissa rested her hands at her narrow hips. “But you introduced Aziza to Jordan.”

  “I’m not going to discuss their relationship with you.” He’d asked his attorney to talk to his cousin because he’d believed Jordan would be able to help Aziza with a sexual harassment suit she sought to bring against her former employer. Brandt hadn’t known their involvement had segued from business to personal until they’d announced their engagement six weeks after first meeting. He also made it a rule not to introduce any women to teammates, because if the relationship soured he would never hear the end of it.

  Leona touched her daughter’s shoulder. “Let it go, darling. Let Tonya find her own boyfriend.”

  “What harm would it do for Brandt to introduce his friend to my friend? I’m beginning to believe all the hype. It’s always Brandt this and Brandt that in this family. If I’d decided to go into professional tennis instead of getting degrees in art history and interior design, then maybe someone would pay attention to me.”

  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 h
eld 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. It had been more than two years since she’d come face-to-face with the man with whom she’d thought she would spend the rest of her life.

  Turning slowly, she glared at him. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said sarcastically. “I never would’ve thought Dr. Eye Candy would come down from his lofty perch to hang out with—what was your phrase? Lowly nurses.”

  Ciara had been enthralled by the brilliant doctor ten years her senior. He radiated a charisma that made him appear taller than his slight five-foot-nine frame. Victor wasn’t classically handsome, but his custom-made suits and shirts enhanced his attractiveness.

  Dr. Victor Seabrook stared at Ciara. Her hair was brushed off her face in a ponytail that hung down her spine. His eyes moved slowly from her perfect face to a body women paid him, as one of the best plastic surgeons in the country, in the high six figures to achieve. The black pencil skirt, white linen man-tailored blouse and black-and-white zebra-print slingback stilettos showed off her tall, slender body to its best advantage.