my sister, Clarissa. Dad, Rissa, this is Ciara Dennison. Of course you know my mother.”
Leona exhaled an audible gasp when she stared at the woman standing behind her son’s wheelchair. “Good gracious! I didn’t recognize you,” she gushed, blushing.
Ciara smiled at the tall man with cropped silver hair and soulful blue eyes, knowing what Brandt would look like in another twenty-five years. Father and son had the same lean face and cleft chin. Although the older Wainwright didn’t have the muscled bulk of his son, she assumed he either worked out regularly or was very fortunate to have avoided the middle-age paunch. Leona was exquisite in a raw silk lime-green pantsuit and Gucci pumps, while her daughter’s all-black attire made her appear pale and very, very thin. Wavy, pale hair fell around her narrow face.
“It’s nice meeting you, Mr. Wainwright, Clarissa.”
Fraser Wainwright nodded. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Dennison. My wife has been singing your praises, saying you’re something of a miracle worker. And I have to agree with her when I see Brandt up and getting around.”
Clarissa, resting a hand on Brandt’s shoulder, angled her head. “And I’m going to agree with Mother and Dad, because the last time I saw Brandt he was—shall we say—a little messed up.”
Ciara gave Brandt’s sister a forced smile. She wondered if the Wainwrights were aware of the severity of Brandt’s injuries. If it hadn’t been for the seat belt and air bag, Brandt would have been more than messed up. He would’ve died. Bruises, scrapes and broken bones healed, but once an accident report documented time of death, then the family would be faced with the task of making preparations for a funeral.
“Brandt is progressing very well,” she said in a quiet voice. “Give him another few weeks and he will no longer need the wheelchair.”
Brandt let go of Ciara’s hand. “Dad, please take off your tie and jacket. Tonight we’re going to kick back and relax.”
Fraser shot his wife an I told you so look. “That sounds good to me.”
Leona ignored her husband’s glare. “Garth called to say he was picking up Sumner, and they should be here before eight.”
Ciara glanced at her watch. They had a forty-five-minute wait before the other family members arrived. “It would be nice to have cocktails in the solarium.”
Smiling, Leona pressed her palms together. “What a wonderful idea.”
Brandt winked at Ciara. “Please tell the waiter to see me before you go up with the others. Don’t worry about me. I’ll take the elevator,” he teased with a wide grin.
Ciara wanted to tell him that she, too, planned to take the elevator, because she wasn’t about to try and navigate the winding staircase in a pair of heels that were just shy of five inches.
“I’m going to hang around down here until Sumner and Garth show up,” Clarissa said. “I also want to check out the menu.”
Maneuvering the chair in the direction of the living room, Brandt motioned with his head. “Follow me, Rissa.” He waited until they were out of earshot of the others, and then slowed the chair. “What’s up?” he asked his sister.
“May I help you with something, Mr. Wainwright?” The waiter had appeared as if out of thin air.
Brandt told the man he wanted him to serve cocktails from the built-in bar in the solarium, waiting until he walked away before returning his attention to Clarissa. “Do you want to tell me why you didn’t want to join the others?”
“Let’s go to your office,” Clarissa suggested.
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Do you want me to push you?”
“No. Wheelie and I are in perfect synch. Watch this.” Brandt executed a one-eighty spin.
Clarissa shook her head, smiling. “Show-off.”
“If you’ve got it, then why not flaunt it?”
Brandt had sobered by the time his sister preceded him into the library. He closed the door. “Now, do you want to tell me what’s so secret you don’t want the others to hear?”
Sinking down to a leather love seat, Clarissa stared at the toes of her ballet flats. “Harper has been blowing up my cell.”
Clasping his hands together, Brandt leaned forward in the chair. “Have you been answering the calls?”
“No. But I want to tell him to stop. I’ve thought about changing my number, but there are too many people who have it.”
“Have you thought about blocking his number?”
“I’d given it a thought.”
“What’s there not to think about? Block his number, and if he continues to bother you, then call me.”
Clarissa’s eyelids fluttered as she tried bringing her fragile emotions under