Never.
It was safe to repeat that point… never.
“It’s too bad your brother couldn’t make it to your mother’s birthday party,” Belle remarked as they made it to the top of a carpet-runnered stone stairwell that she and Miles and four other people could easily walk down, side by side.
Miles’s brother, James Bennett was equally, if not more, famous as Miles.
He was also, in looks, the exact opposite.
Miles looked like his mother.
James Bennett looked like his now-deceased father.
Black-haired with startlingly green eyes rimmed with long, black lashes, James Bennett (if the pictures were true) was taller than Miles. He was also lean and broad-shouldered but his muscles were more powerful. And, if Miles held his body with a casual ease, James held his with a fierce command.
James, in the many photos Belle had seen of him (and there were many), was more intense, more masculine, his features bolder and stronger, while Miles’s still held a hint of boyishness.
James, being elder, (arguably) more attractive and standing to (and unfortunately, three years ago, upon his father’s untimely death, actually doing it) inherit the castle, had much more attention on him his whole life.
He, however, had not gone into the family banking business but instead started his own business. He did something complicated Belle didn’t understand and did it very, very well making him far, far richer and increasing the already oppressive attention he had from the media.
He had, however, also inherited the role of CEO of the vast banking conglomerate that extended throughout the European Union and the Americas that the Bennett family had owned for years.
Now he did both, reportedly with great success even if his attention to these two undertakings was rather shocking since only one would tax even the best of men.
This served only to increase public interest.
The fact that he and Miles routinely dated and often had rather public but usually short-lived (though frequently stormy), relationships with every glamorous, beautiful and available model, actress and debutante, squiring them to art openings, charity functions and exclusive restaurants, made it all the worse.
“Oh, he’s here,” Miles said and Belle nearly missed a step when Miles made this casual statement.
“He’s here?” Belle breathed, unhappy about this news.
Miles had told her James couldn’t attend because of some business in Slovakia or Bosnia or some country ending in “ia”.
She was already incredibly nervous about the evening. She didn’t need another reason to be nervous. And James Bennett was the kind of man who could make even the most beautiful, sophisticated, accomplished, confident person nervous.
And Belle was none of those.
“Oh yes, he’s here. Arrived as a surprise for Mum a little over an hour ago.” Miles looked down at her and smiled. This smile, Belle saw, was not warm and affectionate.
It was strangely…
She stared up at him…
Triumphant.
As if someone had called Miles and told him that he’d won the Nobel Prize for simply existing.
This was so weird it also didn’t make Belle happy.
In fact, it kind of freaked her out.
They made it to the bottom of the stairs and before Belle could process her emotion she heard her name cried.
And it was cried loudly.
She took her eyes from Miles and looked across him to see Joy heading, or more accurately described as charging their way.