The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

Chapter Thirty: Sins of the Father

A/N: Belated Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I was off on a trip so I didn't get to post right on Valentine's Day. Anyway, here's the next chapter for you. We're now on a path to the inevitable ending so hang tight. 

Enjoy!

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There was no shortage of events and functions when one was regarded a highly important and influential socialite.

Other than the Maxfield last name, I was also half the leadership seat of one of the most important charitable groups in the country. 

It probably helped that I seemed to have gained and gotten stuck with the notorious reputation of being, hmm, unconventional, for a lack of a better term. For once, it became a unique advantage instead of a heavy chain strung around my neck with which I was expected to commit social suicide.

Since Felicity had gone back to school almost full-time this fall to start her masters, I’d been mostly dealing with my own scheduling, telling her that I could handle it just fine, now that I got the hang of it. Brandon counselled me to hire another personal assistant but I told him that since this new world didn’t seem so strange to me anymore, I could organize my own time. Problem was, I wasn’t always sure how to pick and choose my social commitments which resulted to me saying yes to a lot of invitations with little time in between.

This explained why Brandon and I were in one of the finest and most expensive country clubs in the city only three nights later, attending a fundraiser for an environment-conservation research project championed by a celebrity couple who called Boston home. 

The fact that the guest list included a lot of A-list celebrities didn’t really sink in until we arrived and were introduced to a handful of them. They looked quite larger than life up close but many of them were quite friendly. My biggest shock was probably not that they were conversing with me as if we did this every day, but the fact that they actually seemed to know about me.

I figured, on the women’s side of things anyway, that it was mostly because they knew Brandon well (some of them intimately, as per Brandon’s gruffly mumbled admission when I poked his side after those who were extra-friendly to him finally wandered off). Because of our highly-publicized whirlwind romance and wedding, they couldn’t have possibly mistaken me for someone else.

While the thought of his past romances with incredibly glamorous and famous women unsettled my stomach (I was quite the average girl, after all, before we married), I managed quite alright because Brandon took special care in making sure I wasn’t hogged by other guests all night. 

“This isn’t a Championette-sponsored event which means you don’t have to play the accommodating hostess,” he told me almost as soon as we arrived. “You’re mine all evening.”

Some of his old flames might have wanted to steal him away to rekindle the fire (pun intended) but you could drop a needle between me and Brandon and it wouldn’t find a gap to fall through. No matter how much anyone else wanted in, there was no room to come between us unless one wished to have his or her vital organs crushed. I would happily oblige anyone who persisted.

Because it was a star-studded event where one paid an exorbitant amount to gain a spot, a mix of Boston’s young and old rich crowd turned up. 

Most of the Maxfield clan were there save for the youngest.

The sisters nearly bowled me over when they arrived separately, tucking a handsome date who was neither Jake nor Jason on their arm.

Jake came solo, his mood no better than it was the night of the Arts Appreciation dinner, and barely spoke a word to Tessa who came with Michael again.