Page 54

“I sure did,” I say proudly. “I told her that she and her daughter needed to apologize to Brooke for making such unjust accusations without a shred of evidence.”
He takes in a breath. A popped vein throbs along his forehead.
“Her daughter alleges that Brooke broke her prized designer doll.” I go on to tell him everything. “But Brooke didn't. I was with her the whole time. And when they accused Brooke in front of everyone, Brooke started to cry. I wasn't having any of their blatant lies and accusations,” I roar, outraged as I relive that moment.
His cell phone rings, he answers it. I walk around the library and start looking at the bookshelves.
“Oh, hi. Yes. Yes. Oh. Is that what happened? I see. You're sure?”
I turn around and gape at him. He scrubs his hand over his face. “Proof, huh. No, Brooke is ... she's been excited about a tent, apparently. She and Cari put it up after they got back from Abigail’s. Yes, Cari. Oh.” He looks at me. “That's not quite the word I would use to describe her, but she does grow on people.”
He's talking about me. I fold my arms and wonder who that was. It doesn’t sound like Abigail calling him with her forked devil's tail between her legs.
He gives a restrained laugh. “Thanks for letting me know, Celine. Yes, we'll have to meet if possible. Goodbye.”
Celine?
I wish I could talk to her.
Jett hangs up and lets out a long exhale, as if he's letting the tension seep out of his body.
“What did the lovely Celine have to say?” I ask.
“You met her?”
“She was at the lunch.”
He shrugs. “She wasn't there when it happened—”
“She had to get something for her daughter.”
“Right. Zara, her granddaughter, told her what happened, and how Brooke was upset and started crying. She claims that Madison was nasty to her—”
“She was. I told you that.”
“Right.” He scrubs his jaw, looking sheepish. “Celine remembers that they have cameras on in the house and she insisted they check the footage. Abigail wasn't too keen on it, but Celine put her foot down. Zara was upset that Brooke was crying.”
I love Celine. I want to hug her. I want to ask her to meet me for a coffee. “Go on,” I say, smiling because I know Celine would have had Brooke's back. Not that Jett didn't, but he was just played by a woman who wanted to make me look bad.
“The footage showed that it wasn't Brooke who broke the doll.”
I waggle my finger at him, my anger overflowing. I don't care if Jett Knight has to bear the brunt of my wrath. “I know the cameras didn't show Brooke breaking it. You know why? Because I trust your daughter, and I was with her the whole time. Moreover, even if I weren’t with her the whole time, I know Brooke would never do something like that. I don't even spend that much time with her, but I know she's a lovely little girl. Unlike Madison ...” My lips press together as I fight to keep my words to myself. I recall that conviction on her face, the accusation that came a little too easily.
“The video footage showed that Madison went into the room before you all went into the cinema, and she snapped the doll in half,” Jett says, wearily.
“I’m not in the least bit surprised,” I say with smug satisfaction. “I hope Madison will make a great big groveling apology to Brooke, and I hope you'll be man enough to sit Brooke down and tell her that you are sorry you didn't ask for her side of the story before siding with Abigail's mother. Oh, but Abigail’s mother didn’t call to tell you about that part of it. She called you to complain about me.”
The color drains from his face. “I'm sorry for accusing you of being rude to her.”
“You don't have to apologize to me, Mr. Knight. I'll always do the right thing by Brooke. I don't expect you to stand up for me, I am more than capable of standing up for myself, but I'd stand up for Brooke in a heartbeat.”
“I'm sorry.” He lets out another loud exhale again, and his shoulders sag. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I notice the dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired. “I had meetings all day with my father, then various other CEOs. I wasn't thinking straight.”
“No, Jett. You weren't thinking at all, and this woman fed you facts out of context. The least you could have done was ask me what happened.”
“I'm sorry for not believing you.”
The long day, coupled with my anger at the injustice Brooke faced, and now with Abigail's call, have wiped me out. My filter is off. “It's funny how in New York, I don't hear that word from your mouth, and in Bermuda, you've said it to me twice in twenty-four hours. What's going on?”