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The bartender was staring at her. How long he’d been standing there, Brienne couldn’t say. She’d been eyeing the row of jewel-toned bottles behind the bar, trying to decide just how stiff a drink she’d need to get through the rest of this party. For the first time, the entire staff of the newly merged Lannister-Stark International conglomerate was together, drinking and mingling and ostensibly celebrating the year’s end and their merger. Of course, merger was the polite term for what had realistically been a hostile takeover that would see Catelyn “retiring” in six months and Tywin Lannister using Ned Stark’s reputation to forge deals with partners he’d burned over his long decades conquering and pillaging the corporations of Westeros.
For Brienne, it wasn’t so much a party as a trial to be endured. She hated meeting new people, seeing them react to her height and her coarse features. And she hated how colleagues she’d known only by phone would change their behavior now that they’d seen her. Even worse, every single man at this party would be prowling the ballroom looking for their soulmates.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, and from his tone it must not have been the first time.
“Vodka gimlet. Just make it a double.” She’d already had two glasses of champagne while Catelyn Stark introduced her to their Lannister counterparts. There was something about the forced togetherness, the pretense that this event was at all voluntary, that made it even more exhausting than usual. It felt far too much like the school dances Brienne had been forced to attend because her father didn’t want her “missing out” on such formative occasions. Here she couldn’t hide in the corner all night, but at least there was top-shelf liquor.
Last year’s Stark party had been held in a steakhouse and included a white elephant gift exchange. This year, with the infusion of new money and new standards, the party was being held in a massive hotel ballroom, festooned in the soulless gold and crystal Feast of the Seven decor that the wealthy seemed to prefer. There were even gift bags she’d seen on her way in, likely a replacement for the always-appreciated bonus checks Ned and Catelyn used to dole out at the holidays. Brienne liked her clumsy homemade ornaments, made at school every year, and simple strings of Crone’s lanterns. She’d liked her bonus check even more, as it usually covered her plane ticket home and another chunk of her student loans.
The bartender smiled conspiratorially at her, then moved away to make her drink. He was cute, young with dark curly hair, and would likely make a killing in tips tonight. He was her type, as much as she had one, but she didn’t bother flirting. He hadn’t tried out his line on her, so he clearly wasn’t interested. Everyone had a line, the one they opened with when a potential soulmate caught their eye. Some people even said it instead of ‘hello,’ just in case.
After that debacle with the crown prince marrying the wrong woman, no one would risk opening a conversation with a potential soulmate with something common or generic. The prince had, “That uniform suits you,” marked on his flank, and his wife had, “Can I have this dance?” marked on her thigh. Unfortunately, so did Lyanna Stark.
Ever since the prince’s scandalous divorce and abdication, leading to a royal succession crisis the seven kingdoms took years to recover from, children were taught from an early age to select a unique line with which to greet potential soulmates. Brienne had grown up hearing bizarre things like, “If you pee off the top of the Wall, it freezes before it hits the ground.” Memorable had long eclipsed romantic as the chief consideration in picking an opening line.
Brienne was grateful the words delicately spiralling around her bicep made no mention of bodily functions and included no profanity. Poor Sansa had to live with “tits” on her shoulder for years before she found her soulmate and had the awful thing tattooed over. Her husband had been drunk when they met, and was horribly embarrassed once he sobered up.
Their story was one of the good ones. Sometimes Brienne wondered what it would be like to live in a world where she could meet someone and have a conversation without knowing they weren’t meant for each other. That little flutter of anticipation and hope spread out over hours, days, or weeks instead of swelling for an instant and popping like a balloon.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man approaching to her right, and deliberately looked away. She had only a brief impression of a dark suit, same as every other man at this party, and bright gold cufflinks. Men were lucky, their clothes so often covered their marks. When Brienne couldn’t wear long sleeves, she had a variety of cuffs in leather or lycra that covered her mark. Tonight the cuff was gold, and slightly uncomfortable. She hadn’t been able to find a gown that fit her broad shoulders on short notice, so her long black sheath was strapless.
The bartender approached with her gimlet and she tried to take it and step back from the bar before the other party guest felt compelled to speak to her. She wasn’t quite quick enough, their shoulders bumping with enough force to slosh her drink over her hand and onto his sleeve.
He made an inarticulate grunt of surprise and dismay.
Brienne stepped back, knocking into a barstool, face flaming at her own clumsiness. It was only vodka, it shouldn’t stain, but with her luck he was wearing an expensive watch under that cuff. She glanced up and found herself looking at the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen.
Honey-blonde hair, a neat beard, sparkling eyes that seemed to change colors as he moved, a familiar scowl twisting his handsome features as he brushed at his damp sleeve. The noise of the party receded, and all Brienne could hear was her own thundering heartbeat.
And then he looked up at her. His scowl melted away, his mouth opening and closing as if he wasn’t sure what to say. He seemed more stunned than their brief contact warranted. Brienne wasn’t keen on waiting around to hear whatever insult he settled on. She turned to go, but his hand clutched her arm.
Brienne turned back, a strongly-worded warning about touching women unsolicited dying on her lips when he smiled and said in a disarmingly awestruck voice, “You have the most beautiful eyes.”
She nearly dropped her drink. She’d seen those words on her skin every morning since she was 12 years old, and she could almost feel them burning across her skin now. Hearing them was still a blow. Not because at 30 she still hadn’t heard them and thought she never would, but because she had. The curse of having a pick-up line on her skin. She shrugged out of his hold. She was always prepared for this, so she told him the same line she told every man. “Don’t worry, I’m not your soulmate.”
His eyes widened. “You are…” He hesitated. “The first woman to say that to me.”
Brienne laughed and took a long sip of her drink, then another for good measure. She looked him up and down, the whole long, lean package in an impeccably tailored suit. Mr. Perfect. Even the flecks of grey in his beard made him look more attractive, not less. “Well, you’re not the first man to use that line on me. You’re not even the tenth,” she said dryly, leaning in close so the bartender wouldn’t hear their conversation. He was hovering nearby, obviously waiting on the man’s drink order.
The man gave a slightly confused look and glanced at the bartender. “I’ll have a Feastfires single malt, neat, and another of whatever the lady is having.”
The bartender nodded and moved away.
Brienne set her drink down and found a napkin to dab the vodka from her hand. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s the least I could do. It is an open bar, after all,” he said easily. His lower teeth were slightly crooked, and she thought his nose might have been broken at one point. And yet, just looking at him made her feel a little tingly.
She let herself glance at his left hand. At least he wasn’t married. That had happened twice.
“Does that line work on women? I guess, looking like you do, they don’t care that you’re not their soulmate.” Brienne wouldn’t ordinarily be so blunt, but he looked like he could take it. Besides, anyone with such a clichéd line deserved some needling.
He frowned, managing to look both irritated and amused all at once. “That’s not my line. And, seriously, that’s what you think of me?”
Brienne shrugged. Maybe it was the champagne talking. She should’ve eaten more, but she always found it awkward trying to eat and make small talk at the same time. And then she worried her breath smelled like shrimp or garlic and that’s all anyone would remember about her. “Like I said, not the first time I’ve heard that line.”
The bartender delivered their drinks, and Brienne downed the rest of her first gimlet in one gulp. She’d definitely need to find some appetizers in a minute.
The man eyed his whiskey but didn’t pick it up. “Do you tell every guy you’re not his soulmate, or just me?”
Brienne set her glass down. “Everyone. I used to say something about Valyrian steel, but this is more direct.” She tried vainly to stretch her feet inside the torture device heels Sansa had insisted she wear. Even kitten heels made Brienne feel like a freak show, the human skyscraper.
“I called for a knight, but you’re a bear.”
Brienne’s face heated. “Is that supposed to be funny?” She started to back away from the bar. She was used to unfunny jokes, the laughter and insistence that she was just too sensitive that always followed, but somehow he’d caught her off-guard.
“It’s my line,” he blurted. “I have to change it every couple of months.”
She stopped, intrigued despite herself. “Like your email password?”
He smiled sheepishly, and gods save her, that really was a beautiful smile. Charming, a little nervous, as if he had any reason to be. “Yeah, there was a girl once who tried to trick me into thinking we were soulmates. I almost married her. So now I change my words.”
Brienne nodded. Fraud wasn’t unheard of, there was always someone looking to game the system, which was why so many people covered their marks. Those words were personal, private, a puzzle that took years or decades to solve. Many people never found their match. Internet soulmate searches were imperfect at best, and Brienne had never been tempted to try one.
Something about his words was niggling at her, though, beyond the insult they implied. “That’s a song, isn’t it? Your words.”
He smiled again, and finally picked up his drink. “It is. Now do you know which one?” He sipped his whiskey while he waited for her answer. His throat working as he swallowed was distracting as hell.
“It’s ancient, a folksong.” He nodded, and Brienne mumbled the words to herself, trying to find the tune. And then she felt silly. “The Bear and the Maiden Fair.”
“Got it.” He hummed a few bars, then bit his lip, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Do you know what that song is about?”
Brienne laughed even as she felt her face heat. He licked the honey from her hair, then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air. It was definitely the vodka that made her picture the man before her acting out that song between her thighs. “I do. My fifth grade choir teacher did not. All the parents were trying not to laugh while we sang, and we were so angry they would laugh at us.”
His cheeks were a bit pink now too. He glanced around for a moment, and Brienne wondered if he had a date somewhere waiting for him. Men who looked like him usually did. His gaze returned to her. “So are you a dater or a waiter?”
“Waiter,” she admitted. “I tried dating, got burned a few times. It’s just not for me.” Why kiss a bunch of frogs when she already knew none of them were right for her?
“Same,” Jaime agreed. “My brother says I’m a coward, but I just can’t invest in someone like that again, not until I know it’s right.”
“Exactly,” Brienne replied. She couldn’t stand the idea of being mocked or used again. If she really did have a soulmate (she hadn’t ruled out the Seven playing a cruel joke), he would have to find and pursue her, and that was as unlikely as snow falling on Sunspear. “What if you never find her?”
Jaime smiled again, a cocky smirk that should have been unappealing yet wasn’t. “I’m not worried about that. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving, and I happen to know where they’ve hidden the brie and the bacon-wrapped scallops. Would you care to join me?” He looked like an incorrigible little boy, the kind who delighted in touching things he wasn’t supposed to and staying up late with a flashlight staging battles with his toys under the covers.
The fluttering in her belly wasn’t all champagne anymore. Things like this didn’t happen to her. Drop-dead gorgeous men didn’t request her time and attention, particularly when she could turn her head and count half a dozen stunning women with large breasts falling out of their gowns. Then again, Brienne was safe. She wasn’t his soulmate, and she wasn’t interested in killing time in a relationship that would go nowhere. But getting through this interminable party? That they could do, just two people who’d rather be anywhere else, not suffering alone.
“Sure, why not?” She didn’t even know his name, but following him through the crowd, watching the way women’s eyes slid over him with heat and naked desire, Brienne felt giddy.
He did know where all the best appetizers were, and another bar, and an empty balcony with a lovely outdoor heater and a view of Blackwater Bay.
And he was funny. Sharp-tongued and clever, interested in the old histories like she was, even if his taste in music was abysmal (and his singing voice was worse). Brienne wouldn’t embarrass herself by asking to see him again, but she did hope they would cross paths in the office someday. They faintly heard Catelyn Stark and Tywin Lannister giving speeches, thanking everyone for attending and for contributing to the company’s success, but neither she nor he suggested going back inside.
Brienne was laughing, content and a little buzzed, sipping champagne and chatting with a delicious-looking man, and she wasn’t about to break whatever spell he was under by leaving this balcony. She was starting to understand why people kept dating, if it started out anything like this for them.
And then Catelyn came through the balcony doors, looking harried, twin pink spots coloring her cheeks, a sure sign that she was angry and possibly a bit drunk. “There you are, Brienne. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Brienne flushed, guilty that her boss had needed her and she’d been … flirting? Definitely not keeping in mind how difficult this night must be for Catelyn. “Sorry, I’ve just been out here talking with …” And suddenly it was very awkward that she didn’t know his name.
He’d gone very stiff, his smile disappearing like it’d never been there, his eyes on the drink in his hand. “Jaime,” he said. “My name is Jaime.”
Brienne would need to smooth that over when Catelyn left. She offered her boss a tentative smile. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Catelyn’s eyes narrowed and she stepped around Jaime’s chair to look down at him. “I should have known you’d try something like this,” she hissed at him, “but spying on us at the holiday party? That’s a new low.”
“What are you talking about?” Brienne was appalled her boss would treat an employee like this.
Catelyn’s gaze fell on Brienne, and behind her anger was pity. “Brienne, this is Jaime Lannister. Tywin’s son, and head of security of Lannister Enterprises.”
Brienne looked to Jaime, but his expression was shuttered, nothing like the open warmth of moments ago.
“Head of Security of Lannister-Stark,” Jaime corrected, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Why would I need to spy on you?”
“To win all my people to your side. To force me out even sooner. How should I know how Lannisters think? You drove Ned into an early grave, perhaps your father hopes to do the same to me.” Rage sharpened Catelyn’s voice, a despair she rarely voiced. Brienne wondered how many glasses of champagne had been pressed into Catelyn’s hand. Too many.
Jaime stood, a fierce scowl on his face, and spat, “I had nothing to do with Ned’s death. Gods be good, Cat, I wasn’t even in King’s Landing.”
Cat. He knew Catelyn very well if he used that nickname. Brienne had only ever heard her family use it.
Catelyn sneered at him. “So you just happened to chat up my personal assistant, out of all the women at this party?”
Jaime raked a hand through his hair and turned his gaze on Brienne. “It was a coincidence, Brienne. I had no idea who you were.”
Catelyn’s laugh was half sob, half cackle. She’d been holding herself together so tightly, keeping her company going and her family safe ever since Ned died. It wasn’t surprising that she was cracking, only that it hadn’t happened sooner. Her eyes fixed on Jaime. “Right. You have access to all our personnel files. You knew exactly who she was, otherwise why would you even talk to her?”
Brienne lurched to her feet, suddenly shivering with cold. Catelyn was right. Why would a man like Jaime Lannister even talk to an ugly giantess unless he had ulterior motives? “I need to go,” she mumbled, tears starting to prick her eyes.
She shoved past both of them and rushed through the doorway into the ballroom. People tried to talk to her as she passed, and for a few seconds her assistant Pod tried to follow her, but Brienne didn’t slow down at all. She hurried past tables of her coworkers and others she didn’t know, her vision starting to blur. The music was too loud, the chatter rising above it unintelligible except a few scattered words. There was no way for a woman her size to move quickly through a crowded room unnoticed, but she ignored the questioning looks and continued on.
She dragged in a deep, cleansing breath as she pushed through the doors at the far end of the ballroom, fumbling her phone out of her tiny, useless purse. Robb was on his ill-timed honeymoon, but Sansa would come get her mother out of here. Brienne leaned against the wall, partially concealed by a convenient potted tree, and started tapping out a message.
The door she’d come through opened again, and Jaime emerged from the ballroom in a burst of music and chatter. His phone was clutched to his ear. “—found her and she’ll never godsdamn talk to me again.” He paused and raked a hand through his hair, then yanked at his tie until it loosened. “I wasn’t—seriously, I wasn’t. Cat bloody Stark found us and started ranting about what a shit I am.”
Brienne stayed frozen where she was, frantically typing. If he didn’t turn this direction, he wouldn’t see her. She clicked send, and her traitorous phone made a little whooshing noise.
Jaime’s head turned in her direction, his eyes widening when he saw her. “Tyrion, I have to go,” he muttered, shoving the phone into his pocket. He stalked toward her. “Brienne, you’ve got to listen to me.”
Brienne pushed off from the wall, standing as straight as she could, the better to look imperiously down on him. With her heels on, Jaime was a few inches shorter than her. “I don’t actually. I think I’ve heard enough.”
“Come on,” he pleaded. “You don’t actually believe that garbage she was saying, do you?”
“Why not? She seems to know you better than I do.” Jaime Lannister, heir to the largest fortune in Westeros. Of course. Her ex, Hyle, would be laughing his ass off if he could see her now. He’d remind her that no one like Jaime would ever look twice at her, even just to talk to for an hour.
Jaime frowned again, and started picking at his fancy cufflinks like he wanted to take them off. “Cat and I were kids together, okay? Whatever she thinks I’ve done now, I have nothing to do with my father’s schemes.”
Brienne’s phone buzzed and she glanced down at the screen. Sansa’s husband would be here in ten minutes. She needed to find Catelyn and get her to the lobby. “Don’t worry about it, Jaime. It doesn’t matter. I’ve known men like you before. We had a laugh, we needn’t see each other again.” It was easy to brush off the last hour, to pretend she hadn’t felt seen and appreciated in a totally new and addicting way. It was safer to end it now.
“There are no men like me, Brienne. Only me,” he growled, pulling off his crimson tie and shoving it in his pocket.
The rasp of his voice and the tension in his jaw made her want to touch him. But Brienne’s armor had been built up for years. A sexy voice and a nice smile wouldn’t break through it. “That line’s not any better than the one about my eyes. If you have questions about the Stark side of the company, call my office on Monday. Do not try to seduce me into divulging company secrets. It won’t work.”
She still needed to find Catelyn. Brienne tried to brush past him, but Jaime followed, working his shirt buttons open as they walked.
“What are you doing?” she squawked, heat flooding her face again.
Jaime stopped in the middle of the corridor, his shirt half unbuttoned, and yanked his dress shirt to the side. A swath of golden tanned chest appeared, his soulmark arcing across one pectoral. “Brienne, look. Please. I couldn’t just walk away.”
Brienne froze. Her heart was pounding so hard the sound filled her ears. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying. This had to be a joke. Someone had told him, she’d certainly said those words often enough over the years. She stepped forward on shaky legs, until she could read it. Don’t worry, I’m not your soulmate. The letters were deep blue under his sparse chest hair.
“I always wondered, what kind of woman would say that to me,” Jaime said softly. “My friend Addam thought it was hilarious when we were younger. He said only someone totally unimpressed with me stood a chance of putting up with me.”
Without thinking, Brienne reached up and touched the letters. His chest was warm and firm under her fingers. “It’s ink,” she insisted. Carefully done, but still ink. It had to be.
Jaime scowled. “Why would I do that? You’re just not that fucking important to the company. I’m sorry, but you’re not. Go get a drink. Pour it on me if it makes you feel better. This mark will still be here.”
Brienne strongly considered doing just that, though she might throw it in his face rather than on his chest. Her hand dropped away from his skin. She’d seen soulmates meeting. More than once. She remembered Sansa’s face, and Renly’s. A woman in the supermarket, who dropped a carton of blueberries and didn’t even notice when they scattered all over the floor. A man in her cardio-boxing class. “If we’re soulmates, why didn’t you tell me? Why not show me your mark at the bar? You didn’t even tell me your name.”
Jaime started rebuttoning his shirt. He looked away from her face as he worked the tiny buttons. “I wanted to know if you liked me. Not my face. Not Tywin’s son. Not your soulmate. Just me.” All the fight had gone out of his voice.
Brienne watched his carefully blank expression, his stormy eyes. She knew that armor well. “And if we didn’t get along, you would’ve never told me, would you?”
He nodded and looked up at her again. She could see the rough edges Catelyn had pointed out, the sharpness and anger, the arrogance and privilege. “And you wouldn’t be stuck with an ugly soulmate.” It had to be said. He had to be thinking it.
“What? You think I give a shit about that?” Jaime sounded so affronted it was almost comical. Funny how the truly beautiful always seemed to give lip service to the notion that looks didn’t matter. They could afford to think that way.
Brienne sighed. “Everyone does. Look, I have to go find Catelyn. Her son-in-law is coming to pick her up.”
Jaime finished his last button. He moved with a sort of jerky agitation that didn’t fit his perfect tailoring. “We had something, out there, didn’t we? I’m not imagining that?”
The plea in his voice almost melted her resolve. “We can’t live out on that balcony. And you wouldn’t want to. Trust me.”
His jaw tightened for a moment, and then he said, “I spent years wondering why it was so hard with my fiancee, why I had to constantly prove my love to her, why she was always such a mystery to me. But tonight, it just felt right. Meeting you felt like coming back to someone after a long absence, not like meeting a stranger. I can’t just walk away from that.”
Brienne’s heart warmed and then ached. He sounded so sincere. Her phone buzzed again. Catelyn’s ride was here. “Jaime, I have to go.”
He nodded. “I know, I know. Cat doesn’t deserve to go out in disgrace, and my father will definitely use this to his advantage if he can.” He tried to smile at her, but he couldn’t fake it for more than a second. “I’ll be at Snooze in King’s Square at 9 a.m. tomorrow. I’d love it if you’d join me. If not, maybe I’ll see you around the office sometime.” To her surprise, he didn’t return to the party, heading toward the lobby instead.
Brienne watched him go until he turned a corner and was gone. The unsettled feeling in her stomach remained, but she ignored it. She had to find Catelyn and get her out of here. She put Jaime out of her mind and searched the ballroom until she found Catelyn weepily ranting at Dacey Mormont. It wasn’t hard to convince her to leave the party early and go see her tiny grandchild.
Brienne didn’t stay either after Catelyn left. She did take one of the goodie bags, because fuck Tywin Lannister, and changed out of her dress and into sweats as soon as she got home. The bag contained a gift card for a massage, some fancy chocolates, and a Lannister-Stark coffee mug. Brienne was tempted to chuck that out the window.
She wasn’t under any illusions about her own place at Lannister-Stark. When Catelyn left, she’d be out of a job. That was more than a little terrifying, but at least it would reduce the chance she’d run into Jaime again.
Because she shouldn’t see him again. The Seven were playing a cruel joke at Brienne’s expense. That man couldn’t possibly be her soulmate.
But she fell asleep thinking about his lively eyes and his dry humor and his strong, graceful hands. Her dreams were strange and unsettled: monsters in the dark, cold water lapping against bare skin, blue flame and dark steel, and always Jaime there with her, protecting her even as she protected him. She woke late in the night, feeling queasy, got up and drank some water until her stomach stopped threatening to revolt, and went back to bed. This time her dreams were hot: a wash of red light over silky sheets, slick skin against hers, heated breath on her throat, golden hair between her thighs, honey and musk scenting the air, hands gripping her body and pleasure rolling through her in waves.
She woke sticky with sweat and shaky from an orgasm stronger than any she’d had with the men she dated.
8:15 a.m.
Jaime Lannister wasn’t her soulmate, and he wouldn’t be waiting. Maybe he was across the street, waiting to laugh at her for showing up. Maybe he was at home with someone smaller and prettier than her, laughing to himself about how the stupid ugly girl would wait in vain for him. It had happened before, back in college.
But she got out of bed, showered, dressed, and slipped out the door. The restaurant was only about a mile away, and she didn’t mind the cold, crisp morning air.
Snooze was busy, with groups lined up outside shivering waiting for a table. They didn’t accept reservations, yet Jaime had been confident he’d have a table at nine. Of course, with Lannister money they were probably happy to save him a table.
Brienne tried to peer through the front windows, but the sun was too bright. She took a deep breath and walked through the front door, into warmth and the heavy scents of cinnamon and bacon and coffee.
Her gaze skimmed quickly over the tables, families and couples and the occasional loner with a book. And right along the back wall, studying the menu with reading glasses perched on his nose, was Jaime.
As if he could sense her gaze, he looked up. His eyes found hers, and the smile that lit his face could have powered a whole city block. Brienne was drawn across the room by that smile, until she was standing right in front of the table, unsure what to say now that their lines were said.
“You came,” Jaime said, with enough surprise mixed into his pleasure that she knew he wasn’t certain she would. He set his glasses on the table. “What convinced you?”
Brienne shrugged out of her coat and sat across from him in the booth. He wouldn’t understand how hard it had been for her to come here, to put herself on the line even with their matching marks in their favor. Being soulmates wasn’t a guarantee of happiness. They would have to build that themselves. She let herself look at his face, his wariness and his hope shining in his eyes, and told him the truth.
“I dreamed of you.”