Vanessa stepped out of the exam room and found Nicolas right outside the door, leaning against the wall, waiting. Alone.
“Where’s Sebastian?” she asked nervously.
“Julia persuaded him to leave once the doctor assured us all was well with you. Your brother put up a fight, but she convinced him that was the very reason he should leave. You need peace, not controversy.” He touched her back. “I have arranged for a car to drive us.”
She tried to get a read off his face, but her intense lover, the charmer of the past two months, had disappeared. The old Nicolas was back, the man in complete control of his emotions. She sure could use some tenderness. Maybe he was just waiting until they were alone. After all, they still hadn’t officially come out about their relationship.
The sun blinded her momentarily, her eyes adjusting as a limo pulled up alongside her.
Nicolas slid his arm around her waist, steadying her, not letting go until she was safely inside. His care touched her ragged nerves as firmly as his hand held her body. He settled her into the backseat then sat across from her.
Across?
So much for warm fuzzies. She wished she could sink into his arms and rest her head on his broad chest while he reassured her he was excited about the baby.
After giving the driver her father’s address, Nicolas folded his arms over his chest and watched her with the detached air of a physician observing his patient.
The limo glided out of the parking lot and onto the main road. The drive would be short back to her father’s house. Even though every instinct inside her shouted to wait, to talk to him later when they were both calmer, she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.
She resisted the urge to grab him by his collar and shake him. Instead, she folded her hands carefully in her lap and wished she had on something a little more substantial than a tennis skirt. “Aren’t you going to ask about the pregnancy? I know you overheard me tell Julia.”
His jaw flexed, all his muscles visibly tensed even though he sat stone still. “All the more reason not to discuss this now. You need to rest and take care of yourself.”
“Don’t you think I understand that?” She pulled in the rising hysteria that grew with every second he stayed in that seat across from her. She needed to hear how he felt, damn it. “I went to my doctor right after I took a home pregnancy test. He’s already referred me to a high-risk OB because of my diabetes. I understand the risks and I know how to be careful.”
“You’re keeping the baby then.”
“Yes, I am.” Certainty settled within her for the first time. She was her own person, in her own situation. “I want our child regardless of whether or not you’re in my life.”
“Our child,” he said slowly.
She realized that until that moment, she hadn’t officially confirmed that the baby was his.
No wonder he’d been distant. She leaned forward and rested a tentative hand on his knee. “Nicolas, this is your baby. I got pregnant that evening when we made love in the sauna.”
“But you weren’t going to tell me.” A tic twitched in the corner of his eye.
Of course he was angry over being kept in the dark—but not necessarily because of the baby. Relief swamped her. “I was waiting until after the season.”
“Why would that make any difference?”
His cold voice iced her relief. She pulled her hand back. “I didn’t want to upset my father.”
“What does that have to do with telling me? I can see waiting until after the season before telling him, but I have a right to know.”
She couldn’t argue with his logic, since she’d come to the same conclusion herself. “I had changed my mind about waiting and was going to tell you tonight.”
“So you say.”
Shock and anger rooted her to the seat. “You think I’m lying?”
He shook his head, going silent again.
She smacked the leather seat with her hands. “Talk to me, damn it. You’re upsetting me far more by keeping your thoughts to yourself.”
“I just think it all sounds convenient. Nothing’s changed from last year.”
The reminder of his recurring accusations about her immaturity drained the blood from her face. “That’s not fair.”
He looked out the window.
“Don’t you dare clam up on me now!”
“You’re being too emotional,” he answered in the same low voice he used to calm his horses. “It’s not good for you or the baby.”
She was not an overworked pony! She was a woman with her heart on the line. “Of course I’m emotional. You’re dumping me again.”
“Now is not the time,” he said, still using that cool voice as the limo pulled up outside her family home. “Perhaps you are right. We should wait to discuss this at the end of the season.”
“You don’t want your baby?”
His eyes went darker with emotion. “Make no mistake, I will be a part of our child’s life.”
But he said nothing about her, and she couldn’t overlook that omission.
She bolted from the car and sprinted up the steps toward the double doors, brass knobs gleaming, welcoming her into the haven of home.
She’d been a fool all summer long, a fool to think she could make a game of her relationship with Nicolas, that somehow she could minimize the power of her feelings. Throwing him out of her life last year had been painful, but it was nothing compared with the ache twisting her heart now. She loved Nicolas Valera, a man who didn’t trust or respect her.
A man who didn't love her back.
Six
He’d screwed up, big-time.
Nicolas shouldered through the scores of spectators gathered for the afternoon game. His team wasn’t playing, but he needed to analyze the other ponies in action for future matchups.
Instead, he could only think of finding Vanessa.
She’d ignored his calls the night before and this morning. He wanted to apologize for not supporting her at a time when they should be banding together. God, how he regretted hurting her feelings with his insensitive behavior.
And if she wouldn’t accept his apology? Then they at least needed to get on a more civil footing and make plans before the pregnancy became public knowledge. So far not even a whisper had leaked, but they couldn’t count on that lasting much longer.
Sweat beaded along his back, the full force of the afternoon sun intact for at least another hour until it dipped below the tree line at the western edge of the field. Weaving around three men setting up a tailgate party on the lush green lawn, he searched—and still no Vanessa.
He wasn’t accustomed to losing control. His sisters had a more stereotypical Latin temper, but Nicolas had always prided himself on his cool calm. Until he’d met Vanessa.
The woman tapped into emotions he’d never felt, good and bad. While wrestling with his anger, determined to keep things low-key for both her well-being and their baby’s, he’d lost sight of how much she would need his reassurance.
She was carrying his child, a fact that still shook the ground beneath his feet. His brain filled with images of a little girl with Vanessa’s face and his hair, tiny feet stamping divots and taking the world by storm.
He felt eyes on him and pivoted…only to find a pair of women in nearly identical sundresses and sandals staring, then waving and giggling. Groupies. He wasn’t interested.
Finally, he spotted a familiar face. Down the sidelines, he saw Vanessa’s father, Christian Hughes, in a wheelchair. The ailing man had lost at least twenty or thirty pounds since last season, but he still had a commanding gestalt that couldn’t be missed. He may have made a concession to his illness with the wheelchair, but there was no sickroom blanket resting over his knees. The older man wore neatly pressed tan slacks with a polo shirt under a linen sports coat and a perfectly folded kerchief peeking out of the pocket.
A plaid driving hat protected his shaved head from the sun. And behind the chair, no nurs
e. Nicolas slowed his step. Sebastian Hughes stood watch behind his father.
How much had he told his dad about Vanessa and the baby? Time to find out.
Nicolas charged forward. Christian Hughes eyed him impassively, giving nothing away.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Nicolas said carefully.
“Valera,” Christian nodded, “always nice to see the players out mingling with the crowd. Good for the draw.”
Sebastian silently assessed him with cool eyes.
“Actually, Mr. Hughes, I’m looking for Vanessa.”
A spark of surprise glinted in the older man’s eyes for an instant. Nicolas glanced up at Sebastian, who shook his head. Vanessa’s father didn’t know. Interesting.
He held on to his hope that he could stand by Vanessa’s side when she told Christian Hughes. He wanted to be there for support, and to reassure her father he cared for Vanessa and the baby. He would be there for both of them.
Christian raised a frail but steady hand and gestured left. “She’s about five tents down, away from the field. Look for the red-and-white-striped tent with all the children.”
He couldn’t have heard right. “Pardon me? Where did you say?”
“The red-and-white tent, the child care area. She’s arranged activities for children during matches.” He smiled proudly. “I believe it’s story hour right now. She makes a point of dropping in then.”
His perception of her shifted and settled as he heard of the considerate way she’d seen to the needs of others, from the spectators to their restless children. How could he have not known that about her? Now that he thought about it, this certainly fit with the impressions he’d gleaned this summer of added maturity, of a deeper sensitivity for the needs of those around her. She’d certainly been there for her father.
He could picture her with kids. He’d bet anything her impulsiveness and quick laugh—and the mischievous gleam in her blue eyes—would attract children by the dozen.
“Thank you, Mr. Hughes.” For the directions and the additional insight.
He sidestepped the chair. A lowly spoken “good luck” drifted on the wind from her brother as Nicolas covered grassy ground quickly on his way toward the red-and-white-striped tent. Had he heard that right? Then again, maybe Sebastian wasn’t rooting for him as much warning him. No doubt Vanessa was not pleased with him.
Shouldering past a pair of Shetland ponies set up for children to ride, he heard Vanessa’s voice above the hubbub of activity. Her warm, inviting tone drew his feet forward even faster.
Then her voice changed. She lowered it as if imitating another person. Stopping at a large metal pole at the back of the tent, Nicolas peered into the shaded depths.
Vanessa came into focus.
Her sunglasses were off, her eyes bright and completely unguarded. A half dozen kids sat cross-legged around her while adults wearing Bridgehampton Polo Club uniforms stood along the periphery. He looked closer, frowning. Yes, Vanessa wore finger puppets.
A smile tugging his mouth, he leaned against the metal pole and listened. She gestured with a fairy princess on her pinky and then introduced the horse on her thumb with a mane made of fuzzy black yarn. She wove tales of a magical polo-pony adventure, featuring “Nessa” and “Nicky.” Vanessa was so absorbed in her storytelling, she didn’t even notice his arrival. At different points in the tale, she swapped out tiny puppets for other supporting characters hidden away in her huge purse, yet Nessa and Nicky stayed in place throughout. He wasn’t so sure he liked being referred to as Nicky, but he appreciated being in her imagination because, God knows, she was featured in his every thought.
But it was more than the puppet tale that tugged him as he stood there. It was the space she’d converted into a child’s haven that drove home that a sweet, dedicated and caring woman lived beneath her beautiful exterior.
She’d done more than blow up a few balloons and hire a clown. The play area had backdrops that had been painted in rainbow colors with the carefree enthusiasm a child might use on an easel drawing. Various stations were set up in the corners—arts and crafts, snacks, even a few cots for tired tots. An inflatable slide hummed with air off to the side. A miniature basketball court awaited a game.
And at the center of it all was a woman he’d misjudged. A woman who guarded herself so carefully he hadn’t seen the transformation she’d undergone, which was as vast as the changes she’d made to the red-and-white-striped tent.
His eyes and ears told him what he should have realized long ago. The Vanessa he’d gotten to know this summer was the real woman, a woman he would have understood better last year had he focused on more than getting her naked at every opportunity. He’d almost missed the boat again by failing to come through for her yesterday the way he should have. The truth stared him in the face as clearly as those finger puppets waving through the air.
And today, he intended to make sure Vanessa and the entire Bridgehampton community knew just how much he loved her.
Her heart still aching, Vanessa stood on the sidelines of the polo match, grateful for the sunglasses shading her tear-stained eyes. She forced herself to sample the luncheon buffet set up beside her under a tent, but the catered fare tasted like dust.
After story time with the children, she hadn’t been able to hold back her sobs any longer. She’d cried her heart out in a bathroom stall—hurt, mad and downright lost. How could she make her world right again?
Watching the match now was pure torture, and Nicolas wasn’t even playing today. How much worse would it be when she had to see him and know she couldn’t have him?
Everyone else around her was abuzz with excitement over being at the epicenter of the Hamptons’ social scene. The Bridgehampton Polo Club events had become Long Island’s playground. The outrageously good-looking players were the main attraction, of course. As a teenager, she’d fantasized about scores of them. Now, her thoughts centered on only one.
The one she couldn’t have.
She wanted to find her old spunk and fight for him, but she wasn’t even sure where to begin. She couldn’t afford to risk upheaval and discord when they needed to communicate peacefully for their baby’s sake.
The halftime horn blew, jolting her from her thoughts.
Out of habit, she slid her purse from her shoulder and dug for her shoes. As she swapped out her heels, she found she simply didn’t have the urge to stomp anything. She wanted to go back to that stall and cry some more.
This was so unlike her, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to blame it on pregnancy hormones. For the first time in her life, she had no idea what to do. She’d always fought for what she wanted, but Nicolas had made it clear he didn’t want scenes.
He didn’t want her.
A hum started in the crowd. Vanessa looked over her shoulder to see what had caused the ruckus. She saw nothing, except a bunch of faces looking past her.
She followed the direction of their gazes. A horse galloped along the sidelines, a sorrel pony with a coat as shiny as a new penny. She knew the horse well, and the man astride Maximo. Confusion knitted her brows together. Nicolas wasn’t playing today—it wasn’t his match, after all—so why was he here? And why was he riding directly toward her?
Her heart flip-flopped in her chest. He pulled up on the reins, the horse stopping just an arm’s reach away from her. An expectant hush settled over the throng gathering tighter and tighter around them. Maximo, unflappable as always, stayed still as stone. Nicolas’s face, however, was full of emotion, his impassive look long gone. Heart in her throat, hopefulness fluttered to life inside her.
His shoulders back, head regally high, he winked at her before shifting his attention to the crowd. “Is there a reporter out there anywhere?”
Bodies jostled before no fewer than seven microphones poked through the crowd toward Nicolas.
What was he doing? Nicolas had never courted the media outside his carefully chosen endorsement spots. And heaven knew, he’d never wanted to share the s
potlight with her. Hope fluttered faster.
“I have an announcement,” Nicolas broadcast, his sexy accent rippling along the light summer breeze. “Last year I made a terrible mistake in letting a special lady slip away, a mistake I do not intend to repeat. I want to make sure the world knows I am in love with Vanessa Hughes. And whether or not she will have me, I want everyone to realize how much I admire this amazing woman.”
Her knees turned as soft as the rice pudding she’d served the kids after lunch.
Dreamy sighs echoed through the crowd, but nothing was louder than the pounding of her heart, the gasp in her throat. Because Nicolas was here, in front of all of Bridgehampton, making a wonderfully uncharacteristic scene on her behalf, laying his heart on the line for her.
Flashes went off. Shutters clicked. Whistles and applause stirred the crowd. Happy tears fell unchecked down her cheeks.
He raised his hand for silence before continuing, “I have plenty more I could say about Vanessa, but it is best I save it for her ears only, you understand.” He dismounted, his eyes meeting and holding hers for the first time. He extended his hand. “Would you please do me the honor of joining me for a ride?”
If she went with him on the horse, she would be deciding her whole future right now, embracing a lifetime with this passionate man who could hide his true feelings so well. Or…she could simply walk away.
The decision was easy. Hadn’t she just experienced a small taste of how much it hurt to be without him? She trusted him. She loved him. They would figure out the rest together.
With a chorus of songbirds singing in crescendo, Vanessa placed her hand in his, happily sealing her fate.
The crowd roared their approval. With a strong but gentle touch, Nicolas lifted her onto Maximo before settling behind her. His arms bracketed her as he held the reins. A light click and Maximo trotted forward. Nicolas’s chest offered an amazing place to rest her head, his signature scent swirling around her along with cheers and applause from the throng.
Winning It All Page 7