“So, how about carrots and if you’re lucky, some applesauce for dinner?” she said, cooing to Jules.
She settled him back in his carrier, put a bib around his neck and had just given him the first few spoonfuls of pureed carrots when her doorbell dinged.
“I’m guessing that’s your daddy.”
Jules smiled and toyed with his bib.
“I’ll be right back.”
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. She couldn’t help it. She had to brace herself against the onslaught of Mica’s presence.
He wore clean jeans, a plaid shirt and a sheepskin-lined leather jacket, which was dusted with snow. He carried two paper sacks in his right arm.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a bunch,” he said with a smile that could melt glaciers.
“Come in,” she said.
He wiped his black boots on the mat. “I remembered. No dirt on the boots. I wouldn’t want you to have to scrub floors on my account.”
“I appreciate that,” she replied, marveling at the fact that he remembered something she’d said to him fourteen months ago. It had been a mean remark. “Mica, I’m sorry for being so harsh back then. I was just...”
“Angry?” he asked.
“Yes. I was. I thought...well, you know. I thought a lot of things and they were wrong.”
“I remember,” he said, walking down the hall that led to the kitchen.
Jules was making all sorts of noises as he heard them approach. When Grace and Mica entered the kitchen, he started twisting and rocking and nearly pitched himself and the carrier over the edge of the table.
“Whoa! Hold on there, buddy!” Mica shoved the bags onto the counter and shot over to Jules, catching him before he tumbled to the floor.
“What the heck?” Grace said, rushing over to them.
“I’ve got him,” Mica said. “Shouldn’t he be in a high chair? He looks too big for this thing.”
“He is. But I haven’t been able to borrow or rent a high chair from anyone here yet.”
“You should have told me. I could have arranged it.”
“You? Mica, two days ago you would barely even—”
He spun around to face her, his blue eyes flashing so intensely that Grace had a hard time remembering where she was or what she was doing here.
“Grace. You come here, out of the blue, to tell me I have a son. That you want me to take care of him. Fine. But then you have to include me.”
Grace sighed. “You’re right. I’m so used to doing everything on my own, I didn’t think... And a week ago, Jules was fine in this carrier. He just got excited when he saw you, is all.”
“Yeah.” Mica’s face softened, along with his tone. “He did. Didn’t he?”
“He likes people.”
“I’m hoping he likes me.”
“Me, too. I want him to get to know you. For you to learn to be a real dad to him.”
“Put ’er there, buddy,” Mica said, holding out his hand for Jules to grasp. Jules pulled Mica’s hand to his mouth.
“Did you wash your hands?”
“Not since I left the house.”
“Then take off your coat and go over to the sink and wash up. Then he can suckle your finger all you want. I’ll get us some plates for the food.”
“Good. I’m starving. Hey, can he eat any of this stuff yet?”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”
“Not even the rice?”
“He could choke. But he does have six teeth. Maybe if I cut up some of the steamed broccoli, he might try a smidge.”
“I gotta see this,” Mica said eagerly.
Grace took out two plates and silverware and opened the steaming boxes of shrimp fried rice and kung pao chicken.
She filled two glasses with water from the tap. “Sorry I don’t have any wine or tea. I haven’t been to the store since I landed. All I have is food for Jules. Mrs. Beabots gave me some leftovers...” She stopped. She was rambling.
She frowned as she placed paper napkins from the brown bag on the table. In Paris, she always prepared pretty meals for company. But she was only in Indian Lake for a short time. Accoutrements for dining were not on her priority list. She hadn’t planned to serve dinner to anyone. She should have realized that Mica might be a guest. Or more than that.
There was a great deal she hadn’t thought through and she wished now she had.
She cut up some broccoli, speared the tiniest piece with her fork and held it out to Jules. He leaned forward, put it in his mouth. In less than two seconds, his face soured and he spit the broccoli onto his bib.
“I take it that was a no-go,” Mica said.
“I should have started with something he’s used to. I puree most of his food at home. He’s had carrots and green beans, but broccoli is new to him.”
Mica smiled. “Kinda cute, though, the way he knows what he likes and doesn’t like.”
“Yeah,” she agreed tentatively.
With her fork hovering over her golden chicken, she asked, “Why are you here, Mica?”
“Well,” he said wiping his fingers on a paper napkin, “I think we should move on since you’re not here for very long.”
“Move on?”
“Yes.” He looked at her with earnest eyes. “We need to get married.”
Grace’s heart banged once in her chest and stopped as if it had no reason to beat again. “Married.” Shockingly, she realized this was what she’d always wanted to hear from Mica. This was her teenage dream come true. Mica was asking her to marry him. She should be on top of the world.
But she felt cold, as if she’d just settled quite permanently in her grave. Something was wrong. Every ancient instinct a human could call upon in a moment of crisis had gone on alert. She should run. Seek shelter. The world was not beginning, but ending.
She knew better than to allow her ears to hear the rest of what he was saying.
“I want Jules to know his roots. His heritage. I want him to know all of my family and be a real part of our family. He’s a Barzonni. I want this for my son.”
Mica hadn’t said that he wanted her or cared about her. He hadn’t even said he loved Jules. He was performing a responsibility that was expected of him because he was a Barzonni.
A pang speared her heart.
She had only one choice and she took it.
“No, Mica. I won’t marry you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MICA WAS SPEECHLESS as Grace rose from her chair, clearly bent on escorting him from her apartment. He couldn’t possibly have heard her right. She was turning him down? Was she out of her mind? What kind of game was she playing?
He bolted to his feet and grabbed her arm. “Wait a minute.”
“No, you wait a minute. I came to Indian Lake to get your help with our son. Granted, I didn’t go about any of this the right way. I should have told you about him when I discovered I was pregnant. I didn’t want to burden you because you were going through all kinds of—of...personal things. I thought I was sparing you from more trauma. I screwed up. I made a mistake. I see that now. But I’m not going to marry you. I only need your help for a while.”
“No way, Grace. He’s my son. Period. I won’t walk away from him the way you walked away from me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You left here last October and I haven’t heard from you since. You’ll be here a week and then take off again. For some vague amount of time. And then when your work settles down, or you change your mind about leaving Jules with me—I’m guessing you’ll want him back. Then you’ll leave me a third time, and who knows if I’ll ever hear from you again. No way. He’s mine. Ours. Forever. That’s what I believe in. Forever.”
“This is ridiculous. You don’t love me, Mica.”
His words caught in his throat. He’d been ready for another argument. He hadn’t figured on introspection. “What? Who said anything about love?”
“I did.”
“Why?” He stepped closer to her, feeling a magnetic force drawing him in. When he was near Grace, he felt bewitched. But love? He’d never been in love. Though her rejection last year had hurt him deeply, and he wanted to hold her now and kiss away her concerns, he didn’t believe he loved her. If they loved each other, none of this would be happening, would it? Loving someone meant trusting them, and he wasn’t sure he could trust her after she’d kept Jules a secret for so long.
“Mica, when I marry a man—if I ever do—it will be because I love him and he loves me in return. I won’t settle for less.”
Her eyes blazed righteousness and resolution. Mica thought of simply trying to appease her, for Jules’s sake, but she’d see right through him. He would be honest with her, even if she hadn’t always been with him.
“Then I won’t help you,” he said. “Pack him up and go back to Paris.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“I do,” he replied firmly, wondering if she could sense his anxiety. If she left now, he might never see Jules again. He could fight international courts and spend a fortune he didn’t have to gain custody...and he’d make a lifelong enemy of the woman who’d intrigued him ever since that summer day in the pool. Despite her betrayal, there was good in her. He believed that she’d come to Indian Lake because she wanted to do the right thing—by him and by Jules. Mica hoped she’d make the right decision now.
“Mica, do you have any idea what’s at stake for me right now? This week?”
“I—”
“You can’t because you still don’t understand the world I live in. Fashion Week starts in mid-January. Two of my designs were on the runway in October and they sold. My name is just a whisper right now, but with my fall designs, the big houses are looking at me. I didn’t want to put it off any longer, but this trip is horrible timing. My team is going nuts even though I’m trying to stay in touch as much as possible. I need to work all day and night until the show. I’m taking a stab at some ready-to-wear designs as well. They don’t show until February, but they’re just as important. Jules deserves my full attention and I can’t give it to him. I want him to know you. I want you to know him and love him as well. I know it may not look that way to you, but I want the best for our son. I need help, Mica, not ultimatums.”
Well, didn’t he feel like a heel. And envious. Grace was driven by passion for her work. He could only imagine the stimulation and excitement that would create. She had what he wanted desperately for himself. He’d been wrong to think she was self-centered. He was the selfish one. At the same time, it was deeply important to him that Jules know all that it meant to be a Barzonni. Perhaps it was pride, but it was more than that. Mica revered his father for all he had sacrificed for his family. He was only beginning to understand what his mother had forfeited when she chose to keep her promise to Angelo and marry him.
It hit Mica that his parents had entered into a marriage that was less than romantic and idyllic for the sake of the life they intended to build in America. His father had escaped poverty in the streets of Sicily and his mother had chosen to devote her life to her sons and the farm. Family and all its heraldry, lineage and expectations rattled through Mica’s bones like anchor chains. He could no more allow Grace to raise their child alone than fly to the moon. He was Jules’s father. He would do all he could for his boy for the rest of his life. Jules was a Barzonni and that meant a lot of things to Mica.
Like his parents, Mica believed in family and that a family should stay together at all costs. Though their life together might have been less than ideal, Angelo and Gina gave everything so that their sons would inherit the farm, and know what it was to earn the pride in the land they tilled and sowed. Mica wanted to give Jules the best he could and that meant he needed to marry Grace.
It was his honor and his duty to his son.
All he had to do was convince Grace that marriage was the right thing to do.
“Grace, you’re right. I don’t know much of anything about your career, but I’m willing to learn. What I’m trying to say is that I should be a part of your life. Jules’s life. We should share in everything.”
She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. She blinked. “Really?”
“How can we possibly be the best parents for our son if we aren’t involved in each other’s lives?”
“You’re right, of course,” she said tentatively.
“Not only do I need to learn how to take care of Jules, but I also need—I mean, want—to know about you. Your work. Who are these people you work with? And what is Fashion Week and why is it more important than any other week?”
“Oh, Mica.” She laughed. “It’s not a week, but a showcase. Every fashion critic from every magazine around the world will be there for one purpose. To judge my work.”
His mouth rounded. “Oh. That’s...that’s—holy cow. Big.”
“Very big,” she said.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was doing it again. Giving him that open, caring gaze that went straight to a place deep inside him.
“Now you,” she said spearing another piece of chicken. “Tell me about your work.”
“What work? I haven’t...”
“Don’t give me that, Mica. I know you. That head of yours is full of all kinds of ideas. I can hear them whirring in there,” she teased.
He shook his head. For the past year, nearly every idea he’d had had turned to dust before he could translate it to his computer.
“It’s been a struggle, but I have been working on voice-activated farm machinery. I want to create a system that can be activated even from a cell phone.”
“Like an app?”
“Similar.” Mica was uncomfortable talking about his failures when Grace was clearly on the cusp of success. Listening to Grace opened his eyes. He hadn’t worked the long hours that Grace did. He’d puttered at his designs and hadn’t attacked his work head-on. He could do better. Much better.
Grace had always seemed to instinctively know what he needed. Like she had last October. Despite all she had going on in her career, being pulled in several directions at once, when she looked at him, she made him feel like the only person in her universe.
His head told him to be wary. She was the woman who’d deceived him. But Mica’s heart told him otherwise.
It was enough that his anger was deflating. He’d take that.
Grace didn’t know it, but she was changing his world with or without Jules.
Jules had been toying with a snow pea, not quite sure if it should go in his mouth or be sent flying across the room. He chose the latter.
Then he rubbed his eyes. Frowned. Rubbed his ears and started fussing. The fidgeting and scowling turned into sobs, which escalated into high-pitched cries.
Mica glanced from Jules to Grace. “Is he okay?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Grace said, rising from her chair. She went to Jules, unhooked the belt on the carrier chair and lifted him out. She put him over her shoulder but Jules just screamed louder.
Mica rose. “Here, let me try.”
“You sure?” she asked.
He shrugged and took Jules in his strong arm. Jules let out a bellow. Mica looked pleadingly at Grace, who held both arms out. “Looks like I’ve lost my touch.”
“I’ll get his bottle ready. That always settles him down.”
“Yeah. He’s probably hungry, huh? Is it just green food he doesn’t like?”
Grace went to the fridge, took out a prepared bottle and put it in the microwave. “He likes green beans and peas. I thought he’d like the snow p
ea. Apparently not. The chicken was too spicy for him.”
“I should’ve thought of that,” Mica replied, noticing that Jules’s cries were getting louder as he tried to wiggle out of Grace’s arms.
The microwave dinged and she withdrew the bottle, but when she moved it toward Jules’s mouth, he pushed it away and cried louder.
“What’s going on?” Mica asked, concerned.
“I’m guessing he’s teething again.”
Mica snapped his fingers. “I remember Gabe’s baby went through this.” He reached in his back pocket for his iPhone. “I’ll call Gabe.”
“No, that’s okay...” Grace protested, but then Jules let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Actually, I’ll take any advice he can give us.”
Mica nodded as Gabe answered. “Hey, Gabe. We have, er, well...” Mica began. He hadn’t told anyone in the family about Jules yet, though it was his bet that his mother had texted, emailed and smoke-signaled the entire Barzonni tribe. “I need help with Jules.”
“Uh-huh. Jules. The son you forgot to mention to me, Liz, Nate, Maddie, Rafe and Olivia? That Jules?”
“Knock it off. There hasn’t been time.”
“Mom found time.”
“I’m serious, Gabe.”
Jules screamed again.
“Hear that?” Mica asked. “Grace says he’s teething. What did you do when Zeke was teething?”
“Me?” Gabe answered. “Merlot, mostly.”
Mica’s jaw dropped. “For the kid?”
“What? No, for me. We put teething gel on Zeke’s gums.”
“Hold on.” Mica put his hand over the phone. “You got any teething gel?” he asked Grace.
“I don’t believe in it. I read a thing on the internet. It’s not good. I believe in natural, organic—”
Mica nodded. “I get it.” He went back to the call. “Gabe. She doesn’t have any. She wants organic. What can I use instead?”
“Chardonnay’s not bad,” Gabe quipped. “Or whiskey. Just rub a tiny bit on his gums. It won’t hurt him.”
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