Grace shook her head. “I don’t think it’s shallow. Sarah, you’re a designer—you understand the power of color, shape and texture. I imagine you do, too, Isabelle, because of your painting. Well, it’s the same with fashion. A red lipstick reflects my attitude on a particular night in a different way than a beachy coral does during the day. Haven’t you ever had an outfit or a piece of clothing that made you feel special, more like yourself? That’s what I’m talking about.”
“I guess so,” Isabelle answered. “I just hardly ever have time to do more than paint, take care of our kids and spend time with Scott. I never have an afternoon to go from shop to shop trying to put an outfit together. I like dresses, because it’s all in one. Some shoes and earrings and I’m done. Of course, I look at you and I think, with a bit more effort, I could do this. Grace, believe me, I get what you’re saying.”
Grace heard the appreciation in Isabelle’s voice and suddenly felt a spark of enthusiasm hit her creative cells. She’d been recharged, as if her battery had run low.
It had been a long time since she’d actually talked to women outside the fashion-and-design industry. Her friends were her design-team members. She had coffee with models and fabric artists. Her life in Paris revolved around fashion. Her peers should have ignited her talent, but lately, they had not. It wasn’t their fault. The problem had been within Grace. She’d been so overloaded with Jules, she feared she’d lost her imagination.
Grace realized that she’d buried her creativity under a mountain of deadlines, expectations and her own egocentric need to succeed.
It was no wonder her sketches didn’t materialize into the visions in her head. Due to financial strains, she’d chosen to work with a new silk weaver from Lyon whose fabric was subpar. It had been a bad choice and a waste of valuable time because the fabric was simply not right. To make matters worse, the English wool she’d ordered was dense and the weave too loose for the jackets she’d designed.
She looked at the riot of color in Mrs. Beabots’s closet. These vintage clothes were the best the big houses could turn out at the time. They didn’t settle for second best. They didn’t use remnant merino wool or cottons that couldn’t hold their dye. They demanded the best from themselves.
Grace stood in front of Isabelle and flattened the collar until it sat perfectly. “This jacket was meant to be worn with a simple and comfortable sheath dress, or a plain skirt and sweater. We’ll find something and you will feel and be amazing.”
“I have just the sheath,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Isabelle a sleeveless black silk number. Isabelle went behind a Chinese screen and when she emerged, Grace studied the outfit, tilting her head from left to right. “You should wear half your hair up and away from your face, the rest tumbling down your back. Then we’ll stud your hair with rhinestones that will glitter in the lamplight. Let your hair be your accessory. Then we need long earrings.”
“Shoulder dusters!” Mrs. Beabots said. “I love them!” She turned to a velvet-lined drawer and pulled out a pair of long gold bars studded with rhinestones. At least Grace thought they were rhinestones. In this closet, they could be diamonds.
“Put these on, dear,” Mrs. Beabots encouraged.
Isabelle turned toward one of the three full-length mirrors. “That’s me?”
“Wait until I put those rhinestones in your hair,” Grace said.
Sarah beamed as she stood behind Isabelle. “You look incredible. You’re...transformed.”
Grace stood back from the group as they continued admiring her selections. Her mind was ricocheting with ideas. Her new designs needed to be comfortable and utilitarian for those women who went from offices or an artist’s easel to a kid’s school play and then to a dinner or a friend’s party. She would take the mainstays in every woman’s closet and give them a touch of glamour. Not glitz, just subtle glamour like the gold piping on the Yves Saint Laurent jacket.
She needed workable fabric. She knew just where to find the perfect fabrics for these designs.
“This is it!” Sarah squealed, holding up a long, off-the-shoulder dress in black crepe. It was classic and elegant. “I’ve seen this before and always admired it. It’s Chanel, I think. I have black heels and new gold-and-rhinestone earrings I got for Christmas from the kids.”
“Perfect!” Mrs. Beabots said.
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Beabots. But now I have to scoot.” Sarah hugged the three of them in turn. “I can’t wait to see you in that Dior skirt at Gina’s party,” Sarah told Grace as she left. “You’ll be gorgeous.”
“I’d better go as well,” Isabelle said.
Grace picked up Jules and followed Mrs. Beabots out of the closet. She closed the doors reverently, feeling as if she’d walked out of a dream and back to reality. Her mind whirred with a tornado of design ideas. All Grace wanted to do was sit down with her sketchbook and get to work.
Yet she had to focus on the fact that in a few hours, she’d be at the Barzonni villa with Mica. Surprisingly, her heart swelled with anticipation. Half the reason she wanted to look stunning tonight was to see his reaction. She wanted to surprise him. Entice him. Push him.
Did he have feelings for her?
They hadn’t resolved a thing and time was running out. She had no idea what her next move would be, but she couldn’t let him talk her into marriage.
Maybe the Dior skirt wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“Grace, dear. Don’t you want to try that skirt on?”
“It’s very generous of you, Mrs. Beabots, but perhaps I shouldn’t wear something quite so...eye-catching.”
“Nonsense. What on earth would you wear instead?”
Grace let out a breath. “A suit of armor.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE SUN CAST LONG, crisscross shadows of bare-armed trees over the snow-dusted Barzonni fields. Inside the villa, no family member was exempt from party preparations. Both Nate and Gabe had arrived early with supplies, food, flowers and cases of Gabe’s wine.
Rafe, Olivia and Julia, Olivia’s mother, worked alongside Gina in the kitchen.
Mica and Nate put the leaves in the dining table, then spread out the long Irish linen cloth. Nate brought a stack of china plates.
“I can’t believe how this party grows every year,” Mica said.
“And it’s going to keep growing. Don’t forget, we’re setting a kids’ table in the den as well.”
“Kids’ table,” Mica mused. “I remember when there were only four kids at that table. This year we have Luke and Sarah’s three, Scott and Isabelle’s two, Danny Sullivan and two Barzonnis.”
Nate paused. “Two Barzonnis?”
“Yeah. Zeke and Jules,” Mica replied.
“Uh-huh.”
Mica curled his fingers around a group of sterling knives. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just wondering if you’ll be making a similar announcement to Mom and Sam’s tonight.”
“No.” Mica ground out the word, gripping the knives so tightly he thought he could snap one of them in half. He continued setting the table.
“So, you haven’t popped the question? I recommend the old get-down-on-one-knee style. It worked for me.” Nate chuckled, then looked at Mica. “What?”
“I did ask her. She turned me down.”
Nate straightened and put his hands on his hips. “For real? She’s the mother of your baby. She has to marry you.”
“She doesn’t see it that way.”
“Okay. This I hadn’t figured. I mean, Maddie says that Grace had a crush on you when we were kids. Quite obviously, her feelings were the same last autumn. You must not have asked her right.” Nate slapped his forehead. “You didn’t have a ring. Is that it?”
Mica tossed the knives on the table. They jangled and slashed each other like
broadswords. “No, Nate. I didn’t have a ring. And no, it has nothing to do with my style. She doesn’t want to marry me. Plain and simple.”
Nate’s expression was concerned. “Is it...the arm?”
“She says not. But I can’t be sure.”
“Aw, man. I just didn’t think Grace was like that.” He scratched his head. “No, I can’t believe that. It’s got to be something else.”
It was something else all right, but Mica especially didn’t want to tell his successful and blissfully happy brother that Grace wanted a man who loved her. Mica didn’t know what love was and he certainly wasn’t going to lie to Grace. She deserved better than that.
Mica had been struggling for over a year to adjust to his new reality. He liked to think he’d done a decent job of accepting his limitations, but the truth was, he had a long way to go. Life was tough and then it got tougher—that was his new mantra. There wasn’t much to make him happy anymore, and when Grace had turned him down, she’d underlined his losses with a blunt instrument.
When Grace hadn’t contacted him after her month in Indian Lake, he’d understood she wanted more for herself than a life here. It had hurt, but he’d been okay with it. His life was a tangle of opportunities unrealized, crushed expectations and nonexistent hopes. And he’d done little to pull himself together. He couldn’t perform his old duties on the farm. So, he’d turned to his design work. But nothing had panned out. It took determination and focus to go back to the computer, but too often he allowed himself to wallow in the muck of self-pity.
I am responsible for my lack of accomplishment.
He knew it and his family knew it, though they gave him a wide berth—too wide. But to be fair, he’d also been avoiding them lately. He saw the pity in their eyes. He saw their frustration.
Now he was a father. Meeting Jules had lit a fire inside Mica, giving him the first nudge out of his depression that he’d felt in months. Jules gave him hope for the future, but Mica still had no idea where his life was going next week, let alone next year. He wanted more than anything to do right by Jules, and to Mica, that meant marrying Grace. But part of him understood why she’d said no. She deserved a guy who had a thriving career, focus and ambition. Why should Mica expect her to settle for less?
But what if I could be that guy? What would I have to do?
He’d have to show her that not only was he capable and dependable, but also that Jules belonged on the farm, where he would grow up with aunts, uncles, cousins, a very doting grandmother and soon, a new grandfather. It would take a lot of sacrifice on both their parts, but he was asking no more than his own parents had done for the welfare of their family.
“Don’t worry,” Mica said to Nate. “I’ve still got time to convince Grace that she and Jules belong here as part of our family.”
Nate took a step closer to Mica. “Is that what you’ve been saying to her?”
“Partly. Mostly. Yeah.”
“No wonder she turned you down.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re telling her that her only option is to leave Paris and live with you on the farm. Oh, I bet that really swept her off her feet.” Nate nodded and pursed his lips. “Yeah. Every woman wants to know that all her hard work, ingenuity and brilliance doesn’t matter a whit. She was just daydreaming to think she could be a name in the fashion world.” Nate slapped Mica’s back. “If I’d said something like that to Maddie? She would have kicked me out the door. Hard.”
Nate walked away, shaking his head.
Mica scooped up the knives and continued setting the table, muttering to himself.
He knew that feeling and he despised it. It had become his bedfellow ever since the accident. How could he not feel inadequate, when he could no longer do most of the farm work he’d built his adult life upon? Everything he’d been striving toward had been taken away from him. True, the farm would probably be fine in the end, but Mica would not get the same satisfaction, the same drive, out of its success if he was unable to work the land.
And now he had Jules to think of, too. He believed in making his son a true Barzonni, in raising him here, but now Mica realized he’d need to do more than just learn to take care of a baby. He had to provide for Jules, set a good example. Mica still hadn’t fully forgiven Grace for keeping their son a secret, but maybe her bringing Jules here was the shock Mica needed to make him take stock of his life. Change his thinking. For over a year, he’d been stuck. Now he needed to move forward.
But how?
* * *
GRACE ARRIVED AT the party with Aunt Louise, Mrs. Beabots and the Bosworth family.
As they pulled in to the farm, Grace noticed the barn roof was decorated in lights shaped like fireworks, flashing on and off. Below was a small replica of New York’s Times Square “ball” that would drop at midnight.
“Is there anything Gina doesn’t think of for her parties?” Grace asked.
“Nope!” everyone in the van shouted. Jules clapped his hands.
She leaned down to Jules and tickled him. “You are Barzonni through and through.”
Jules giggled.
Grace was the last in their group to enter the house. Gina was hugging Mrs. Beabots, who was complimenting the hostess on the decorations. The children raced to the den to watch a movie and play with their friends. Over the heads of Luke and Sarah, Grace spotted every Barzonni family member and was especially struck at how radiant and happy they all looked. Hugs and kisses and laughter filled the spacious rooms and Grace felt as if she might burst into tears. Her father had died young. Her mother died just as Grace graduated from high school. She didn’t have brothers or sisters and had never had this kind of holiday gathering in her life. It was amazing to her that Gina could put all this together and then share it with such generous abandon with her family and friends.
The men were dressed in tuxedos, which Grace hadn’t expected. The women were a sea of gold, silver, black velvet and deep sapphire dresses and long skirts. No one had skimped on accessories or jewels.
It was a happy night, she thought the minute her eyes came to rest on Mica.
He was staring at her with deep blue eyes that bored a path straight to her soul. That gaze kept her riveted to the spot as he walked up to her. He took her hand in his and kissed it.
“Welcome to your first New Year’s Eve extravaganza, à la Gina,” he quipped. Then he leaned over and kissed Jules on the cheek. “Hello, son. How’re you feeling?”
Grace felt the edges of her heart melt as Jules grinned at Mica and thrust his arms toward his father. “He’s a lot better today. I think he wants you to hold him.”
“Be proud to,” he said, wrapping his arm around the baby as he took his perch on Mica’s shoulder. “We’re putting the coats in the den closet. I’ll walk over with you.”
“Fine,” Grace said, unbuttoning the top button on the long, white wool coat she’d brought from Paris. She slipped off the coat and opened the den closet.
“Wow,” Mica gasped. “That’s some... Did you make that? I mean, design it?”
Grace hung up her coat and turned toward him, smoothing the folds of the pink chiffon. “I made the top, but the skirt is Dior. Mrs. Beabots’s Dior skirt, I might add.”
“And that means?”
“It’s vintage, Mica, and irreplaceable. I better not spill anything on it. I’m tempted not to eat a thing, to be honest.”
“No worries. We’ll stick with white wine and champagne, and at dinner I’ll throw a bath towel over your lap.”
“I’ll take it,” she said, lifting a finger to Jules’s hand. “Thank goodness he’s all but cured. He turns six months tomorrow, and I wouldn’t want him to be sick for it.”
“Six months.” Mica looked at Jules, wonder in his eyes.
Mica shifted his gaze back to Grace. “You lo
ok beautiful. Beyond beautiful,” he whispered. “Are you trying to impress me?”
Grace’s stomach fluttered like it had years ago in the swimming pool. Then it sank. Mica didn’t love her. Her mouth went dry. To diffuse her sad thoughts, she glanced around the room. Timmy and Annie were putting a DVD in the player while Danny settled in at the kids’ table. Little Zeke was playing with a musical toy. “I thought I already had,” she said.
Jules slapped Mica’s cheek. “Da!”
Mica gasped. “Did he just say something?”
“He makes those sounds all the time.”
“No, Grace. Clearly, he’s trying to say ‘Dad.’”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mica. Babies don’t talk at six months.”
“That’s what you think. Mom says Nate walked and talked in full sentences at eight months.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“You need proof?” Mica jerked his head toward the living room. “Come on. I’ll find Mom.”
Grace chuckled as she followed Mica. They were waylaid by every couple present. Everyone wanted to hold Jules, congratulate Mica and hug Grace.
She was overwhelmed by the caring and love she felt from old friends and new ones. She met Katia and Austin McCreary, who arrived just as two waiters dressed all in black walked through the room serving flutes of bubbling champagne. Katia was one of the most beautiful women Grace had ever met, impressing her with her Michael Kors black crepe gown. It had enormous rhinestone epaulettes at the gathered shoulders, a round, rhinestone-studded buckle at the waist and a slit skirt. Grace raised an eyebrow. Apparently, some of Mrs. Beabots’s friends understood and followed fashion. Grace had the feeling she and Katia would share a lot of common interests.
Before she could say much more than hello, though, Sam Crenshaw tapped his champagne glass to get everyone’s attention.
“Good evening. Before we toast the coming new year, Gina and I have an announcement to make.”
Gina, dressed in an aquamarine wool floor-length sheath and glittery sandals, moved closer to Sam as he put his arm around her.
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