Her smile faded. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve never known you to talk trash.”
She flashed an attractive moue. “I can’t compliment my husband?”
“Of course. But you usually aren’t that generous when it comes to compliments.”
“Don’t play yourself, Ethan McMillan. Didn’t I pay you a compliment last night?”
“Yeah, you did, but in the throes of passion.”
Faith’s cheeks burned in remembrance. “You’re not supposed to mention that.”
“Why not?”
With downcast eyes she said, “What goes on in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.” Whatever Ethan was going to say was preempted by their waiter bringing their entrées.
They spent the next ninety minutes dining on succulent plank-grilled salmon, rosemary-encrusted chicken, stir-fry vegetables, rice pilaf and live music from a talented quintet. They left the restaurant to find the sidewalks were teeming with people. New Yorkers were out taking advantage of the longer days and warmer temperatures.
“Where are we going?” Faith asked when they began walking in the opposite direction from where Ethan had parked his car.
“I want to show you something.”
“What?”
“It’s a surprise.”
She glanced up at his distinctive profile, trying to gauge his mood. “Aren’t you going to give me a hint?”
“Nope.”
“Be like that,” she intoned in the same manner as when she was a child and couldn’t get her way with her cousins.
Ethan chuckled softly. He’d taken Faith to Harlem to eat for two reasons: to unwind and enjoy good food and music at one of his favorite restaurants and to see the renovated space that was to be his wedding gift to her.
“We’re almost there,” he said as he led her around the corner.
All Faith saw was an immaculate, tree-lined block with brownstones lining both sides of the street. “I hope you’ve noticed that I’m wearing heels that aren’t made for walking.”
“But of course I noticed, and probably half the Harlem male population also noticed.” Faith wore a black linen wrap dress with a pair of black patent-leather pumps, and he’d noticed the surreptitious male glances directed at her during their stroll from the garage to the restaurant.
“Very funny, Ethan,” Faith drawled.
He stopped in front of a brownstone halfway down the block. Wooden boards covered the windows of the second and third floors. Reaching into a pocket of his slacks, he removed a key and led her up the stairs to the entrance.
Faith pulled back. “What are you doing?”
“It’s okay,” Ethan tried reassuring her. “Before I show you what’s behind this door I want you to put the patisserie up for sale.”
“What!” The single word exploded from her mouth. “And why would I want to do that?” she asked. There was no mistaking the thread of hardness in her voice.
“You’ll see.”
“See what, Ethan?”
“Patience, baby,” he crooned as he unlocked the front door, then deactivated the security system he’d had installed to protect against break-ins. He flipped a wall switch, and naked bulbs hanging from ceiling fixtures illuminated an area covered with dust and wood shavings.
Faith followed Ethan down a broad hallway with unfinished cement floors. A curving staircase, sans banister and railing, led to the upper level. Her annoyance escalated until he unlocked a pair of carved mahogany doors and they slid open as if mounted on glass. Recessed and track lighting lit up the yawning space like bright sunlight. Her shock was evident when her mouth formed an O, but no words came out. What Ethan wanted to show her was an industrial kitchen that rivaled those in cooking schools.
“I wanted to wait until after our church wedding to show it to you, but thought if you saw it now you’d want to unload Let Them Eat Cake as quickly as possible.”
Eyes narrowing, she rounded on him. “You did all of this without consulting me? You never asked me whether I wanted to sell my bakeshop. You just assumed I would because you believe it would be in my best interest.”
“But we talked about it, Faith.”
“We didn’t talk about it, Ethan. You mentioned it as a suggestion, but I never agreed.” She was practically screaming at him, but at that moment she didn’t care.
“Didn’t you say your assistant had mentioned buying you out?”
“That’s all she did. She said that if and when I’m ready to sell she wanted to put in the first bid.” A rush of hot tears filled her eyes, and Faith closed her eyes to keep Ethan from seeing them. “I really appreciate your trying to look out for me, but what I can’t abide is you making decisions for me.” She opened eyes that were shimmering with tears. “All I’ve ever asked from you is trust and honesty, and it appears you’re incapable of that.”
Ethan struggled to keep his temper in check. All he wanted was to love and protect his wife, and right now she was making it hard as hell to do that. Instead of selling off his last Harlem property, he’d kept it with the intent of using a portion of it for his wife’s business, and instead of embracing his generous offer she’d thrown it back in his face. He’d instructed the contractor to renovate the third floor into spacious units he would sell at the prevailing rates for the gentrified neighborhood. The second floor would be converted to living space he planned to share with Faith and the children he hoped to have with her.
“I’ve never deceived you, Faith.”
“No, you haven’t. You just keep secrets.” Her voice was softer, almost conciliatory.
Smiling, he took a step. “Is that so bad when the outcome is a good surprise?”
“How would you feel if I kept secrets from you?”
Cradling her face between his large hands, he dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. “Are you keeping secrets from me?”
Her penetrating gaze met and fused with his. Faith thought of the possibility that a new life was growing inside her, but it was only that—a possibility. “No.”
“Good,” Ethan whispered as he covered her mouth with his. “Because from this day forward I promise never to hide anything from you again.”
Wrapping her arms around his waist inside his jacket, Faith pressed her breasts to his chest. “You’d better not or I’ll be forced to pay you back.”
Ethan smiled, remembering the last time she’d promised to repay him for putting his face between her legs. “It’s been a while since you’ve punished me,” he teased.
Faith traced the outline of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. “Maybe if I’ve gotten over my snit by the time we get home I’ll think about obliging you.”
Dimples caressed his lean cheeks with his broad grin. “You promise?”
Affecting her best diva attitude, Faith rolled her eyes while sucking her teeth. “No.”
Throwing back his head, Ethan laughed until his sides hurt. He was still laughing when he led his wife around the brick-walled, stainless-steel kitchen that provided everything she’d need as the cake designer for Signature Bridals. After locking up, he told her about his plan for the property, leaving nothing out.
Looping her arm through his, Faith fell in step with her husband. “Maybe we should think about living in Harlem full-time. It’s not as if we won’t have enough room if we have more than one child.”
“That’s a thought. There’s no doubt we’re going to outgrow the house in Jersey after a while.”
“How many bedrooms do you want on the second floor?”
“At least four or even five. We’re going to need at least two guest bedrooms.”
“And I’d like a small ballroom for dinner parties,” Faith suggested.
“If you want the ballroom, then I should reconsider keeping the entire building.”
“But you’ll lose money by not putting it on the market.”
Ethan lifted a broad shoulder under his jacket. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“Yes, it do
es matter, Ethan. What if I give you the proceeds from the sale of Let Them Eat Cake?”
He shook his head. “No, baby. I’m not going to take your money.”
She stopped in the middle of the block, causing several pedestrians to bump into her and Ethan. She ignored the cutting glances and mumbled curses. “Since when did it become your money and my money? Are we not married, Ethan?”
“The last time I checked we were.”
“Then that settles it. We’ll use the proceeds to renovate the third floor for entertaining. I’d like to put in a glass ceiling for a solarium. Simone can suggest the plants and flowers to go into it.”
Ethan half listened to Faith go on about what she wanted for the brownstone property. He would agree to anything she wanted because he loved her just that much.
And he loved her enough to marry her not once but twice before they celebrated their first wedding anniversary. What troubled him was which anniversary would they celebrate—the first or second? Just to be safe and not incur Faith’s wrath he would be prepared to celebrate both.
CHAPTER 20
“Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue,” Faith whispered as she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror in her childhood bedroom.
The Cartier bracelet Ethan had given her for Valentine’s Day was old; her white halter satin gown and matching shoes were new; she’d borrowed the single cascade of diamond earrings from her mother and she’d tucked a pale-blue linen handkerchief into the garter around her thigh.
Ethan’s image came into view behind her. He wore a tailored tuxedo with a silk rose-pink tie and boutonniere that matched the delicate pink lilies in her bouquet.
He winked at her. “Are you talking yourself out of going through with it?”
Faith, a vision in white satin, turned to face him. “You do know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”
Ethan reached over and adjusted the fall of tulle attached to a jeweled comb in her raven-black curls. “Doesn’t that apply only if the couple isn’t married?”
“I don’t know.”
Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to her bare, scented shoulders. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“I’m good now.” Earlier that morning she’d experienced premarital jitters, and the normally unflappable Faith McMillan née Whitfield had taken to her bed for several hours until it was time for to ready herself for her church wedding.
“Ethan, you know you shouldn’t be in here.”
Recognizing Simone Whitfield’s husky voice, Ethan turned and smiled. Her trademark curls were missing, her tawny brown hair pulled into a chignon and secured at the nape of her neck with jeweled pins and an enormous fresh magenta peony that was the exact shade of her strapless satin gown with flowing soft-rose-pink bow. Faith had selected Simone to be her maid of honor. Before he could explain why he’d come to see his bride, Tessa walked in, wearing a satin gown with narrow straps crisscrossing her back in alternating shades to those of her sister’s gown. The rose-pink color shimmered warmly against her gold-brown skin. The sisters and their cousin called to mind the delicate flowers Simone grew and cultivated in the greenhouses on a portion of her White Plains property.
“What’s he doing here?” Tessa asked her cousin. “You know it’s bad luck for the groom to see his bride before time.”
Throwing up both hands, Ethan walked out of the bedroom and closed the door. He didn’t want to debate the silliness of the superstition or get into it with the Whitfield women that Faith may be his bride, but she was also his wife.
“Do you think he’s pissed?” Simone asked conspiratorially.
Faith pressed a hand to her middle in an effort to stop the flutters in her belly. “No. There aren’t too many things that can rattle Ethan.”
Even when they didn’t agree on something, he’d politely excuse himself and walk away, leaving her fuming. Once he believed she’d cooled off he would return, then they would have a quiet, rational discussion.
Simone fluffed up the layers of tulle in her veil, which ran the length of her hem in the flowing train. “I bet if you didn’t show up at the church he’d blow a gasket.”
“It wouldn’t matter to him because, as he likes to remind me, we’re already married.”
Tessa adjusted the bodice of Faith’s gown. “This style does wonders for your cleavage.”
“What cleavage?” Simone quipped. “If I give her some of my chest, then you’d be able to talk about cleavage.”
Faith narrowed her eyes at Simone. “I happen to have enough, thank you.”
“Anything more than a hand or mouthful is too much,” Tessa intoned, gesturing to her sister.
“Y’all just jealous,” Simone countered.
“Not of double Ds,” Faith said.
“I am not a double D, Mrs. McMillan. I happen to be a very full C cup.”
A soft knock on the door ended the debate as to bra sizes. Edith Whitfield opened the door and entered the bedroom. The three younger women gasped. Edith looked every inch a mature model in a silk suit the color of pink champagne.
Faith blinked back the tears that seemed to come out of nowhere. “You look beautiful, Mom.”
Edith smiled, nodding. “So you do, my darling.” She smiled at her nieces. “I’m sorry to break up your little party, but it’s time we leave for the church.”
Holding her bouquet in one hand, Faith picked up the flowing skirt to her wedding gown and walked out of the bedroom, her attendants following.
* * *
“Are you ready, princess?”
Faith smiled at her father. “I’ve never been more ready.” It was the same thing she’d said to Ethan in Las Vegas.
The organist played the opening bars to the “Wedding March,” and everyone in the church stood up and turned to watch Henry Whitfield lead his daughter down the white carpet to where Ethan McMillan stood with his best man, former Air Force Academy roommate Lloyd Seymour, and William Raymond and his son William Raymond III as his groomsmen.
Faith stared straight ahead, her gaze fixed on her husband. A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth the closer she came. It was only when Henry placed her hand in his that his smile became a full grin. Several women close enough to see his expression gasped softly when the deep dimples slashed his lean cheeks.
Ethan and Faith had talked about writing their own vows, but then decided to use verses inspired from literature and the Bible. Faith had chosen a passage from Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre and he from the story of Ruth.
Faith, having handed off her bouquet to Simone, turned to face Ethan. Only the sound of breathing could be heard throughout the seventy-year-old church. “‘I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy, my better self, my good angel. I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted; a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my center and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.’”
A muffled soft sob broke the silence, and Edith Whitfield wasn’t the only one blotting away tears.
Ethan’s deep baritone sliced throughout the church. “‘Entreat me not to leave thee or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.’”
Simone lifted the bridal bouquet to hide the tears trickling down her face. She’d told Faith that Ethan would be the last man in her life, and his vow had just confirmed her prediction.
There came the exchange of rings, then it was over. When Ethan and Faith exchanged vows in Vegas it’d been before strangers. This time it was before God, family and friends.
Hand in hand they walked out of the church amid showers of rice, birdseed and orange blossoms. A cloudless sky and warm temperature
s in early May made it a perfect day for a spring wedding.
Faith waved to her staff from the bakeshop as Ethan helped her into the backseat of the limousine. It wasn’t often Let Them Eat Cake was closed on a Saturday, but today was the exception. Ethan hadn’t booked any clients for his car or jet service, because he, too, wanted his employees to share in his very special day.
Resting an arm around his wife’s shoulder, he pulled her closer. “When do you want to tell them?” he whispered.
“I’d like to wait until after we get back.” They were taking a week off for a brief honeymoon. She’d found a resort online in Oneonta that featured private villas that included an exclusive spa.
“You know your mother is going to go a little crazy when she discovers she’s going to become a grandmother.”
“I believe it’s Daddy who’s going to lose it. Unconsciously he and my uncle Malcolm have always competed with each other. It was Uncle Malcolm who had three children to his one, and once he became a grandfather it was like having a New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox fan in the same room.”
Ethan lifted his eyebrows. “It was that critical?”
She smiled. “It was beyond critical.”
Closing his eyes, Ethan tried imagining his mother’s reaction once he told her that he was to become the father of another generation of Macs. Faith was now seven weeks pregnant, and her projected delivery date was January eighth—a year to the very day he encountered his sweetest temptation.
The driver stopped at the entrance to Whitfield Caterers, got out and came around to assist the newlyweds. Faith gasped when she saw Peter Demetrious standing in front of the massive doors holding a camera.
“Did you think I wouldn’t come to take pictures of your wedding?”
She took the photographer’s hand, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I didn’t tell you just because I wanted you to photograph me.”
He affected a shrug of his shoulders that was purely European. “Do you think I’d miss the opportunity to shoot a beautiful woman?” He winked at her. “I’ll make certain the photos get into the New York Times.”
The Sweetest Temptation Page 24