His lips were soft and warm, and she thought she felt the tip of his tongue at the corner of her mouth as he tasted her tears. She sat motionless, thinking that if time were to stop at that moment, she wouldn’t mind at all. She had always wanted Neill Bellamy, and he had always seemed unattainable.
And now he was kissing her and telling her she was beautiful, and he was sweeping her hair off her neck and letting the pale strands slide silkily through his fingers, and he was pressing her toward him so that their mouths met. Her eyes were wide-open at first so that she could look into his, and she was savvy enough to know exactly what she saw there. He wanted her, was turned on by her, and she didn’t know why or how, only that her dream could come true. And this might be the only chance in her lifetime that she could have the man she’d always wanted above all others, and in that brief but eternal moment she wanted him more than ever.
He was insistent, pressing his thigh against hers, gliding his hands around to her breasts. Trying to think clearly, she pushed him away, surprised and then touched to see the pain of rejection in his eyes. She wouldn’t have thought that a rebuff from her would mean much to him. He cared. That meant everything. She thought she should go back to the party to let everyone know that Genevieve’s remarks hadn’t hurt her at all. But they had, and here was comfort in the person of Neill Bellamy. Why go back to what was sure to be pure misery when she could have Neill instead?
She laced her fingers through his and stood, pulling him along with her, propelled by the urgency of their mutual desire. Her heart pumped, her breath quickened, and the blood coursing through her veins seemed to urge, Now, now, now!
When the two of them stepped into the gazebo, they left the rest of the world far behind. She turned to Neill, dreamlike, waiting to be enfolded in his arms, and once there, she held her breath so that she could listen to his heart beating beneath his clothes. It seemed to her that her own heart sped up and synchronized its beat with his, but that might have been pure fantasy. But his mouth wasn’t, nor was the way he pressed it to the gentle rise of her breast above the fabric of her bodice.
“Oh, Neill,” she said, or maybe she gasped the words, and she pressed her hands to either side of his face, his handsome face, and guided it upward until his seeking lips found hers. She opened her mouth beneath his, letting him taste her, letting him in.
When at last they mated, she thought she felt the rush of air and the beating of wings, but the swans weren’t anywhere about. She was lifted out of herself, transported to a realm of grace and beauty and light. She’d loved him in those moments; it seemed that she had always loved him, and she knew then that Neill Bellamy was the man with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life.
Later she had realized the hopelessness of her thinking. But she’d never been sorry about the time they’d spent in the gazebo, not even when she found out he’d made her pregnant.
AFTER HIS SHOWER, Neill dressed and left Mulberry Cottage. For a moment he stood watching the swans swim along the far edge of the pond near the Folly. In his opinion, the Folly was a foolish conceit. He’d heard that Genevieve’s great-grandfather had built it after traveling to England and observing that many English estates were embellished with similarly fanciful sham ruins. The Folly was a fitting background for Eric’s wedding, though, since Neill believed that the marriage would crumble early on.
Hell, the Folly would probably still be standing in all its fake glory when the marriage was over.
Or maybe the marriage wouldn’t take place. So many things could go wrong with Eric and Caroline not getting along and Bianca here with her baby and probably a lot of other things that he hadn’t even heard about yet.
Who knows what to expect at a Bellamy wedding?
Neill didn’t realize that he’d spoken the words out loud until he heard Eric’s voice close behind him.
“Have you started talking to yourself these days?”
He wheeled around to see Eric standing there in his running shorts and a T-shirt, a damp towel draped around his neck.
Neill shrugged, trying to figure out what to say.
Eric saved him the trouble. “What’s doing, big brother?” he asked, favoring him with his trademark easy grin.
“You sound relaxed,” Neill replied with false heartiness.
“I’m going to get married in,” and Eric consulted his watch, “about fifteen hours. Who wouldn’t be?”
“A pessimist,” Neill said, beginning to feel like Scrooge, W. C. Fields and Oscar the Grouch all rolled into one.
“That’s you, not me.”
“Last night you didn’t seem so happy.”
“Well, that was last night.”
“So you and Caroline have made up?”
“Maybe you’d better ask Caroline. Believe me, I’ll be glad when this wedding is over.”
“That’s understandable,” Neill said. So will I was what he was thinking.
Eric sat down beside him. “Enjoying yourself at the hotel?”
“It’s a great hotel. Mulberry Cottage and all.”
“We put the groomsmen up in cottages, the women at the hotel. I thought you’d all like a little privacy.” Eric winked.
“For what?”
“For whatever,” Eric replied.
Neill rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to engage in aimless chitchat; he wanted to ask Eric what was on his mind. But he couldn’t force the words out of his mouth. No matter what was going on between Eric and Caroline and despite the fact that Neill didn’t think Bellamys should marry in the first place, he didn’t want to accept responsibility for the blowup of the wedding plans. At the moment, he felt like a jerk for even thinking that Bianca and Eric had ever been intimate.
Neill rose abruptly. “I’ve got to run, Eric.”
Eric looked disconcerted. “Maybe we could—”
Neill cut him off. “No, I’m afraid not. Sorry.”
He started to walk away, but Eric wasn’t taking the hint. “Do you still exercise Black Jack for Winnie? Hey, why don’t you exercise Winnie? She’d probably appreciate it.”
“Cut it out, Eric. I’m not in the mood.”
“Fine. Maybe I’ll go for a swim. Leave you alone to contemplate whatever it is that’s making you so damned irritable.”
“What’s making me so damned irritable is—oh, never mind. Don’t take it personally. Go swim.” He felt jumpy, worried. He needed to marshal his thoughts before tackling Eric. Certainly he’d better censor his words.
Eric’s expression was troubled. “Neill, we spend so little time together. Seems like we ought to get along for the short time we’re going to be here.”
Neill let out a long sigh. “I can’t argue with that. All right, Eric, I’m going to lay it on the line. I want you to be straight with me.”
Eric’s eyes were unsuspecting. “You got it,” he said.
“Bianca says she had a baby.”
Those eyes shut down and clouded with a meaning that Neill wasn’t sure how to interpret.
“She told you?” Incredulous words backed up by an incredulous expression.
“Yes. I saw the baby at the garden party.”
Eric was silent. Neill waited, experience telling him that his younger brother would feel obligated to fill the silent void with words. But this time, that didn’t happen.
“And what else did she say?” Eric was cautious, probing. As much as this surprised Neill, he forged ahead.
“The conversation was more remarkable for what she didn’t say. Whether she has a husband or a boyfriend, for instance.” He avoided mentioning Vittorio’s name, wanting it to come from Eric.
But that’s not what he got. “Damn,” his brother said under his breath. Eric turned an unwavering gaze on him, and behind it Neill detected a smoldering anger. At what? Or whom?
“You’re asking the wrong questions, Neill.” Eric looked as if he could barely contain his fury.
“Would you mind telling me what are the right questions?”
Neill clenched his fists at his sides. “Do you happen to know anyone named Vittorio?” he asked.
“I suggest that you talk to Bianca,” Eric said, flinging the words back over his shoulder.
Great, thought Neill. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been trying.
Well, this encounter had proved one thing. There was no point in enlisting Eric’s help. His brother might as well be a total stranger for all the willingness he’d shown to tell Neill what he needed to know.
Also, Eric hadn’t pinned fatherhood on the mysterious Vittorio, whoever he was. And, of course, that only increased Neill’s suspicion that Eric was the father of Bianca’s baby.
NEILL DIDN’T KNOW what the supremely ticked-off Eric had in mind when he stomped away from the bench in front of Mulberry Cottage, but he did know one thing and that was that he was more determined than ever to talk to Bianca.
He checked her room again, and again she wasn’t there. He asked the bellman if he knew if she’d gone into town and received a negative answer. He was trying to figure out where to look next when his mother walked into the lobby.
“Have you seen Bianca?” he blurted without preamble.
“Not since the rehearsal dinner,” she answered. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you since then either. Want to go for a walk?”
“Good idea. We might run into Bianca along the way.”
They went out through the French doors and Viv smiled up at him. “Good idea. It seems as if these events are really never long enough to get in all the visiting we need to do, are they?”
“Oh, I think these family events are long enough. Quite long enough,” Neill said, but his meaning seemed completely lost on his mother. Anyway, there was no point in distressing her with what kept surfacing from deep in his soul—alienation, heartache, worry—all because family get-togethers brought home once again that he had lost so many people who were important to him over the years. Every time they all assembled as a family, it reminded him even more that they weren’t one.
Viv chattered all the way to the Folly, where a flock of red and black orioles scattered at their approach. Neill hardly heard a thing she said until she declared, “It’s getting close to time to get dressed for that silly bachelorette party, I can’t imagine what we’re going to do there unless it’s eat bonbons and drink tea with our pinky fingers suitably elevated. Neill, I can’t wait for you to see my new vintage motorcycle. It has a sidecar so we can go riding together.”
This got his attention. “You rode up here on an old motorcycle?” he said unbelievingly.
“It wasn’t such a long trip.” Viv fumbled in her purse and pressed a set of keys into his hand. “Here, why don’t you take a look at my most recent plaything? It’s parked in the old shed behind the apple orchard. You might even want to take it out for a spin sometime.”
Neill jingled the keys, scarcely aware that Viv was still spealdng. “Mom, do you have any idea how old babies are when they sit up?”
That question coming from nowhere stopped Viv cold. “Why, Neill,” his mother said slowly, focusing on him as if she were seeing him for the first time. “Why on earth do you ask?”
WITH TIA NOW CONTENT in her new dry diaper, Bianca navigated the pram through the orchard to the very back of it where it tapered off into the woods. At the edge of the trees behind a screen of bushes nestled a small wooden outbuilding, and out of curiosity she rubbed a circle of dirt from the lone window and peered inside.
When her eyes adjusted to the shed’s murky light, she saw that the only occupant of the building was an old but shiny motorcycle complete with a sidecar. Well, maybe there were a few spiders around as well, judging from the cobwebs in the corners of the window.
Interesting. Maybe Franny’s father was into vintage transportation.
She paused to tuck the light blanket around Tia’s legs and then resumed her walk. It was almost time to get ready for that stupid bachelorette party, an ordeal that Caroline had insisted required her attendance.
AS HE APPROACHED the orchard, wending his way between the old gnarled trees, Neill mulled over his mother’s answer to his parting question.
“I don’t remember exactly what age babies are when they sit up,” she’d said. “Seems like maybe it’s six months or so before they can hold their little backs straight enough.”
Neill knew she was itching to interrogate him; Viv wasn’t the kind to let such a significant query from her eldest son go by the board. In order to accomplish a quick getaway, Neill had made the excuse of being eager to see Viv’s motorcycle and left her standing beside the Folly looking clearly puzzled. And now he was required to follow through by searching out the shed behind a low growth of shrubbery, unlocking it, and staring down at the new acquisition of which his mother was so proud.
Well, how many other mothers Viv’s age would ride on a vintage bike? With a red sidecar? Not many. Neill had to admire her spirit.
The orchard was quiet and peaceful, and after he’d relocked the shed, Neill strolled aimlessly through the weeds and vegetation for a few minutes, trying to figure out the next logical step in finding Bianca. He saw rutted tracks and decided to follow their wandering path, and eventually the orchard opened up into the rambling backyard of a small two-story stone house. It was the old carriage house, if he wasn’t mistaken. He walked around to the front of the house where a gray pram occupied a narrow porch.
He recognized the pram immediately. It was the same pram that Bianca had been pushing at the garden party. It was a clue. A major one.
Neill psyched himself to march up the path and knock on the front door with its gaily beribboned wreath of dried flowers. He would ask if Bianca were there. If she wasn’t there, he’d ask when she’d be back.
But as he raised his hand to knock, the pram jiggled. He heard a rustle and a noise. He wheeled around and bent over the pram. Inside was Bianca’s baby.
He looked at the baby. The baby looked at him. The baby smiled. He smiled back. The baby made a kind of meowing sound. No, cats meowed. This was a baby.
Neill supposed that if he thought about it, he’d have to classify this noise as a coo. He didn’t know much about talking to babies. He’d tried it yesterday in the car and the conversation had gone nowhere. Yet here was this baby blinking at him expectantly. She looked kind of cross-eyed. Did that mean anything? Did they all look like that? Or was there something wrong with this baby, this Tia?
He crossed his eyes at her in fun, and she smiled. She didn’t have any teeth. He could see her gums, all pink, and her tongue, so tiny. She screwed up her face, and for a panic-stricken moment, he thought she might be going to cry. Instead, she sneezed.
“Gesundheit,” Neill said automatically. Did one say gesundheit to babies? Tia wrinkled her nose. He wondered how they blew their noses. They couldn’t do it themselves, could they? How could they hold a handkerchief? He took his out of his pocket and looked from it to the baby.
Tia sneezed again and began to bicycle her little legs energetically under the blanket. Her pacifier was sitting off to one side. He wondered how she would sneeze if her pacifier was in her mouth. Her Binky. Or maybe the pacifier acted like a plug and kept her from sneezing, preposterous as that sounded. Jeez, how did you learn these things?
“Want your Binky?” he asked her. Tia stared at him. He saw a droplet of moisture at the edge of one of her nostrils. Maybe she did need to blow her nose. Keeping his eye on her, he folded his handkerchief; it was so big. Did they make baby-size hankies like they made baby-size shoes and baby-size hats? He’d never seen any baby handkerchiefs.
“Will you blow your nose if I hold this up to it?” he said in a low tone. He felt kind of stupid asking.
Tia kicked the blanket off and chortled. At least he thought it was a chortle. It didn’t qualify as a coo, and he didn’t think it was a gurg
le. And her nose was running.
He was bending over the pram to wipe her nose, hoping it wouldn’t make her cry, and thinking that he had a lot to learn about babies when the door behind him scraped open.
He didn’t have time to look around before he heard a gasp. And then a panic-stricken voice he didn’t recognize bellowed behind him, “Mo-om! Call Security! Some man’s trying to hurt the baby!”
Chapter Eight
An arm grabbed his and wrested the handkerchief out of his hand. He didn’t fight it; he wasn’t doing anything wrong.
“Hey, wait a minute!” Neill protested. “Her nose is running!”
His skeptical assailant danced away with his handkerchief and glared at him from beneath a fringe of frizzy bangs. She was chewing gum and couldn’t have been more than seventeen.
Clattering footsteps closed in, and Bianca and the Ofstetler woman burst from the house. Bianca took one look at Neill and closed her eyes in weary disbelief before waving the girl away. “It’s okay, Franny. I know him. He’s—” She bit her lip, but not the way she clamped down on it when she was trying not to laugh. This was entirely different.
“I’m Neill Bellamy,” he said, jumping in to make things better.
“He is. I know him,” Bianca quickly assured the two wary onlookers, regaining some of her color and also her poise. “Franny, Neill is the groom’s brother and best man in the wedding. Neill, Franny. Neill, you already know Doris Ofstetler, her mother, from the restaurant.”
So here Franny was in person. Mrs. Ofstetler was nodding cordially in recognition, but Franny moved away and folded her arms across her chess “I thought he was putting chloroform on Tia’s face. I thought he was a kidnapper. There’s been all this talk about jewel thieves and kidnappers, you know.” Franny popped her gum and managed to look chastened.
Bianca put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’re so conscientious about looking after my daughter, but really, it’s okay. And it’s time for me to get back to the hotel.” She appropriated the handkerchief from Franny and gently wiped the baby’s nose before handing the hanky back to Neill. Tia gurgled. Neill was sure it was a gurgle, not a chortle or a coo.
RSVP...Baby Page 11