Her Secret Affair

by Arlene James

  “He’s an adorable little boy,” Louise said fondly.

  “Yes, completely adorable,” Chey said with a proud smile. She glanced at Viola. “Thank you for that inspired assistance, by the way.”

  “Actually,” Viola drawled, “Brodie is—”

  “Here,” he said. Chey glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

  “It’s about time,” Viola said tartly, then she swung her long legs off the chaise and stood.

  “Uh, Grandmama,” he began, as Viola pulled a lace hanky from her bodice and began waving it over her head. Chey rose, too, then, and took the hand Brodie offered her. To her surprise, it was trembling slightly. “We never seem to get the timing right,” he muttered.

  “Brodie, are you okay?” Chey felt compelled to ask.

  “Yes, I think so,” he said, tugging at his collar. “I’m sorry that took so long. I meant to speak to you in private.”

  “Attention!” Viola called. “Attention everyone!”

  Brodie glanced at Chey apologetically. Then he took a deep breath and said, “What the hell.”

  The music died, and the crowd began to hush. Viola looked pointedly at Brodie. “I believe you have the floor.” With that, she sat down again.

  Brodie cleared his throat and glanced around, clutching Chey’s hand so tightly she feared that he might break something.

  “If I could have your attention,” he said quite needlessly. “I’d, um, like to take this opportunity to do three things. First, I’d like to thank you all for coming. You honor all of us here at Fair Havens with your presence on this very special night. Among other things, this is a sort of unveiling, and you’re welcome to look around the first floor of the newly redone house at your leisure.”

  He paused, then went on. “Second, I want to extend my personal welcome to Ambassador Sadhoturan and his family and staff. The mayor will have more to say on that officially a little later. However, Ambassador, I want you to know that I consider your presence here on this particular evening a very fortuitous event. Which brings us to the third reason I’m standing here.”

  He looked down briefly, sucked in a fresh breath and said, “Most of you know Chey Simmons. Actually, most of you are family,” he quipped, and laughter ruffled lightly through the crowd at that. “Many others of you know her as the most talented, brilliant architect in our fair city, a true expert on restoration and historical detail, as we here at Fair Havens can bear witness.” Chey felt her face heat slightly at the effusive praise, and she couldn’t help wondering what was going on. “She’s also the unofficial general of a formidable army of artisans and builders and suppliers and, well, the list is endless,” he said, his voice dwindling into intimacy. Then he cleared his throat and raised his voice again, adding, “But she’s even more than that.” He looked down at Chey and stated quite clearly, “She is the woman I love.”

  Suddenly she knew exactly what was going on, exactly why he’d invited her family here. Oh, this man did like grand gestures! His past efforts paled miserably in comparison. Looking down at her, he took both her hands in his now. She saw the pounding of his pulse at his temples, the working of his throat as he swallowed. Her own pulse fluttered dangerously.

  “Shall I get down on one knee?” he asked softly.

  The sound that came out of her was half laugh and half sob. She shook her head, saying shakily, “You’re doing just fine.”

  “Okay, then here’s the part I skipped before.” He took a deep breath and asked in a clear, loud voice, “Will you marry me, sweetheart?”

  It was all laughter now. “Yes!” He let go of her hands, and she threw her arms around him, felt him folding her close.

  “Finally!” he said, as applause swelled around them.

  She was lifting her mouth to his when a hand clapped him on the shoulder and a familiar voice said, “I believe you’ve forgotten something.” Chey glared at Georges, who stood behind Brodie, resplendent in a white dinner jacket and black bow tie. “Congratulations, by the way.”

  “Oh!” Suddenly Brodie was cramming a hand into the inside pocket of his coat. “I hope you like it,” he said, coming up with an antique filigreed platinum ring bearing an enormous emerald-cut diamond solitaire. “Because if you don’t,” he hurried on, “we can both blame Georges and get something else.”

  Georges took one look at her face and chuckled. “It’s not going back, Brodie. Trust me.”

  “Oh, my gosh! It’s fabulous!”

  Brodie was trying to get it on her finger, but her hand was trembling so badly that she had to help him, and then it was safely in place and he was kissing her as ardently as the circumstances allowed. When she looked up again, they were surrounded by family and other well-wishers. She hugged her mother, who was weeping, and Frank, also suspiciously wet of eye, and all the rest of them. For several minutes they were trapped by the excitement of her family and his guests. Then the music started again, and Brodie took control.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” he said firmly, pulling her after him as he pushed his way through the crowd, “I’d like a moment alone with my future wife.”

  They practically ran for the house and didn’t stop until they were at the foot of the stairs again. “My head’s swimming,” he exclaimed, pulling her to him, “and it’s not the wine.”

  She laughed, hopping up and down on her toes, blood percolating frantically. “I love you!”

  “I love you, too. How do you want to do it? When can we do it?”

  “Get married, you mean? I—I don’t know. What did you have in mind?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve had this picture of you in my head, coming down these stairs in an, oh, Audrey Hepburnish gown.”

  She clapped her hands together at that. “I like that!”

  “Then when?” he demanded.

  “Well, how many people are we talking about?” she had to know. “Do you want a big wedding or just family?”

  He laughed at that. “Sweetheart, with your family, it’s the same thing.”

  She put a hand to one cheek. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Look,” he said, “if it’s going to take more than a month, I want a civil ceremony right now and then a formal one.”

  “Would you settle for six weeks?” she asked hopefully.

  “If you’re moving in here tonight, I will. I’m taking no chances on losing you again.”

  She slid her arms around his waist. “I’m home, and I’m home to stay.”

  A slow, sensual smile grew across his face. “We’ll save the master bedroom for our wedding night. What do you think of Legan for a honeymoon?”

  “Perfect.” She was thinking of her old room upstairs and all that had taken place there, when she remembered with a sudden catch of her breath that a certain family member remained uninformed. “Let’s go tell Seth!”

  “Good idea.”

  Catching her hand, he practically hauled her up the stairs. They reached the top. He swung her around the newel post and into his arms for a long, deep kiss, at the end of which his expression became solemn.

  “You still haven’t told me why you left before? What happened that day to drive you away?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said evasively.

  “It matters to me,” he told her softly, fervently. She sighed inside, hoping he wouldn’t think ill of her but knowing that she had to clear the air between them.

  “It’s not Seth,” she began. “I can’t imagine a world without Seth. I love him, I’ve missed him, and I’m looking forward to being his mommy. It’s the idea of other children that I had to get used to.”

  “What other children?” he asked, brows drawing together.

  She pressed herself against him once more, lifting her chin. “Our children.”

  His eyebrows went straight up to his hairline. “Our…?” He backed up a step, tilting his head. “Chey, do you want children, I mean, babies? I—I thought you had decided long ago that you don’t, ah, didn’t.”

  “I ca
n change my mind, can’t I?” she asked softly.

  “Sure. Yeah. I suppose. I mean, if you really want to.”

  “I want to,” she said carefully, “if you do.”

  “Well, I just thought we agreed about this, that’s all,” he murmured.

  She pulled back, looking up at him in confusion. “But, Brodie, you’re the one who said you wanted more children. Sort of. I mean, you sort of said it.”

  He goggled at her. “When did I say that? I don’t remember saying anything like that!”

  “That day, that last day,” she reminded him. “You told Janey that I would be the mother of your children, all your children. Those were your exact words!”

  He stared at her in pure bewilderment for a moment, then he exclaimed, “I didn’t mean it that way! I only meant that, in my mind, in my heart, you are more Seth’s mother than she has ever been and that should I ever, by some wild quirk of fate, have another child it would most assuredly be with you and no one else!”

  Of course he had meant that. Of course he had. She saw it clearly. Now. “It didn’t sound like that at the time,” she muttered.

  “Chey,” he told her, impatience tinging his voice, “we talked about this at the very beginning. I told you then that I understand your decision not to have children. It’s one I shared. I never saw myself as a father until Seth came along, and believe me, any latent tendencies to fatherhood that I might have had, he has more than fulfilled.” He closed his eyes and seemed to be struggling to make her understand. “I love Seth,” he said. “I wouldn’t trade one moment of his life for anything or anyone, not even you. I’d kill to keep him safe. He’s an integral part of me.” He looked her straight in the eye then and added, “But I wouldn’t go through another baby unless I had absolutely no other choice. Again.”

  Chey looked at him, standing there with his hands at his hips, and bit her lip, appalled by her own stupidity. Hadn’t her heart always known that this man was perfect for her? That was something else he’d taught her, to listen to her heart. But she still needed a little reassurance.

  “You, um, you don’t think we’re being selfish, do you?”

  “Selfish?” he echoed, then he shook his head. “More like self-aware, I think. We know ourselves, Chey, especially in this. And we don’t owe it to the world to produce children, Chey. We do owe it to the world to take care of the child it has already brought to us.”

  She smiled, sure for the first time who and what and how she really was. Because of him. Because of this incredible man.

  “I should have known,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “For having misunderstood?” he asked dismissively.

  “For not knowing that you are the one man in the world who truly understands and accepts me as I am.”

  He smiled with great satisfaction. “You were willing to turn yourself inside out for me, willing to set aside your convictions and misgivings to give me what you thought I wanted. There is nothing to forgive in that.” His smile slewed to one side. “If it took you a little longer than I would’ve liked to figure out that you want me that much, well, I think I can devise a suitably delicious penance.”

  She blushed, just thinking about it, excitement beginning to simmer in her veins. “Do your worst,” she pleaded.

  “My best,” he promised, “at the earliest opportunity.”

  “I can hardly wait,” she whispered, leaning into him. “But now let’s go tell our son the news.” She straightened and held out her hand. He took it and pulled it through his arm.

  His eyes said it all, everything that she now knew without any doubt. Oh, how good life was going to be with this man! Together, they walked down the hallway of the grand old home they had resurrected from the past and into a future as bright as dawn.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-4015-5

  HER SECRET AFFAIR

  Copyright © 2001 by Deborah Rather

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  * This Side of Heaven