But Nick had called them sweet blue.
He remembered them, more or less. Of all the details of that February night, he remembered her eyes, her hair and... How had he put it? Arousal intense enough to make a man beg.
It wasn’t much, but it was a whole lot more than she’d had ten minutes ago.
She cleared her throat, then did it again, and still her voice came out sounding choked. “Blue eyes would look odd with your coloring.”
“They’d make her stand out in the crowd.”
“She’ll stand out anyway because she’ll be so special.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?” His smile this time was serious, intense, touching. “She’s a lucky kid.”
His compliment sent warmth through her, a freeing sensation that melted away the tension and made her feel about fifty pounds lighter. He was right. In spite of what anyone else might think, Amelia Rose was one lucky little girl. She had a mother who already loved her more than life itself and a father who seemed determined to do his best for her. What more could she ask for?
Maybe a real family, answered the old-fashioned, traditional voice inside Faith. Parents who’d done things in the right order, who had met and dated and fallen in love, who had married before giving thought to children, who lived together and provided a loving, stable environment, who could one day give her brothers and sisters to love, tease and protect.
But it was much too late for that, so Amelia Rose would have to settle for what fate had given her—a mother right here in her home and a father nearby. That was a lot more than anyone in town believed she would have. It would be enough.
“Your parents must be glad to have you back.”
Finally he left the fireplace, but he didn’t sit down. Instead he prowled around the room, looking, touching, bending once to sniff the flowers on a Christmas cactus. “I’m sure they are,” he absently agreed. “Pop’s lived here all his life and Mom’s been here since they got married. They both love the place, so it was hard for them to understand why I didn’t want to stay. They think I’ve finally come to my senses.”
“If they knew the truth, they wouldn’t be so pleased.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Are you kidding? They’re going to be thrilled.”
“Excuse me,” she said dryly, “but I’ve gotten to know your parents reasonably well over the last few years. They’re not going to be thrilled to find out that they have an illegitimate granddaughter.”
He stopped at the library table in front of the big back window. For Christmas she always cleared everything off and used the oak surface for a display of nativity scenes, but for now, in addition to its usual potted ivies and brass candlesticks, it also held assorted baby items that hadn’t yet made the trip upstairs to the nursery. There was a lovely book of sweet poetry, illustrated all in pastels, a pair of soft, fuzzy booties, a hooded terry-cloth towel for after-bath snuggling, and a dress. The dress. The green-velvet-and-white-lace, destined-to-become-a-Harper-heirloom dress.
Nick lifted it from its box and tissue paper and held it up for inspection. It looked so fragile in his hands, a doll’s dress, delicate and beautiful. The hunter green was striking against the darkness of his fingers, giving her a hint of how it would flatter a baby who shared his coloring. He studied it a moment, tested the softness of the fabric. Then, with more care than she would have expected from a man, he folded it back into its box and resumed his tour of the room. He also, finally, responded to her last remark. “She’s not going to be illegitimate.”
He said it so casually, so naturally, as if he were stating an obvious fact. He said it as if it were unimportant, but, of course, it wasn’t, not to him and certainly not to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, striving for the same casual tone, “but I don’t see any way around it. She’s due in a few more days. I’m not married. That makes her illegitimate.”
“You can be married.” Now he was in front of the bookcase, looking over the volumes there. She doubted, though, that he was as interested in them as he appeared. She honestly didn’t think he could care less about the row of baby books, the romances and mysteries above them or the biographies underneath them. “It’s a relatively simple procedure. You get a blood test, a license, a priest, and it’s done.”
The chill that swept over Faith made her blood cold. She had realized as early as last Thursday that he might suggest getting married. It had been clear that his sense of duty was strong, and, for someone in his circumstances who was determined to do the right thing, marriage was the next logical step after accepting responsibility. But she had hoped—had prayed — that his sense of duty wasn’t that strong, that he would be satisfied with the responsibility. She had prayed that he wouldn’t offer her everything she’d dreamed of—except, of course, love — in such a manner that guaranteed she couldn’t accept any of it. She had hoped he wouldn’t make her feel so unwanted, so burdensome, so unwel-comed.
Thankful that she was talking to his back, she clasped her hands tightly together and tried to control the quaver in her voice. “A priest?” she echoed. “You seem to forget that I’m not Catholic.”
“But I am.”
“But we’re talking about me, not you.”
Then he turned. Somehow, in the last few minutes, his jaw had taken on a new and decidedly stubborn set. “Don’t play dumb, Faith. If you marry anybody while you’re carrying my child, it will damn well be me.”
“Your child? Just last week, you didn’t want a baby. You’d never wanted a baby.”
“Well, I’ve got one, and I’ll be damned if anyone else is going to play father to her.”
She found his possessiveness both frightening and, in a strange way, comforting. On the one hand, she was much happier thinking of Amelia Rose as solely hers, believing that no one else could ever have a claim on her daughter as strong as her own, and it was bothersome to admit that Nick not only had such a claim, but also had some quite forceful feelings about it. On the other hand, it was reassuring that he did have those feelings. Her father certainly hadn’t. He had abandoned her mother without hesitation, had abandoned her without even a qualm. In twenty-five years, she doubted that he’d given her a moment’s thought, doubted that he had ever wondered whether he had a son or a daughter, what had become of her or whether she missed or needed her father. Amelia Rose was luckier. She would know her father from the beginning. He would always be a part of her life.
But not a part of Faith’s. He deserved better than that. Damn it, she deserved better. “This conversation is pointless,” she said. “I’m not getting married, not this week, not next week, probably not ever.”
His hard gaze didn’t waver. “Before the middle of the month. Preferably before Sunday.”
“No.”
“You owe it to Amelia Rose.”
“Excuse me? I owe it to her to let her be born into a family that will break up before her first birthday rolls around?”
The stubbornness intensified. “And how do you figure that?”
“We don’t even know each other!”
“We know each other well enough to bring a baby into the world,” he reminded her needlessly. Making an obvious effort to remain calm, he sighed heavily and softly, almost regretfully, continued. “I know this isn’t the marriage proposal you imagined receiving someday. I understand that the circumstances are less than ideal. I know you would prefer hearts and flowers over necessities and responsibilities. But, Faith, this is right. We’ll make it right, and we’ll make it last.”
Not the marriage proposal she had imagined herself receiving someday. That was an understatement and a half, she thought sadly. Even when she was a little girl, she had dreamed of being wanted only for herself, for the quirks, qualities and flaws that made her Faith Harper. She had dreamed of being loved, of fairy-tale romances and happily-ever-after. What Nick was offering was a nightmare. He wanted her only for the baby she was carrying. He didn’t know her, didn’t appreciate who an
d what she was. He certainly didn’t love her, and it was highly doubtful, under these circumstances, that he ever would.
“You’re crazy. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anybody.”
“You know it’s right, Faith. You know it’s best for Amelia Rose.”
“Best for her to be raised by two miserable people who share a house and a name and nothing else?”
A glint came into his dark eyes. “Sweetheart, when I say married, I mean married. Living together, raising a family together, making a future together. Growing old and gray and hosting Sunday dinners for the kids and the grandkids.” He came toward her, his pace slow, his movements deliberate and, to Faith, so very threatening. “Besides, I don’t get miserable.”
“You will,” she warned in a low tone that merely made him shake his head with a faint smile.
Then he grew serious again. “Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t get married.”
“We don’t know each other,” she said sarcastically.
“We know each other well enough, and we’ll learn all the other stuff in time.”
“Oh, really? Tell me one important thing you know about me.”
“I know you love this baby more than life itself.”
“Everyone knows that.”
He ignored her scorn. “I know you would give anything to give her the security of a traditional family, the love-marriage-and- then-the-baby-carriage type. I know you wanted that for her almost as much as you needed it for yourself. I know —” For just an instant, he glanced away, then looked back with new resolve. “I know that you need Amelia Rose to love you because none of the other people who were supposed to ever did, not your mother or your father, not your grandparents or your aunt.”
And now not the man proposing that he become her husband. By sheer force of will, she kept back the tears that were trying so hard to fill her eyes and instead increased the chilly sarcasm in her voice. “Four tries, and you failed. None of that is secret. Everyone in town knows it.”
“Does everyone in town know what it’s like to hold you? To make love with you? To have a baby with you?”
She stared at him. “You don’t even remember touching me.”
“I remembered your eyes. I remembered wanting you.”
“You remembered wanting someone you didn’t believe even existed. That memory —” she gave the word scathing emphasis “— has nothing to do with me.” Even though she wanted it to have everything to do with her. She wanted to inspire the sort of intense emotion he’d mentioned. She wanted to be special enough, desirable enough, memorable enough, to dominate a man’s dreams.
“Damn it, Faith—”
“Please go home,” she said curtly. “I’m tired. I’d like to go to bed.”
He spared a glance at his watch, giving her a blessed moment’s relief from his sharp-edged gaze. “It’s barely eight o’clock.”
“I go to bed early these days.”
After another long, hard stare, he turned away and headed down the hall. At the coat tree, he retrieved his jacket, then shoved his arms into the sleeves with enough force to strain the leather. She followed as far as the parlor door, hoping he would leave without another word and hoping that he wouldn’t. He did walk as far as the front door, then he faced her once more. The light overhead cast shadows on his face, making his expression appear even grimmer.
“We’ll discuss this again tomorrow.”
“There’s nothing left to discuss. I’m not marrying you or anyone else. That’s final.”
“It’s not final. You’re not that selfish.”
Selfish? She was willing to share her daughter with him, willing to let his family dazzle her with their tremendous capacity for love and joy, willing to let the Russos make what little Faith could give her look pitiful indeed. She was willing to acknowledge his equal claim to the baby she’d waited all her life for, the baby he hadn’t even known existed until a week ago, and he was calling her selfish because she wouldn’t agree to an ill-advised marriage that would be doomed from the start?
“Amelia Rose needs a traditional family,” he insisted.
“No. She needs parents who are happy. That doesn’t mean married.”
He gave her a speculative, narrow-eyed look. “I could make you happy.”
“Sure,” she replied, even though she didn’t doubt him for a minute. He’d swept her off her feet once before. She had little doubt that he could do it again, if he so chose. “And when you leave?” If he set out to seduce her again, into marriage this time, what would happen when he got bored or the resentment became too great or he met someone else, someone he liked for herself, someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, someone he could love?
“It’s not going to happen.”
“Right,” she agreed skeptically.
He fished his keys from his pocket, then opened the door. A chill seeped into the hallway, ominously underscoring his words. “This isn’t finished, Faith.” A moment later the door closed behind him, but his quiet promise lingered long after he was gone.
So did Faith’s chill.
Michael’s apartment was on the other side of town, about as far from Faith’s house as a person could go and still stay in the city limits. Nick was halfway there when, abruptly, he made a U-turn and headed back to Main Street. His father didn’t always work the dinner shift, but chances were as good as not that he’d be at the restaurant. As he drove through the back lot where employees parked, he spotted Antonio’s car, pulled into the vacant space beside it and went into the restaurant by the back door.
His father was seated at a desk in a distant corner of the kitchen. He had an office up front, done up to match the dining room decor, with a gleaming desk and a big leather chair, but he preferred to do his work at a scarred oak table in the kitchen. He liked being accessible when problems arose in the kitchen, he insisted, but the family agreed privately that he was just too nosy to remain shut up in the front office while everything was going on back here.
“Hey, Pop.”
Antonio’s thoughtful expression immediately turned to pleasure. “Nick, I wasn’t expecting you. Pull up a seat. You want some dinner?”
“No, thanks, Pop, I already ate. What are you doing?”
“Working on the banquet room reservations. December’s a busy month for us. How about a little dish of fettuccine? Gerard’s Alfredo sauce is especially good tonight.”
Nick glanced across the kitchen to where Gerard was ladling sauce over plates of pasta, then shook his head. “Nah. Some other time.”
Antonio put his pencil down, leaned back comfortably in his chair and studied him. “What brings you to my kitchen?”
“I was on my way back to Mike’s place. I just thought I’d stop in.”
“Back from where?”
Nick picked up a pencil holder, then sat down on the corner of the desk. The holder was an old coffee can covered with construction paper that had once been bright purple, now faded to a bluish hue. It was probably the handiwork of one grandchild or another. All the kids in the family made things for their grandfather, and he displayed them proudly. “From dinner,” he replied, at last putting the can down, but not yet meeting his father’s gaze. He had never lied to Antonio, not once in his entire life, and even this wasn’t a lie. But it was evasive. It wasn’t quite the truth, which made it feel like a lie.
“Good food?” his father asked, ever the restaurateur.
“Yeah, it was.”
“Good company?”
Nick avoided answering the question by asking one of his own. “What do you do, Pop, when you make a big mistake?”
His father instantly looked worried. “You aren’t talking about your decision to move back here?”
“No. I’m sure about that.”
“You make a mistake, big or small, and you make it right. You take whatever steps are necessary to fix it.”
“What if it involves someone else, and that person won’t let yo
u fix it?”
Antonio’s smile was apologetic. “I can’t talk in riddles, son. If you need advice, you have to tell me what’s wrong. What mistake did you make, and who is this person who won’t let you take care of it?”
The urge to confide was strong. All his life, Nick had taken his problems to his father, and he’d come away with advice, guidance, or at the very least, the comfort that came from sharing troubles with a sympathetic listener. Tonight, he needed guidance. Was he wrong in wanting to marry Faith not because he loved her, not because she felt anything at all for him, but solely for the sake of their daughter? Was marriage too drastic and too important a step to take for anything less than love and commitment? Or was having a baby too momentous an occasion for anything less than marriage?
Sighing, he got up to restlessly pace. “I really can’t tell you, Pop. It wouldn’t be fair to —” He caught her name just in time and flushed uneasily. “To the other person involved.”
“Then all I can tell you is to do what you know in your heart is right. And if this other person stands in your way, well, then you give it your best effort. No one could ask more of you.”
Nick scowled at the wide array of dishes he found himself facing. Plenty of people could and would ask more. When he announced the birth of the newest Russo grandchild in a few days’ time, everyone would ask more. They would want to know why the youngest Russo was illegitimate, why her father had disgraced the family by not marrying her mother. They would demand to know why he had treated Faith so callously nine months ago, how he could have seduced, then abandoned her. They would say it was no wonder that she wanted nothing to do with him now, and they would blame him for her decision and for Amelia Rose’s illegitimacy.
They would ask him all their questions and make all their judgments, but they wouldn’t care — in the beginning, at least — about his answers, explanations or excuses. All they would see would be their newest granddaughter, great-granddaughter, niece and cousin, too young and helpless to be saddled with the stigma of illegitimacy, and her mother, sweet, innocent and — at least until he had come around—saintly, virginal Faith. They wouldn’t believe that he’d given his best effort. They would find plenty lacking in everything he’d done.
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