“What is it you want to tell me?”
Holding on to his neck and resting her head against his shoulder, Veronica smiled. “We’re going to have a baby.”
Kumi went completely still at the same time his heart pumped painfully in his chest. He registered a roaring in his head and suddenly felt as if he was going to faint. His knees buckled slightly as he eased down to the floor holding Veronica.
He sat on the floor, her cradled on his lap and held her to his heart. “I don’t believe it,” he said over and over. “Thank you, darling. Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.
Her hands cupped his face as she kissed his lips. Seconds later, she began to cry as they shared a joy that neither had ever experienced in their lives.
Chapter Twelve
Veronica stared at her ripening figure in the full-length mirror, praying she would be able to fit into the dress she’d selected for her wedding. She was nine weeks into her term, and gaining weight at a rate of a pound a week. Her Atlanta gynecologist had referred her to a colleague in Asheville, who had put her through a series of tests. At eight weeks she’d undergone a transvaginal ultrasound for a better view of her baby and placenta, and the results revealed not one fetus but two. She and Kumi were expecting twins.
Her moods vacillated with the changes in her body—she’d be screaming at her fiancé, and then sobbing in his arms seconds later. The realization that she was going to permanently leave her home, her family and the country of her birth had washed over her like a cold ocean wave, adding to the stress of planning a wedding. The night before, she’d threatened to cancel the ceremony, eliciting an outburst of anger from Kumi that left her with her mouth gaping after he’d stormed out of her house, slamming the door violently behind him. Forty minutes after his departure he’d called her, apologizing. She’d accepted his apology, and then offered her own, pleading for patience. They’d ended the call declaring their undying love for each other.
All of the arrangements for the wedding were finalized: the license, rings, flowers, menu and lodging arrangements for out-of-town guests. She’d decided to exchange vows in North Carolina rather than Atlanta, because she wanted to begin her life as Mrs. Jerome Walker without whispers and innuendos. Jeanette Walker had contacted the minister at the church where the Walkers had worshiped for generations, asking him to perform the ceremony. Deborah and Orrin had offered Maxwell’s for the ceremony and the reception dinner. Veronica had chosen Candace as her matron of honor and Kumi had asked his father to be his best man.
Her dress was a Victorian-inspired tunic over a full-length slip in shimmering platinum. The Chantilly lace overblouse, sprinkled with pearl and crystal embroidery, added romantic elegance to a garment reminiscent of a treasured heirloom.
Glancing at the clock on a bedside table, she noted the time. Her parents, sister, brother-in-law and nephews were expected to arrive from Atlanta within the hour. Deborah had made arrangements for them to stay over at Maxwell’s instead of at a nearby hotel.
Veronica buttoned the shirt that had belonged to Kumi. She’d begun wearing his shirts because they were more comfortable than her own. After they arrived in Paris she planned to purchase enough clothes to accommodate her rapidly changing figure.
The chiming of the doorbell echoed melodiously throughout the house. Turning on her heel she headed for the staircase. Kumi had promised to pick her up and take her to his parents’ house to meet several of his cousins who had come in early for the wedding. Then everyone would retreat to Maxwell’s for dinner.
She opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise when she stared through the screen door at Clinton Hamlin. “What are you doing here?”
He affected a polite smile. “May I come in? I’d like to talk to you.”
Her gaze shifted to a racy sports car parked alongside her SUV. “You drove all the way from Atlanta just to talk to me? You know my telephone number. Why didn’t you call me?”
Clinton shrugged his shoulders and ducked his head. “What I’d like to talk to you about is better discussed in person.”
She pushed it open, permitting him to come in. He took several steps, then turned and stared at her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made Veronica feel uncomfortable. It was as if he could see through her oversize shirt to see her expanding waistline and ripening breasts. But she was being ridiculous. Only her family and Kumi’s knew she was pregnant.
“What do you want to talk to me about?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Where are your manners, Mrs. Hamlin? Aren’t you going to invite me to sit down?”
“No, I’m not, because you should know better than to come to a person’s home without an invitation.”
His gray eyes glittered like sparks of lightning. “Your home? You keep forgetting that this was my father’s home. Just like the place in Buckhead. My father purchased that place before you seduced him and turned him against his own children.”
Veronica pushed open the door. “You can leave now.” She wasn’t going to permit Clinton to insult her—not in her home.
Clinton shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere until you give me what’s due me, my brother and my sister.”
“Get out!” The two words were forced out between clenched teeth.
A rush of blood suffused his face. A feral grin distorted his handsome features as he moved closer. Without warning, his right hand came up, holding her upper arm in a savage grip. “Not until I get what I want. What you’re going to do is get your checkbook and write me a check for my share of my father’s estate.”
Veronica struggled to control her temper. “You got your share.”
“I got nothing!”
“Your father left you almost a million dollars,” she argued.
“And you got almost three,” he countered. “And because of you he left those worthless hood rats five million.”
She tried extracting herself from his punishing grip. “This discussion is over. Now, get out before I call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”
Clinton’s fingers tightened savagely. “I have nothing to lose. Either it’s the police or my bookie.”
Veronica went completely still, and then swung at Clinton, her fist grazing a cheekbone. Howling, he let go of her arm, but came after her as she raced to a table in the living room to pick up a cordless telephone resting on its console. The phone was ripped from her hand and flung across the room. It hit a wall and bounced to the floor.
Veronica turned to face Clinton, seeing rage and fear in the dark gray eyes. In that instant she felt a shiver of fear shake her. She feared for herself and that of her unborn children. She took a step backward as he moved toward her. Where could she run? There was no way to escape him.
“Think about what you’re about to do.” Her voice was low, soothing.
He shook his head. “I’ve thought about it, Veronica. I’ve thought about it a long time, and it has to end this way. If I don’t come up with a hundred thousand dollars by tomorrow, then I’m not going to be around to face another sunrise.”
Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She had to reason with him—had to get him to see that hurting her would not solve anything. “I can’t write you a check.”
Clinton’s hands curled into tight fists. “And why the hell not?” he shouted as veins bulged in his neck.
“I’ve invested it.” And she had, along with the proceeds from the sale of her art gallery.
He stopped his stalking, glaring at her. “You don’t have a checking account?”
She nodded. “Yes. But I don’t have a hundred thousand in it.”
“How much do you have?”
“I have about eleven thousand in one and about eight in another.”
“I’ll take it,” he snapped.<
br />
Closing her eyes, she nodded. She would agree to anything to get him to leave. “Wait here while I get my purse.”
“How stupid do you think I am, Veronica? Do you actually think I’m going to let you out of my sight?”
You are stupid, she thought. Didn’t he know that she could place a stop on the checks with one telephone call? “My purse is upstairs.”
He followed her as she mounted the staircase. He was close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck. She retrieved her purse, extracted a check and filled out an approximate amount for the balance. Walking over to the armoire, she withdrew another checkbook from a drawer and filled it in, making it payable to Clinton Hamlin.
Snatching the checks from her outstretched fingers, he inclined his head. “I’ll be back for the rest. You’d better contact your investment banker and tell him you need to make an early withdrawal.”
She forced a smile she did not feel. “Don’t push your luck, Clinton.”
“You’re the one whose luck has just run out.”
“I beg to differ with you,” came a strong male voice several feet away.
“Kumi!” The relief in Veronica’s voice was evident. He had arrived just in time.
“It’s all right, Ronnie.” He’d spoken to Veronica, but his gaze was fixed on the back of Clinton Hamlin’s head.
Clinton spun around, but before he could blink he found himself sprawled on the floor with a knee pressed to his throat. It had taken less than three seconds for Kumi to toss him over his hip and pin him to the floor.
The fingers of Kumi’s right hand replaced his knee as he forcibly pulled Clinton to his feet. “You better call the police, Ronnie, or I’ll forget that I’m getting married in two days and snap this piece of vermin’s scrawny neck.”
“Don’t hurt me,” Clinton pleaded, gasping. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Kumi released his throat and slapped him savagely across the face. “Shut up before I make you sorry you ever drew breath.”
Veronica walked over to a bedside table and picked up the telephone. She made the call, one hand resting over her slightly rounded belly. The call completed, she made her way over to her sitting room and sank down in the cushioned rocker. Her gaze met Kumi’s before he caught the front of Clinton’s shirt and led him out of the bedroom. It wasn’t until the police arrived that she went downstairs and gave them a report of what had happened. Clinton was read his rights and led away in handcuffs. What she did not tell the senior officer was that she would come in and drop the charges of trespassing and extortion before she and Kumi left for Europe.
Kumi closed the door behind the departing police officers. Turning he smiled, holding out his arms and he wasn’t disappointed when Veronica came into his protective embrace.
Lowering his head, he kissed the end of her nose. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
She smiled up at him. “I don’t think I’ll be all right until I’m Mrs. Jerome Walker.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “We only have another forty-eight hours before that will become a reality.”
Resting her head over his heart, she closed her eyes. “I can’t wait.”
Kumi chuckled softly. “Neither can I.”
“I can’t wait to see who our babies are going to look like,” she said in a soft voice.
“I bet they’ll look like you.”
She gave him a saucy grin. “How much do you want to bet?”
He ran a finger down the length of nose. “I’m not even going there,” he said laughing. “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
“Yes.” She sighed.
Kumi released Veronica long enough to pull the checks she’d given Clinton out of a pocket of his slacks. Tearing them into minute pieces, he let them float to the floor like confetti.
“Let’s go, sweetheart. Our families are waiting for us.”
She followed him out of the house and into the cool night. It was only mid-September, but fall came early in the mountains. She inhaled a lungful of air, savoring it. In another two days she would marry, and the next day she would leave for her new home with her new husband.
She had come to the mountains to heal but found love instead.
Kumi was right: God does set the time for sorrow and the time for joy.
This was her time for joy.
Epilogue
A year later
Kumi cradled his son in the crook of his arm while he extended a free hand to his wife. She smiled up at him while she held an identical little boy against her breasts.
The babies had arrived early to the much-anticipated grand opening of Café Veronique. Veronica had planned to stay for an hour before she returned home to put her five-month-old sons to bed.
Her pregnancy had been difficult—she’d spent the last month in bed. The strain of carrying two babies who’d weighed six and a half pounds each at birth had taken its toll on her back and legs. The infants were delivered naturally after the doctor induced her labor, and when she saw her babies for the first time she couldn’t stop crying. They looked enough like Kumi to have been his clones.
Curving an arm around Veronica’s waist, Kumi pressed a kiss to her short silver hair. She’d cut her hair after the twins’ birth because she claimed it was easier to maintain. The new style was very chic. She’d lost most of the weight she’d gained during her confinement, but her body had changed. It was fuller and more lush. And there was never a time when he didn’t want to make love to her.
Jerome Kumi Walker still found it hard to believe his life was so perfect. He’d married a woman he loved, who’d given him two healthy sons to carry on his name, and he’d finally realized his dream to open his own restaurant.
Not bad, he mused.
No, he hadn’t done too badly for a guy who’d left home because of a domineering father. He didn’t ride a motorcycle anymore, because he was now a family man. He’d taken a vow before God and man to protect his loved ones. And that was one vow he intended to keep.
* * * * *
THE BLACKSTONE PROMISE
ISBN: 9781459281738
Copyright © 2011 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holder of the individual works as follows:
BEYOND BUSINESS
Copyright © 2005 by Rochelle Alers
A YOUNGER MAN
Copyright © 2002 by Rochelle Alers
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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The Blackstone Promise Page 27