Because he was a patient man, he said, “We’ll see, Josephine. All I want is a chance to be in my child’s life.”
The door shot open behind them, and they jerked apart as a trio of hotel workers burst into the room. His employees stopped short as they saw him, but he smiled at them and said, “Carry on. I was just thanking Miss Valencia for filling in when we needed her.”
With another smile in her direction, he thrust the flowers into her hands and hurried from the room, not wanting to spark gossip by lingering too long.
After all, there would be talk enough when Josephine began to show.
Francesca and Liana were waiting for her when she ended her shift, their faces alight with questions. Her friends would have made wonderful interrogators during the Spanish Inquisition. They often walked home together, as Francesca and Liana lived with their parents in the cottages as well. Josephine acted as if nothing unusual had happened earlier.
“That was nice of Mr. Solvino to bring you flowers,” Liana said as she walked beside her friend.
“Who says he gave me flowers?” she said.
“Lily, Monica, and Abigail. They said they walked in on you and he handed you the flowers he had with him when we met him,” Francesca piped in.
Flowers that she’d tossed into the wastebasket the moment she returned to the desk. “They were a thank you for filling in for Mr. Slayton.”
“God rest his soul,” her two friends said in unison.
She stopped short. “He’s dead?”
“They found a body in the river. They think it’s him,” Liana said.
“Didn’t Martin tell you?” Francesca asked.
“No,” she murmured shakily and started walking again.
Her friends were silent, the night quiet. The sounds of their skirts rustling and soft footfalls joined the call of night creatures. The hushed noises created a rhythm that was smooth, almost soothing, until Francesca said, “Where is Martin? I haven’t seen him around lately.”
“Shhh,” Liana chided.
Josephine paused once again and inhaled deeply. “He’s on assignment in Palm Beach. He may be there for a few weeks.”
Liana and Francesca shared a concerned look that turned conspiratorial.
“I think it’s time for us to do something different tonight. I hear the Women’s Club is doing readings from Miss Austen’s works at the public library,” Liana said.
Francesca clapped her hands with glee. “And Mr. Seybold is keeping his lunch counter open late so that the ladies might visit after. This is so perfect.”
“Well, Josephine? Will you join us?” Liana prodded.
Inside Josephine, her heart warmed with the love bathing her. “A night of Jane Austen, sweets, and my two best friends. What more could I ask for?”
Almost nothing else, she discovered later as she finished the slice of chocolate cake and listened to her friends chatter about Mister Darcy and the readings they’d heard at the Women’s Club earlier that night. In truth, she’d rather preferred the snippet from Sense and Sensibility and the roguish John Willoughby. Josephine always enjoyed reading about the scoundrels a bit more than she should.
“It’s so romantic,” Francesca gushed. “Isn’t it romantic, Josephine?”
“It is. That’s why she’s my favorite.”
Liana leaned forward to see her down the length of the counter. “She’s wonderful. I’m so glad we did this. It’s been too long.”
It has been too long what with dating Martin, working, and trying to write, she thought. It had been fun to get all dolled up with her friends, who had also put on their Sunday best. They’d done their hair in chignons secured with their finest barrettes. Swan-bill corsets completed their outfits, giving them the pleasing curves that were all the rage.
“Let’s do this again,” she said, rising and standing behind her friends so she could hug them. Hard. “Soon. We need to do this again soon.”
Really soon, because she hadn’t felt so normal in a long time. It gave her hope that maybe things could get back on track quickly.
Chapter Nine
The feeling of returned normality that Josephine had experienced with her friends that evening made her heart blossom with hope as they walked back to the cottages. She hurried home, picked up her pen and paper, and decided to write a letter to Martin.
Dearest Martin,
You’ve only been gone a few days and I miss you already. I hope things are going well with your investigation and that you will be home soon…
She continued, asking for his forgiveness. She posted the letter the next morning and waited, but days went by without a response. She buried herself in her correspondence classes, work, and most of all, writing. Her novel and letters to Martin. Letter after letter to Martin.
My dearest Martin,
Life here has been difficult different without you. I’m almost done with the correspondence class, and Sister Elizabeth is hopeful that she’ll be able to find a family that can overlook my situation will hire me. Things have been good at work even though my skirts are a little tighter and I worry my belly will soon show. I hope we can see each other soon.
Josephine hesitated as she inserted the letter into the slot of the cast-iron mailbox in the hotel lobby. The postman would be by later in the day to pick up the mail and drop off correspondence at the hotel and the nearby cottages.
But nothing came for her at the hotel or at home. Again.
Another two weeks went by without a response and as she sat at the kitchen table late one night finishing a short story, it occurred to her that perhaps she’d made a horrible mistake by writing to Martin. Maybe he hadn’t been ready to hear from her. Maybe she’d sounded too needy. Maybe he didn’t want to hear about her baby. Maybe…
Maybe it was time she turned her attention to other things. Like getting ready for the baby. Maybe it was time that she stopped keeping Rake at arm’s length because, if truth be told, he’d been a great source of support over the last several weeks.
He hadn’t pressed for anything other than friendship and sharing an occasional grilled cheese sandwich with her. He asked often how she was feeling and made it clear he would take care of whatever she needed.
Yet he couldn’t give her what she needed most: to hear from Martin. To know that he was okay. To know whether she should move on with her life.
It was with those thoughts that she went to sleep that night, determined that in the morning, somehow, some way, her life would change.
But Josephine had no idea what was heading her way and just how her life was about to change. Batten down the hatches, because Hurricanes Ronaldo and Sondra are on the way!
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Rake asked the next morning, as she perused the papers he’d handed her at the front desk.
“You want me to coordinate the shows with Ronaldo de la Sera and his troupe?” she said just to make sure.
“You’re our best concierge, and I understand that Ronaldo can be…difficult.”
“I’m honored that you trust me to do this,” she said and was truly flattered. And of course, her abuela would be ecstatic that there might be a possibility of a personal meeting with her favorite singer.
Rake leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I trust that you can do whatever you say you will do. Like the novel. How is that going?”
With a shrug, she said, “Still working on it, but I finished a short story last night.”
“I understand the The Miami Metropolis is looking for stories. Have you considered sending your story there?”
She eyed him thoughtfully, wondering at what game he was playing with the new project and his helpfulness. But there was nothing to suggest he was being anything other than the supportive self he had been for the last several weeks.
“I hadn’t, but I will think about it. And if you’re serious about this,” she said and waved the contract for the group, “I’ll do that as well. I’m always up for a challenge.”
Little
did she know just how much of a challenge it was going to be to deal with the dashing dynamo Ronaldo de la Sera.
Josephine dashed through the hotel lobby, heading to the rotunda where the troupe would be performing for the next few months. It had turned out to be a lot of work over the last week, and with the troupe set to arrive in just a few days, she was still coordinating with the carpenters on the stage setup that had been requested by Ronaldo. It seemed a little…elaborate, but based on the notes that had been arriving on an almost daily basis from the troupe, that was par for the course.
Ronaldo also wanted a room facing west because he didn’t want the morning sun to wake him after a late-night show.
Fresh mangoes were to be brought to him as a post-show snack as well as steak and eggs for breakfast so he could maintain his lean and muscular build.
Josephine was busy skimming through the notes when she almost ran into Penelope as she walked out of the rotunda.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t see you.”
Penelope regally lifted her head and looked down her nose. “Maybe you should pay more attention to what you’re doing. Like that mess in there. That will never be ready in time for the troupe.”
Josephine shook her head and bit back the response she wanted to make. Like that maybe Penelope should have paid more attention to her husband to keep him from turning to another woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Solvino. I’ll keep that in mind.”
With a sniff, Penelope walked away. But as she did so, something washed over Josephine. Sympathy for the other woman because she knew what it was like to love someone and not have him love you back.
Or maybe it was more accurate to say not write you back, because if Josephine could see Martin up in the Pinkerton Palm Beach office, she’d know that he’d picked up a pen time and time again to write her. That he’d read her letters so many times the ink had smudged, and the paper was wearing thin from being handled. She couldn’t see that, of course, but that didn’t stop her from trying to be nice to Penelope.
Because that’s just the kind of person Josephine was.
She laid a hand on Penelope’s forearm, earning another down-the-nose stare.
“Excuse me, Penelope, but I need your help.” She intended to ask her advice on the stage setup for the performers.
But the other woman’s head jerked in shock. With a sneer, she said, “Why would I help a floozy like you? You’re carrying my husband’s child.”
She understood Penelope’s anger. She’d suffered the bite of the green-eyed monster of jealousy when she’d caught sight of Martin with his partner and misunderstood the situation. Because of that, she tried to put things to right with Penelope.
“But I don’t want to be with Rake. I want to be with Martin,” she said and yet, Rake had been there for her these last several weeks, while Martin…
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Penelope shot back. “I thought we could fix the things that haven’t been right for years. No one could be happy with a man like Rake who seduces woman after woman.”
Josephine didn’t want to believe that Rake could be, well, a rake, and as Penelope sensed that, she lashed out again. “So you thought you were special? The first woman he’s cheated on me with? Think again, Josephine. There have been many, many others.”
With a flounce of her skirts, Penelope whirled and stalked away, leaving Josephine staring at her retreating back. Also leaving her to wonder if the man she thought she’d come to know was really a scoundrel like Penelope had said.
Well, he did seduce you, Josephine, even if he had a wife. And there is the child you carry, and he might never be able to have one with anyone else. Not to mention that those late-night talks with him always seem to end with him going out into the night, but to do what? If Martin were around—but of course he isn’t…yet—he might warn you that Rake is not the man you seem to want to believe he is.
Martin stared at the stack of letters from Josephine. Guilt slammed into him at the way things had ended with her. No, not ended, he thought. As angry and upset as he was with everything that had happened with her and Solvino, he couldn’t imagine not having Josephine in his life.
She had been his world for the last two years. Two wonderful, loving, fun, and fulfilling years, and he didn’t want to throw away those two years or his future with her.
Surprisingly, he could even forgive her for what had happened, because he’d become so focused and obsessed with finding the elusive Sin Sombra that he’d not only lost sight of what was important, he’d stopped treating Josephine like the smart, independent woman that she was.
She had no need of him protecting her, wanting to keep her under glass like the delicate figures in the snow globe he’d gifted her. Josephine was sensitive and a little naive, always wanting to think the best of people, but she wasn’t delicate or fragile, and as she’d told him, she could take care of herself.
But that didn’t mean she had to go it alone with this child, he thought.
While the many weeks away on the investigation had yielded little information to discover the identity of Sin Sombra or conclusively prove that it was that cad Solvino, the separation had shown him that his life was far better with Josephine in it. Because of that, he had to start to make things right with her.
He picked up his fountain pen, a piece of stationery, and began to write.
My dearest darling Josephine,
Unlike you, I have never been good with words, but I pray that I can convey my deepest regret at all that has happened in the last several weeks, and all that I hope for our future.
Yes, our future, my darling, because I cannot imagine a world without you.
My friends, he’s back! There he is, the caring and patient Martin we all know and love. I knew that he would not be one to stay angry for long and desert our dear girl just when she needed him most. Now let’s hope Josephine can see past Rake’s numerous charms to what really is important in a man.
And I don’t mean a love of grilled cheese sandwiches.
He paused, hesitant about how to continue. Afraid that he would either say too much or too little, but then he plunged forward.
I must confess that I was sorely hurt by what occurred because for years I dreamed of our being together and how special it would be.
I still dream of the day that we will be one, if you can forgive me for the hurt I’ve caused you by not being there for you, my love. Understand that not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. Not a day has gone by that I wonder if you are well and how the baby is doing.
He stopped and took a deep breath, thinking about how far along Josephine was and pondering if she was showing yet. If he were there, could he lay his hands on that small mound and feel the baby move beneath them? Would her breasts be heavier as they prepared to sustain that new life in the months ahead? What else would be different after so many weeks away? He wondered and knew then that it was time to go home.
As I write this, it is my most fervent wish to be with you again, if you’ll have me. I expect to be returning to Miami shortly and I pray that when I arrive, you will give me a chance to make things right.
All my love,
Your Martin
He sat there for a moment, reading and rereading the letter and hoping it would be enough to convince Josephine to talk to him. To possibly forgive him for leaving her when she likely needed him the most. That tore at his gut and he hoped with all his heart that they both could find forgiveness and a path to the future they had envisioned at one time. A future together.
He laid his pen down and as he did so, Nita walked into the office. “Still burning the midnight oil?”
Martin glanced at his partner as she strolled to the chalkboard with their notes on the case. “I might say the same of you.”
She studied the board, then sighed in frustration. “We seem to have reached a dead end. Do you have any new ideas?” she asked and glanced toward the papers on his desk.
“None, and
actually, this is a letter to Josephine,” he said in the hope that his astute partner would get the message. In the last several weeks, Nita had made it clear she would be open to more with him, despite his putting her off on a number of occasions.
“Oh,” she said and wrinkled her nose. “I had assumed you were done with her since…” She gestured to the pile of letters on his desk.
“I’m not. I just needed to find the right things to say. Josephine will always be the woman who has my heart, Nita.”
His partner considered him, took a deep breath, and nodded. “I understand, Martin. If you should ever change your mind—”
“I won’t,” he said in a tone that brooked no disagreement.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.
He was about to fold up the letter, but then after a brief moment, he picked up his pen once more. He scrawled a postscript at the bottom of the page, one he knew in his heart to be true.
P.S. I’m not going to give up on us. We belong together, and I’ll never stop believing that.
And for as long as Martin lived, until he drew his very last breath, he never did.
Chapter Ten
Ernesto Solvino was a man used to getting what he wanted, and what he seemed to want most of all was a son who could be as ruthless, cunning, and successful as he was. However, Rake was certain that his father thought he was none of those things.
“You say the hotel is doing well?” Ernesto asked and strolled around the room, hands tucked behind him as he appraised the furnishings, his son, and his wife, who lounged on a settee in the sitting area of the suite.
With a dip of his head and a hesitant shrug, Rake said, “It’s holding its own, with a little assistance. The Royal Palm provides some very stiff competition.”
“I know. I’ve stayed there,” his father said, shocking Rake with the admission.
“You’ve been to Miami and stayed at Flagler’s hotel instead of mine?” he asked, his gaze narrowing as he considered his father.
Snow Falling Page 10