“Everyone looks so happy,” I noted, smiling. “And I was just thinking about Ernest.”
Denton nodded, glancing at his grandfather. “He beat the odds and lived far longer than his doctors expected. But we’ll need to keep a close eye on him. He doesn’t say it, but I can tell he’s been feeling unwell lately.” When Denton sensed my gloomy mood, he quickly grinned. “But let’s focus on the positive today. I’ve been thinking about our honeymoon. Obviously, we’ll have to go after the baby’s born, but how does a European trip sound?”
I glanced at Ernest again. “Actually, I’d like to spend as much time with Ernest as I can. We have the rest of our lives to travel and enjoy life, you know.”
Denton’s gaze softened. “Thank you, Tiffany.”
I tilted my head, puzzled. “For what?”
“For being so wonderful.” He leaned down to press a lingering kiss on my lips.
A short while later, I had to sit down because of pains in my lower back. As I ate two slices of wedding cake—okay, it was actually three—and watched my family and friends milling around, I realized that everyone I loved and cherished was right here with me.
Thank you. I glanced at each and every one of them. Thank you for being in my life.
I honestly could not have asked for a more perfect day.
Epilogue
Two Years Later
“Ernie!” I called out, chasing after the blond-haired toddler scampering away from me.
At almost two-years-old, he was getting quicker by the day. Add to that his curiosity over anything that would move, and I was a zombie by the time he finally went to bed in the evening.
It was exhausting work raising a child. But I loved it.
Everyone said he took after his great-grandfather, Ernest North, in looks and smarts. Actually, it was Ernest who first began spreading that rumor when Ernie was only a week old. But to our shock, it turned out to be true. As the weeks and months went by, the similarities soon began to emerge.
“Told you,” he’d said, pleased beyond belief as he stared at his miniature doppelganger crawling around the Hamptons home.
He wasn’t the only one who’d been pleased. The idea of seeing Ernest every day in my son’s face had greatly appealed to me, too.
But fate must have decided he’d outlived his prognosis long enough, because eight months after Ernie was born, Ernest passed away in his sleep.
Without his barking orders and gruff personality filling the Hamptons home, the place had felt empty and cold. Patrick and Gloria considered putting the summer home up for sale, unable to bear his stark absence, but Denton objected.
“Gramps spent his last years here,” he said firmly. “We’re not selling it.”
So Denton and I had turned the place into our permanent weekend home instead.
To keep the house cheerful, we always invited our family and friends to join us. Today was no exception.
As I chased Ernie around the house, Mom and Gloria came down the stairs, chatting about the boutique’s new stock arrivals. The two women had grown quite close over the months, their shared love of fashion being one of the reasons. As for Patrick, he was with Denton outside, probably talking about Northern Alpine Industries’ latest project for the next Winter Olympics.
Rach suddenly appeared beside me. “Need some help?”
“Do I ever,” I groaned, leaning on her for support. For some reason, Ernie feared Aunt Rachel and gave her his full obedience. Probably because of her no-nonsense attitude with him, whereas the rest of us just spoiled him rotten.
And then of course, she had plenty of experience with naughty kindergarteners.
Rach had quit her teaching job at the school and opened her own daycare with Dylan. They were engaged, but I had the feeling Rach had no desire to be married. She cared about her independence too much.
“How come Dylan didn’t come today?” I asked as she found Ernie and positioned him easily on her left hip.
“His brother’s visiting from Florida.”
When Denton came inside the house, I turned to Rach. “Listen, could you watch Ernie for a while? I need to talk to Denton about something important.”
She shot me a puzzled look, but nodded. “Sure. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Thanks, Rach.” With a grateful smile, I went after my husband, who was heading for the study.
He must have heard my footsteps because he turned with a sly grin. “Did you follow me into the study for some quickie sex against the wall?”
I gave him an exasperated glance. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”
“Of course I am.” He pressed his hard body against mine. “I burn for you twenty-four-seven.”
“Well, I actually came in here so we could talk in private.”
He quickly turned serious. “What did you want to talk about?”
Suddenly shy, I slowly pulled out the pregnancy test stick from my pocket and handed it to him. “This.” When I’d been pregnant with Ernie, Denton had been one of the last people to know. But not this time.
He glanced up at me, his eyes widening. “Is this what I think it is?”
I nodded. “Congratulations, Daddy. You’re going to be a father again.”
He laughed and picked me up, pressing kisses over my face. “I can’t believe it! When did you find out?”
“This morning.” Happy tears filled my eyes. “I’m hoping it’s a girl this time so we can name her Lorraine.”
“Gramps would be whooping with delight right now if he were here.”
“I know.”
We stayed in the study for a while, just enjoying the privacy of the room. The study still had that woodsy fragrance that I’d come to associate with Ernest—manly and outdoorsy. I took a deep breath, remembering the larger-than-life man.
“We should go out and share the news,” Denton said, breaking into my thoughts.
But I wanted to stay in here a little longer. “Maybe later. There’s no hurry, is there?”
He pulled me close. “No hurry at all.” He ran his hand over my flat belly, marveling at the tiny life growing inside me. “Hey, little one. I’m your daddy.”
“I wonder how Ernie will feel about having a sibling.” Since Denton and I were both only children, we had no idea what it might be like.
“He’ll be fine.” Denton pressed a kiss on my temple. “In fact, more than fine. If he’s anything like Gramps, he’ll soon be teaching his little brother or sister how to catch frogs and snakes and swim in slimy ponds.”
“Uh…” That did not comfort me. At all.
Denton laughed at my disgusted expression. “I’m kidding. Well, sort of. Anyway, it’ll be good for Ernie. I always felt quite alone when I was growing up.”
So had I. With a sigh, I grabbed my husband’s hand and stood up. “It’s time to go out and tell them the news. Do you want to do it?”
“Sure.”
We stepped out of the study and headed outside, where everyone was seated around the patio table, gazing up at us expectantly. As if they somehow knew.
Picking up Ernie, I leaned against my husband as he broke the happy news. Happy tears slipped down my cheeks at the announcement of our growing family.
Our real family.
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Beneath the Lights
Sneak Peek
One
Harbor
“In your face, Mom and Dad. Harbor Justice made it to New York City all by her little self,” I say to the row of missed calls on my phone display. Then I quickly send a text telling them I’m here so they won’t worry.
I take a shaky breath and stare up at the beautiful skyline through the windshield of my Ford Focus. At least, what I think would be a beautiful skyline if I coul
d see past the dilapidated-looking apartment building in Koreatown. Frowning, for the third time I check my text messages to verify I’m at the right address for my new home.
Koreatown is way sketchier than I expected it would be. The buildings are a dingy brown-gray, the block peppered with signs for businesses in both English and Asian, selling everything from noodles to nested dolls. People walk past each other without acknowledgement.
I grew up in a small town where everyone knew everyone else’s business. New York is bigger. A lot bigger. It’s just going to be an adjustment, getting used to not knowing everyone.
Taking a deep breath, I let a smile stretch across my face. This is what I’ve always wanted. My dreams are coming true!
When I played Betsy Ross in kindergarten, I was positive I found my calling. And if it wasn’t for my parents, I know my name would already be up in lights. I would’ve been on the road before the ink on my high school diploma dried.
As much of a pain in the butt they are, I love and respect them. So years ago, I promised to get my college degree and teaching credentials before leaving home to find my fame. They wanted me to have something to fall back on and teaching was the logical choice since that’s what both of my parents do for a living—and live and breathe. They met and fell in love at a teachers’ retreat, so they think teaching is in my blood. That acting is some flighty fantasy of mine.
At twenty-one, I’m finally going for my dream. I’d worked three waitressing jobs during school and saved all my tips, spending money only on necessities.
Now, my savings account is padded with enough money to get me through until I land my first job—hopefully on the stage—but waitressing would do until my big break happens.
Since I was stuck in Podunkville, Kentucky, my agent, Mitch Southerland, set me up with an apartment in the city sight unseen.
“My agent. I have an agent,” I scream at my reflection in the rearview mirror, banging my hands on the steering wheel, grinning like a fool. Mitch Southerland is a real, true-life agent like all the celebrities have. And he accepted me as a client when my two-thousand-dollar check cleared, with a promise that I was on the road to fame.
My dad made it a point to research New York until his eyes crossed. The whole time, trying to scare me out of moving. The statistics he listed of the crime rates made me doubt my decision, but my dream just wouldn’t die. When Mitch searched for an apartment, my dad made me promise I would only take one in Manhattan, where the crime rate wasn’t so high.
My smile dropped a notch. From the looks the grungy apartment building, maybe I should have taken my dad’s concern more seriously.
Shrugging, I stare into the rearview mirror and school my features into what a confident New York girl would look like. My blue eyes clear of both excitement and trepidation as a serene façade takes over my face. Those acting classes worked. I fix my blonde ponytail and swipe my bangs, making them lay perfectly over my forehead. It’s silly for me to act as if the paparazzi are waiting for me to step out of my car, but why not start practicing now?
I won’t make it a day in this city if I let on I wasn’t meant to be here. My fears need to be hidden so nobody can see the naive country girl I left back in Podunkville.
I get out of my car and start to walk away before remembering to lock the door. Locking the doors is just another thing I’m going to have to get used to now. Except the lock on the building entry door is broken. That can’t be good. I make a mental note to email the landlord about it and punch the elevator button. But nothing happens. Apparently, the elevator isn’t coming. My heart drops a little, but I lift my chin. A little exercise using the stairs isn’t going to hurt me. This is probably a blessing in disguise.
The narrow stairwell has a strong smell of garlic and it makes my stomach roll over, but I keep going. This will be a story that will go into my book when I’m a famous theater actress. Wanting to remember the details, I scan the stairwell, memorizing the scribbled obscenities and am delightfully grossed out by a used condom. I smile at my craziness and take two steps at a time.
When I reach the door with a gold 5B sticker, I knock. Mitch texted me this morning that somebody would be waiting for me. The plan is to unpack and meet him for dinner later tonight. I knock again, trying the knob—locked—refusing to let my smile falter.
My next knock is more of a bang, panic rushing up my spine.
I will not give into my fear. I’m a New York City girl now. A badass. Sometimes even badass girls have sweaty palms and shaking hands.
Scooping my phone out of my purse, I stab the call button to get Mitch on the line.
When Mitch’s voicemail picks up, I leave a somewhat calm message asking where the heck he is. My phone almost slips from my hand as I text Mitch as well and wait for a response. I blink frustrated tears away and inspect the not-painted-in-years door that stands between me and my much dreamed of first apartment.
There was a nice-looking coffee shop down the street. Maybe I could hang out there until I get ahold of Mitch. With a plan in place, I lift my purse farther on my shoulder and move away from the door.
My breath hitches at the two burly looking men climbing the stairs. They’re walking in single file since the stairs are so narrow, making it impossible for me to escape until they pass by.
With nothing else to do, I press myself against the unyielding door of my so-called apartment. The man in front keeps his eyes on me as I watch through my lashes, praying they hurry up and pass. Just as he is about to walk by me and I think I’m in the clear, his large, meaty hand grabs my forearm. My mouth opens to let out a scream but it never passes my lips as burly jerk number two covers my mouth and burly jerk number one presses a knife to my neck.
“You’re not going to make a sound. Do you hear me?” Burly jerk number two’s hot breath washes over my cheek, cooling the tears already streaming down my face.
I nod and turn as they point the way downstairs. All I can think is that down is good. I should have listened to Dad and bought a can of mace on my way out of town.
“That’s a smart girl. My partner’s going to go ahead of us and you’re going to walk in the middle. When we get to your pretty little car, you’re going to give us the keys and be a good little girl and get in the back. I promise, if you listen and don’t cause any trouble you’ll get to keep your adorable little life.” He makes direct eye contact, his flat brown eyes searching to ensure I understood his words.
The fear on my face must show, because he moves to go down the stairs. The guy in front keeps the knife on me the whole way down the stairs and to my car. Surely someone will see and come to my rescue.
“Get out your keys,” jerk number two orders.
When I put my head down to go through my purse, the knife eases away and I have the urge to run, scream. All the horror stories my dad told me about race through my head.
“Don’t even think about it,” one of them hisses, and the moment to escape is lost as I’m shoved in the back seat.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, not bothering to hide the tremor in my voice.
The knife dude climbs in the back with me and sits silently as the other man gets behind my steering wheel, adjusts the seat and pulls out, cruising at the speed limit. In moments we have left Koreatown behind.
Realizing just how stupid I was for getting in the car, I force sheer panic down. My mom always warned me about sex trafficking rings running amuck in big cities. I sniffle as I think about the life of sex slaves I’ve seen documented on TV. After this little joy ride ends, that could be me.
Helplessness settles into the pit of my stomach as we pull into a deserted bank parking lot and park the car. This is it, my fate is going to be decided by two men who smell like salami.
Using his knife, my kidnapper slices the straps to my purse, pulling it from under my clenched arm. As he rifles through it until he retrieves my bank card, anger joins the assortment of emotions churning through me.
“What’s you
r pin number?” Knifey asks, handing my card to the driver.
I glance from one man to the other, stalling. I can’t let them do this. “I don’t use my pin number. I only use the card as credit.”
The man in the front seat grins and his teeth are a ghastly yellow-brown color, some of them missing. For a minute I’m sure I’m going to puke in my own car.
“That’s bullshit. You’re going to give me your pin number or I’m going to take it from you.” His eyes drop to the peak of cleavage showing above my V-neck shirt and I shudder.
Suddenly, money doesn’t matter so much. I’d rather give them everything I have than risk being raped. Right now, they could do anything to me they want.
I mumble my pin to him, telling myself I’m going to get out of this alive. He gets out, going over to the ATM. Sure, having all my savings drained is an awful way to start my newest chapter, but if I can keep my life and my virtue, I’ll be grateful.
Burly jerk number two gets back in the car, my measly savings now stashed in his jacket pocket. He gives Knifey the thumbs-up and before driving into a dark alleyway.
“Wait, you said you wouldn’t kill me if I cooperated.” It comes out as half-whisper, half-squeak and I’m ashamed of my fear. I wish I knew self-defense so I could elbow the guy next to me in the jugular, take his knife and take over my car again.
“And we seem like upstanding citizens to you? Do we look like the type of people that keep their word?” The driver turns and gives me an evil grin as he puts the car in park.
My knees are quivering and I hate that these two jerk-faces are making me wrong and my parents right. I wonder if they will put I told her not to move on my tombstone.
“Get out,” good ole Knifey orders.
I pray my legs will hold me up as I scoot out of my packed car. Everything I hold dear and need for my rise to fame is loaded in it. The gifts and money my friends gave me for going away presents are stashed inside my trunk. Pictures and journals are in a box right next to my suitcase. Everything.
Perfect Husband Page 15