“So, the day Grant got his seven-figure salary and all the perks that went along with his position, he warned me about putting success before family. I never wanted children because I didn’t want them growing up with parents who fought more than they made love. And since life doesn’t always play out the way we want it to, I’m committed to making the best of the hand I’ve been dealt. I promised my brother I would take care of his children in the event anything happened to him, and that means being available for parent-teacher conferences, school concerts, supervising sleep-overs and chauffeuring them when it’s time for college tours.”
Belinda tried to hide her confusion. She’d believed that Grant worked long hours so that Donna could be a stay-at-home mother and the envy of the other women in their social circle who were jealous because they were working mothers.
“I didn’t know,” she said softly when she recovered her voice.
“I doubt if Donna knew how Grant felt. He wasn’t one for opening up about himself—not even to his wife. In that way he’s a lot like my dad. It has taken my father more than forty years to tell my mother that he’d been carrying around a world of resentment because she got pregnant and he had to drop out of medical school to take care of her and their child.”
Belinda couldn’t stop the frown forming between her eyes. “He should’ve accepted half the blame. After all, she couldn’t get pregnant by herself, Griffin.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, beautiful. People always blame others when something goes wrong in their life because it’s easier than accepting responsibility that perhaps they, too, were wrong.”
Belinda lowered her gaze, staring at Griffin’s strong, brown throat. “I should apologize to you.”
“For what?”
“I retract what I said about you not having any redeeming qualities.”
“You said no such thing.” Belinda’s head came up, her exotic-looking eyes filling with confusion. “You said, and I quote, ‘I’m not attracted to you, and there’s nothing about you that I find even remotely appealing.’” He placed his free hand over his heart. “You have no idea of how much you hurt me when you said that.”
Belinda was hard-pressed not to laugh at his affected theatrics. “Suck it up, Rice. What I said pales in comparison to when you said I wasn’t at the top of your list for what you’d want in a woman.”
Griffin angled his head and smiled. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I lied.”
Her smile matched his. “I suppose since we’re into true confessions, then I’ll admit that I lied, too.” She wanted to tell Griffin that she was attracted to him and found him very appealing.
Griffin brushed a light kiss over her parted lips. “Let’s go back inside and close this deal. I’m certain Sabrina and Layla are anxious to take their puppies home.”
Belinda caught the sleeve of Griffin’s jacket. “Before we go in I just want to remind you that the girls are leaving to go on a class trip to D.C. two days before I’m out for spring break. We’re going to have to make arrangements to board the puppies for those days.”
“They won’t have to go to a kennel.”
“They’re too young to be left alone.”
“Don’t worry so much, Lindy. I’ll stay at your place until you come home.”
“What if you have to leave town on business?”
“Whatever it is can wait,” he said softly. “Remember, family comes first, even if it’s of the four-legged furry persuasion.”
* * *
Roberta Eaton smiled at her granddaughters, each holding a tiny puppy with dark fur and tan markings. “What do we have here?”
“Grams, this is Cecil Rice,” Sabrina announced in a loud, dramatic voice. “He’s a Yorkshire terrier.”
“And this is Nigel Rice,” Layla said, introducing her puppy. “We gave them British names because Aunt Lindy told us that Yorkshire is in England.”
Roberta Eaton pressed her palms together. “They’re so tiny. How much do they weigh?”
“Nigel is two pounds and three ounces and Cecil two pounds and six ounces,” Sabrina answered, bragging like a proud mother.
Roberta shook her head in amazement. “Together they don’t even weigh five pounds.” She leaned over, kissing her granddaughters who were now as tall as she was. “Go show your Gramps the puppies, then put them away because it’s time to eat.”
Belinda hugged and kissed her mother before heading toward the kitchen. She hadn’t missed sharing a Sunday dinner with her parents since Donna passed away because she knew what it meant to her mother to have at least one of her children with her for what throughout past generations had become a family day.
Myles, who lived and worked in Pittsburgh, wasn’t expected to return until the end of the school year, and her younger sister, Chandra, was now a Peace Corps worker assigned to teaching young children in Bahia.
Roberta gestured to the tall, casually dressed man standing behind her daughter, clutching the handle of a crate. “Griffin, please find some place to put that doggy prison, and then come eat.”
Griffin complied, putting the wire crate in a corner of the spacious entryway. “I have to go back to the car and bring in dessert.”
“You didn’t have to bring anything. I made a coconut cake.”
Smiling and sharing a knowing look with Belinda, Griffin said, “I guess ours will keep.”
“No doubt,” Belinda crooned, playing along with him.
Roberta caught the surreptitious exchange between her daughter and Griffin. “What did you bring?”
“Carrot cake.”
“From where, Griffin?”
“Ms. Tootsie’s Soul Food Cafe.”
“Bertie, stop playing,” Dwight Eaton called out with his approach. “You know you love Ms. Tootsie’s carrot cake. But then again, any dessert from Ms. Tootsie’s isn’t as good as yours,” he added quickly, always the diplomat.
Belinda gave her father a wide grin. He always said the right thing. Dr. Dwight Eaton was only a couple of inches taller than his wife, but what he lacked in height he compensated for with wit and personality. His patients loved him as much for his medical expertise as his gentle bedside manner. His dark brown face was smooth, except for a few lines around his equally dark eyes behind a pair of rimless glasses.
“How are you, Lindy?”
“Wonderful, Daddy.”
Dwight smiled at Griffin. “Are you taking good care of my girls?”
“I’m doing the best I can, sir.”
The older man waved a hand. “Please, Griffin, none of that ‘sir’ business. Don’t forget you’re family.”
Voices raised in excitement preceded a streak of dark fur running across the living room. Roberta caught a puppy—Belinda still couldn’t distinguish whether he was Nigel or Cecil because their markings were identical—and Griffin put the runaway puppy into the crate, while she went to retrieve the cake from his SUV.
* * *
A quarter of an hour later, everyone sat down at the dining room table to enjoy a traditional Southern dinner of macaroni and cheese, smothered pork chops, collard greens, buttery corn bread and sweet tea.
Sabrina and Layla talked nonstop about school, the students who rode the bus with them on their new route and the research they’d gathered from the internet on Yorkies. It was the first Sunday dinner since the death of their parents that the sisters were animated and their mood ebullient. Both decided to forego dessert to play with the whining, yipping puppies that were anxious to be released from their confinement.
Griffin, at Belinda’s urging, said their goodbyes at six to return home and prepare for the upcoming week. When Belinda retired for bed later that night her thoughts were of Griffin—how she’d come to look forward to seeing him, sharing meals and the
responsibility of raising their nieces.
* * *
Belinda stared at her reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the image. It wasn’t so much that her face had changed but the woman to whom the face belonged—she had changed.
She never would’ve imagined four months ago, or even four weeks ago that she would’ve accepted Griffin Rice’s request to step into the role as his hostess. She’d rehearsed for the part by making his house appear lived in. With the exception of his home office, every room in the large colonial was picture perfect, as if each piece of furniture and objet d’art had been selected and positioned for a magazine layout.
Griffin admitted to hiring a design firm to decorate his house in a style reminiscent of grand Caribbean plantation homes erected during the British colonial period. Dark, heavy mahogany four-poster beds with posts engraved with decorative pineapples, leaves and vines, tables with curving legs, highboys, armoires, secretaries, settees, wall mirrors and chests of drawers transported you back to an era of ruling-class elegance whose enormous wealth was derived from slaves, sugar and rum.
It’d taken her less than a day to transform the house into a home with large green plants in glazed hand-painted vases, fresh flowers and dozens of pillars, votives and tea lights in decorative holders. The gathering was small, with a confirmed guest list of fourteen. A caterer and bartender arrived an hour before the first guests were scheduled to arrive.
For the first time in a week, anticipation at meeting their sports idol shifted Layla’s and Sabrina’s attention from their pets to the party. Much to Belinda’s surprise, the girls kept their promise to take care of the puppies. They set their clocks to rise earlier than usual to clean the cage and put out food and clean water for Cecil and Nigel before readying themselves for school. Playing with the puppies had become a priority. As soon as they came home after school the cage was opened and each puppy bounded out to pounce on its respective owner.
She’d continued to call the Yorkies by the wrong name until Griffin pointed out that Nigel had a tiny tan spot on the tip of his tail. The dilemma of transporting the puppies and their supplies between households was eliminated when Griffin bought a cage large enough to accommodate both pups and purchased an ample supply of wee-wee pads, food, treats and chew toys to have on hand in Paoli.
Peering closer in the mirror, she checked her makeup for the last time, pleased with the results. Eye shadow, which she rarely wore, and vibrant vermilion lipstick highlighted her eyes and lips. And, because the get-together was casual, Belinda had chosen a pair of black stretch cuffed capris, a long-sleeved, off-the-shoulder fitted top and added an additional three inches to her five-six height with peep-toe pumps.
She left the bedroom and walked down the hallway to the staircase, shiny curls bouncing around her head and face with each step. After a week of painstakingly brushing her hair each night to keep the strands smooth, she’d gone back to her curly hairstyle.
Her steps slowed as she looked down to find Griffin waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase. Belinda smiled. She and Griffin were dressed alike. He was wearing a black pullover, slacks and slip-ons. The recessed light glinted off his close-cropped black hair.
Griffin extended his hand, helping Belinda as she stepped off the last step. His gaze lingered on the curls framing her round face, then moved lower to her full mouth outlined in a shimmering, sexy red shade. However, it was her eyes, the lids darkened, lashes spiked and lengthened by mascara that held him enthralled. Expertly applied makeup had served to highlight and accentuate Belinda Eaton’s natural beauty.
He hadn’t lied to Belinda when he told her that he’d dated his share of women, although he was very discriminating with whom he slept. But none of them could match her natural beauty.
“You look so incredibly beautiful.” The sincerity in his compliment was evident.
Lowering her gaze, Belinda glanced up at him through her lashes. “Thank you.”
He angled his head and pressed a kiss to her ear. “You’re welcome.” He didn’t think he would ever get used to her smell. It was an aphrodisiac he was helpless to resist.
It’d taken Griffin only two weeks to come to the realization that he did like his nieces’ surrogate mother, that he’d changed his opinion of her and he wanted to get closer to the intelligent, intriguing woman who unknowingly made him forget all the others.
Increasing his protective hold, he tucked her hand into the bend of his elbow and led her across the living room. Recorded music floated from concealed speakers throughout the first floor. An outdoor fireplace provided additional warmth for those who wanted to dine or sit outdoors.
“I asked Keith to get here earlier than the others. That way Sabrina and Layla can talk to him one on one.”
Belinda smiled. “I’m willing to bet they’ll do more gawking than talking.”
“You’re probably right.” Reaching into a pocket of his slacks, he took out an ultra-thin digital camera. “Evidence,” he drawled, grinning. “I’m certain they’re going to want to prove to their friends that they do know Keith Ennis.”
“I hope it doesn’t backfire on them.”
Griffin’s expression mirrored confusion. “Why would you say that?”
“If they tell everyone their uncle’s on a first-name basis with a major league ballplayer, some students can get jealous. I’ve seen it happen enough at my school with a few situations escalating into bullying and fighting.”
“I’ve seen that happen, too, but thankfully most are good kids.”
“Speaking of good—you know the girls adore you, Griffin.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “They don’t adore me any more than they love you, Belinda. I’m sure they see me as Santa or a magic genie that grants their wishes. It’s you who must deal with them twenty-four-seven, but instead of withering they’ve bloomed. I know they miss their mom and dad, but you’ve saved them.”
Belinda didn’t know why, but she felt as if she was holding her breath and waiting for the time when one or both of the twins would experience a meltdown. “You have to remember that they were in therapy only days after we buried Donna and Grant,” she reminded Griffin. “I don’t want to think of what would’ve happened to them if they hadn’t had professional help.”
Griffin shook his head. “Therapy aside, it’s you and how you relate to them that makes the difference. I overheard them talking about how much they love mani-pedies—whatever that is—and getting their hair done every week.”
“A mani-pedi is a manicure and pedicure. I go every week, so I just take them along with me.”
“Stop trying to minimize your importance in their lives, Belinda,” Griffin chided softly. “You’re not Donna, but she knew what she was doing when she asked you to take care of her children. In other words, Belinda Eaton, you are an incredible mother, and I hope Mr. Sunshine knows how lucky he is to have someone like you.”
Belinda was caught off guard by the warmth in Griffin’s voice and wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to concern himself with Raymond Miller. “I need to tell you—” The chiming of the doorbell preempted what she was going to tell Griffin about the man who was her friend and not her lover.
Griffin pressed his face to Belinda’s soft, sweet-smelling hair. “I’ll be right back.”
She stood in the middle of the living room staring at the massive floral arrangement on an antique English pedestal table until delicious wafting aromas coming from the kitchen propelled her into action, and she turned and made her way toward the rear of the house.
The night before, Sabrina had admitted that she liked staying over in her uncle’s house because it made her feel as if she’d stepped back in time. What the teenager liked in particular was that although Griffin had enclosed the back porch, it was still accessible through the French doors. When the doors were open the space was perfect for dining
al fresco. Belinda viewed it as the perfect place for having tea or simply enjoying the landscape while rocking on the porch.
She stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. A toque-wearing chef, wielding a whisk with a vengeance in a large sauté pan, ordered a waiter to bring him a platter. “Today, please!” he drawled impatiently.
Leaving as quickly and quietly as she’d entered, Belinda reversed course, passing the dining room where the bartender was setting up. Griffin had decided on buffet-style service because it was more in keeping with the casualness of the gathering. His invitations stressed casual attire, and anyone wearing a tie or suit would be ushered out the door.
Grant and Donna had been frequent guests at the social gatherings Griffin hosted at his house, but Belinda always had responded by politely declining. At first the invitations slowed in frequency then they stopped entirely. Donna always called to tell her who she’d met, or brag about the quality of the food, then ended the conversation with “You don’t know what you were missing.” Belinda’s rejoinder was always, “What I don’t know, I don’t miss.”
Avoiding her brother-in-law had strained their relationship. She’d spent years believing what she read in the tabloids, and never bothered to ask Griffin if the stories about him were true. She’d fallen victim to a very human fault—believing what you read.
A deep voice, on an even lower register than Griffin’s, reached her as she walked into the living room. Keith Ennis appeared taller, larger than the images she’d seen on television. She’d suggested Sabrina and Layla remain in their rooms until the ballplayer’s arrival.
Forever an Eaton: Bittersweet LoveSweet Deception Page 8