This I Promise You

by Smith, Maureen

  As a chef and author of two bestselling cookbooks, she’d always loved to cook. She especially loved cooking for her husband, who devoured everything she made and always asked for seconds. If the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach, she’d never have to worry about losing Quentin.

  The thought made her smile as she began preparing a crab and Gruyère cheese omelet, melting butter in a pan while she deftly sliced garlic and wild mushrooms.

  Across the room, Quentin finished giving Junior his bottle and transferred him to his high chair. “What time is Mr. Haley picking you up?” he asked, referring to the driver of his longtime friend Manning Wolf.

  “He’ll be here at eleven o’clock. I’m going to Reese’s house so he doesn’t have to make two stops on the same street.” Lexi and her best friends were having a spa day courtesy of their generous husbands, who would be working while their wives got pampered.

  As managing partner of a top law firm, Quentin normally avoided going into the office on Saturdays, reserving weekends for spending time with his family. But he and his partner, Marcus Wolf, were currently exploring a potential class action lawsuit, and today was the only time all the plaintiffs could meet.

  Lexi added the garlic and mushrooms to the heated butter, enjoying the fragrant aroma that wafted up from the pan.

  “Mmm, that smells good,” Quentin said. “Damn, my mouth’s already watering.”

  Lexi grinned, watching him feed a spoonful of oatmeal to Junior. The baby waved his arms and kicked his feet while Quentin made goofy faces at him.

  “Sure you don’t want me to drop him off at your mom’s before Mr. Haley gets here?” Lexi offered. “I don’t want you to be late for your meeting.”

  “Nah, I’m good,” Quentin said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive, babe.”

  Lexi smiled, whisking eggs in a bowl while sautéing the crabmeat in another pan. “I’ll give him a bath after breakfast.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re supposed to be taking it easy today. Besides,” Quentin added with a chuckle, “Ma already said she’d give him his bath when I drop him off. You know how much she loves taking care of him.”

  Lexi laughed, pouring the eggs into the sizzling pan. “That’s an understatement.”

  Georgina Reddick had prayed for a grandchild for years. She’d wept for joy when Junior was born, and had been doting on him ever since.

  With practiced ease, Lexi loosened the edges of the omelet with the spatula before folding it over and letting it cook.

  When it was finished, she slid it onto a plate and added a sprig of fresh parsley for garnish. Oozing with sautéed crab, mushrooms and melted cheese, the omelet looked so mouthwateringly perfect she couldn’t resist pulling out her phone and snapping a picture to send to Quentin’s best friend, Michael Wolf, a world-renowned chef and Junior’s godfather.

  Michael texted back: Showoff.

  Laughing, Lexi responded: Don’t be jealous. I learned from the best.

  Lol, he wrote back. Well played.

  Grinning, Lexi tucked her phone back into her robe, then poured a cup of coffee for Quentin and carried his meal over to the breakfast table.

  He’d just finished feeding their son. When she placed the steaming plate in front of him, he breathed in deep and grinned at her. “You’ve got me so spoiled, baby.”

  She smiled, stroking his hair. “I could say the same about you.”

  Quentin winked at her, then picked up his fork and dug into the omelet. His rumbling groan of appreciation made Lexi grin as she wiped oatmeal off Junior’s chin and kissed the top of his head.

  When she saw the way he was eyeing his father’s omelet, she said teasingly, “I think your son wants you to share.”

  “Uh-uh, buddy.” Quentin huddled over his plate, one arm circling it protectively. “I’m already sharing your mama’s titties with you, boy. Don’t even think about coming for my food.”

  When the baby poked out his bottom lip, Quentin and Lexi burst out laughing.

  2

  When Quentin pulled up to his mother’s house two hours later, he was amused—but not surprised—to find her waiting on the porch. An ageless beauty with skin the color of honey and long dark hair threaded with silver, Georgina Reddick had a white shawl draped over her shoulders as she rubbed her arms against the late November chill.

  As Quentin swung into the driveway, she waved excitedly and hurried off the porch to meet him. Chuckling, he removed his sunglasses and placed them in an overhead compartment before climbing out of the Escalade.

  “I thought you’d never get here.” Barely stopping to kiss Quentin’s cheek, Georgina opened the back door. Her grandson was fast asleep in his plush car seat, sucking rhythmically on his pacifier. Georgina let out an adoring sigh and leaned down to shower his face with kisses that, miraculously, didn’t awaken him.

  Cooing endearments to the sleeping baby, Georgina unstrapped him from the car seat and lifted him out. Cradling him against her shoulder, she exclaimed, “My goodness, you’re heavy! Getting bigger and stronger every day, aren’t you? That’s Grandma’s precious baby.”

  “Hello to you too, Ma,” Quentin drawled humorously.

  “Hey, Junebug,” she said with a sheepish laugh, hugging him around the waist as he bent to kiss her temple.

  “Don’t you look nice,” she said, eyeing his pale blue open-necked dress shirt, tailored dark slacks and Stefano Bemer loafers. “Are those new?”

  Quentin glanced down at his feet. “Nah. I’ve worn these before.”

  “Really? You’ve got so many clothes and shoes, I can’t keep up.”

  “That’s because you only have eyes for your grandchild,” Quentin said, feigning a wounded tone. “If I didn’t know better, Ma, I would think you didn’t love me anymore.”

  She gave a guffaw of laughter. “Boy, hush! You know that’s not true at all.”

  Grinning, Quentin grabbed Junior’s diaper bag, closed the door and followed his mother up to the house, an elegant Victorian that sat back on a meticulously manicured lawn.

  As his mother fussed and fawned over Junior, Quentin headed to the kitchen to put the baby’s bottles in the fridge. As usual, Lexi had packed enough milk to last the boy a month. Given his hearty appetite, it was always better to play it safe.

  When Quentin returned to the living room, he found his mother sitting in a chintz armchair by the picture window. She was holding Junior, who was half awake and staring up at her with drowsy fascination.

  “Lord have mercy,” she marveled, shaking her head as Quentin sat on the sofa. “Your daddy’s genes are really something else. You and Junior look just like him, God rest his beautiful soul.”

  Quentin smiled, watching as Junior reached up slowly and touched his grandmother’s cheek. Delighted, she kissed his chubby little fingers and gently stroked his hair, telling him what a sweet baby he was.

  When Quentin’s iPhone buzzed, he pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. Marcus had sent him a text message: You on your way? I wanted to go over a few things before everyone gets here.

  Quentin texted back: Be there soon.

  As he put away his phone, his mother smiled at him. “I know it wasn’t the first time, but it was so thoughtful of you and the fellas to treat your wives to a day of pampering at the spa.”

  Quentin smiled. “They deserve it.”

  “They most certainly do. They’re wonderful girls, all of them. Prissy and Celeste and I are always saying how lucky we are to have them as daughters-in-law.” Georgina’s eyes glinted warmly. “I can’t tell you enough how glad I am that you and Alexis finally came to your senses and realized that you belong together. It warms my heart to see how happy you make each other.”

  “Thanks, Ma,” Quentin said, smiling. “We are happy. I couldn’t imagine my life without Lex.”

  “I know.” His mother gazed tenderly at him. “Your father would be so proud of you. So proud of the man you’ve beco
me.”

  Quentin’s smile softened. “I hope so.”

  “He would. You can be sure of that. And he’d be absolutely crazy about this one,” Georgina said, looking down at the baby in her arms. When Junior let out a wide yawn and began to fuss, she lifted him to her shoulder and gently patted his back, grinning sheepishly at Quentin.

  “Guess I’d better let him sleep so he won’t be cranky with me later on.”

  Quentin grinned. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  After the baby was born, Quentin’s mother had converted one of her spare bedrooms into a nursery for Junior to sleep in when he spent the night at her house.

  As she rose from the armchair, Quentin got up and walked over to her. He kissed his son on the cheek, rubbed the back of his head and winked at him. “Be good for Grandma.”

  The baby gave him a drowsy smile as Georgina cuddled him closer and patted Quentin’s arm. “Let me put him down and then I’ll see you out.”

  She didn’t have to, of course. But Quentin knew better than to argue.

  Georgina carried her grandson from the room, humming the same sweet lullaby she had sung to Quentin when he was a child. Smiling at the memory, he wandered over to the window and gazed outside.

  Several moments later, a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the end of the driveway. As Quentin’s mother returned to the room, he asked, “You expecting company, Ma?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Someone’s here.”

  Curious, his mother joined him at the window and stared outside. As they watched, an older black gentleman emerged from the backseat of the chauffeured car and looked toward the house.

  Georgina let out a shocked gasp.

  Quentin looked down at her. “What is it?”

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered, lifting a trembling hand to her throat and slowly shaking her head. She looked like she’d just seen a ghost.

  “Ma,” Quentin said, concern sharpening his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  When her eyes lifted to his, he felt a sick lurching in his gut that went hand in hand with receiving bad news.

  His eyes narrowed. “Who’s that man, Ma?”

  She swallowed visibly. “My brother, Edward.”

  It was the last thing Quentin had expected her to say. But as his stunned gaze flew back to the man striding up the walk, he could see the unmistakable family resemblance.

  Swift fury swamped him, rocking him back on his heels. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “God only knows,” his mother murmured, backing away from the window.

  When the doorbell rang, she smoothed her hair and straightened her spine, then visibly forced herself to turn and walk out to the foyer.

  Quentin followed her, seething with anger as he watched her open the door to the brother she hadn’t seen or spoken to in over forty years.

  “Hello, Georgina.” The man spoke with a cultured Southern accent.

  “Edward.” Georgina’s voice was cool, almost without inflection. Only Quentin could see her hand trembling on the doorknob.

  “It’s been a long time,” her brother said.

  “Yes, it has.”

  “You look good. Beautiful as ever.” Edward Harrington paused. “I was hoping we could talk. May I come in?”

  Georgina hesitated for a long moment, then wordlessly opened the door wider.

  The man who entered the house was tall and elegantly handsome with a fair complexion. He appeared to be in his late fifties and was impeccably groomed from his silver hair to his shiny shoes. His wool overcoat was expensive, and he carried himself with the air of a man who came from old money.

  When he saw Quentin standing across the foyer, he came to an abrupt halt and stared at him in stunned silence.

  “Edward,” Georgina said quietly, “this is my son—”

  “Quentin. Of course.” Recovering his composure, the man stepped forward. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you—”

  “Is it?” Quentin challenged in an icy tone, making no move to accept his uncle’s handshake.

  Edward stared at him for a startled moment and then dropped his hand to his side, embarrassed by the rebuff.

  After an awkward beat of silence, Georgina offered politely, “Would you like some coffee or tea?”

  Edward turned to her. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

  Georgina nodded. “Why don’t we talk in the living room?”

  She turned and led the way, her brother and Quentin following her. Edward took a seat on the settee while Georgina walked to the sofa and sat with her back perfectly straight, legs neatly crossed.

  Quentin remained on his feet, standing in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest as he glared menacingly at his uncle.

  His mother looked up at him with a faint smile. “Junebug, you’re making me nervous the way you’re hovering over there like some avenging angel. Please come and have a seat.”

  Quentin ground his back teeth together, then grudgingly stalked across the room and sat down next to his mother. She reached over and took his hand in hers. The gesture was as much a show of solidarity as it was an attempt to draw comfort and strength.

  Sweeping an appreciative glance around the tastefully appointed room, Edward said, “You have a lovely home, Georgina.”

  “Thank you, Edward. My son bought it for me years ago when he made partner at his old law firm. He spoils me rotten,” Georgina added with an affectionate sidelong smile at Quentin. He gave her hand a small squeeze.

  Edward smiled at him. “I’m glad to hear you’ve been taking good care of your mother, Quentin.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Quentin countered sardonically. “She’s my mother. My flesh and blood. That means something to me.”

  The not-so-subtle rebuke had color rising in Edward’s cheeks. He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the settee and cleared his throat.

  “Why are you here, Edward?” Georgina spoke quietly.

  He met her steady gaze. “I wanted to see you. It’s been too long.”

  “Indeed it has. I haven’t heard from you in over forty years. What brings you here now, after all this time?”

  Edward swallowed visibly, then squared his broad shoulders as if preparing to do battle. “I was only fourteen when you left home—”

  “I didn’t leave home. I was sent away and told never to come back.” Georgina’s voice was bitterly cynical. “Does Daddy know you’re here?”

  “No.” Edward averted his eyes, as if he could no longer hold her gaze. “I came on my own.”

  “How brave of you.” Georgina stared at her brother, struck by a sudden thought that had her tightening her grip on Quentin’s hand. “Oh, my God. Is he sick?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. But…” Edward trailed off.

  “But what?”

  Her brother gave her a beseeching look. “He’s an old man, Georgie. We don’t know how much time we’ve got with him.”

  “And why the hell should she care about that?” Quentin growled.

  Edward blinked at him. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Why should my mother care about the man who disowned her and threatened to disinherit anyone who contacted her? Why should she give a damn whether that heartless son of a bitch has three days or three months left on this earth?”

  “Quentin,” his mother murmured.

  Edward held up a hand. “It’s all right, Georgina. Let the boy speak. He’s earned that right.”

  Quentin glared at his uncle. “I hope you didn’t think you could just show up here out of the blue, and all would be forgiven. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “I realize that,” Edward conceded in a low voice. “I know I should have come a lot sooner, but I’m here now. I want to reconcile with my sister. And I want to get to know you, Quentin. You’re my nephew, and I regret that I’ve missed so much of your life.”

  Quentin gave him a stony look.

  Undaunted, Edward leaned back and elegantly crossed his legs, adjus
ting the razor-sharp pleat in his expensive wool trousers. “I understand you’re an Omega man.”

  So he’d done his research. The thought only angered Quentin more.

  Edward tapped a long finger against his knee. “I suppose your mother never told you that you descend from a long line of proud, distinguished Kappas.”

  “She told me.”

  Edward raised an imperious brow at him. “Then you know that your great-grandfather was one of the original members of the Morehouse chapter. And you know that becoming a Kappa is a longstanding tradition for the men in our family. A rite of passage.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “Yet you went ahead and pledged Omega.” Edward paused to offer a teasing smile. “I’ll try not to hold your defection against you.”

  When Quentin didn’t smile, his uncle nervously cleared his throat and glanced around the room. When he saw the blue diaper bag on the floor, he went very still.

  “Your son…is he here?”

  Quentin nodded tersely.

  “May I see him?”

  “No.” Quentin’s refusal was delivered in a flat tone that brooked no negotiation.

  “Quentin—” his mother began.

  “I said no,” he growled.

  She gave him a look of sad disappointment.

  He didn’t relent.

  Edward sighed heavily. “There are things about the past you don’t understand, Quentin.”

  “Like what?” he challenged.

  “Yes, Edward,” Georgina said evenly, lifting her chin. “Please enlighten us.”

  He met her gaze, his eyes flashing with sudden resentment. “You were always Dad’s favorite, Georgie. Even though I’m his only son, everyone knows you were his pride and joy. You were named after him. He had the highest hopes for you, the highest expectations. I mean, you had the sons of the most prestigious families lining up to escort you to the cotillion the year you came out. You were one of the most beautiful and celebrated debutantes of your time. Dad wanted you to marry someone who was worthy of you, a man who could give you the world. He thought you deserved better than some amateur boxer—”