by Renee Ryan
“You should come out to the factory on Long Island. I’ll give you a tour and then you can test-drive one of our prototypes.”
Satisfied with what he’d heard so far, Fitz thought this a splendid idea. “Set the date and I’ll be there. I’ll also want to take a look at the financial projections, speak to your chief engineer, and discuss your plans for expansion.”
They negotiated a time to meet the next week. The conversation came full circle, and they were back on the Summer Garden.
“Have you met the incomparable Esmeralda Cappelletti?” Luke asked with a guarded look in his eyes.
No wonder. The opera singer’s relationship with the man’s father had to be a sore spot. “She is everything the papers claim her to be.”
This earned him a small—very small—smile from Luke. “Have you met her daughter Sophie?”
“I have made her acquaintance.”
Clearly waiting for more, Luke held Fitz’s stare.
“She is a charming girl.” Actually, Sophie was a woman, but Fitz wanted to make it clear to her brother that he had no intention of pursuing her romantically.
In the role of protective big brother, Luke continued staring at Fitz, hard. Fitz didn’t waver under the close inspection.
“I take it you know of my personal connection with the . . . girl?”
“I did my homework,” Fitz said. “You and Sophie Cappelletti are half siblings. You share the same father, different mother.”
“Well,” Jackson said on a low whistle. “That was certainly succinct.”
It never occurred to Fitz to be anything but straightforward. If Luke was expecting some sort of judgment from him, he had a long wait ahead.
“What are your thoughts on a six-cylinder engine?” Fitz asked.
The question had the intended effect. The tension in Luke’s shoulders visibly reduced. The discussion soon segued into a lengthy dissertation on automobile manufacturing, including costs.
When the topic was exhausted at last, Fitz stood. “Until Monday?”
Luke shook his hand. “Until Monday.”
Fitz exited the Harvard Club with a lighter heart. If half of what Luke had claimed turned out to be accurate, Fitz would be in the automobile business by the end of the year.
Back at the Summer Garden Theater, Gigi was feeling rather satisfied with herself. What had begun as a temporary solution for Jessica’s childcare problem had become a godsend for two other dancers with small children. Gigi was now in charge of watching three little girls: Fern, Lilly, and Amelia, ages three, four, and five, respectively.
Not only did Gigi enjoy her time with the children, but she would earn a significant amount of money toward the fifty dollars she owed for the necklace.
Best of all, tucked away with the children in a small, forgotten room on the northeast corner of the building, Gigi had managed to avoid running into Fitz for two full days, going on three.
This was in large part due to Esmeralda. Although Gigi suspected the diva wanted to keep her from interfering with her attempts to throw Sophie and Fitz together, she’d been surprisingly sympathetic to the plight of the young mothers.
Pleased that Esmeralda hadn’t produced a fuss, Gigi had created a makeshift nursery far away from the stage. The room was some sort of holding cell for forgotten set pieces. Large trunks overflowed with torn costumes and small trinkets. An ancient piano that was surprisingly in tune sat in the farthest corner from the door.
“Miss Sally.” Fern tugged on her skirt, her big blue eyes full of childlike hope and an eager smile on her pretty little face. “Will you read a story to us?”
“Please?” Amelia begged. “Will you, will you, please?”
Not to be left out, Lilly added, “Oh, please, please, pleeeease?”
Lips twitching, Gigi glanced from one little girl to the next. Fern held a well-worn copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales in her hand, the same one Gigi had read from every day so far.
She reached for the book. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”
Squeals of delight ensued.
Later, she told herself, she would take the children up to the roof garden to enjoy a bit of fresh air. For now, she would read from Fern’s treasured storybook.
She laid out a threadbare blanket, sat, and then gathered the children around her. Opening the book, she found her personal favorite, “Briar Rose.” She read slowly, in the soft, lyrical voice her own mother had adopted exclusively for fairy tales.
“‘A king and queen once upon a time reigned in a country a great way off, where there were in those days fairies.’”
“Oh.” Fern clapped her hands in glee. “I love fairies.”
The other little girls agreed with fast head-bobbing.
Gigi smiled at each child before glancing back at the book. “‘Now this king and queen had plenty of money, and plenty of fine clothes to wear, and plenty of good things to eat’ . . .”
The children listened intently, eyes wide, riveted to the story much as Gigi had been at their age.
“‘They had no children, and this grieved them very much indeed.’”
Amelia sighed dramatically, proving she’d been raised around theater folk. “Mommy says children are a blessing and should be adored.”
Gigi’s own mother had said something similar to Gigi and her younger sisters. She felt a powerful wish for something . . . more, something enduring and lasting. An unrealized dream that could never come from watching other women’s children.
I want a baby of my own.
She would be happy with a boy or a girl. She, or he, would have dark hair and green eyes and sit on Gigi’s lap while she read. A ripple of intense longing surfaced before she resolutely shut it down.
“Your mommy is correct,” she said, her voice quivering. “Children are a blessing.”
Amelia beamed at her.
Fern tapped her arm. “What happened to the king and queen? Did they ever have a child?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
Glad to get back to the story, Gigi lowered her gaze and continued reading about how the king and queen held a feast to celebrate the birth of their daughter, inviting all the people in the land. “‘But the queen said, I will have the fairies also, that they might be kind and good to our little daughter.’”
“I want to invite fairies to my next birthday party.”
Gigi suspected Lilly might change her mind once she heard the rest of the story.
“‘Now there were thirteen fairies in the kingdom; but as the king and queen had only twelve golden dishes for them to eat out of, they were forced to leave one of the fairies without asking her.’”
“Why gold dishes?” Fern asked.
Gigi had no idea. “I suppose it’s because they’re fairies.”
“Oh.”
Gigi read on, telling the girls how the twelve fairies arrived, each with their gifts for the princess. “And then,” she said, pausing for dramatic effect. “The thirteenth fairy arrived.”
All three little girls gasped. “Was she very angry?”
“She scolded the king and queen.” Gigi explained about the curse and that on Briar Rose’s fifteenth birthday, she would prick her finger on a spindle and fall down dead.
Tears filled Amelia’s eyes. “Did she die?”
“No. One of the twelve friendly fairies hadn’t given her gift yet. She couldn’t reverse the curse, but she was able to soften it.” Gigi found her place in the story and read from the book. “‘When the spindle wounded her, she should not really die, but should only fall asleep for a hundred years.’”
“I guess that’s not sooooo bad.”
“So, she fell asleep for a hundred years. And the entire kingdom slept as well. But then a handsome prince came to the old tower—”
“What did he look like?”
Gigi answered without thinking. “He was tall, with nearly unbearably good looks. His hair was the blackest of black, the color of a raven’s wing. He had
a strong jaw, often showing a bit of dark stubble by mid-afternoon. His eyes were the green of summer leaves, and he had very broad shoulders.” Too late, Gigi realized she’d just described Fitz.
“I like him.”
Gigi did, too, more and more each day that he stayed in New York. Hopeless. It was all so utterly hopeless. She shook away the thought and read how the prince opened the door to Briar Rose’s little room.
As if transported to the story world, Gigi could practically hear the door creaking open as she read.
She cleared her throat.
“‘And there she lay, fast asleep on a couch by the window. She looked so beautiful that he could not take his eyes off her, so he stooped down and gave her a kiss . . . she opened her eyes and awoke . . . and soon the king and queen also awoke, and all the court.’” She shut the book with a snap. “And everyone lived—”
“—happily ever after.”
The breath in Gigi’s lungs iced over. The ending words hadn’t come from one of the children but a familiar baritone. A shiver crossed the base of Gigi’s skull.
Slowly, she swiveled her head, glanced toward the now open doorway and straight into Fitz’s handsome face.
Gigi felt it again, that powerful wish for something more. Once again, she pushed the sensation away. Ignored it. Denied it. To no avail. No more than she could go on avoiding Fitz.
She remained frozen in his stare, curling her fingers around the book so hard her knuckles turned white. She hated this anxious, almost panicky sensation spreading through her.
Unfortunately, it couldn’t be helped. Simply staring into Fitz’s moss-green eyes caused her anxiety.
He should not be here.
She wanted him nowhere else.
The moment grew thick with tension, the silence between them so heavy that Gigi could hear her own breathing.
“Look,” shouted Lilly, her finger pointing to the door. “It’s the handsome prince. He’s come to rescue Briar Rose.”
The three little girls rushed to Fitz. They spoke over one another in their attempt to gain his attention.
“I’m Fern, and I’m three years old,” the smallest announced before she went on to introduce the other two girls. “This is Lilly. She’s four, just like I’ll be at my next birthday.”
“I’m Amelia, and I’m five.”
A rich tumble of laughter spilled out of Fitz, mingling harmoniously with little-girl giggles. He skillfully divided his attention equally between the children, which produced wide, happy smiles on each of their faces.
Gigi had never seen him this relaxed and easy. This is the kind of father he’ll be. Patient, attentive, and kind.
“Miss Sally was reading us a story.”
With Fitz’s gaze locked on hers, Gigi’s lungs forgot how to breathe. “Which one?” he asked.
The ability to communicate failed her, though she couldn’t think why. She knew Fitz came to the theater daily, yet, somehow, his presence in this room, her very own sanctuary, felt different. Not at all intrusive but as if they shared a secret. A good one this time, something special and only between the two of them.
“She was reading about Briar Rose and her handsome prince,” Lilly said. “He came to save her.”
“It’s what all good princes do.” There was so much emotion in Fitz’s eyes, which were still locked with Gigi’s. She recognized that shattered look, the hint of vulnerability in his stance. As though he, too, wanted something that could never be his.
She wanted to go to him, to comfort and soothe whatever might ail him, as one kindred soul to another.
She didn’t dare.
Regardless of their history, they were barely more than acquaintances. He was too good and she was spoiled goods.
The room suddenly felt too small, too hot. Gigi pushed a strand of hair off her face with the back of her hand.
Fitz shifted to his left, splintering the tense moment and their disturbing connection.
Clearing her throat, Gigi rolled her shoulders, set the book aside, and jumped to her feet. She swayed, unable to find her balance. But Fitz was by her side at once, holding her steady as his strong hands clutched her waist.
Chapter Thirteen
Ever since leaving the Harvard Club and his two nauseatingly happy former schoolmates, Fitz couldn’t stop thinking about missed opportunities. When he’d listened to Luke and Jackson expound on their marriages, Fitz had thought he understood the source of their happiness.
Yet he hadn’t, not fully, not until he’d stood in the doorway of this overstuffed, messy room and watched Gigi read to three little girls. He’d seen a mother with her children. He’d seen the future he might have had, had he acted sooner. Had he been smarter.
Gigi could have been his wife already, if only he’d been less mechanical in his pursuit of her.
Now, it was too late.
He inhaled sharply. She did the same, the movement reminding him he still had a hold on her waist. He released her and stepped back.
An unexpected bout of longing captured him, longing for a home and a family of his own, for a comfortable, settled life with a good woman by his side. With this woman by his side, their children gathered around her while she read.
The sensation came fast and hard, digging deep. For a painful moment, the loneliness in his soul spilled into his heart.
One of the children moved in next to her. “Can we sing our song for the prince?”
He heard a soft, throaty laugh before Gigi glanced at him with a question in her eyes.
Fitz nodded.
While Gigi lined up the children, small to smallest, the storm brewing in him calmed. His senses were still unnaturally heightened, though, and he became aware of giggles from the young, girlish voices.
The sound of family.
A sense of inevitability pushed him forward. Toward Gigi. He had one coherent thought: her.
She’s the one.
He shoved the disturbing notion aside before it could take root. Even if, by the grace of God, Gigi fell for him and miraculously agreed to marry him, Fitz cared for her too much to condemn her to an uncertain future in his home. Not one of the specialists he’d consulted could give him a guarantee that he wouldn’t become ill like his father. If he knew for certain, then perhaps, maybe—possibly—Fitz would consider pursuing Gigi in earnest.
As matters stood, his time to woo her had come and gone. He’d failed miserably to win her heart, treating her like another business transaction rather than a woman with genuine hopes and dreams. No wonder she’d found Dixon’s attention so appealing. She’d probably felt neglected, or perhaps Fitz had simply bored her and that had been enough to send her into another man’s arms.
Even now at the thought of the resulting tragedy, anger and guilt burned deep, not at Gigi, but at himself and the man who’d ruined her. Fitz’s breath came in quick, hard snatches.
He’d waited too long to fetch her.
Why hadn’t he searched harder?
He knew, of course. Pride.
“All right, girls, you know what to do.” Gigi took her place at the piano and began to play a favorite hymn from his childhood.
“Jesus loves me—this I know.”
Fitz stood frozen, struck immobile by the familiar melody wafting over him. Then he noticed the laughter. It was high-pitched and full of pure childish joy. He’d never really understood that sound.
Until now.
For a moment, he simply allowed the music to wash over him.
Hopes and dreams flooded into him, the kind he’d suppressed for a full year, ever since Gigi had run off with another man.
“For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong . . .”
Sensation after sensation seemed to come at Fitz at an alarming rate these days. Most of his fondest memories of Gigi were of her playing a piano. Her father had invited him to his home nearly three times a week, often more, under the guise of discussing business. But Harcourt Wentworth had had another agenda in mind.
Fitz had been smitten long before Gigi’s father had pushed for the match. Gigi had been young, fresh and beautiful, talented, and the most confounding woman he’d ever met. And she’d played the piano with flair, indicating a passionate nature that should have warned him that winning her heart wouldn’t be easy.
The attraction had not been one-sided, no matter what Gigi claimed. Their one kiss was a blur in his memory, however, replaced with their more recent meetings, when suspicions and accusations had stolen their smiles. His inability to open up hadn’t helped his cause, though he was only just beginning to realize that.
Ironic that he found himself wanting to share his secrets with Gigi now that he couldn’t.
Standing on the edge of this overcrowded room, listening to the sounds of children singing while she played the piano, Fitz realized something else. He’d missed her.
He wanted to be a part of the joy. He prayed the memories of his failure, or at least the worst of them, would stay away so he could simply enjoy this moment with Gigi and these precious, innocent little girls.
“They are weak, but He is strong.”
Bracing himself, Fitz swallowed past a lump in his throat.
Not wanting to interrupt just yet, he held perfectly still, listening. He’d forgotten that Gigi could sing as well as she played the piano. He remembered standing in the pew behind her on Sunday mornings. Her sweet, melodic tone had been made for singing church hymns.
He mouthed the words along with them. “Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me.”
The smallest of the little girls was pretty shaky on the verses, but she had the refrain down pat. Her sweet baby voice rose to a near shout as she sang, “The Bible tells me so!”
The music stopped, only to be replaced by clapping. “Oh, well done,” Gigi declared.
She alternated between kissing each little head and praising their singing. A portion of a long-forgotten verse from Isaiah came to Fitz’s mind: The redeemed of the Lord shall return, and come with singing.
Fitz would see her restored to her family. Nothing would stop him, not even the stubborn woman herself.
Gigi lifted her head, and their gazes met. Her eyes shone with emotion, and then . . .