by Renee Ryan
Gigi laid a hand on his arm, looked into his eyes. “It’s only been a few days, a very busy few days at that, what with opening night less than a week away. It’s no wonder they haven’t found a more permanent solution.”
“I was speaking of the larger problem.”
Gigi removed her hand.
“They are raising their little girls alone, without the benefit of a husband or help from family.” His turbulent gaze held hers. “That could have been you. You could have found yourself—”
He broke off abruptly, the lines of worry around his eyes cutting deeper.
Was he silently judging her? How could he not? She judged herself nearly every second of every day.
“Tell me something, Gigi. What if matters had turned out differently? What would you have done if he’d left you with child?”
The question was one she’d asked herself a thousand times since Nathanial had run off. The back of her throat stung with disgrace. Her eyes filled with tears—hot and instant and unwelcome.
“I would have survived.” She looked down at her gloved hands. “Like Jessica and the other women at the theater, I would have considered the baby a blessing.”
“Your strength awes me.”
The respect in his voice had her lifting her head. She’d never seen Fitz look at her like that. It wasn’t just respect she saw staring back at her, but something deeper, something a woman could build a life on if she dared to believe again.
A strong pulse of blood rushed in her veins. She desperately wanted to be worthy of that look. Of him.
His head came down over hers, stopping when their lips nearly touched. “Push me away, Gigi.”
How could she when he treated her with such kindness, such understanding and caring? Things she thought never to experience from a man again. She was too weak to push him away, and far too desperate for this moment to be real. Her only answer was to slip her hands up his chest, across his shoulders, around his neck, and then . . .
His mouth moved over hers carefully, courteously, until he found the perfect angle.
She sighed against him.
The sound must have brought him to his senses, because he jerked away from her. “I apologize. I took advantage of the moment.”
He had, yes. His spontaneity had been glorious and wonderful and so out of character for Fitz that Gigi could only smile. For the first time in eleven months, she felt worthy of a man’s attention.
His shocked gaze moved to her lips. He seemed to be waging an internal battle with himself. “It won’t happen again.”
“Of course not.”
“It can’t.”
“No.”
They were back in each other’s arms, their lips pressed tightly together, hearts pounding in a wild, shared rhythm.
Gigi tasted home. It was an illusion. A woman like her could never regain what she’d lost. But for this one moment, she allowed herself to believe her future could be more than a lonely existence with a cat as her only companion.
All too soon, Fitz pulled his head away. A shaken breath escaped him. Or was that her?
Doing her best not to do something ridiculously stupid, like climbing on his lap, Gigi laughed. It was either that or cry. She forced herself to speak calmly. “You were saying something about the children at the theater?”
He blinked. “Right. The children. But first”—he blinked again—“we should probably address what just happened.”
Please, Lord, anything but that. “Nothing happened.”
“We kissed. Twice.”
Leave it to Fitz to make the situation a thousand times more awkward. He’d kissed her. She’d kissed him back. And for the life of her, Gigi couldn’t figure out why either of them had done it. “We don’t even like each other,” she whispered.
“Apparently, we do. Rather a lot.”
Hearing the amusement in his voice, Gigi whipped her gaze to his. The words of censure died on her lips. Fitz’s smile was full of tender affection. He used to look at her like that when they’d been friends. Much had changed since then, too much to hope that a few kisses could bridge the divide that stood between them.
Gigi let another sigh move through her, let it flow from her lips this time in a sad, pathetic whoosh. “I don’t want to talk about this, Fitz. Not right now.”
“Yes, Gigi. Now.”
She drew in several fast breaths. “Stop making such a big deal out of this.” She shoved at the stubborn tendril of hair that kept falling over her left eye. “It was just a stupid kiss.”
“We both know it was more than that.”
“All right, two kisses.”
“Talk to me, Gigi.” Taking her hand, he cupped it affectionately in his, pulled it to his chest. “Tell me what’s on your mind. I want to know what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, Fitz.” She lowered her head, stared at their joined hands. “I’m not avoiding a difficult conversation”—precisely—“I simply need time to figure out”—how things got so quickly out of hand—“where we go from here.”
“I’d like to think we could become friends again.”
“I’d like to think that, too.” She squeezed his hand, feeling as though they might actually be able to forge a real friendship. “Can we please leave it at that?”
He stared at her for several long seconds. He opened his mouth. Shut it again. Then, finally, he let go of her hand. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is. Yes. Thank you.” Giving him no time to change his mind, she returned to their previous topic of discussion. “If I recall, we were speaking about the situation with the children at the theater.”
A beat passed, then another. Eyes never leaving her face, he shook his head, then said, “It seems unfair that their mothers, all of them so young, have to constantly worry about their care. I can only imagine the strain of carrying that daily burden.”
He spoke of burdens and strain as if he had intimate experience with both. Gigi wondered again what secrets Fitz harbored.
“At least they have a solution for now.”
“It’s temporary, at best.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “They need a more permanent situation.”
“You mean . . . at the theater?”
He nodded. “Something similar to what you’re providing now, but with a woman in charge who would stay indefinitely in the position.”
The intensity of his words highlighted his concern, one that Gigi shared. “If you purchased the theater, you could set something like that up.”
Fitz nodded again, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t release. If anything, they bunched tighter. “Suppose I put my idea in motion—would you be willing to offer me some thoughts on the matter?”
Gigi stared into his eyes and saw the man beneath the stern, overly polite exterior. She saw the man who’d kissed her, the one capable of great feeling, with a hatred for injustice, a heart for forgiveness, and the capacity to care for children that weren’t his own.
In that moment, she fell a little in love with him. “I would be honored.”
Chapter Fourteen
An hour after sharing her thoughts about a permanent nursery at the theater, Gigi entered Esmeralda’s town house through the back door. At Mrs. Garrison’s curt order, she quickly shut out the cold.
Time had gotten away from her, and now Gigi would have to move quickly if she wanted to help Sophie prepare for the ball this evening. Tonight would be the young woman’s official debut into New York society. She must look perfect.
Gigi took the stairs two at a time, trying unsuccessfully to focus on the task that lay ahead, rather than her encounter with Fitz. He’d claimed they could become friends again. She wanted that, truly she did, but Gigi wasn’t sure they could regain what they’d once had. Her fingertips went to her lips, locking in the sigh that wanted release.
Fitz had kissed her. He’d kissed her!
She’d adored the feel of his mouth on hers. The sensation had nothing to do with friendship. Gigi would h
ave never imagined such a simple meeting of lips could throw her assumptions of everything she knew into confusion. The kisses—both of them—had been brief and yet far more real than any of the countless moments she’d shared with Nathanial.
She continued climbing the stairs with something more powerful than embarrassment. Anger. Anger at herself for what she’d done with Nathanial. For believing him. For trusting him.
Fitz was proving five times the man Nathanial had ever been. He wasn’t one to ask for help, yet he’d requested Gigi’s. To turn to her for advice was unprecedented. She’d wanted to jump into his arms and kiss him square on the lips again and again, and thank him for his extraordinary faith in her.
Fitz was shattering every preconceived notion she’d ever had about him. He was full of surprises, and that scared her.
Was she falling for him?
Hadn’t she learned her lesson about men?
How much easier it would have been to think of Fitz as the villain in her story. Was he, like Nathanial, a bad man pretending to be good? Or a good man appearing to be bad?
On the third-story landing, she paused, tugged her still-tingling bottom lip between her teeth. She wanted very badly to believe Fitz was who he seemed to be. But she’d been fooled once. She couldn’t allow it to happen again. And she couldn’t fool him, either, that she was more virtuous than she was. At all deserving of his regard.
Gigi must keep her distance from Fitz. If she grew too close, too intimate in her feelings for him, she might do something massively daft, like become his friend and end up hurting them both. There was still so much she didn’t know about him—and so much he didn’t know about her. All the sordid details surrounding Nathanial. And her situation with the pearls.
If she fully confessed to him, he would never look at her with tenderness in his eyes. She couldn’t bear that.
She hurried into her room and cringed at her reflection. Her hair was a mess, her dress wrinkled beyond repair, and, most telling of all, her cheeks were shaded a bright pink.
She switched the wrinkled uniform for a cleaner version and removed her mobcap. At the mirror, she reworked each strand, twisting and tucking and calling upon every trick she’d learned as a lady’s maid. But no matter what she did, more red showed than blonde, and no longer just at the roots.
Sighing, Gigi ran her fingers along her hairline. Bleaching the strands so soon after the last time would result in irreparable damage. Why hadn’t she chosen to go black instead of blonde? Because she hadn’t had the expertise to know better, at least not enough to realize the darker color would have been gentler on her hair.
Taking a breath, she made her way to the second floor, gave a cursory knock, and walked into Sophie’s room. The young lady was sitting at the small table by the bay window overlooking the street below. She had a dreamy look in her eyes, one that put Gigi immediately on guard.
She’d seen that look before. In her own eyes a year ago. Had Sophie met someone? A man?
With the eyes of a woman who’d fallen too hard, too fast, Gigi ran her gaze over her friend. What she saw frightened her.
Gigi recalled the young woman’s wish to rebel against her mother. Sophie loved Esmeralda, but she hated drama. Esmeralda was the very essence of drama. The diva had her stormy days, when nothing went right or could be made right. She would turn her critical eye to Sophie then, finding fault with everything. But Esmeralda was also generous and welcoming of people from all walks of life. She was childlike in her affection for those she considered part of her inner circle. She especially adored those who adored her.
“Sophie, it’s time for you to dress for the ball.”
Nodding, the young woman stood. The look in her eyes turned from dreamy to wistful, a slight distinction but noticeable to a woman who’d worn both expressions after meeting Nathanial.
A man had put that look on Sophie’s face.
Gigi’s heart pounded in a fast tattoo against her ribs.
“I think I shall wear the lavender-and-silver gown.” Silence met the pronouncement, until Sophie prodded, “Would you like to know why I wish to wear the lavender-and-silver gown?”
Gigi was afraid to respond. “I would think because the cut and color are the most flattering of all your dresses.”
“Well, yes. But there is another reason.”
Yes, Gigi figured as much. “If we don’t get to it, you shall be unfashionably late. And since this ball is being thrown with you in mind, that simply won’t do.”
Sophie took a deep breath. “Gigi, my friend, it is not as though the good people of New York will reject me because I am a few minutes late.”
The words showed how much she still had to learn about society. “One small misstep is all it will take to cause whispered speculation of your suitability.”
And then all their hard work of the previous months would be destroyed. Sophie’s life would be ruined, her heart crushed under her detractors’ perfectly sewn slippers.
“At some point, I will have to accept that some people will never accept me.”
“But others will.”
“There are some who are extraordinarily polite. Very gracious. Impeccably kind. But I am the Daughter of Scandal.” She jerked her chin at a defiant angle. “I am the child of an affair between an opera singer and her married lover.”
“It’s still possible you will make a good match.”
Sophie turned her head in Gigi’s direction. “The well-bred ladies of society consider me too much of a disgrace to be a wife to their sons. Perhaps it’s time I settle for something less.”
“Don’t do anything rash, I urge you.”
“I want a man to look at me the way Luke looks at Elizabeth, and Simon looks at Penelope, but I am no longer naïve enough to think I will find him among the New York elite. I ruined my chances when I confronted my father in front of the most influential members of his privileged world.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“Oh, but I do.” She gave a secretive smile. “And suddenly, it doesn’t matter so much.”
Gigi opened her mouth to refute the point, but Sophie continued talking.
“I have set my sights a few rungs lower than the very top of the ladder.”
“There are good men at the top.” Gigi thought of Fitz, and how very different he was proving from Nathanial. “And some very bad men every step in between.”
Sophie gave a little huff of laughter. “Who knows?” The reflective look came back into her eyes, but this time there was a hint of daring, too. “Perhaps my search is over.”
“Have you met someone, Sophie?”
“I’m not telling.” Moving to her closet, she flung open the doors. “Let’s get me dressed.”
“Please, Sophie. Listen to me.” Gigi hurried to stand beside the young woman. “Do not settle for a man unworthy of you. Wait for one who will treat you well.”
“You are being a bit severe, don’t you think? Simply because a man doesn’t earn his living in the noble pursuit of banking or high finance doesn’t make him less worthy.”
“Of course it doesn’t. But tread carefully. Do not be fooled by pretty words and false confessions of love.”
Sophie entered the closet. “I no longer care what people think of me. From this night forward, I will make my own way in their world, on my own terms. And I will fall in love with the man of my choosing.”
Gigi felt a spike of dread. She couldn’t hold back one last piece of advice. “Whatever man you set your sights on, make sure that he is who and what he seems.”
Sophie rewarded her words with a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry, my friend. I will adopt great caution going forward. And”—she plucked the lavender-and-silver dress from its hanger—“I will do so while looking magnificent.”
In that moment, Sophie had far too much Esmeralda in her, and Gigi’s dread turned into outright fear. It was as if she was watching the sweet, innocent girl she’d come to know melt away, layer by layer, mor
phing into someone else entirely.
“Sophie, please be careful.”
The young woman dismissed her with another flick of her wrist. “I brought something home for you.”
Taken aback by the swift change of subject, Gigi absently took the silk gown from Sophie and followed the young woman out of the closet.
“It’s there.” Sophie pointed a finger to the far corner of the room. “On my writing desk.”
Gigi eyed the envelope from where she stood. Sally Smith was scrawled across the front. Recognizing the neat, looping handwriting, she cocked her head in confusion.
Why was Elizabeth Griffin sending her a letter?
“Go on,” Sophie urged, taking the dress from Gigi and nudging her forward with her shoulder. “Open it.”
Gigi moved to the writing desk and stared at the ivory parchment paper. Her first instinct was to tuck the envelope in her pocket and read it when she was alone.
But Sophie looked at her with anticipation.
“Do you know what she wrote?”
Sophie merely smiled, lazily, catlike. “Why don’t you open it and find out for yourself?”
Gigi tore into the envelope and read the handwritten request. “It’s an invitation to luncheon at Elizabeth’s residence.”
“Yes, I know.” Sophie moved in behind her and studied the invitation over Gigi’s shoulder. “There’s no need to respond. I told her you would be more than happy to attend.”
Scowling at this, Gigi tucked the card back inside the envelope. She was surprised to see her hands shake. “I can’t go.”
“Why not?”
“It’s simply not done.” The burst of regret clogged her throat. Gigi would have adored having luncheon with the woman she considered a close friend. “I am a domestic, and domestics do not dine with the women they serve.”
“Elizabeth warned me you would protest. I am to tell you that it will be a small private affair.”
“How small?”
“Only five women are invited. You and me, of course, as well as Caroline, Elizabeth, and Penelope.”
Gigi was tempted to accept the invitation. Though she didn’t know Penelope very well, this would be the perfect opportunity to watch the woman with Sophie and determine if her sisterly affection was genuine.