by Renee Ryan
“What if . . . what if I refuse to break things off?”
He closed his eyes and gave a slight shudder. “We cannot marry, Gigi.”
His tone brooked no argument. There was such finality in the words, as if he couldn’t think of a worse fate than linking his life with hers. But when he opened his eyes, she saw the flash of longing in their depths. It was the same emotion that shot through her.
Maybe, just maybe, he thought her worthy enough to marry.
Then why push her away? Again? She knew, of course. The answer was all too painfully clear. Still, she needed him to say the words. Gaining her feet, she held his gaze and asked, “Is your reluctance to be with me because of my past?”
She was in his arms before she finished speaking. He buried his face in her hair, murmuring her name over and over again. She clung to him with as much fervor.
“No, Gigi, never think that. Not even for a moment. You are brave and strong and I can’t think of anyone I admire more. You have endured hardships and have done more than survive. You have thrived. You have become a woman of honor and integrity. I am humbled to know you.”
The words she’d longed to hear, said with such sincerity. But also with such . . . regret. “Then why don’t you want to marry me?”
He set her away from him and moved to the center of the room, his arms stiff at his sides, his back ramrod straight. “Every man of your acquaintance will race to assure you that you deserve better than a life shackled to me.”
Why, oh why, had Fitz once again put up the invisible wall between them? She circled back to the beginning of their argument. “What if I don’t want to call off our engagement?”
There. She saw it again. The spark in his eyes that told her he wanted to take her as his wife. Or perhaps it was simply wishful thinking on her part.
Aware of the risk she was taking, she progressed across the room until she was within inches of him. Though he remained unmoving, she heard his breath catch. It was all the encouragement she needed.
“Admit it, Fitz. You care for me.”
Another shudder moved through him. “Of course I care for you. I have always cared.”
Most marriages in their world were based on far less.
“Would it be so bad, then, if we married?”
“It would be . . .” He swallowed. Shaking his head, he clamped his mouth shut and said nothing more. He looked absolutely miserable.
She saw the truth in his eyes. The love. Though he hadn’t said the words, Gigi knew that Christopher Nolan Fitzpatrick loved her.
There was no joy in the knowledge.
Finally, she knew what stood between them. If they had any chance of being together, Fitz must trust her, as she trusted him.
“Fitz.” His name came from low in her throat and sounded really quite wonderful, as if she’d been meant to say his name, just that way, all her life. “Tell me one thing I don’t know about you. Just one. Something no one else knows.”
He went still as a statue. “You know more than most.”
His vague response slammed into her like a punch. “You have a secret, something you’re not telling me.”
“You are very persistent.”
“Part of my charm.”
A shadow of a smile played across his lips.
Gigi responded in kind.
For that one moment, everything felt right between them, comfortable even, a solidarity that went beyond words.
But then . . .
Fitz’s brow creased. Somehow, Gigi knew the source of that look wasn’t her. She wanted him to . . . no, she needed him to share his burdens with her.
Without thinking too hard about what she was doing, she reached out to him. “Tell me what troubles you, Fitz.”
His eyes went dark and turbulent, then shuttered closed. When they opened again, Gigi saw the withdrawn man she’d left in Boston. “I’m merely worried about you. I put you in a tough spot this afternoon, and it’s tearing me apart.”
Just like that, the progress they’d made in the past few weeks was gone. But why? “Is it something to do with your family?”
A muscle shifted at his jawline. For a moment, she thought he would tell her the truth. Gigi waited, the world seeming to slow down and wait with her.
Fitz glanced at his desk, frowned.
She followed the direction of his gaze but saw only several slips of paper spread across the surface, a cup of writing utensils, and an inkpot.
He rolled his shoulders as if to relieve the weight there. “We were talking about our engagement.”
“You mean our fake engagement.”
His brow was furrowed once again, making him appear more confused than thoughtful. “The timing of our breakup will have to be carefully thought through.”
He wasn’t going to open up to her.
Gigi tried to shrug off her sorrow, but this moment was bigger than her, and she simply couldn’t find a way to get past the agony of losing Fitz. When she’d only just found him.
Pushed past her endurance, she gave up all pretense of control and glared at the confounding man. If she were wise, she would turn around and walk out the door. After, of course, she issued a dazzling set-down.
Or . . .
She could be a little more daring. She could tap into the woman she’d been long ago, the woman who knew how to attract a man’s interest—before one secret, scandalous act had changed her from the inside out.
“You are hiding something painful within your heart, Fitz. No, don’t deny it.” She drew even closer, giving him one last chance to confide. “Keeping it to yourself is hurting you. You need to unload your burdens with someone who cares. Let that someone be me.”
A single winged eyebrow lifted in surprise.
She gave him a soft smile. “You listened to me. It’s my turn to listen to you.”
Now both eyebrows rose.
It was a very intimidating look, dark, brooding, slightly dangerous. Most women would be cowed.
Gigi was not. This was Fitz. The man she loved. “Let me be the one you share your secret with. Let me be your helpmate.”
“I don’t have a secret.”
“Oh, but you do.” She placed her palm flat on his chest. The muscles beneath her hand were coiled tightly as a spring. “You told me so yourself, so it’s beneath both of us to argue otherwise.”
He looked so weary. Fatigued by whatever he kept buried in his heart. “Did you just accuse me of lying? Sally?”
Mutiny swept through her, making her bolder than she’d been in a very long time. “Don’t turn this back on me.”
It was his turn to glare.
“Go ahead. Stand there all silent and broody. But I’m not leaving this room until you tell me what’s going on with you, Fitz.” She poked him in the chest. “I mean it.”
“We’ve had this discussion before. I . . . cannot.”
“You mean, you will not.”
His expression didn’t change at the accusation.
“Please, Fitz, give me your trust.”
Making a sound deep in his throat, he moved to the small writing desk. He placed his hand over the stack of papers and took a long, rough pull of air.
Lifting his hand, he muttered something under his breath.
Gigi didn’t catch all of what he said, but she thought she might have heard perhaps it’s possible.
Not sure what he meant, she whispered his name. “Fitz?”
He drummed his fingers atop the stack. “I have to go to Boston.”
“You’re leaving? When?”
He drew in another careful breath. “Tonight.”
He couldn’t mean to . . .
“You’re going to speak to my father? Tonight?”
“Not your father. Mine.”
“But why?”
“I can’t—”
“—tell me. Yes, I know.” She bit back a sigh. “Will you return for opening night at the Summer Garden?”
For a span of three breaths, he said nothing, merely frowned
down at the floor. “I will try.”
He looked back down at his desk, reached out, and stuffed the small stack of papers into an inner pocket of his suit jacket. His gaze shifted to Gigi. A moment’s hesitation, and then, in the next heartbeat, she was back in his arms. She didn’t know who’d moved first, her or him, but did it matter?
His lips pressed to hers tentatively, pulled away, pressed again. Fitz was telling her good-bye.
She thought she might be sick.
“I have to go.”
Her mouth went dry. Every muscle in her body tensed.
She’d just lost him, before she’d ever really won him. “You’ll want to pack. I’ll leave you to it.”
She walked to the door, reached for the handle, stopped when he called her name. “Gigi, wait.”
Her hand froze. Unable to find the courage to turn around and look at him, she pressed her forehead to the door.
Purposeful footsteps struck the floor as he approached. Closer. Closer. He reached around her, pressed his palm on the door as if to keep her from opening it, then quickly dropped his hand. “I prefer not to speak to your back.”
It was the desperation in his voice that had her turning. His expression was fierce, his eyes hot enough to burn. “Gigi, I vow I will do everything in my power to—”
She launched herself at him, all but burrowing when he pulled her close and called her his love. His love. Not a declaration, but close. Gigi had to struggle not to lose herself in the moment. “Don’t go.”
“I can’t stay.”
With those three words, all hope was gone. “Good-bye, Fitz.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Fitz didn’t make it back to New York in time for opening night. Gigi hadn’t held out much hope that he would.
Who was she kidding?
Of course she’d held out hope.
For every hour he was gone, all forty-five and three quarters of them, she’d waited anxiously for his return.
He’d sent no word. Not a telegram, not a note by special courier, nothing.
His silence hurt.
And the longer he stayed away, the more certain she became that he would never return.
To make matters worse, Gigi had another, equally troubling situation to deal with. Sophie had disappeared. The young woman had gone missing the same night Fitz had left town.
At least Sophie had left word. Nothing more than a hastily scribbled note, but that was better than no communication at all.
Now, as Gigi unfolded the piece of parchment paper for what must have been the seventieth time in two days, she admitted the truth to herself.
She’d failed Sophie. As surely as if she’d personally helped the young woman escape the town house with her lover. Gigi prayed her friend’s tale would end better than her own.
She lowered her head and read the runaway’s words.
My Dearest Gigi,
Your brave story has given me the daring to take my own leap of faith. Robert has asked me to marry him, and I have said yes. By the time you read this, I will be away.
Please. Do not worry for me. Robert is a good man. He is no Nathanial. He is my Fitz. And I am blissfully happy.
With all my love,
Sophie
“Oh, Sophie, what have you done?” Gigi pressed the note to her heart.
Her friend had listened to her story and somehow used it to rationalize running off with the man she loved. He is no Nathanial. He is my Fitz. Well, that was certainly unexpected.
Gigi’s one consolation was Esmeralda’s reaction to Sophie’s act of defiance. In a surprising twist that rivaled any fictional plot, when Gigi has screwed up the nerve to tell the opera singer about Sophie’s note, Esmeralda hadn’t blamed Gigi for her daughter’s rash behavior.
She’d blamed herself. “I should have realized Sophie’s resentment toward me ran deep.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Yes, yes.” She’d brushed off Gigi’s sorrow with a dismissive wave. “I know you are, my dear.”
They’d come to an understanding that day, one that transcended their age difference. They were two women with regrets and a strong desire to see their loved ones protected from the consequences of their mistakes.
Heart heavy, Gigi placed Sophie’s note on her dresser, her eyes catching on a single sentence.
He is my Fitz.
Oh, how Gigi hoped that was true. If Robert Dain turned out to be half the man that Fitz was, then there was no cause for concern.
Please, Lord, let it be so.
It wasn’t the first prayer Gigi had uttered in the past two days. Each time she lifted up a request to the Lord, her burdens seemed to grow lighter. She was starting to feel restored, not quite the old Gigi, but not Sally, either.
In an effort to renew her spirit, she’d spent hours reading her Bible and was coming to understand two profound realizations: God’s plan often incorporated His people’s mistakes, and He was actively involved in the intricate design of His children’s lives.
For the first time in a year, Gigi looked at herself through God’s eyes and felt whole again.
She went in search of Esmeralda so they could set the time for their departure to the theater. To her surprise, the singer was ready to leave.
“This early?”
“I prefer to arrive ahead of the others. Walking through each scene is part of my opening-night ritual.”
With the entire household staff waving from the doorway, they climbed into Esmeralda’s private carriage. Once they were settled on opposite seats, the singer dug around in her reticule. “Before I forget, this is for you.”
She passed Gigi an envelope. “What is it?”
Proving she truly didn’t hold Sophie’s behavior against Gigi, she said, “Consider it a token of my appreciation.”
“For?”
“For skillfully guiding my daughter through these difficult months.”
Feeling like a fraud, Gigi tried to return the envelope.
Esmeralda would have none of it. “You taught Sophie how to move successfully in her father’s world. She had her chance to rise above the condition of her birth.”
Regret whirled in Gigi’s stomach. “She ran off with a man.”
“A man who happens to be an educated doctor. It is more than I hoped.”
The churning in Gigi’s stomach eased. Still, she made another attempt to return whatever Esmeralda had stuffed in the thick envelope.
“Do not insult me.”
Gigi stuffed the envelope in the pocket of her skirt. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.”
Esmeralda proceeded to shift around, stretching out her legs, pulling them back in, repeating the process over and over again. It was the first time Gigi had seen the diva nervous. “Tell me what I can do.”
“Your calming presence is enough.”
How ironic that Esmeralda was the Cappelletti woman who required Gigi’s calming presence. At least someone needed her, Gigi thought with a spurt of gratitude.
Her pleasure was short-lived.
As soon as they arrived at the theater, Esmeralda banished Gigi from her sight with a little shove. “Go away, now. I wish to walk through my scenes minus any distractions, your company included.”
Well then. With extra time on her hands, Gigi decided to set up the makeshift nursery for later that evening. She’d promised Jessica and the other single mothers that she would watch their children during the performance.
One more in a long line of surprises awaited her there. “Oh, I . . .” Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“I’m Mrs. Tupper. And you must be Sally.” The plump elderly woman had a mane of long white hair, smiling eyes, and a grandmotherly air about her.
“Uh . . . yes, I’m Sally.” How odd to hear that name in reference to herself. In two short days, despite carrying out her household and theater duties, she’d become Gigi again.
She chanced a peek around the other woman and felt her eyes
widen. The room actually looked like a real nursery.
The floors gleamed from a recent polishing. New rugs had been moved in and the excess furniture out. The piano was situated against one wall, a small bookcase on another. There were several trunks overflowing with toys, while child-sized cots lined the farthest wall.
“You seem confused, dear.”
That was a magnificent understatement. “Who did you say you were?”
“I am Mrs. Tupper. I have been hired to watch the children.”
Hired? “By whom?”
“Mr. Everett, of course.”
Fitz had followed through with his plan for the children. He’d managed to convince the theater owner to turn this room into a permanent nursery. “When did he hire you?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Apparently, a generous patron is underwriting my salary.”
That was so . . . Fitz. The dear, wonderful, thoughtful man.
Gigi hardly trusted herself to speak. She let out a breath. “You’ve been busy.”
“I suppose I have been, with the stage manager’s assistance. Mr. McClain was quite adamant that his men help me put the nursery in order.” The older woman took a moment to glance around the room. “There is still more I wish to do, but I’m pleased with the start I’ve made.” Satisfaction swirled in her gaze.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Mrs. Tupper suggested that Gigi ask the wardrobe mistress if she needed any assistance.
Mere seconds later, Gigi stood in the dark hallway, staring at a firmly shut door. “That certainly put me in my place.”
She wandered around to the wardrobe closet and was met with a similar lack of desire for her services. With no one requiring her help, Gigi found herself at loose ends. I want to go home.
What was stopping her?
Twenty-five dollars. Gigi was still twenty-five dollars short of being able to redeem her great-grandmother’s pearls.
Members of the orchestra had begun to arrive. She could listen to them tune their instruments. Or perhaps not. The disjointed musical notes would only serve to agitate her further.
Her ears caught the subtle sound of female conversation. Gigi moved in that direction. She hesitated on the fringes of the group, engaging herself in silent debate. She didn’t really want to talk with anyone. Turning, she gathered her skirts away from her ankles and froze. The sound of paper crinkling reminded her of the envelope Esmeralda had given her.