“Then it’s time,” Claire said.
Roark walked over to Jensen, studied their daughter. “She has your eyes, Claire.”
“She has baby eyes. But Jensen’s nose, bless her heart.”
Roark ran a finger over her cheek.
“Want to hold her?” Jensen asked and handed her into Roark’s arms. She snuggled in close, making baby sounds that could wreck him.
He sank into a chair. Held out his finger, and she wrapped her tiny hand around it.
“I daresay, Jensen, that he likes her,” Claire said softly.
“She’s . . . brilliant.”
Silence, and when he looked up, Jensen and Claire wore soft, patronizing expressions.
“What?”
“You need to tell her,” Jensen said. “Because I’ve never seen a guy so ready to have his own kids.”
Roark shook his head. “No. That’s not—”
“You totally are, Roark. I can’t believe I didn’t see it until right now. I should have, for the way you’ve been fighting to be a part of Deep Haven and the Christiansens. No wonder Amelia came home crazy about you,” Claire said.
He liked how their words landed on him, watering the hope, the belief, that Amelia had seeded all week. The moments in the lake when she splashed him, when he caught her in a kiss, when she sat with him on the dock and stared at the stars, holding his hand.
She hadn’t said it again—I love you, Roark—but he felt it.
As for himself, he couldn’t put a finger on the shift inside him, the way that when she looked at him, he ached all the way to his bones.
He wanted so much for her. And for the first time he feared, properly feared, that he couldn’t give it to her.
If he turned his back on his family, he would have nothing.
No way to provide.
The thought swept through him. No wonder his father had given up faith for finances. But maybe his uncle was right. Money gave him the ability to help people, save the world.
Except not from Deep Haven.
“By the way, we voted. Loved the picture of you falling off the log into the water,” Jensen said. “I see she landed in the semifinals.”
“I loved the silhouette of the bride and groom on the shore,” Claire added. “Perfectly captured a north shore sunrise.”
“She’s so brilliant. For all my struggle to stay here, I can’t help but think she should leave. She’s so brave, and she doesn’t see it. And I don’t know how to show her.” He sighed. “My uncle has found a successor for his position should I decide to resign.”
He had to admit, he hadn’t quite seen it coming—Ethan’s name at the top of the list. But perhaps it made sense. Ethan’s father had been in the company, on the board until his recent death. Ethan was practically family.
“Roark, no, are you serious?” This from Jensen.
“I want a life with Amelia. And it seems she wants to stay in Deep Haven. My dad did it—left home and lived without the family wealth. I want what we had, a family. A better life.” He stared down at Ruby, watching her eyes try to focus. “The problem is, I don’t want her to know what I gave up for her.”
“Roark!”
He looked up at Claire’s outburst. “I don’t want to be the guy who used his money to buy friends. Even Francesca, I believe, never truly loved me. We had a terrific row the night of the fire. I thought she might be seeing another bloke. It’s a terrible thing not to really know if you’re loved for yourself or your net worth. Or worse, to use it to win women and friends. It took my uncle Donovan three tries before he found a woman who loves him. I can’t be that guy.”
“You won’t be because you never were.” Jensen got up as a nurse came into the room, strapped a blood pressure cuff on Claire. “Think about it—you miss your family. You wanted that sense of belonging. Of course you used what you had to try to get it. But that doesn’t mean the roots are bad. Who you are isn’t about your money or power but how you use what you’re given. And it shows by your fruit. You’re a guy who cares about people, about family, and your verys don’t change that.”
Roark glanced at the nurse, but she appeared not to be listening.
“I just don’t want to guilt her into . . .” Oh, he’d already said too much.
“Guilt her into loving you?” Claire finished for him as the nurse unstrapped the Velcro. The noise startled the baby and her eyes widened.
“Uh, I think we’re headed for trouble here,” Roark said as Ruby squirmed, her face knotting. “Jensen—”
Jensen came over to retrieve the bundle. “No worries, Roark, I got your back.”
Amazing how the baby calmed almost immediately in her father’s arms.
“You’re taking her out tonight, right?”
“I rented the Fossegrim for the evening cruise.”
“Fancy.”
“Yes, well, she thinks it’s costing me a month’s pay.”
“You walk away from your inheritance, and it will,” Jensen said, his hand patting the baby’s bottom. He glanced out the window. “The storm seems to have cleared up the sky. It’s going to be a glorious night.”
It could be.
“Roark, you listen to me.” Claire reached now for her baby. Jensen settled the infant into her arms. “You told me I could trust you—”
He made a sound and she quickly said, “Ah, ah—I do trust you. But you also said that Amelia was the one. That you can’t envision a life without her. Do you really want to walk into your future hiding your past? You do that, and you’ll never really stop running.”
The baby in her arms began to squirm, let out a cry.
“Want my advice?” Jensen said. “As Darek would say, it’s time to go big or go home. Put it all out there. Show her exactly what those dollars—or pounds—can do. My guess is, she’ll forgive you.”
“But . . . I’m not that guy.”
“I beg to differ,” Claire said. “You’re 007, man of mystery. Lumberjack and European playboy. But at the heart, you’re Roark St. John. Show her that you can be lavish and still be the same guy, and I’ll bet you end the night with a woman who loves you.”
She nodded to the door. “Now you need to skedaddle while I feed my daughter.”
Jensen followed Roark into the hall. Stood for a moment, considering him. “You’re a good man, Roark. Everybody can see that but you.” He clamped him on the shoulder. “I have experience in this department. You gotta trust the girl.” He gestured with his head toward the room. “Mine—and yours.”
Oh, how he wanted to lean into Jensen’s words.
But yes, if he wanted to win the girl, she had to see all of him.
Amelia knew, and the feeling of it, the immense peace of deciding, settled into her bones, could make her strong.
Brave.
Even brave enough to break Seth’s heart.
It had never been her intention to hurt him, to destroy the life he’d planned for her. She simply couldn’t have predicted falling in love with Roark not once, but twice. The European Roark, Mr. 007, the spy who decided to also be a lumberjack.
She’d made Seth no real promises, although their three years of dating in high school could be a sort of pledge.
But not all the way into the future.
This, tonight, was the future. She stood in front of the mirror, wearing a long-sleeved teal dress that turned her auburn hair nearly copper. She’d tried it up, then down, and decided to pull it into a loose ponytail. Added flats for sailing and a white sweater, and she recognized the girl who roamed the streets of Prague in search of the perfect shot.
She grabbed her camera case, stuck it in her backpack, and headed downstairs.
Roark was in the kitchen, listening to her father, something serious by their solemn expressions. He looked up when she appeared at the top of the stairs.
And his smile could stop the world on its axis, scatter a girl’s thoughts.
“You clean up well,” she said. “No longer the lumberjack.” He wo
re a pair of dark trousers, a blue sweater over a white oxford. His dark hair curled behind his ears, and he was tan from a week of working in the late-afternoon sun.
More, the hours practicing his hot saw, his chopping techniques, and the two-man bucksaw had added bulk to his shoulders, carving out the muscles in his biceps, his torso.
Yeah, he cleaned up well.
“Right here—” he pointed to his heart—“deep inside, I’m still a grizzly bear.”
“Sure you are,” she said.
John held out his hand, and Roark shook it. Amelia frowned at the exchange. But then Roark crooked his arm toward her and winked. “Your yacht awaits.”
“Really? I think it’s more of a fishing schooner,” she said as he led her out to his car. The question of how a man who drove a used and rather unimpressive Ford Focus could afford a three-hour twilight cruise on the harbor had her wishing he’d just ordered her pizza.
She wasn’t a fancy girl, didn’t need a fuss.
Although, as he drove them to the harbor, helped her out of the car and across the dock, she could admit she appreciated the effort.
It confirmed everything she’d finally let herself believe. Not a fling. And the way he’d let her inside over the past month, really let her take a good look, only made her realize that no, she hadn’t been foolish to fall for him.
Just to run away.
The three-masted schooner, painted a rich green with crimson sails, listed against the dock.
“Your carriage.”
She laughed but took his hand as he helped her aboard and settled her on a bench in the back. Two crewmen welcomed her, then untied the Fossegrim from the dock.
The sun hung low, just over the horizon, rays reaching out into the mottled lavender clouds like the arms of heaven, the brilliant orb cutting a swath of fire over the lake, spreading out molten lava across the placid surface, spent after the storm. A balmy, sweet wind ruffled the sails.
Amelia lifted her camera.
“Not much wind tonight. We’ll have to motor out of the harbor,” the skipper said.
Amelia settled back into the cushions and held on to the rail as the skipper cast them off. Roark sat beside her, his hand next to hers on the rail. Otters trailed them out, past the boulders protecting the inlet and the lighthouse jutting from shore.
Then the Fossegrim hit the big lake. A wind picked up out here, but not enough to do more than jostle the boat. The captain cut the motor and hoisted the sails, tying them off.
Roark produced a basket and reached inside, pulling out a bottle. “In honor of this night, I wanted to track down a bottle of Château Mukhrani. However, since you’re still underage in this country—as much as it pains me to admit that—I found a beautiful gewürztraminer juice. It’ll pair nicely with tonight’s hors d’oeuvres.”
“What is gewürztraminer juice? I can’t even say it.” Amelia laughed.
He took a corkscrew and began to open the bottle. “Grape juice. Not as good as the Saperavi cabernet I wanted to get you from Georgia, but we’ll have it next year.”
“I didn’t know they had wineries in the south. I thought they were only in California.”
He grinned. “No, darling. Georgia, as in the country. South of Russia. The vintage I had in mind was served to the US president during a state dinner at one of the Constantine hotels. We’ll simply have to use our robust imaginations.”
He finished uncorking the bottle of grape juice as the name hit a memory.
“Is that one of your family’s hotels? You said you had a couple, right?”
He made a sound of assent and reached for a cabernet glass. He poured a portion for her, then a second glass for himself, and held it up. “Na zdorovie!” He leaned in, met her eyes. “To your health.”
“And yours.” She clinked his glass and allowed herself another small sip.
The schooner had turned north, sailing along the shoreline of Deep Haven. She waved to a couple standing on Artist’s Point, a peninsula that jutted out from the rocks surrounding the bay. The lake washed up on the rocky island shoreline, pockets of water captured like fire in the wells of the ledge rock.
Roark unwrapped a tray of cheese from his magic picnic box. “Asiago, some Huntsman, Le Gruyère, fontina. I know these are dessert cheeses, but we’ll have dinner later. For now, let’s enjoy the sunset.”
She took a slice of the Huntsman. It looked like a piece of layered cake: white filling, yellow encasement. “What is this?”
“It’s a combination of two different English cheeses, Double Gloucester and Stilton. Eat the layers together. You’ll find they’re pungent and creamy in one bite.”
She took a taste, let it mix together in her mouth, chased it with the juice. “Delicious. Where did you find this?”
He lifted his glass. “The important part is that you like it.”
They’d rounded the point now, were heading along the shoreline, where the resort homes of families who lived in Minneapolis or Chicago and frequented only on holidays nestled.
“I’ve always wondered what it might be like to live in one of those grand homes.” She pointed to a three-story A-frame timber house with arching windows and an expansive deck that appeared to wind around the entire structure. A boat launch onshore hosted a yacht longer than the schooner.
“A lot of worry,” Roark said, and she looked at him, frowned.
“Think of it. Whenever they leave, they have to have a security system, probably a cleaning service.”
“You’re too practical. Think of the view you’d wake up to every morning.” She turned her face to the wind and felt him move behind her, his arm circling her shoulders. She leaned against him, his chest warm.
“Is that what you want, Amelia? A house with a view?”
“I don’t know. Someday, maybe.” She took another bite of cheese. He always made her feel so . . . cultured. Like she might be royalty.
The sky had darkened as the sun fell away, and now, in the distance, she could just make out the sprinkle of stars. “When I was a little girl, I used to read stories of missionaries and spies. My daydream adventures were always in foreign lands.”
“That’s why you went to Prague.”
“Yeah.” She ran her finger around her juice glass. “Sometimes, recently, I’ve been feeling it again. That stirring for something . . . I don’t know, more maybe. Like a voice deep in a place I can’t quite hear is calling me.”
“Are you saying you want to leave Deep Haven?”
The question lingered in the air. “I don’t know.”
Really, did it matter? Roark loved to travel, didn’t he? He’d be the first to sign up for some adventure overseas.
And with him holding her hand, she might just make it.
The waves, slight as they were, lapped against the boat. Amelia put her feet up on the couch, letting herself lounge against Roark. He smelled of his cologne, and if she closed her eyes, she could be tucked against him as they stood at the Eiffel Tower and gazed at the city. Safe.
“I could get used to this.”
He made a noise, something of agreement, perhaps, that rumbled deep inside his chest.
He said nothing more as they sailed along the shore. As his silence drew out, it began to thrum inside her.
She retraced her words and wanted to cringe. Here he’d spent who knew how much to give her a beautiful evening, and her comments felt ungrateful. Like she wanted more. She sat up, turned to him. “Roark, this is perfect. Right here, right now. But I don’t need this. I would have been happy with pizza. Or homemade cheese and baloney sandwiches. As long as I was with you.”
He blinked, looked away, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
She longed to make it better. “I know that you are probably comparing yourself to Seth, and even my family, but I don’t care that you have nothing. We . . .” She swallowed, her words suddenly too naked. “We have each other, right?”
Something enigmatic entered his eyes, and she couldn�
��t bear the sense that she’d hurt him. So she leaned in and kissed him. He seemed surprised but in a second had woven his hand behind her neck, holding her there as he kissed her back, sweetly, the taste of grapes upon his lips.
She moved back and finally got the smile she’d hoped for. He was so handsome when he smiled, the world could stop, sing a song. “Roark . . .” She caught her lip in her teeth. “I need to tell you something.”
The time seemed perfect to tell him that she’d made her choice. It had always, probably, been Roark, but seeing him tonight only reminded her of the world he’d shown her in Europe. How he’d been her hero, squiring her from one castle to the next.
And here, taking on her family and Seth, making her believe he needed her just as much as she needed him.
They were a team, she and Roark. Seth needed her to fit into his world. Roark made his world fit around her.
“Darling, I need to tell you something first.”
And then it hit her. The moment with her father, the handshake.
The boat, the lavish cheese, the romantic night.
Roark was going to propose.
She sat up, her eyes wide, not sure—
“You can have this life,” he said quietly.
He took her hand. Drew in a breath, cleared his throat. Yes, she could feel it coming. Will you marry me?
“I’ve kept a secret from you.”
Oh. Uh.
“When I said my family owned hotels, I let you believe that we owned a couple.”
“Okay, so it’s three, right? No problem—”
He had a firm grip on her hand, his face strangely resolute. “The Constantine group owns 4,386 hotels in 91 countries. Last year we had a net revenue of 9.72 billion euros.”
Amelia stared at him, the world dropping away around her. “Excuse me?”
He took another long breath, still with that hold on her hand, almost as if he were afraid.
“My uncle, Donovan St. John, is the CEO and principal stockholder, although we’re a public company. When he steps down, I was—am—supposed to pick up the reins.”
She tried to shake his words around in her head, find the pieces that fit. “Are you saying—?”
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