Asha started to open the door. “Oh, and Marcus?”
He raised an expectant brow.
“You and Samara should really consider an early June wedding. Before the weather gets too warm.”
Another meddling parent to contend with. “Actually, we’d already settled on September.”
“Mmm, September.” Asha seemed to ponder this as she tapped a manicured fingertip to her lips. “I don’t know…there’s just something magical about a June bride. Give it some thought.”
“All right,” he drawled patiently. “Will there be anything else?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Please implore your fiancée to allow me to design her wedding gown. Samara’s not very fussy about these things, which is probably one of the many things you love about her. I do, too. But her wedding day should be memorable, and I’m afraid that if left up to Samara, she might show up in a rucksack.”
Marcus chuckled. “Actually, I believe it was a burlap sack she mentioned.”
Asha shuddered before slipping out the door.
1
Samara exited Windows and swiveled away from her computer. Although it was only six o’clock, she was exhausted. She knew the pregnancy was responsible for her fatigue. She normally remained at the office until eight P.M. without giving it a second thought.
It was just one more aspect of her life that would be changing over the next several months.
Samara sighed deeply and reached into the bottom desk drawer for her purse. She’d scheduled a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow morning, but she didn’t need a blood test to confirm what she already knew. A tiny life was growing inside her, and if her mother’s calculations were correct, Samara would give birth in November. So much had to be done before then.
Melissa’s due date was late September, which meant that both women would be out of the office on maternity leave during the same time. Samara had to find someone to cover the office during her six-week absence. Melissa had always been her second-incommand, but if Melissa decided to stay home indefinitely with her baby—as she’d already hinted at doing—then Samara would have to explore other alternatives.
She envied her best friend for having the option to remain home with her baby. As a single parent, Samara wouldn’t have that option. If she didn’t work, she and her child would starve. And she’d experienced enough poverty in her past to know that she didn’t want the same for her own child. Not that Asha Dubois would allow such a thing to happen. She’d already begged Samara to consider relocating to New York that summer so that Asha could take better care of her.
“This is not another attempt to get you at the House of Dubois,” Asha had insisted when Samara flatly refused the suggestion. “Let’s face it, darling. Your situation is not the same as mine was when you were born. I had to work to keep a roof over our heads—you don’t. You never have to work another day in your life if you decide not to. But I’m not suggesting you give up your career! Believe me, I know better than anyone how much you enjoy what you do at the Institute.”
It was true. Samara would never dream of leaving the Yorkin Institute and the community work that mattered so much to her. Still, she’d always heard stories about how motherhood changed some women. Would motherhood dramatically alter her own priorities? Would she want to become a stay-at-home mom once her baby was born? How would she feel about entrusting her precious newborn to a complete stranger?
Samara paused in the middle of fishing out her keys from her purse. She hadn’t decided whether or not to tell Marcus about the baby. Deep down inside she felt that she owed him the truth. He had a right to know that he was going to be a father. What he did with the knowledge was entirely his decision. But Samara didn’t think she could bear it if Marcus rejected her and his unborn baby.
Just as her own father had rejected mother and child.
But Marcus was different, an inner voice reminded her. Even if he no longer wanted Samara in his life, he would never turn his back on their child. He would handle his responsibilities as admirably as he looked after his retired father. He was too honorable to do otherwise.
But Samara didn’t want Marcus bound to her by honor. If she couldn’t have his love, she wanted nothing else from him.
Her searching fingers brushed a glossy slip of paper inside her purse. She smiled softly as she withdrew it.
Asha had shown up at Samara’s office that afternoon to take her out to lunch, insisting that Samara could no longer afford to skip meals now that she was eating for two. Over lunch at an exclusive Georgetown restaurant, Asha had presented her daughter with a pleasant surprise.
“I thought you should know before next month’s official unveiling.”
Samara was bewildered as she accepted the slip of paper from her mother. “Know what?” But then her eyes landed on an image of a perfume bottle with the words SAMARA, FOR THE GUARDIAN OF HER SOUL printed across the glossy ad.
Her mouth fell open. She lifted incredulous eyes to her mother’s face. “You…you named your first perfume after me?”
Asha nodded, taking a sip of cabernet sauvignon. She lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “It was a strategic maneuver, really. If my venture into the parfum industry proves to be half as successful as the young woman for whom the launch fragrance is named, then…well, you can deduce the rest.”
Tears welled in Samara’s eyes. “Oh, Mom…” was all she could manage around the lump in her throat.
It was Asha’s turn to get misty-eyed. “Do you realize what you just called me? You called me ‘Mom.’ You haven’t called me that in ages.”
“I know. I love you, Mom.”
“Oh, darling. I love you, too.”
The attentive maître d’ had appeared at their table to find two weeping women. He was stricken, fearing that the service or their meals had somehow been unsatisfactory to his prestigious patrons. He began summoning waiters in rapid-fire French until a laughing Asha assured him that everything was fine.
Hours later Samara’s vision blurred with fresh tears at the memory. She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex. That was another thing about pregnancy. You became a human watering pot, crying at the least provocation.
She finally found her keys and left the office, meeting Melissa in the corridor.
“I was wondering if I’d have to come get you and forcibly remove you from the premises,” Melissa chided her. “After the weekend you had, the last thing you need is to be pulling your usual thirteen hours at the office. Judging by how peaked you’ve looked all day, I’d say the best thing for you is to crawl into bed as soon as you get home and stay there until you feel better.”
Samara had decided not to tell Melissa about her pregnancy until after the results had been confirmed—just in case she was wrong. She knew Melissa would support her no matter what.
She smiled wanly. “Bed sounds good.”
“I’m going to call you to make sure that’s where you are. You know, you really ought to consider getting a phone in your bedroom. That way you don’t have to run out to the living room to take your calls.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Speaking of running, I’d better use the restroom before I hit the road. Not even four months pregnant,” she muttered in disgust, “And already my bladder doesn’t hold as much fluid as it used to.”
Samara chuckled. “See you tomorrow.”
She passed the employment counseling center on her way out the door. The ECC remained open until six-thirty P.M. to provide increased flexibility to its visitors. The room was empty save for Brianna Lynch, who sat at a computer terminal entering data into the resume database. She looked up and smiled at Samara’s approach.
“I really enjoyed meeting your mother this afternoon. She’s a lot nicer than I expected her to be.” She blushed, belatedly realizing how her words might sound. “I mean, not that I thought she’d be mean or anything. It’s just that—”
Samara grinned. “It’s all right, Brianna. I completely underst
and what you meant. Just between you and me, my mother can be a downright diva when she wants to be. But I guess at some point, all daughters have to learn to accept their mothers as they are, and vice versa.”
Brianna smiled. “I hope Lola is as understanding about me one day.”
“Are you kidding? Lola’s going to worship the ground you walk on, Brianna. Which reminds me, Judith has been singing your praises. She said you’re doing a fantastic job here in the center, and the customers already love you.”
“Did she really?” Brianna beamed with delight. “She’s been great to work with. She’s really patient with me, even when I make mistakes in the database.”
“You’re too modest, Brianna. Judith says you’re a very quick learner. Is your mother picking you up this evening?”
Brianna nodded. “I’m saving up to buy a used car so that Lola and I can get around on our own.”
“I think that’s a good idea. Well, see you tomorrow, Brianna.”
“Good night. Oh, Samara?”
Samara turned back with an inquisitive smile. “Yes, Brianna?”
Brianna twisted her hands nervously in her lap. “I just wanted to thank you once again for all the help you’ve given me. You’ve been a terrific role model to me. So I wanted to tell you that, um, whatever you might be going through, I know you’re going to be all right.”
Samara felt her throat tighten—that pesky crying thing again. She swallowed hard. “Thank you, Brianna. That means a lot to me.” She paused at the door, her head tilted to one side as she contemplated the nineteen-year-old single mother for a moment. “You know, that role model thing works both ways. Have a good night, Brianna.”
She stepped outside into the cool evening and took a deep, fortifying breath. Whatever happened from this day forward, she was going to be all right. She had no other choice.
She was a survivor.
Samara had started walking toward her car when a silver Bentley rolled to a stop in front of her. Her heart gave an involuntary leap.
Marcus.
Slowly, he climbed out of the car and stood there, his arms resting on the roof of the car. His expression was indiscernible behind the mirrored sunglasses he wore.
Samara stood completely still. Her briefcase was all but forgotten in her hand.
For several moments neither of them spoke.
Melissa emerged from the building, took one look at them and smiled slyly before heading to her car across the parking lot.
Marcus never took his eyes from Samara. As she watched, he rounded the fender and walked right up to her. She had to tilt her head backward to look up at him. Just that quickly, she’d forgotten how tall he was.
He slid off the sunglasses slowly. The piercing intensity of his dark gaze made her breath catch.
Since he didn’t seem inclined to, she ventured to break the silence. “Marcus—”
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.
The question startled her. For one panicked moment she wondered if he knew about the baby. And then she remembered that he’d taken care of her that first night she was sick.
“I feel better, thanks.”
His eyes traveled across her body as if to confirm her response. She didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on her right arm.
“See? No bruises. I told you I’d be fine.” She hesitated, wondering if she should thank him for coming to her rescue against Paul Borden.
Before she could decide, Marcus took her briefcase gently from her hands. “Come with me,” he said softly.
Samara nodded mutely.
Marcus helped her into the Bentley and closed the door. She stared straight ahead as he climbed in beside her and drove out of the parking lot. She didn’t ask him where they were going. In all honesty, she didn’t care as long as they were together.
As he steered through downtown, she noted absently that traffic was surprisingly light for a Monday evening. Night had fallen over the city, and the stone finger of the Washington Monument pointed majestically toward the sky.
When Marcus parked at a meter near the Lincoln Memorial, Samara threw him a questioning look. Without a word, he climbed out of the car and came around to open the door for her.
The night air offered a gentle breeze that whispered around them as they ascended the marble stairs and entered the interior of the monument. Only a few tourists milled around, reading inscriptions and snapping photographs.
She and Marcus walked to a private corner and faced each other.
“What are we doing here, Marcus?” Samara asked quietly.
“I want to know how you feel about me,” he said huskily. “I want to know if you feel the same way you did when you first agreed to marry me.”
“Of course I do. I never stopped loving you, even when I thought you’d betrayed me.” She stared at a point beyond his shoulder. “I don’t know how many times I can apologize for the way I acted—”
“I don’t want another apology.”
“Then what do you want from me, Marcus? An explanation for my behavior?” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I could stand here and talk to you about my past, how I learned early in life not to trust many people, particularly men. But you already know all of that, Marcus. What difference would it make?”
“You think I don’t understand how your past shaped your perceptions? You think that didn’t occur to me after our argument? Believe me, it did.” His tone softened. “But you know what else occurred to me, Samara? The fact that I had some of those same hang-ups before we met. But none of that mattered once I fell in love with you. I stopped worrying about how, or when, you would hurt me like my mother had. All that mattered was how much we loved each other, and how happy we were together.”
“All right, Marcus! You’ve proved that you’re a bigger person than I am. I get it. Did you have to bring me all the way out here, to the Lincoln Memorial, to further prove your point?”
He gazed at her intently. “I didn’t bring you out here to berate you, Samara. But I do need to know where we stand.”
Hot tears blurred her vision. “I don’t know where we stand, Marcus. I know that I love you more than my next breath, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. I know I made a terrible mistake by believing the worst of you, a mistake that taught me a lot about myself and my own shortcomings. But as for where we stand—”
Marcus slanted his lips over hers, silencing the rest of her declaration with an urgent kiss. “Don’t say anything else,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Marcus—”
“Shh. You’re not on trial here, Samara. You don’t have to prove anything to me.” He drew back to cup her face in his hands. His dark eyes glittered with intensity. “I’m not blaming you for what happened between us. If the situation were reversed, I probably would’ve reacted the same way. I don’t profess to be perfect, Samara—far from it. I spent a lifetime blaming my mother for what she did to our family instead of giving her the benefit of the doubt. And I was about to make the same mistake with you, until Michael talked some sense into my thick head.”
Samara stared up at him uncomprehendingly. “Your brother?”
Marcus nodded. “He’s in town. Seems he was sent here by some well-meaning folks to reunite us. But that’s not the point. I want us to put this whole episode behind us, Samara, once and for all. Do you think we can do that?”
She nodded slowly. “I’m willing to try if you are.”
“I am.” Marcus kissed her again, more gently this time. “I love you, Samara. You’re the only woman I’ll ever want or need. Believe me when I tell you that.”
“I do,” she whispered around the constriction in her throat. “I’ll never question that again.”
He smiled softly. “Do you remember the day we came here? When we played hooky from work and acted like tourists?”
“I remember.”
“I was watching your face when the tour guide mentioned the Lincoln Memorial as a popu
lar spot for marriage proposals. You looked ready to cry.”
Samara’s eyes widened as Marcus lowered himself to one knee. “It’s not quite the same since I’ve already done this once, but in the spirit of starting over…” He removed a small velvet box from his breast pocket and opened it.
Samara gasped when she saw the exquisite diamond ring inside. “Oh my God…”
Gazing deep into her eyes, Marcus said huskily, “Will you marry me, Samara?”
“Yes,” she answered breathlessly. “Yes, Marcus, I’ll marry you!”
Marcus removed the ring from the satin encasement and slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, slid it onto her finger. It was a perfect fit.
Samara’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “Oh, Marcus…”
He got to his feet and wrapped her tightly in his arms. Samara heard a low smattering of applause and turned her head to see the tourists watching them with pleased expressions. She and Marcus grinned and accepted the strangers’ hearty congratulations.
As the people moved off to give them privacy, Samara looked down at her finger and beamed. “It’s absolutely breathtaking, Marcus. I-I’m speechless.”
Smiling, he leaned down to nibble on her lips. Samara shivered at the delicious sensation and curved her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. They held each other for several long moments, silhouetted against miles of gleaming white marble.
“I’m flying to Minnesota next weekend to see my mother,” Marcus said after a while. “Would you like to go with me? I know she’d love to meet you.”
Samara gazed up at him, understanding the full import of his decision to visit Celeste Rutherford. He was ready to bury the hatchet and forge new beginnings.
Her heart swelled with love and admiration. “As much as I want to meet your mother,” she told him, “I think it would be best if you went alone this time.”
His eyes softened. “Thank you for understanding.”
“You’re very welcome. Besides, I don’t think I’m ready to handle air travel just yet,” she added, watching his face carefully. “I would hate to compound motion sickness with morning sickness. Which is an oxymoron, considering that my nausea isn’t confined to morning—as you witnessed for yourself.”
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