by Brenda Novak
The porch light flicked on almost as soon as he rang the bell, but the door didn’t open right away. Dillon got the distinct impression that Stacy was watching him from her peephole, wondering whether or not to admit him.
“Come on, Stace.”
Evidently she heard him. The lock clicked and the door opened a crack. “What are you doing here, Dillon?”
“I just want to talk to you for a few minutes. May I come in?”
She looked at him warily. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Aren’t you even going to ask if Chantel lost the baby?”
“I don’t want to know,” she said, but he guessed she’d already asked at the hospital. She wasn’t as indifferent as she made herself out to be.
“Well, there’re a few other things you should know.”
“Like?”
“Like the little-known fact that Chantel and I created the baby before I found out she was your sister and before she had any idea you and I knew each other, let alone had dated.”
Stacy’s expression was skeptical. “That can’t be true—”
“It is true. If you’ll let me in, I’ll explain.”
She finally stepped back so he could come inside, but she didn’t offer him a seat. Dillon took one, anyway.
“She rear-ended your Landcruiser,” Stacy said. “Don’t tell me you were both suddenly so lust-crazed you immediately ran into the woods. Or are you saying you met before the accident?”
Dillon told her about the events of that night, even though there was no good way to explain what had happened between him and Chantel. It was the kind of thing that had to be experienced to be believed, but when he finished his story, Stacy didn’t seem as angry as she had when he’d arrived.
“Why did she lie to me?”
“You know why. She was trying to live down what she did with Wade. I wanted to continue seeing her, but she told me she wouldn’t risk her relationship with you. She didn’t want to hurt you.”
Stacy made an incredulous sound. “For someone who didn’t want to hurt me, she’s done a pretty good job.”
“I can’t make any excuses for the situation with Wade. But I can tell you that she tried to handle what happened between us in the best way she could. She was afraid you’d never forgive her if she told you what happened during the storm. She tried to diminish what we felt for each other, walk away from it. And I tried to respect her wishes because I care about both of you. But I won’t lie, Stacy. I couldn’t forget her.”
“So you love her?”
Dillon hated the thought that his answer might hurt Stacy all over again, but he knew it was time for honesty. Only the truth could possibly repair the damage to Chantel and Stacy’s relationship. “I want to marry her.”
A tear slipped out of the corner of Stacy’s eye, and she wouldn’t look at him. He stood and tried to comfort her, but she swiped at her wet cheeks and pushed him away. “Don’t touch me.”
He moved back. “I’m sorry, Stacy. Chantel and I didn’t plan this. Our meeting was just an odd twist of fate. And if not for the baby, we’d probably still be talking ourselves out of believing that what we felt that night was real.”
“Well, I’m happy for you,” she said on a sniffle, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Tell Chantel I know she’ll make a beautiful bride.”
“It would mean a lot to her, to both of us, if you’d come to our wedding.”
She chuckled. “Sorry but I’m not a glutton for punishment.”
Dillon shoved his hands into his pockets, wishing there was something else he could say or do to soften her heart. But now it was up to Stacy. She understood that neither of them had meant to hurt her. Maybe, with time…
“Chantel may end up having to spend much of her pregnancy in bed,” he said. “It won’t be easy, but she really wants this baby.”
“Yeah. I’d want it, too,” Stacy replied. Then there was nothing left to do but see himself out.
MONDAY MORNING Wade sat in the parking lot waiting for Chantel to show up for work. He wasn’t sure she was back at the senator’s office, but he’d tried her condo a number of times and knew she wasn’t staying there. Was she living with Dillon? The thought filled him with anger, but it was an impotent anger. He’d lost her. Ever since the day he’d seen her and Dillon kissing in the white Landcruiser, he’d known he wasn’t going to get her back. He didn’t even know why he was here, except that he had to see her one more time.
Chantel’s car pulled into the lot, and she parked without noticing the Cadillac. She stepped out, wearing a green silk sheath that fell to midcalf, then paused to collect her purse and briefcase before starting toward the office.
Wade had told himself he’d just watch, see how she looked, but he couldn’t resist climbing out of the car and waving to attract her attention.
She frowned when she saw him and hesitated, as though tempted to keep right on walking. With the morning sun sparkling all around her like a halo, she made quite a sight.
“What do you want?” she asked before he even reached her.
“Just to see you.”
With a fleeting glance at the office door, she paused, and he took the opportunity to study her carefully. “You look good.”
“I’m feeling better.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You with Dillon now?”
She nodded.
“You pregnant?”
“That’s what you told Stacy, isn’t it?” Her gaze was cool, level, but not hate-filled. She had class. Wade had to hand it to her.
“I’m sorry about Stacy,” he said. “I was angry, jealous. I wanted to hurt you.”
“That’s always been our problem, Wade. You feel the need to hurt me. But you can’t hurt me anymore. I’m in love with someone else.”
“Dillon.”
“Yes.”
He let his breath out in a whistle, surprised at how much that admission stung. “So it’s completely over between us?”
“Wade, it’s been over since I left New York. I’d already given our relationship all I had by then.”
He chuckled without humor. “Well, you tried to tell me. I guess I just couldn’t figure out why things had to change, how you could turn away from me. We had it good in New York—”
“You had it good. I was miserable most of the time. You were unfaithful to me. You refused to marry me, to have a family. You blamed anything that went wrong on me and my career—at the same time you spent the money I made.”
He stared down at the cement. “Maybe I didn’t deserve you, but I thought you loved me.”
“I did, once.”
“So now what?”
“I’m going to marry Dillon. And I don’t think you should come around anymore.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be heading back to New York, after all. Try to make it on my own.”
She nodded. “Then I wish you the best of luck.”
He itched to hug her, to pull her to him just once more, but he knew she’d have none of it. Not after what he’d done to her and Stacy. So he started to walk to his car, then turned back.
“Chantel?”
She paused, the door to the office half-open.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and for the first time in his life, he meant it.
“SO WHEN’S THE WEDDING?”
Dillon’s sister Monica sat at the picnic table across from Chantel. The two of them had been chatting happily almost from the moment they met. Behind them a small lake shimmered like a jewel in a valley created by gently sloping green hills. To their left, Brittney and Sydney squealed on the swing set, playing with their younger cousins and enjoying the warm Sunday afternoon.
Dillon wasn’t sure how to answer his sister’s question. They’d originally planned to have a small wedding at a church not far from where he lived, but a notice he’d received from Amanda’s attorney had changed all that. Now he just wanted to get married, fast so he could deal with the other issues in his life. And Chantel se
emed quite willing to revise their plans.
He met her eye before answering Monica. “Because of the situation, I think we’ve decided to keep it simple. We thought we might get married in Vegas next weekend.”
“Hogwash.” Dillon’s mother held court at the head of the table, where she’d been passing out large pieces of a delicious-smelling oatmeal cake. Her busy capable hands paused in their task. “A small ceremony right here would be lovely. It doesn’t have to be extravagant, but Chantel deserves something nice, with a photographer and a real wedding dress. You’ll pay for it, and we’ll all help.”
“Vegas next weekend is fine,” Chantel said.
Dillon grinned. “Good, I’m getting tired of sleeping on the couch.”
“You’re getting tired of creeping around your own house, more like,” his mother put in, “but you can do it for another couple of weeks if it means giving Chantel a nice wedding.”
Dillon nearly laughed out loud. He and Chantel hadn’t been intimate since she’d come to stay with him. The doctor had warned them it might cause a miscarriage, and he wasn’t going to do anything that could cost them their baby. Beyond that, he’d been determined to set a good example for his girls. So he’d done his best to put temptation out of reach by working late every night and relegating himself to the living room.
“Amanda’s back in town and giving me problems again,” he said, changing the subject.
“More custody battles?” His mother grimaced. “So she’s following up on her phone call. Well, let her do what she will. She can’t take the girls after abandoning them.”
“Not when you’re doing such a good job with them, Dillon,” Monica added. “They seem so happy with you.”
Jason, Dillon’s nephew by his other sister, Janet, started to cry. They all looked over to the slide area where Janet was picking him up and dusting him off. Evidently he’d taken a little tumble. Mark, Janet’s husband, joined her, carrying their baby daughter.
“I know a guy at work whose wife did something similar, and she’s never been able to regain custody,” Monica said, resuming the conversation. “You’re not worried, are you?”
He was worried, and with good reason. Chantel reached out to take his hand, and he smiled at her. “I guess I may as well tell you,” he said, knowing the truth would come out soon enough anyway.
“What?” His mother frowned. She must have known she wouldn’t like his news, because she abandoned her task of covering the leftover cake and sank onto the bench beside her short wiry husband, who never said a word.
“Amanda’s making me take a blood test.”
“Why?” Monica scowled, her posture defensive.
“She claims Sydney isn’t mine.”
Stunned silence met this announcement, and Chantel squeezed his hand. A lump the size of a grapefruit lodged somewhere in his throat. Damn, why had he said it now, in the middle of a family picnic? Because he wished they’d tell him that it couldn’t be? That Sydney looked just like him?
He knew better.
His mother was the first to speak. “Dillon, that child is yours. No matter what the blood test says—”
“I know.” He cut her off, wishing he could cut his emotions off as easily. He couldn’t lose Sydney. What would the girls’ lives be like, growing up without each other? How many concessions would he be forced to make, being the only one, as usual, who seemed to care about their ultimate welfare? Would he be faced with the decision of letting Brittney go, too?
“When?” Monica asked.
“The beginning of July.”
“That’s more than a month away. Why so long?”
“I wanted to stall as long as possible, just in case…” He let his words die off and everyone shifted uncomfortably.
“Does Sydney have to go to the doctor’s with you?”
He shook his head. “I’m taking her in separately.”
“What are you going to tell her the appointment is for?” his mother asked.
“I don’t know. Part of me wants to lie and say she’s getting a vaccination. The other part is tempted to sit her down and try to explain, so it doesn’t come as a worse blow later on. But there just isn’t any way to tell her how I feel—” he fought to control his voice “—and how lost I’ll be if—”
“I don’t think you should tell her anything yet,” Chantel interrupted, her voice soft but firm.
“Why?” His mother and sister looked up in surprise.
“I’ll admit I’ve had my doubts. But now…” She shrugged. “Now I don’t know. Something’s just telling me not to worry. I think she’s his.”
Skepticism shone in his mother’s eyes, but to Dillon, Chantel’s words soothed like cool cream on a hot sunburn. If only the blood test proved her right.
“About that wedding,” his sister said, obviously trying to move the conversation in a more positive direction. “I think we could pull it together in three weeks. What do you think?”
Chantel’s smile remained unchanged, but Dillon caught the sparkle of excitement in her eyes. So, she wanted the wedding, after all. Well, he certainly wouldn’t deny her because of his own preoccupations and worries. She deserved a special day, something far nicer than standing in front of an unknown minister in some gaudy Vegas wedding chapel.
“Three weeks from this weekend sounds good,” he said, and bent and kissed Chantel on the mouth. He didn’t care if they were married in a barn as long as she became his wife. He just wanted her to be happy.
When Dillon drew back, Chantel gazed up at him with those incredible eyes of hers and asked, “Do you think there’s any chance my sister will come?”
Dillon remembered his confrontation with Stacy, a meeting he’d never told Chantel about, and knew she wouldn’t. But he didn’t have the heart to tell Chantel that. “Maybe,” he said hopefully. “We’ll certainly send her an invitation.”
STACY KNEW it was the invitation to Chantel’s wedding before she even opened the envelope. She nearly tossed it in the wastebasket with the rest of her junk mail, but something about the pretty paper made her pause. Was their picture inside?
Bracing herself, Stacy ripped open the envelope to find a black-and-white photograph of Dillon, Chantel and his girls. Separated from it by a thin piece of tissue was a scalloped one-sided invitation.
Holding the picture to the light streaming in through her living-room window, she carefully examined her sister’s face, and then Dillon’s. Chantel, forever a friend of the camera, looked wholesome and beautiful in a sleeveless dress and straw hat. The girls wore matching chintz dresses, and Dillon was wearing a pair of slacks and a tie. They were standing in the middle of a meadow, the wind rustling through their hair. And they looked happy—like a family.
Stacy sank onto her sofa and read the invitation, which had a pretty piece of ribbon at the top and delicate cutouts along the fancy edges. The wedding was the last Saturday of the month, a little more than a week away. Dillon had told her how much it would mean to Chantel if she came, but the wound was still too raw. She couldn’t sit in the audience and watch them promise to love and cherish each other, pledging all their tomorrows.
And yet, despite everything, there was a calmness deep inside her at the realization that Chantel was in good hands at last.
CHANTEL SMILED HAPPILY as she hung up after her conversation with Monica and glanced over the menu they had planned for the wedding. They were going to have a brunch following a midmorning ceremony, instead of a reception at night, and Monica claimed she knew just the caterers to use. Clippings from various magazines lay spread out on the kitchen table, showing different place settings, gourmet foods, flower arrangements and dresses.
She stood and adjusted the blinds to let in more of the midmorning sun, breathing in the scent of the lemon furniture polish she’d just used to dust, then went back to sifting through her clippings. She had to decide on bridesmaid’s dresses for Dillon’s sisters and Brittney and Sydney. She was running out of time.
Her own dress was draped over the closest chair. With an empire waist, the style was reminiscent of a Regency-era gown; it had a small train and was made of delicate beaded lace over a satin underlining—understated yet elegant. She compared it to an emerald-green dress that could possibly work for the bridesmaids, at least for Dillon’s sisters, then hugged herself. She’d been back at work for a whole week, feeling stronger every day, and could hardly believe she was getting married and having a baby. How many times had she tried to convince Wade that they should start a family?
Now she was glad he’d never agreed with her. It had been painful at the time, but she knew, deep down, that Wade could never have made her as happy as Dillon. Stacy’s stubborn silence was the only thing that spoiled her contentment. That and her worry about Dillon and Sydney.
Chantel heard keys jingling in the lock at the front door and looked up in surprise. It was Saturday, but Dillon had told her he’d be gone all morning, helping his mother trim some of the taller trees in her yard. The girls had been invited over to Mary Beth’s for the day. So who was home already?
“Hi.” Dillon smiled as he came in, but Chantel detected a certain strain in his face.
“Hi, yourself. Is something wrong?” she asked. “What are you doing home?”
The dimples in his cheeks flashed. “What if I just wanted to be alone with my fiancée?”
“I’d say you weren’t having much fun at your mother’s.”
He chuckled as she met him halfway across the kitchen and pressed her lips to his, but his usual enthusiasm for her kiss wasn’t there. He released her almost as soon as he’d hugged her and went to the kitchen sink, where he washed his hands, then gazed out the window.
“What’s wrong?” she repeated.
He leaned his hip against the counter and turned toward her. Bits of leaves and twigs still clung to his hair and clothes. “I went to the doctor’s and had the blood test yesterday.”
“What?” Dread congealed in Chantel’s stomach like cold gravy. “But you said you weren’t scheduled to go in until the first of July. That’s almost two weeks away.” After the wedding, she added silently.