by Lia Lee
“I’m going,” I say to Claire, making for the exit. “But you have to believe me, none of what she heard is true. I have to see her, Claire. I can’t lose her over a stupid misunderstanding. Please. Tell me where she is.”
***
They say a picture’s worth a thousand words. If Mila doesn’t believe what I say, I hope she’ll believe what I do—make her see the truth with her own eyes. It took some doing, but Claire finally caved in and said that Mila hadn’t left their apartment all week and that she was actually quite worried about her state of mind. If it would take one last intervention to help her, even if it was to make a clean and honest break to get me out of Mila’s life, Claire was prepared to do it.
I didn’t know the first thing about planning for a baby’s arrival, but the registry clerks at Macy’s were eager to be of help. What I couldn’t fit into shopping bags they arranged for delivery by truck for the next day. This evening Claire assured me she would stay at home and be on hand to let me in—since she knew Mila wouldn’t.
I can barely fit through the hallways of the building with all the gear I’ve brought along. An elderly lady steps out of one door and promptly shuffles aside when she sees me coming.
“Oh my,” she exclaims. “You must be very anxious to become a daddy. Congratulations!” She eyes my load of parcels as I pass by, bags and boxes scraping the walls. “My goodness, are you expecting triplets?” she says, smiling.
Triplets? Hell, I’m not even adequately prepared for one baby, let alone twins or triplets. But the thought makes me smile. I’d be three times as happy. “No ma’am, but I’ll work on that for next time.”
I arrive at the girls’ apartment and maneuver a hand free to knock on the door. To my surprise, Mila answers. She stiffens at the sight of me, and her eyes go wide like a rabbit that’s come face-to-face with a predator. Her gaze flits like a bird over the mountain of gifts I’m clutching onto with every finger.
“Hi. May I come in? These are getting heavy,” I say, a sheepish grin on my face.
Claire appears at her side, her eyeballs bugging out as well; I didn’t let on exactly what I had planned. She takes hold of Mila’s elbow and draws her back from the open doorway. “Let him in, Mils. I think he has something to say.”
Mila complies but doesn’t take her eyes off me. I can’t tell if she’s angry, happy, sad or just plain gobsmacked. Claire disarms me of a few packages and sets them on the floor as I edge my clumsy way through the narrow frame.
“I’ll... be getting the laundry,” she says and slips out of the apartment, giving us some privacy.
“W-what is all this,” Mila says as I unload all the bags and boxes into a gigantic ring around her. She looks almost frightened, and it stabs me in the heart to think I’m someone she could ever be afraid of.
“It’s a public service announcement. Or more like an emergency broadcast,” I say. “Since the audio isn’t working, I thought I’d better try visual communication.” Mila inspects the mountain of clothes, toys, baby bottles and newborn-sized diapers, picking up each item and examining it, not saying a word. Her silence is killing me. “Do you like them? Will they be enough?”
She sorts through a stack of outfits packaged on tiny hangers, stopping at a little denim jumpsuit, and clutches it to her chest. What sounds like a painful sob leaves her lips, and she raises her face to meet mine. Those exotic hazel eyes that captivated me from the very first day are brimming with tears, glistening in the warm light from overhead, her wild curls shadowing her face.
“Enough for what? A farewell gift?”
What? She thinks I’m still abandoning her and trying to soften the blow, buying my forgiveness with presents? Dammit. She’s got it all wrong, and it’s my own bloody fault. I’ve been such a coward. I reach down and practically yank her to her feet. I don’t mean to be rough, but this has gone far enough.
“Listen to me,” I say, standing nose to nose with her, my voice dry and hoarse with emotion. “I love you, Mila Churchwood. I love what you are, what you do, and that you’re having my baby. There’s no amount of gifts I could bring you that would compare to the gift you’ve already given me. I want you, I want a life with you, a family, our family. I can’t wait to be a dad.”
Mila trembles in my grip, tears spilling down her face. I pull her against my chest and slip my arms tight around her.
“I know I haven’t told you much, but my own father was never there for me, or for my mother. I spent most of my life hating him after she died. He doesn’t trust me, hell I don’t think he even likes me, let alone ever loved me. I’m never going to make that mistake.”
“But I heard you on the phone.” Mila sobs. “I heard you say...”
“I know what you heard. And it was complete bullshit, all of it; a load of crap so deep even Steven Faris couldn’t shovel it. He thinks I can’t handle this job and tells me so every chance he gets. I didn’t mean any of it, Mila, I swear.”
“So, you lie to him? If you can lie to your father, you can lie to me.”
“I’ve never lied to you, Mila, and I never will. I only told him what he wanted to hear—to get him off my neck until I can prove him wrong, and make ROO-TV the best thing Network 10 has ever done. Then I can tell him go fuck himself, and live my life the way I want to—with you.”
“But where?” she asks, still sobbing. “You’re going back to Australia; I need to stay and have the baby here, in New York. My business is here...”
“We can live anywhere, love. Anywhere you want. I can work from the station here. If New York is where you want to stay, then that’s where we’ll be. I’m not going anywhere without you. Just say you forgive me, and that you’ll give me another chance... give us a chance. I love you, Mila. I’m sorry I took so long to realize it.”
I look into her eyes, searching for her answer; the answer I need to hear. Because if she doesn’t forgive me, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
Her head gives a tiny shake. “Oh, Derric, of course I forgive you... if you’ll forgive me for being such a little fool, and for jumping to conclusions when I should have talked to you about everything.”
“I do,” I say, tipping her chin upward. “I do.”
Our lips meet in grateful passion, a kiss that burns away the past and forges the future in its flames.
When we finally break it, I chuckle softly. “Say, I think we’re getting really good at this apology thing.”
Epilogue
One Year Later
“Fantastic! Oh, that’s great news... I knew you’d land that contract, Claire. You’re the best branch manager ever.”
Claire’s lively laugh tinkles merrily over the phone connection. “I’m your only branch manager, Mils. But I’ll take the kudos all the same.”
“Well, you deserve them. You’re not only a brilliant designer but a top-notch businesswoman. I couldn’t have left the New York office in better hands.”
“Damn right. Things have pretty much exploded here since the Best Media Design award we won for ROO-TV last year. Good thing we found some great talent to join the team to make up for losing you. How’s it going in the Sydney office?”
“It’s busy,” I say with a sigh. “I’ve picked up two new clients this week already. I’m going to have to hire another designer here, too. It’s hard keeping up when you have a three-month-old in tow.”
“I’ll bet. How’s Elijah doing? Doesn’t that surfer bum father of his help you out around the house? You should get him off his rich, lazy ass to lend a hand once in a while.”
As she speaks, Derric walks by me, his designer board shorts slung low across his hips. My palm strokes the curve of his sexy butt as he passes. “I’ve got better things to do with that ass.” I chuckle.
“Watch it, woman,” he teases. “Hands off unless you mean business; there are children present.” He moves off and continues packing what seems like a hundred bits and bobs into the industrial-grade diaper bag he’s bought as we get ready to go out.
<
br /> “I know it’s real late where you are, so I better let you go, Claire. Miss you tons,” I say.
“Miss you too. Take care of that family of yours. Bye.”
I disconnect the call with mixed emotions; I miss my friend and the excitement and bustle of New York City, but life moves on, and our company is expanding. It’s what we worked for; I shouldn’t feel sad, and I know Claire is enjoying running the show.
“Is the head office holding up without you?” Derric asks as he lifts the handle of the baby carrier holding our little bundle of joy inside it with one muscled arm.
“Better than holding; it’s flourishing thanks to you and ROO-TV.”
“Uh-huh. And what about the home office?”
He means my new studio here in Sydney, of course. It’s home for us now.
“Growing like a weed,” I answer, “just like this little man.” I lean over to place a fingertip on our beautiful baby boy’s tiny nose. I still can’t believe he’s really here, really ours. But his brown eyes that are just like mine, and his flaxen blond hair like Derric’s, tell me it’s no illusion.
“Both thanks to a nurturing mother, I reckon,” Derric quips, gathering all the things we’ll need for a visit to the beach. It’s a lovely summer afternoon, and we’re going out to enjoy it, just the three of us. No phones, no clients or deadlines. Just us.
“Yeah, well, I can’t take all the credit. Being the girlfriend and baby mama of Sydney’s most eligible billionaire hasn’t exactly been bad for business,” I say, throwing him an appreciative smile, but I notice him wince at my choice of words.
“I don’t like that term, ‘baby mama’. It’s so Maury Povich,” he grouses.
I laugh at his ability to turn almost every phrase into a TV reference as I stuff a couple of beach towels into the bag. I opened the ‘down under’ branch of Church & Strait shortly after Elijah was born. True to his word, Derric stayed behind in New York well after ROO-TV launched so that I could continue to see my regular gynecologist and give birth in my chosen hospital. It also meant that Elijah was born a U.S. citizen so travel between NYC and Sydney on a regular basis won’t be a problem going forward. He’ll grow up a man of two hemispheres.
But I could tell my gorgeous billionaire boyfriend was homesick. He never asked me to, but I made the decision to return to Australia with a baby on board. To be honest, I was growing a bit sick of the noise, the pollution, and endless gray skies myself. It’s not a good environment for an infant.
I breathe in the warm salt air as we exit our beachfront high-rise, the same one where he and I conceived Elijah, on our way down to the endless golden sand that is Bondi Beach. Greeted by blue skies and swaying palms every day, I know I’ve made a good choice; for us, and for our new little family.
With Derric’s connections and encouragement, I had no trouble setting up shop in Sydney; clients had practically lined up outside my door from day one. Life in Oz is good. And every bit as magical as L. Frank Baum’s fictional land. I feel blessed with good fortune. My mom and dad would have been so proud and happy for me.
Sadly, Derric’s father Steve suffered a stroke shortly after we arrived in Sydney. Though he and Derric never got along, I was still a little sad that I didn’t get a chance to meet the man as the venerable, successful entrepreneur he once was. But Derric felt that the incident had mellowed him and forced him to take a hard look at life—see what he’d been missing. And allowed him the chance to embrace the joy of being a grandfather. It also meant that Derric had to take over the reins of Faris Media; not only because he’s Steve’s son, but because of his stellar launch of ROO-TV in America. He finally earned the praise and respect of his father he’d so badly craved but would never admit.
“How’s this spot?” Derric stakes claim on a dune of sand right about where Claire and I had parked our white butts on holiday just over one short year ago. A lifetime seems to have passed since then and, in a way, I suppose it has. Elijah’s lifetime.
I take our son from Derric who had dutifully carted him in his carrier all the way from the penthouse without complaint, like the devoted dad he always promised he’d be. Honestly. He fusses over him like he’s the Little Prince, and I suppose he is—being next in line to the Faris Media throne after his proud papa.
I cuddle Elijah and listen to his soft babble as Derric sets up our giant beach umbrella, folding chairs, and Elijah’s pop-up shade tent. I lay the baby down on his blanket beneath the arch of the tent, and Derric and I stretch out in our beach chairs with our feet up. I’m happy to just relax and enjoy the sun, the sand, the breeze and the quiet joy of simply being a family together. Elijah kicks his feet in the warm air and proceeds to chew on a special teething rattle that came as part of Derric’s juggernaut of baby gifts back in New York.
“What a perfect day,” I say, leaning back in my chair with a sigh of contentment. “I could get used to this.”
“It is a perfect day,” Derric agrees, pouring us each a cold drink. Our fingers touch as he hands me a tall glass of sparkling water. “Thank you for agreeing to come live here in Oz. I don’t think I’m cut out for life in the Big Apple. I’d have a serious vitamin D deficiency.”
“So you’re happy here, then?” I ask.
“Delirious,” he confirms.
“Then that is thanks enough.”
He smiles and winks, his tanned, dimpled face and deliciously fit shirtless bod almost making me wish we’d stayed indoors where we could screw each other’s asses off—but we have the rest of our lives to do that. I plan to make love to this man well into our 90s.
I sip on my drink and gaze out over the rolling blue waves that had first brought Derric and me together. I think perhaps we rescued each other that day.
“A perfect day in a perfect life,” I declare, taking in the wondrous sights of Bondi Beach, my drop-dead gorgeous man, and our beautiful baby all in the same frame.
“Well, it’s pretty close to perfect,” Derric says.
“What do you mean ‘close’?” I ask, feigning indignance.
“I’m a pretty demanding bloke, and I demand perfection. There’s one thing missing.”
I can’t imagine what that could be. “Oh, really? Like what?”
Derric rolls out of his chair and reaches over to dig into Elijah’s massive diaper bag. He pulls something out and hides it in his palm as he turns and drops to one knee in the sand before me. A nervous tingle rises up my spine.
“A perfect family,” he says, opening his hand to reveal a small velvet box, “needs a proper husband and wife, to have and to hold, forsaking all others and all that jazz.” The box splits open to reveal a stunning gold ring, set with a breathtaking, perfectly cut yellow diamond that beams like a thousand suns even in broad daylight. My breath catches. “Mila Churchwood, will you marry me?”
My heart swells in my chest, cutting off my airways so that I can barely utter a squeak. I’m happy just being with him, and being a mother to Elijah, but what he’s offering me now is truly what I’ve dreamed of and hoped for.
I find my voice. “Yes. Absolutely yes!”
He slides the exquisite ring onto my finger and leans forward to seal our agreement with a kiss. This is one contract I can never let myself out of, nor would I ever want to. We claim each other’s lips while the sounds of the sea and our baby’s happy gurgles fill our ears.
Now it’s perfect.
I wrap my arms around Derric’s beefy neck, holding tight to the man who has brought me so much joy and opportunity. I look over his shoulder and see Elijah lazing happily under the shade of his tent, and the breaking waves beyond. The lifeguard tower stands in the distance, occupied by a new, younger, sun-bronzed sentinel atop its lofty heights; a new prince to hold dominion over the kingdom of Bondi Beach.
It’s fitting because the last sovereign to sit in that chair now has a much more important empire to reign over. A wife, a son, and Network 10. In that order.
No more apologies necessary.
THE END
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Chapter One
Mara
In a New York Minute
Eyeshadow.
Nah. Trying too hard.
Mascara.
Yes. You don’t want to look twelve.
Perfume.
Which one? Only got two. Both off the discount shelf at Walgreens. Ugh. Sophisticated, not.
“Lacey!” I call out as I lean over the bathroom sink, peering at my reflection in the mirror. “Can I use some of your Chanel? Please?”
“Knock yourself out, kiddo,” Lacey replies.
I take the bottle from my roommate Lacey’s shelf and hold it in my palm, suddenly second-guessing my choice. Wait. Is this too “old” for me? I’m twenty-two; don’t want to come off smelling like some Haute Couture wannabe on my first day. I’m just a dumb intern, not some corporate suit’s executive assistant. You’re running out of time, Mara. Pick one for God’s sake.
I hurriedly press the atomizer button, and a cloud of No. 5 mist hits my throat. Gak! I forgot to close my mouth. Not the way I want to start off—using “eau de toilette” for mouthwash a la Scarlett O’Hara.