My eyes lock with Veronique’s on that word. Together. Can she tell what I mean? Is it my imagination, or does she blush?
“You look too thin Remington,” my mother scolds. She playfully slaps the governor’s shoulder. “Haven’t you been feeding my son? Why are you working him to the bone?”
Everyone laughs politely.
“I’ve just been distracted,” I say.
“Remington’s been working too hard,” says the Governor’s wife, my honorary Aunt Alice. “He pulled together all the last-minute details for tonight, and as you can see the results are splendid. I don’t know what we would do without him.”
Just then, with perfect timing, I feel a slight tug on my elbow and hear a polite cough.
“Monsieur Wilde, I am sorry to interrupt, but there is a problem with the music.”
The group turns to look at the newcomer. It is a small Italian man in a tuxedo, and though his hair is thinning his presence still that of a virile maestro.
“Signore Amato,” I say. “How can I help?”
As I say his name, I feel Veronique’s breath catch beside me and I know she’s recognized him.
Of course she has: he’s only one of the most famous classical conductors in the entire world. He’s worked with every major symphony orchestra – Paris, Moscow, Buenos Aires, New York. He is himself a celebrity, a legend.
And I hired him for tonight especially.
“It is a disaster,” says Amato, flinging his arms dramatically. “Our cellist, Monsieur – our cellist! He missed his flight and only just now has called to tell us he is not coming. Now! At the last possible minute, when it is already too late! What can I do? We cannot play tonight’s music without the cellist, Monsieur Wilde. It is a disaster, Monsieur Wilde, a horrible disaster!”
He’s played his part perfectly. My Aunt Alice is wringing her hands in sympathy, my mother is clicking her tongue, the Governor looks utterly lost.
Jacques LaRoux alone seems to be able to see past Amato’s outburst to any clear thought. He clears his throat nervously.
“Mister Amato,” says Jacques, “Maybe we can offer you a solution. My daughter here is an excellent cellist, just finished her third year the Curtis Institute. Maybe she can help you. Veronique?”
I have to give Jacques credit: he seems to really care about his daughter, and beat me to the punch in recommending her to the conductor. Maybe he’s not such a selfish guy after all. Maybe I misjudged him.
Now Veronique’s eyes are as big as saucers, a mixture of deer-in-the-headlights shock and disbelieving euphoria. She shoots a panicked look at her Dad, but then seems to get her shyness under control enough to meet Signore Amato’s eyes.
“Signore Amato,” she says with that clear, low voice of hers, “I am just so honored even to meet you. You are one of my musical heroes! It’s true I am a cellist, and of course if I can help in any way at all I am completely at your service.”
The conductor turns a shrewd eye on my stepsister, seeming to assess her.
“Third year at Curtis, eh?” he asks. “Do you know Handel’s Water Music?”
Veronique’s eyes widen, impossibly, even more. “It’s my thesis! I’ve been working on it for years.”
“I can vouch for her,” I add. “I’ve watched every YouTube video possible of her past recitals. She is quite talented.”
Veronique stares at me, surprised. “You watched my recitals?”
Oops, I probably shouldn’t have said that. Luckily I’m off the hook because Amato claps his hands joyfully in the air, exclaims something in Italian, and pulls Veronique into a hug.
“Signora LaRoux,” he shouts, “You are the heroine of the evening, the star of the Seychelles, and the most beautiful savior I have ever seen. Grazie. Grazie mille. If you will please follow me to the stage and take a moment to tune your instrument with your fellow musicians before gracing us with your talents, I will worship you until the end of my days. Please, this way.”
Veronique takes Amato’s arm and turns to go, still looking somewhat dazed.
“Excuse me for leaving you all,” she says with a smile of disbelief, “It seems I will be playing for you all this evening.”
“Bravo!” shouts Aunt Alice.
“Wonderful,” says Governor Bernard.
“Knock em dead, sweetheart,” says Jacques.
“Hooray Veronique,” cheers my mother.
As she walks away with Amato, Veronique turns and watches me over her shoulder, her eyebrow raised in puzzlement.
“Good luck,” I call.
They disappear in the direction of the bandstand, and soon I hear the sounds of the quartet tuning itself. In a few moments Veronique will be made a new star. My plan has succeeded, and I didn’t even have to be the one to suggest that Veronique take the cellist’s seat! Jacques did it for me, and now Amato – the most influential conductor in the world – will never forget Veronique.
Her career is made.
And she doesn’t even suspect that I had anything to do with it.
Sure enough, the music begins to swell around me, smooth and free and light. Veronique’s cello sings like a woman in love.
The party flows around the music, every now and again a couple dancing or laughing or stopping to listen. My mother and the Governor spread the story of Veronique’s last-minute heroism throughout the assembly, and soon I hear Veronique’s name being whispered all over the room.
Amazing, they say, she plays incredibly! She’s so young, and so beautiful. So brave to jump in like that and rescue the quartet.
Smiling proudly to myself, I can’t help but feel that I’ve atoned for some of my bad behavior. Surely doing something like this for Veronique makes up my douchebaggery before.
Surely this will set things right.
When the musicians stop to take a break, I watch from across the room as Veronique is completely surrounded by new admirers. Amato is their leader, boisterously bragging on discovering Veronique. He is kissing her hand, leading her around the room, proudly congratulating her and introducing her to several key arts patrons, just as I had asked him to do.
It’s working.
I’m a fucking hero.
She’ll be in such a good mood after this.
I’m gonna get so lucky tonight.
Satisfied, I duck out to get some fresh air on the balcony and let Veronique spread her wings in her brave new world.
My world.
I stare out over the bay again, now plunged in the inky darkness of night, and find myself picturing a new future: Veronique traveling the world playing music at the best concert venues, making a name for herself – and me close by, on the balcony or in the wings, waiting for her to finish for the night before taking her to bed.
We could travel the world together.
We could use her work as a guise to buy some time to really get to know each other before having to tell our parents or anyone about us.
Amato has already said he would hire her if tonight went well, and I can see that it has. It would give us the opportunity we need to escape together.
Maybe I can have my stepsister and date her too.
“Remington?”
I turn around, surprised by the soft voice behind me cutting into my fantasy.
It’s Veronique.
She’s standing in the doorway of the balcony, silhouetted by candles. She’s never looked more beautiful. I can just barely see her green eyes shimmering with emotion in the starlight.
“Veronique,” I say. “You…you played beautifully. Congratulations.”
It sounds so flat when I say it out loud, but I hope the fact that I truly mean it will convey the depth of my excitement for her.
She takes a deep breath and walks beside me, leaning against the railing and staring out over the capital city like an empress surveying her kingdom. The silence around us is rich and lovely, like sweet water.
“Thank you,” she says after a long minute.
I pause, my heart bea
ting. “For what?”
She laughs. “You know for what. For tonight.”
“I had nothing to do with it!”
“Right. Like I’m going to believe that.”
“I didn’t. I swear.”
“Liar.”
“Really.”
“Come on! You expect me to believe that Signore Amato just happens to be randomly leading a quartet at a private party playing my thesis?”
I grin. “Well…when you put it like that, I admit it does sound a little fishy.”
“Fishy doesn’t begin to describe it.”
Her eyes are twinkling at me, playful and dangerous. A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through my body. A breeze catches her scent and drifts it over to me, something like vanilla. God she’s so close and so hot, it’s all I can do not to jump her bones right here in public.
“Anyway, thank you Remi. I know you made it all happen. I know a lot of weird things have happened between us, but the fact that you’d go out of your way like this for me, and give me such a huge career opportunity…it…means a lot.”
Her voice falters. And before I can object she has thrown herself into my arms in an intense, firm hug. I stand like a dumb tree, not knowing what to do – the energy from Veronique is emotional, powerful, but not sexual. She seems oddly vulnerable and I don’t know why.
My arms close protectively around her waist.
“Well, you deserve it,” is all I can say. “You’re an amazing musician, and a good person, and now some of the most important people in your industry know it. I know having money from my mother isn’t enough for you – you’ll need a creative outlet. It’s only a matter of time until you have the career you’ve always dreamed of. Doors will open to you.”
“Because of you.” To my surprise I hear her sniffle. She pulls out of the hug, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I never dreamed anyone else would help me,” she said. “I never dreamed so much could happen so fast.”
“Whoa, it’s ok. Why are you crying? I thought you were happy!”
“I am but – god! So much is going on!” She flings her hands around, almost as dramatically as the Italian. “It’s just that before the summer, my life was so crazy different. And now, just when I can almost accept all this new stuff, things change again.”
“But it’s a good change, isn’t it?”
She steps back, taking my hand, and sighs. “I’m not just talking about playing music tonight with Amato. There’s something else. Remington, there’s something I have to tell you. Something big.”
I laugh. Artists are always so dramatic – never able to rest in the joy of the moment, always pushing forward to something new. I take Veronique’s hands in mine, twining our fingers together, and relishing the electric shock her skin sends down my body.
“Relax, ok? What could be bigger than Amato?” I joke. “Just slow down and smell the roses. Everything is fine.”
She frowns, the playfulness fading from her face.
Uh oh. Something is up.
“No Remington, I mean, I know this isn’t a good time and I’m sorry about that. Especially after you’ve just done something so kind, I know it’s not nice to shock you like this, but I must. It’s too important to wait. I have to tell you something serious.”
“Oh come on, it’s a party. Can’t it wait? Can’t you kiss me first?”
I reach to put my arms around her waist again but she pushes me back, holds me away. Confused, I have no choice but to groan in frustration.
“No, I can’t, please just listen to me Remington; Remington, I’m pregnant.”
Chapter Fourteen
Veronique LaRoux
The Governor’s Ball, Victoria
“Oh my god Remi, please say something! You’ve just been staring at me for like five minutes and I’m super nervous. Please say something. Anything.”
I’ve never been in a war, but now I feel like I know what a man looks like after you’ve dropped a bomb on him.
Remington is a mess. He hasn’t moved, blinked, or breathed since I told him I was pregnant a few moments ago. Or was it hours? It’s like time has stopped. It’s like Elvis has left the building.
This is not a good sign.
I mean I wasn’t exactly expecting him to be thrilled about my pregnancy. I was not exactly thrilled myself when I first found out. Shocked, yes. Scared to death, yes. But comatose? No.
Yeah it’s bad timing. Yeah it’s a curve ball. But I expected at least…a reaction!
If Remington doesn’t do something soon I’m going to start rambling and talking just to fill the silence and that can’t be good. That can’t help anybody.
Nervous chattering is never good. Never helpful.
Oh god. Here it comes. I feel it starting.
“I didn’t realize until last week,” I blurt. “I think I skipped two periods without realizing it. So I took literally about fifty pregnancy tests and they were all positive. Every single one. And then I went to the resort doctor – in total secrecy of course. And he gave me another pregnancy test. And it was positive. So, I’m definitely pregnant. No doubt. It’s definitely real. It’s really true. I know, I know it’s fast: it’s a surprise, it’s an accident, but I thought you had a right to know and to hear it from me as soon as possible. So…god, please say something.”
Crickets.
Ok, nervous chattering didn’t help. Surprise, surprise. Now what? It’s not like I’ve ever really been able to read him or know where I stand with him, even on good days. And I have no way to know whether this is a good day or a bad day. Here we are in the middle of the Governor’s Ball after Remington has just done the kindest most generous thing for me, introducing me to Signore Amato, and now I can’t tell if this news has changed how he feels about me all over again.
I need to know what he feels. This suspense is torture. I wish he would just put me out of my misery!
Jesus. Oh God. Help me, please.
“Remington?”
Nothing.
“You ok? Want to sit down? Should I get you some punch or something?”
He blinks, turns his face away, and leans against the railing, fluttering his lips like they tell you to do in yoga classes.
What the hell does that mean? God, I’m sweating now. Ok, so he didn’t actually say anything yet, but he finally moved.
Moving is good. Right?
“I’ll go get you some punch,” I say.
But before I can walk back inside to the party, I Remington’s hand closes around my wrist and pulls me back beside him on the balcony.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, quietly. “Whoa.”
I wait, straining against my skin. I can feel the pressure of the moment like hot air against my ears.
So he’s not really saying words and he’s obviously muttering to himself, but this seems like a positive step. At least he’s making sounds.
Why are men so fucking frustrating?! Just a simple acknowledgement would help me so much right now.
“You’re pregnant,” he finally says.
Thank you. Jesus. Yes, thank you. Was that really so fucking hard?
“Yup. I’m pregnant.”
“You’re sure?”
“Fifty-one pregnancy tests sure.”
“You saw the doctor?”
“I saw the doctor.”
He lapses again into silence, this time his face frowning in the scariest serious expression I’ve ever seen him make. When he turns back around to look at me, I can see that I’m talking to Business Remington, not the passionate, rascally, brooding man I’ve gotten to know as my hot billionaire stepbrother. This Business Remington is the Remington Wilde that handles massive business transactions and shrewdly beats the press at its own game, the one that poses on the covers of magazines and gives speeches at universities. The impersonal Remington. His eyes sweep over me coldly, assessing.
It doesn’t feel good.
“What kind of woman skips two periods without noticing? How could you be so careles
s?”
My breath stops, my blood running hot with anger.
“Me? Careless?!”
It doesn’t help that I thought the same thing about myself at first. It was careless of me not to pay attention to the time, but then, I had never had sex before. I had never planned on having sex when I came to the Seychelles.
I had never dreamed I’d lose my virginity and get pregnant at the same time.
“Everything happened so fast, Remi. I didn’t intend on sleeping with you, or anyone, and I just wasn’t thinking about it.”
“You must have noticed the timing. Are you positive about the timing? Weren’t you taking birth control pills?”
“No.”
“I assumed you were on birth control!”
“Why would you assume that? We never talked about it!”
“Fuck.”
“It takes two, Remi. We were both careless. But this happened, and now we should try to talk about it without attacking each other. Please.”
“Holy shit.”
“Please, calm down.”
“You did this on purpose. To trap me.”
Stung, I stumble back from the railing and stare at him.
“I did not! It was an accident! How could you even say that to me, after everything that’s happened between us? Why can’t you trust me? You wanted me too! It wasn’t like I was some seductress trying to ruin your life! We got in this together. It’s an accident, but we can figure this out. Together. Like you said earlier tonight. Together.”
His eyes are pained, troubled. I wish he would let me close instead of pushing me away.
“Veronique, don’t toy with me. I know all about the innocent-girl-gets-knocked-up plot, the strategy to gain fame and ensnare me.”
“What are you talking about?! Why would I do that?”
“It will make you famous, being pregnant with Remington Wilde’s baby, won’t it? That’s what you wanted.”
“No, it isn’t! How could you think so little of me?”
He stops short, his face suddenly clearing and crumpling in confusion. “I don’t! You’re right; it doesn’t make sense. You’re not…I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”
My Billionaire Stepbrother Page 12