D'Alessandro's Child

by Catherine Spencer

  “No, you’re not,” Fran said. “You’re so pleased with yourself you can hardly sit still. When are you going to tell him?”

  “Not until I’ve cleaned up the mess I made of everything before he left.”

  “Hmm. Probably a wise choice. Because of course, once he knows he’s going to be a father again, he’ll marry you regardless and that’s not good enough, is it?”

  “No,” she said. “It has to be because he believes in me.”

  “Does anyone else know you’re pregnant?”

  “If you mean, have I told my parents, no, I haven’t. Michael deserves to hear before they do. I wouldn’t have told you, Fran, except that…well, I had to tell someone, or I’d have burst!”

  “I guess!” Fran came to sit beside her on the sofa and hugged her. “Imagine, after all those years of trying and not succeeding, you got pregnant just like that! Who’d have thought it?”

  “I know.” She folded her hands over her womb. “And we only did it twice!”

  Fran collapsed into giggles. “With a guy like Michael, once was probably enough!” Then, sobering, she said, “So, what comes next?”

  “I want to hold off saying anything to him until I’m past the first trimester because I don’t know that he could weather the disappointment if I were to miscarry.”

  “You’re not going to miscarry,” Fran said firmly. “You’re going to sail through this pregnancy without any problems and present him with a beautiful new son or daughter, and you’re all going to live happily ever after.”

  “I hope so. But there’s also something else. I have to tell Jeremy that Michael’s his father. It’s the only way I can prove I’m living up to my side of the agreement. But I think it’s important to give them enough time to cement their relationship through their weekly phone calls before I say anything.”

  “Although you’re probably right, I feel compelled to point out that if you put it off too long, you won’t have to worry about telling your parents or anyone else around here that you’re expecting. They’ll be able to see it for themselves.”

  “I know. So I thought I’d fly up to Vancouver around the end of October. I’ll be almost eighteen weeks along by then.”

  “And definitely pushing your luck!”

  “It can’t be helped. I’ll just have to wear loose clothes and stay out of the pool when anyone’s around.”

  But that would be easy compared to the patience she’d need to see her through the eleven weeks before she’d see him again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FALL came early that year, with a series of October wind storms and rain which pretty much matched Mike’s uncertain temper. He’d thought throwing himself into the multimillion dollar town home project would take his mind off Camille. It hadn’t.

  He’d thought strengthening his ties to his son would make up for his failed relationship with her. It didn’t. If anything, hearing her answer the phone when he made his Sunday calls intensified the wrenching sense of loss he couldn’t shake, no matter how many times he told himself he was better off without her.

  He had to curb the urge to try to engage her in conversation, but she made that part easy by wasting no time putting Jeremy on the line. In fact, the sum total of her words to him each week were a nauseatingly cheerful, “Hello, Michael. Here’s Jeremy.”

  The December deadline he’d given her was still over a month away, and how he was going to last that long without seeing her was reason enough to put a permanent scowl on his face. So when he arrived at the construction site on the morning of Friday the twenty-fifth and the first thing he learned was that some clown had put his steel-toed boot through the etched glass panel of an expensive front door, he was not disposed to be lenient.

  Neither the man nor the boot was hurt, but the door was a write-off. Normally, he’d have chalked up the incident to the price of doing business, but that particular employee had been careless before and this latest episode was enough to send Mike into a towering rage. “You’re a liability to yourself and everyone else on this site,” he exploded. “Pull one more stunt like this, and you’ll be history, you hear?”

  “Half the neighborhood heard, boss,” his foreman Doug Russell advised him as the man slunk off. “Including the prospective client who’s been waiting over an hour to see you.”

  “I’m in no mood to speak to clients, prospective or otherwise. Refer him to the sales team.”

  “It’s a ‘her,’ and I already went that route, but she’s adamant. She wants you.”

  He cursed, something he was doing a lot of these days.

  “Yeah,” Doug cracked. “I tried telling her that as well, but she’s not the type to take a hint.”

  “As if I don’t have enough on my plate!” He stomped into the display unit and flung a tube of blueprints on the granite kitchen counter. “All right, let’s get it over with. Where is she?”

  “Last I saw, she was wandering around the Greenwood model.”

  “What?” He thumped his fist on the counter. “Has everyone around here gone nuts? That’s a hard-hat area and you of all people know what’ll happen if she trips over a ladder and breaks an ankle! I’ll be up to my keister in a lawsuit I don’t need.”

  “No, you won’t, and please don’t take out your annoyance on Mr. Russell. He warned me of the danger and I assured him I wouldn’t hold anyone to blame if I got hurt.”

  That voice…he’d heard it in his dreams so often of late that at first he thought it was just his imagination playing another cruel trick on him. But when he wheeled around, there she was in the flesh, stepping in her dainty little boots over the roll of carpet blocking the foyer, and looking totally absurd in a bright yellow hard hat which clashed horribly with her rose pink raincoat.

  “Uh….” he grunted, giving a fair imitation of a trained ape having a tough time deciding which banana he wanted for lunch.

  By contrast, she was the epitome of calm self-assurance. “Is there someplace we can talk privately, Michael?”

  He snapped his mouth shut before he grunted again, and tried to look intelligent.

  “I’ll make myself scarce, Michael!” Doug snickered.

  She bathed him in a smile. “Oh, please, Mr. Russell, don’t let me chase you away.”

  “Go!” Mike muttered, jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow.

  With a last knowing smirk, Doug clumped out. Desperate to fill the cavernous silence he left behind, Mike said, “Is something wrong with Jeremy? Is that what’s brought you here?”

  He came across like a prison warden who hated his job, but if she noticed his tone was less than welcoming, she gave no indication. She picked her way past a pile of drop cloths the painters had dumped in the middle of the kitchen floor, and went to inspect the built-in china closet in the butler’s pantry.

  “Jeremy’s perfectly fine. Growing like a weed, of course, but that’s to be expected.”

  “Then why? And don’t bother giving me the line about being a prospective client because I’m not buying it.”

  “If I were in the market for a town house, I’d certainly be interested in what you’re offering here. This is lovely, Michael.” She ran an appraising finger over the felt-lined silverware drawer then, when he was just about ready to rap his knuckles on her hard hat and force her to give him a straight answer, turned and said, “I have some rather momentous news, and I wanted to give it to you in person.”

  His stomach lurched and came to rest somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. Cripes, she’d met someone! She was getting married again to some blue-chip Californian, he just knew it! “I see,” he said, sounding as if he’d got a three-inch rusty nail lodged in his windpipe. “Well? I’m listening.”

  “Not here, Michael. Isn’t there a coffee shop close by, where we can talk without being overheard?”

  “No,” he said. “The nearest one is a ten minute drive away in Crescent Beach and I can’t see you being comfortable in a pickup truck.”

  “As long as you do th
e driving, it won’t be a problem.”

  “I’m a busy man. Time’s money, and I can’t afford to waste it.”

  She shifted the bag slung over her shoulder and marched across the floor to trap him between her and the kitchen island. “I’m asking for half an hour, Michael. You can spare me that, surely?”

  Hell, he might as well get it over with! “Okay. My truck’s in the driveway.”

  “I know,” she said. “I saw you drive up. Dark blue with a gray stripe, right?”

  “Right. Not quite the deluxe transportation you’re used to, is it?”

  “A lot of things I’m not used to have happened to me since I saw you last,” she said cryptically, setting her hard hat on the counter, “and I don’t mind admitting I’m finding the changes rather refreshing.”

  The fragrance of her shampoo, mingling with the smell of new paint and freshly sawn wood, formed a powerful aphrodisiac. Before he did something stupid, like pulling her into his arms, he jammed his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket and brushed past her. “I bet! Well, let’s get moving. I don’t have all day.”

  The coffee shop was half empty and they were able to seclude themselves in a booth near the back. “No thanks,” she said, when he asked her if she wanted anything to eat with her coffee. “And I’d prefer tea. Lapsang souchong, if they have it.”

  Not everything about you has changed, sweetheart, he thought, burying a grin. “Camille, this is a mom-and-pop café, not the Ritz-Carlton. I doubt the couple who run the joint have ever heard of Lapsang souchong.”

  She blushed and he realized how much he’d missed seeing her do that. As much as he’d missed looking at her…kissing her…making love to her and feeling her clench around him just before she came. “Of course. What was I thinking? I’ll just have tea, please.”

  What the hell was he thinking! Cripes, he was as hard as a rock! “Okay, what’s so important that you had to come all the way up here to tell me about it?” he asked brusquely, once their tea and coffee had arrived.

  “I’m planning to leave California. To leave the U.S. altogether, as a matter of fact.”

  It was even worse than he’d first thought. She was marrying some guy who lived in northern Tibet or some other far-flung spot on the map, and he’d never see her again. “Why?”

  “Well, I’m hoping to get married.”

  He wasn’t hard anymore. Hearing her confirm his worst fear left him feeling as if someone had swung a mallet at his delicate parts.

  Even though he usually drank it straight, he made a big production of pouring sugar into his coffee because he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “Kind of a sudden decision, isn’t it?”

  “Not really.”

  He tipped another spoonful of sugar into his mug. “How do he and Jeremy get along?”

  “Famously. Just like father and son.”

  The canister slipped out of his hand and sent a spray of sugar skittering across the fake wood tabletop. “In case you’ve forgotten, Camille,” he said, barely able to control the fury and jealousy roaring through him, “Jeremy already has a father.”

  “I know, Michael,” she said, not sounding nearly as sure of herself as she had before. “And I’m rather hoping, if I ask very nicely this time, that he’ll agree to make an honest woman of me.”

  “Huh?” Sad to say, he was back to the trained ape bit again, but his brain was too busy scrambling to make sense of what she’d just said to come up with much in the way of witty repartee.

  She leaned on the table and sent another drift of shampoo and perfume floating toward him. “You turned me down the last time I proposed, because you said, quite rightly, that I needed to grow up. Well, I’ve tried hard to do that in the months since you left and I hope, when you hear of the changes I’ve made, that you’ll reconsider your decision.”

  He cut her off with a slash of his hand. “Hold on a minute and let me be sure I’ve got this straight.”

  She sat very erect and folded her hands primly in her lap. Her face was blindingly beautiful, from the radiant bloom of her skin to her huge, serious eyes and sweetly compressed mouth. Her hair, even on a day as gray as this, gleamed like spun gold caught in the rays of an April sunrise.

  “You came all this way to propose?”

  She nodded.

  “It couldn’t have waited until Christmas?”

  She shook her head.

  He leaned back in the booth and stared at the ceiling, the No Smoking sign, the plastic roses in a vase on the glass-fronted display case in the corner—anywhere but at her. “Well, it’s something to consider, I suppose.”

  “I won’t ask if that’s a yes,” she said, finding her tongue again, “because I don’t want your answer yet.”

  He shot her a glance from beneath his lashes. “Setting out conditions already, Camille?”

  “Just one.” She clasped her hands earnestly. “I want you to hear me out and then take the rest of the day to mull over what I’ve said, before you make up your mind. I’ve given this a great deal of thought, Michael, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to expect you to commit one way or the other until you’ve had time to digest the pros and cons.”

  “Name some of the cons.”

  She lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “I’m used to being a single parent and having the final say on how I want things done. It might take a while for me to ‘get used to sharing my toys’, as you once put it—although I hasten to add that I’ve never regarded Jeremy as a toy. Also, I’m very well off, and I don’t know how you’ll handle that. Some men find it difficult having a rich wife.” She lowered her eyes and hesitated before finishing, “And last, it’s possible you’re involved with someone else.”

  “And the pros?”

  “It would be wonderful for Jeremy to have two parents living under the same roof, and I’d do my very best never to make you regret being my husband.”

  “Is that all, Camille?” he goaded her. “You can’t think of a more intimate reason for us to tie the knot?”

  She blushed again and refused to meet his gaze. “Well, we are…compatible.”

  “Compatible how?”

  She bit her lip, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her mouth. “You know! Sex.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “Sex. I’d hate to overlook that as I weigh my options.”

  “But there’s more, Michael,” she said, sobering. “I want you to know that no matter what you decide, I do intend to leave California, and I am resolved to move here. I’ve looked into it, and because Jeremy has a Canadian father, that won’t be a problem with the authorities.”

  It was a shame that he had to prick such a tantalizing bubble of fantasy, but the probable obstacles weren’t something he could ignore, even if she could. “And what do your parents have to say about all this?”

  “They don’t know yet.”

  “Aha! Enter major stumbling block number one! Once they find out, they’ll never let you get away with it.”

  “It isn’t up to them,” she said flatly. “This is my decision. Jeremy’s the one who needs to live close to both his parents, not I. And as you so succinctly pointed out, it’s long past time I severed the apron strings with my mother and father. I love them, but I don’t need them telling me how to run my life and I’m afraid they’re going to have to accept that.”

  He made a tunnel with his hands and blew down it. “You’ll find it’s easier said than done. When you actually get right down to—”

  “I’ve already sold my house, Michael. The new owners take possession at the end of November. You might turn me down, but you’re not going to get rid of me. I’ll look for a place near where you live so that Jeremy can visit you every day. Next door, if I can swing it!”

  “Whew!” He shook his head. “Talk about tearing up roots and starting over in a big way!”

  “Well, it’s time I showed a little backbone, don’t you think? And you must admit it’ll simplify everything if we’re close by. Next year, Jeremy will s
tart school. Before long, he’ll want to play soccer and basketball and all those other boy things that I know nothing about. And he’ll want his daddy to be there to coach him and cheer him on.”

  Touched more than he cared to admit, he said, “You don’t have to sell me on fatherhood, Camille.”

  “I know,” she said. “But I am hoping I can sell you on marriage. I’m hoping you’ll believe me when I say that I would be honored to be your wife, but if you decide to turn me down, I’m not going to pack up my toys and go running back home to sulk. I’ve grown up enough to handle disappointment without falling apart, Michael.”

  “Let me get back to you later,” he said, afraid if he didn’t shut her up, he’d lose it and start bawling. She was offering him the world—and talking as if he’d be doing her a favor by accepting it. It was more than he’d dared hope for; more than he deserved. “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Pan Pacific. I wondered, if you don’t have other plans, if you’d like to meet me there for dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that very much.”

  “Then I’ll make a reservation as soon as I get back. Is seven too early?”

  “Uh-uh. Seven’s fine.” He pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch. “Look, I really have to get back to the job site. I’m expecting building inspectors in another twenty minutes.”

  She swept up her bag and slithered out from the booth. “I understand. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He followed her out to the sidewalk and unlocked the truck. She smiled and thanked him as he helped her into the passenger seat. He said “You’re welcome,” again, went around to the driver’s door, and climbed in.

  “This is a very comfortable vehicle,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes and wondering how he could tactfully put an end to an exchange growing more stilted by the minute. But it was a delicate situation. She’d put her pride on the line and he’d been caught by surprise. It wouldn’t do to rush things. They were talking big decisions here—decisions that would affect the rest of their lives, and Jeremy’s, too. They both needed to be sure they understood exactly what they were getting themselves into because once done, there’d be no undoing it.