D'Alessandro's Child

by Catherine Spencer

  She perched in her seat, her pink raincoat wrapped around her, her outsize bag clutched in her lap, her eyes on the road ahead. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed, with painfully manufactured enthusiasm, as he turned the truck around and headed back the way they’d come. “A train!”

  She’d been spending so much time with a three-year-old, she was starting to sound like one. And he wasn’t much better, hedging his bets and dithering like somebody’s maiden aunt. Caution be damned!

  He cruised to a stop a yard or so short of the level crossing. “Yeah,” he said again, cupping his hand around her neck and weaving his fingers through her silky hair. “A train. And just in the nick of time, too. It saves me having to find a place to park and do this.”

  He pulled her toward him and she didn’t resist. She leaned across the console, her mouth trembling, her eyes glassy with tears, and lifted her face to his. Heart nearly bursting with pent-up emotion, he bent his head and kissed her. Then he kissed her again. And all the stress and tension he’d been carrying around for weeks flew out the window along with caution, and got swept away on the southwest gale thundering across the bay.

  “Oh, thank you!” she whispered, when he stopped to let them both draw breath. “I’d just about given up hope that you were ever going to do that again.”

  “You might have come a long way since the last time we were together,” he told her thickly, shaping the curve of her lip with his thumb, “but, honey, you’ve still got miles to go if you couldn’t figure out I’ve been itching to kiss you from the minute I saw you modeling that hard hat.”

  She was at the table by a quarter to seven, just to be sure she’d be seated before he arrived. “He’ll never suspect,” Nori had assured her, when she’d asked if the peacock blue outfit made her look pregnant.

  She sipped from her water glass. Rearranged the accordion pleats flowing from the nipped-in empire waist of her dress, and wondered if the fluttering in the pit of her stomach was the baby making its first tentative moves, or just sheer nerves.

  The wall of windows next to the table showed the glimmering outline of watercraft bobbing at anchor in the harbor, and beyond, above the lantern-chain draping the hills on the other side of the Lion’s Gate Bridge, the misty aura of floodlights piercing the rain clouds hanging over a mountain where, when the snow came, people could ski at night.

  Superimposed over the spectacle, the reflection of the room behind her was flung back in perfect reproduction. The flash of silver caught her attention, the flicker of candles, and then, rising above the small crowd waiting to be seated, Michael’s tall figure coming toward her.

  Briefly, she closed her eyes and crossed her fingers. Let it be a perfect evening!

  He bent over the back of her chair. Dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. “Am I late?”

  “No,” she said, savoring the sight of him all freshly shaved and sparkling in a navy suit and white shirt, with a burgundy silk tie. “I’m early.”

  “You look lovely, as always.”

  “So do you.”

  “Me, lovely?” He laughed and took a seat across from her. “That’s a first—but then, there’ve been a number of those today.” He raised his brows and gestured. “Are you expecting…?”

  Her eyes flew wide in shock. She gulped and tried to stem the flush of guilt sweeping up from her feet to envelop her entire body. He’d noticed!

  “…someone else to join us? I see we’re at a table for three.”

  “Oh!” Relief gusted from her lungs and set the candle flame in the middle of the table to flickering. “Well, yes. Just for a short while.”

  Right on cue, Nori came into the restaurant with Jeremy, adorable in dark blue corduroy vest and pants, and a red striped shirt, at her side. He’d been so proud of his clothes, so excited about his part in the evening. Now, though, he was dragging his feet and looked ready to turn tail and run.

  Camille knew how he felt. She was on pins and needles herself.

  “Anyone I know?” Michael asked.

  She nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

  He inclined a taut smile her way. “Are we playing twenty questions, Camille?”

  “No,” she said, and held out her hand.

  Jeremy ran the last few yards and flung himself at her, all the time peeking out at Michael whose face was a study. For once in his life, he was speechless.

  Prying Jeremy loose, she steered him toward his father. “Go on, darling. Don’t be shy. You know what to say.”

  “Hello, Daddy.”

  His voice might have been tentative as the cheep of a newly hatched bird, but there was no mistaking his words, or their effect on Michael.

  He bounced his fist against his mouth, blinked, and stared fixedly out the window a moment. He cleared his throat once or twice, shook his head as if to dispel ideas too baffling and wonderful to be real then, when he’d wrestled himself under control, looked back at Jeremy and said gravely, “Hello, son.”

  Because she knew, if she gave in to the tears pressing behind her eyeballs, that Jeremy would start crying, too, Camille buried her nose in her glass and drained half the ice water in one go.

  When she dared to look up again, she found Michael watching her from eyes turned nearly purple with emotion. “You,” he murmured, “are one tough act to follow.”

  “I’m not trying to bribe you, you know. There are no strings attached to what just happened.”

  “Oh, there are strings, Camille, and they’re wrapped so tight around my heart it’s barely managing to function.”

  Jeremy leaned against his knee. “Now that you’re my daddy, are you coming to live at our house?”

  “Er…no, son.”

  “Can we come to yours?”

  Before Michael could answer, Camille said, “Remember what I told you this afternoon, Jeremy, when we went to the aquarium? That if we couldn’t live with daddy, we’d live near him? And after, when we went for a drive, remember those lovely houses by the sea that you liked so much?”

  He nodded and fixed his attention on Michael again. “Is that where you live?”

  “No,” Michael said. “I live in an apartment, but I’ve been thinking I wouldn’t mind living by the sea, in a house with a big garden where a boy and his daddy could kick a ball around.”

  “With a dog, right?”

  “A dog sounds like a fine idea to me.”

  “And I could bring my racing car and drive all over the garden?”

  “Sure.”

  “And Mommy can come, too?”

  Michael’s gaze met hers. “Oh, yes. Mommy is definitely part of the deal.”

  Jeremy heaved a sigh of contentment. “I think I’ll like living here.”

  “And I think this calls for champagne.” Michael signaled the waiter. “It’s not every day a man gets to have dinner with his son.”

  He ordered sparkling apple juice served in champagne flutes. “To the future,” he said, raising his glass. “And to the three of us.”

  “Cheers!” Jeremy piped up, clearly delighted with all the pomp and ceremony.

  It was just as well Nori came to collect him a short time later, before the excitement became too much for him.

  He watched as his son trotted off with the nanny, then swung back to face her. “I never thought I’d say this but, just this once, I’m glad to see him leave. Because you and I have business to discuss.”

  “Oh dear!” She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “That sounds ominous.”

  “First, I have to tell you I’ve never seen you look more beautiful. You’re glowing, Camille, in a way you never were before. You light up this entire room.”

  “I’m happy.” She lowered her eyes almost shyly. “Happy to be here. Happy to be with you.”

  “Me, too. And it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to say that.” He reached into his inside pocket and took out the velvet bag he’d stashed there. “I thought, when I went shopping for a ring this afternoon, that giving it to you would be
the highlight of the evening, but you up-staged me with Jeremy. Nothing will ever equal that. But at least you know the reason I’m accepting your proposal has nothing to do with what you’ve given me tonight.”

  She gasped a little and covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes were big as saucers and suspiciously bright. “Oh, Michael, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

  “But telling you I love you is the most important. I can’t promise I’ll always be nice because I’m not always a very nice person, but I swear to you, I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

  A tear fell down her face, bright as a shooting star. “You don’t have to say that, you know.”

  “I wouldn’t, if I didn’t mean it. ‘I love you’ aren’t words I toss around lightly. So believe me when I say, I do love you. Very much.”

  She sniffed, and still managed to look beautiful. “I wanted to be the first to say that to you. Because I love you, too, with all my heart.”

  “Too bad, spoilt little rich girl,” he said. “I beat you to it and I’m never going to let you forget it.” He loosened the cord at the neck of the bag and tipped the ring into the palm of his hand. “Will wearing this help you get over the disappointment?”

  He took the third finger of her left hand and slipped the ring into place. It was at least two sizes too big, but the diamond solitaire was perfect. Elegant and classic and matchless, just like her. “If you don’t like it, we can return it and choose something else.”

  “I absolutely love it,” she cried softly, and patted the chair next to hers. “Come and sit beside me, Michael. I have something to give to you, too.”

  He didn’t need to be asked twice. He’d been waiting all night to get close to her. But, “I’ve already got more than any man could want,” he said. “I’ve got you and Jeremy. I don’t need anything else.”

  “Oh, I hope you don’t mean that.” Her smile, shining through the tears, was tremulous. “Because this is not something that can be returned or exchanged.”

  She took his hand and placed it at her waist. At least, it used to be her waist. But underneath the yards of silk, or whatever her dress was made of, he felt something round and solid. Like a little football. Or a basketball.

  He snatched his hand away and jumped up from the table. “What have you got hidden under there, Camille?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” she said demurely. “It’s either a boy or a girl. Congratulations, Michael. You’re going to be a daddy again.”

  He didn’t know how it felt to pass out, but the dizzying pattern of black dots dancing before his eyes suggested he might be about to find out. Slumping back into the chair, he eyed her nervously. Now that he knew what to look for, the basketball was pretty hard to miss. “Are you telling me you’re pregnant?”

  She let out a giggle, something he hated in other women but which rippled out of her mouth like music. “Oh, I hope so, otherwise I’m in trouble.”

  “You’re in trouble anyway, you little witch,” he growled. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? What if I’d refused to see you? What if I’d turned you down?”

  “That’s precisely why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you marrying me out of obligation or pity.”

  His mouth dropped open. “You know what? You’re daft!”

  “I’m carrying your baby, as well,” she said, bold as brass. “So watch your language.”

  He started shaking with laughter. His mouth split in a mile-wide grin. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he planted a kiss full on her lips and didn’t give a rap who saw. “Forget dinner,” he said against her mouth. “You’re coming with me. This baby and I need to get better acquainted.”

  He rented a suite overlooking the water. He told her he loved her, that he’d loved her for a long time. He took off all her clothes and laid his face on her bare stomach and told his baby he loved it, too. He held her in his arms and kissed away the happy tears she shed.

  And finally, with the moon peeping through the window from between ragged clouds, he made love to her.

  In a bed.

  At last.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-8641-6

  D’ALESSANDRO’S CHILD

  First North American Publication 2002.

  Copyright © 2001 by Kathy Garner.

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