She and Sam ate breakfast together every morning, dinner every night and lunch whenever he could get away from work, which he made a point to do at least once or twice a week. They spent their evenings together, sometimes quietly at home, other times going to shows or simply walking around the waterfront. On weekends they were inseparable.
Lovemaking—Chelsea hadn’t been able to resist any more than Sam had—became the highest expression of their love. It took the words and the smiles and the more innocent and frequent touching one step farther. It had its place, though, for there were many nights when they fell quietly asleep in each other’s arms, and those were beautiful as well.
Gradually Sam introduced her to both his business associates and his friends, and though she liked some more than others she found them all to be far more approachable and welcoming than she’d feared. Linda Huntington she felt especially comfortable with. Likewise, some more than others, Sam took to her friends. He was ever adaptable to new topics of conversation and seemed as much at ease sitting at a time-worn table in a Brighton duplex as in a designer dining room high atop Devonshire Place.
They talked often of their Mayan pueblito—at one point Sam even surprised her by saying that if Reni was determined to travel north, he’d oversee her welfare himself. But the crux of their thoughts were on the present and the future.
Indeed, things seemed to be working out. After much soul-searching and discussion with Chelsea, Sam decided to leave London and McGee intact but to limit his role, by contract, to the particular division that dealt with shopping malls. He felt comfortable with that, and even before the papers had been formally drawn up he was limiting his hours. Healthy and strong and relaxed, he told Chelsea time and again that it seemed he’d found his touchstone in her. She was, he insisted, precisely what the doctor ordered.
After living with Sam for a month, Chelsea was more in love than ever. She’d begun to picture life as it would be months and years down the road—married life, with the house in the country Sam spoke of and the children he wanted—and she found herself unable to contemplate any other kind of future,
Only one thing stood in the way of her total bliss. Only one thing she really couldn’t discuss with Sam. Only one thing niggled in the far recesses of her mind. Realizing that Sam knew her inside and out, she wasn’t surprised when he raised the subject himself.
“I spoke with my mother today,” he told her one Thursday when he arrived home from work. “I’ve invited her to have dinner with us tomorrow night.”
No, there wasn’t surprise, but there was trepidation aplenty. “Oh, Sam, I don’t know. Do you think that’s such a good idea?”
“It’s got to be done sooner or later.”
“But … she and I parted on pretty poor terms. I’m surprised she even accepted the invitation.”
“I didn’t give her much of a chance to refuse.”
“Then she’s probably doubly angry … . Maybe we should just wait awhile. We could do it later in the fall.”
He drew her close, gently working the tension out of her shoulders with his strong hands. “She’s the only thing that stands between us, Chels. You haven’t said a word about her, or about what she said to you during those two meetings. I know you’re doing it to protect me, and I respect that. But I know her, and I can easily imagine what she said. Her tongue can be pretty cutting.”
“And what if she uses it to put a wedge between us?”
“She can’t do that, because there’s no wedge she could possibly use that would have any import. I’m not susceptible to her, Chelsea. Nothing she can say would change my feelings about you, so if that’s worrying you, forget it. I declared my independence when I walked out of that house years ago, and I’ve stuck to it. It hasn’t been an effort either. I know exactly what my mother is and what she’d do, given a chance. We’re immune to her. Haven’t we proven how well our lives mesh? Haven’t we?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think we should have dinner with her and let her see our conviction.”
“I don’t know …wouldn’t it be better to just let things ride?”
“I can’t do that, Chels! I want you to marry me, and I want it soon, and, damn it, she’s standing in our way!” Hearing his own raised voice, he tempered his tone. “You’re afraid of her, and that bothers me. I don’t want her to forever be a threat in the back of your mind. Don’t you see? We’ll be presenting her with a fait accompli. She’ll see for herself that we love each other, and you’ll see for yourself that she can yield when she has to.”
“And if she doesn’t? If she resists?”
“Then that’s her problem, and I’ll wash my hands of it. I told you once that I love her because she’s my mother, but I refuse to let her rule my life. If she can’t accept the fact that I’m happier now than I’ve ever been before, well, then she got her priorities screwed up and I pity her.”
Chelsea’s face was rife with uncertainty. “Do you really think seeing her now will help?”
“It can’t hurt. Trust me, Chels. I know what I’m doing.”
10
“I KNOW what I’m doing,” he’d said.
Chelsea tried to convince herself of that through an agonizingly slow Friday. She had her doubts, but in many respects Sam was right. Beatrice London, ironically the instrument of their introduction, was the only thing standing between them now. Just a shadow, sometimes fading out altogether, but a recurring presence nonetheless. Phrases flitted through Chelsea’s mind—a girl like you … a man of my son’s station—and they planted doubts that Sam succeeded in quashing only temporarily.
Chelsea wasn’t sure what she hoped for. Mrs. London wasn’t about to take back the words she’d said. But perhaps, just perhaps she’d show some sign of acceptance. Though Sam had said it didn’t matter to him either way, Chelsea wanted it for his sake, if not her own.
She dressed carefully that night, choosing a dress she’d bought when she’d been shopping with him the weekend before. It was pink silk, sleeveless and V-necked, gathered in blouson folds to a low waist before straightening to the knee. A wide sash, tied around the hips, gave her a look of fashionable slimness.
She stood before Sam’s dresser staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair was just right. Her makeup was just right. She held a strand of pearls to her neck but they got lost in the V of her dress. She replaced it with a costume piece of brightly colored beads, but they were too casual.
“Why the frown?” Sam asked softly. He crossed the room to stand slightly behind her, but she could see how handsome he looked in his dark suit and tie.
“These necklaces aren’t right. I should have thought to pick up something else this week, but I’m not a good shopper. I didn’t know we’d be going out, and with your mother no less.”
Sam studied her reflection, his eyes growing uncertain. He looked down, then cleared his throat. “I’ve got something you can wear. It’d be just right with the dress.”
“You have something?”
“Mmm.” He reached around her to pull open his top drawer and remove a long, flat box. “Here. Open it and see what you think.”
Chelsea stared at the box, then shifted her gaze to Sam. “You bought something for me?”
“Is that so strange?” he asked quietly, a faint smile on his lips. “I want to buy things for you. It was pure fun picking it out.”
“I’ve never gotten a gift from a man before.”
“I’m not just any man. I’m your husband-to-be. Go on, Chels. Open it.”
Pleased and excited, she snapped off the elastic ribbon, opening the box only to find another box, this one velvet, inside. She removed it, slowly opened it, then caught her breath.
“Sam! It’s beautiful!” Very carefully she lifted the necklace, a wide serpentine chain with a sparkling diamond set at its center.
“You like it?” He still seemed unsure. “I saw some things that were more glittery, more elaborate, but this one was simple and elegant, like you.
”
“I love it!” Holding tightly to the necklace, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Sam. It’s perfect!” Without another word she disengaged herself and put on the necklace. It nestled against her skin, its diamond eye sparkling. It couldn’t have suited her better had it been custom designed.
“It looks great,” he said, his voice thick with appreciation.
Smiling, she sighed. “That it does.” She turned and hugged him again, but he was reaching behind her.
“Here. These go with it.”
Startled, she drew back to find him offering her a second, smaller box. Her eyes went from the box to him, then back. Unable to resist, she opened it quickly. Inside were a pair of earrings, wide gold crescents with, again, a diamond embedded in each tip. Her eyes were as glittery as the diamonds when she looked up at him.
“I feel like it’s Christmas, but Santa never brought gifts like these!”
He was removing the earrings and carefully clipping them to her ears. When he was done, he cupped her neck with both hands, tipped her chin up and smiled. “They look marvelous.” Then he turned her so she could inspect herself in the mirror.
The earrings were just visible through her hair, their diamonds casting an almost mysterious glint. They went perfectly with the necklace, and both went perfectly with the dress. She felt more special than ever. Putting one hand to the necklace, another to an earring, she looked at Sam in the mirror.
“I don’t know what to say!” she whispered.
“Don’t say a thing until you see the last.”
“The last?”
“Mmm.” For a third time he reached into the drawer. This time the box he withdrew was even smaller, suspiciously so. She hesitated, her pulse racing. “Go on,” he urged her. “Open it.”
Very slowly she slid the band off the box and lifted its lid. Very slowly she removed the velvet box inside and, hands trembling, opened it. This time the glitter of the diamond she saw was made all the more so by the tears welling spontaneously in her eyes.
“Oh, Sam,” she whispered.
He took the ring from the box and slid it onto the third finger of her left hand. “I want you to wear it, Chelsea,” he said hoarsely. “I want the world to know that we will be married one day soon.” He brought her beringed finger to his mouth and kissed it. “I love you. God, I love you so much!” Taking her in his arms, he crushed her close.
“I love you too, Sam,” she managed, though her throat was tight with emotion. “And the ring is exquisite! Thank you!”
He kissed her once, then a second time. Then, framing her face with his hands, he held her back. “I bought it last week, but I wanted to wait for the right time to give it to you. This seemed like that time, but I want you to know that I’m not doing it for my mother’s sake. I’m doing it for mine, for ours.”
“I know,” she whispered, filled with such unbelievable happiness that she felt near to bursting. Sam London was more handsome, more wonderful, more loving than any man she might have conjured in her fantasies. That he was real, that he was hers was incredible!
He cleared his throat. “If you keep looking at me that way, we may just keep mother waiting an hour.”
She sobered instantly. “Oh, no. We can’t do that.” She grabbed his wrist and peered at his watch. “Seven-fifteen? The reservations are for seven-thirty!”
He chuckled at her alarm. “Locke-Ober’s is all of three minutes by car. If we weren’t so dressed up, we could walk it in ten, but then we’d be sticky and sweaty and how can I do that to you when you look fresh and absolutely gorgeous?”
“You’re good for my ego, Sam.”
“And you mine, sweetheart … . All set?”
Chelsea took a last look at herself in the mirror, picked up her small purse and linked her fingers with Sam’s when he held out his hand.
It was her right hand he held, which was good. She wanted her left hand free so that she could look at her engagement ring. It gave her courage, and she needed that. As wonderfully as the evening had begun, she was not looking forward to the second act.
CHELSEA AND SAM had been seated at their table for five minutes before Beatrice London appeared in the wake of the maitre d’. She walked slowly, with a certain regality, but it suddenly struck Chelsea that her pace might well be due to her age. Though she remained the image of fine breeding, old wealth and corporate superstardom, she seemed, strangely, less intimidating to Chelsea.
“You okay?” Sam murmured.
She nodded, her eyes following Beatrice London’s approach. “I’m okay.”
He grinned and squeezed her hand, releasing it only when he stood to greet his mother. He kissed the older woman’s cheek, then turned to the table.
“Mother, you remember Chelsea.”
Mrs. London nodded. “How are you, Miss Ross?”
Chelsea smiled as warmly as she could. She saw no sign of antagonism on Beatrice’s face, which was encouraging. “Chelsea, please. And I’m fine, thank you.”
Sam seated his mother, then returned to his own chair. It was a table for four. The two women sat opposite each other, with Sam in the middle. He promptly waved over the wine steward and ordered champagne.
“A celebration is in order,” he explained when the man had left to fetch their bubbly. “Chelsea and I are engaged. We wanted you to be the first to know.”
Chelsea wasn’t sure who gasped first, Mrs. London or herself. She’d known the woman would eventually see her ring, though her left hand was clenched in her lap. But she’d never dreamed Sam would take the bull by the horns and spring the news so bluntly.
“Engaged?” Mrs. London looked from Sam to Chelsea, then back. If her composure had been momentarily shaken, she quickly regained it. “Isn’t this sudden?”
Sam was beaming. He took Chelsea’s right hand and brought it to his thigh. “We’ve known each other for over two months now. Since I’ve been back I’ve had a lot of convincing to do, but she’s finally agreed.” He looked at Chelsea with such glee that she couldn’t help but blush and smile.
“Then congratulations—to you both,” Mrs. London offered gently. She didn’t smile, but her graciousness was commendable, and Chelsea found herself admiring it.
“And there’s news about work, too,” Sam went on. He launched into great detail about the changes he’d made at London and McGee, pausing only when the champagne arrived to propose a toast. “To Chelsea,” he began, love and pride shining in his eyes, “who’s taught me so much about myself and has brought me happiness and contentment.” He sipped from his glass, then winked at her over its rim.
She smiled and shook her head. He was naughty. Positively naughty!
If Beatrice London thought so, she didn’t say. And rather than choke on her champagne, which Chelsea knew she had every right to do, she remained eminently poised.
When Sam resumed the discussion of his work, Beatrice seemed genuinely interested. When he politely inquired about the latest happenings at the London Corporation, she went on at length about an entertainment complex the Corporation was taking over in Atlanta.
Food came and went. Chelsea ate and listened quietly to the conversation, asking questions from time to time with the confidence that had come from hours and hours of talking with Sam about his projects.
At one point Mrs. London quite civilly asked how her own work was going. Chelsea answered quickly, feeling self-conscious until Sam prodded her into greater detail. He’d always respected her work, and she loved him for that too. Though she was aware that his mother gave little more than gratuitous nods as she spoke, she appreciated how much even those small gestures must have cost the woman. Perhaps Sam had been right. Perhaps it had been wise to meet at this time. Warmth, even excitement at their engagement was too much to expect. Chelsea was satisfied to settle for simple tolerance.
Then Sam deserted her. They were waiting for the arrival of their desserts when he broke off from the conversation. “I believe that’s Malcolm Whane si
tting over in the corner. I really should say hello.” He put his napkin on the table and rose. “If you ladies will excuse me for a minute …” And he was gone.
Nervously Chelsea followed his retreating form. She swallowed once, then dropped her gaze to the linen tablecloth.
“He did that on purpose, you know,” Beatrice London observed. “He wanted to give the two of us a chance to talk alone.”
Chelsea darted her a timid glance. “I think you’re right.”
“About this, yes. Not necessarily about everything, though.”
Slowly, uncertainly, Chelsea again met her gaze.
“I have to be honest with you, Chelsea. I would have picked a very different sort of woman to be my son’s wife. I won’t apologize for anything that happened between us in the past. I meant everything I said.”
Chelsea’s expression grew pained. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said softly. “The last thing I want is for Sam to be hurt. You two may have had your differences, but you’re his mother and he does love you.”
“But he loves you too, doesn’t he?”
“I—yes.”
“And you very obviously love him. That was the one thing that stood out most clearly in my mind after our last meeting. The things you said to me right before you left—telling me what kind of a man Samuel was—they were very beautiful. As a mother, I wasn’t immune to your compliments.”
“I hadn’t intended them as compliments, Mrs. London. In my mind I was stating facts. Given the chance, I’d state them all over again, and even add a few.”
“I’m sure you would. Tell me. Your schooling. Are you starting this fall?”
Chelsea tipped her chin up. “No. I don’t have the money saved yet.”
“Surely Samuel has offered to put up your tuition.”
“He has, but I refused. Regardless of what you believe, I’m not marrying him for anything monetary he might offer me. That’s one of the reasons I held off his proposal of marriage for so long.”
“But you gave in.”
Chelsea shrugged, then smiled shyly. “I do love him. I want to be with him. I need him, and I think he needs me.” Her tone slowly gained confidence. “I may not have the breeding of the woman you would have chosen for him. I may not have the money or the class or the social experience. But I think I can make Sam happy, and in the end, that’s all that counts, isn’t it?”
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