“Order…order in the court.” The judge called out as he thumped his gavel against the bench. “Sir, you are interrupting a court proceeding.” The judge pointed his gavel at the stranger.
Another guy came rushing into the courtroom following the first one. He wore the same headgear as the first guy with an equally expensive suit.
“Your Honor, please excuse the interruptions. I am Rashid Amin, counsel for Sheikh Khalifa bin Rashid al Qasimi who has an interest in these proceeding.” The second guy announced to the judge.
“You’re just going to have to sit down and shut up until I am ready to hear anything more.” The judge ordered in a strong voice belying his appearance of age.
The lawyer ushered the Sheik into a seat behind Olga where he glared at the back of her head.
The judge continued to open the envelope. The courtroom was quiet again as he read the results of the DNA test. “Mr. Roman Fitzgerald Hemingway the Third, according to this DNA test there is zero percentage of a chance of you being the father of the minor child Moira Michelle Lorenson. The court thanks you for your cooperation. These proceedings are now closed.” The judge banged his gavel.
Hemi hugged Kamiya as they turned towards the drama unfolding across the aisle of the courtroom.
“How dare you deny me a chance of knowing my daughter. She is a princess in my country.” The Sheik demanded of Olga.
“Yeah, she may be a princess, but according to your people her mother is nothing more than a whore,” Olga shouted at him.
“What? Do not speak of yourself in such a way. You are just as important as our daughter.” The heavy accented voice held sincerity.
“If so, then why did your lawyer there offer me money to terminate the pregnancy? Why did you never return any of my calls or answer my emails? Why did I have to go through her birth alone?” Olga turned her back on the Sheik to address Hemi.
“You would have been such a good father to my daughter. I wish you had been the sperm donor instead of him.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the Sheik.
“I will be a good father to our daughter,” the Sheik shouted.
“Fuck off Rashid.” Olga motioned to the nanny, and they stormed out of the courtroom.
Hemi and Kamiya stood there stunned for a few minutes. “I have no idea what just happened?” Kamiya spoke to Hemi as he held her hand.
“I am not the father. The Sheik may be the father, and it is time for us to go home and plan our wedding.”
“I like how you think.” Kamiya skipped happily along Hemi’s side as they left the courtroom. It was a surprise ending to what started as a crappy day. But their love was still intact and stronger than ever.
Epilogue
Hemi looked around at the crowd of people occupying the ballroom of one of the upscale hotels in Colorado Springs. He would have to say the first charity auction of the Global Heart Foundation was as successful as the carnival had been. Each event raised a lot of money for the charity while bringing awareness to the problem of homeless teenagers and the high rate of human trafficking in Colorado Springs.
He watched Kamiya work the crowd as she made her way to his side. He couldn’t believe how close he came to losing her before he was even aware of her. He thought back to how much he had changed over the months, going from playboy to fiancé to husband. He was glad Kamiya hadn’t given up on him.
Hemi planted a kiss on Kamiya’s mouth when she reached his side. She released a soft moan as she returned the kiss. Before he could deepen it the sound of the auctioneer banging his gavel caught his attention. He reluctant broke the kiss between them.
“I thought all of the items had already been auctioned off.” He pulled Kamiya in his arms as he turned towards the podium the auctioneer stood on.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the auctioneer spoke into the microphone, a large grin covering his normally stoic face, “we have one special item left to auction off before we conclude our evening.”
Hemi looked at Kamiya who just shrugged her shoulders. He watched as the auctioneer held up a plain envelope. Whatever was in it must be good otherwise these folks would not pay for a plain old envelope.
“Tonight, we are going to auction off the results of the ultrasound for Mr. and Mrs. Roman Fitzgerald Hemingway the Third. Who wants to know the sex of their baby before they do?” the auctioneer announced to the room at large.
A cheer went up. Hemi felt lightheaded. He must be mistaken at what he just heard. He looked down at Kamiya’s grinning face.
“We are having a baby?”
“Yes, you are going to be a father.” Hemi released a loud whoop and pulled Kamiya into his arms for a deep kiss. He couldn’t quite grasp that they had made a new being out of their love. In the background, he could hear the auctioneer doing his thing. The bidding was going hard and fast, but he was not paying any attention to it.
“Do I have a bid for fifty thousand,” the auctioneer announced.
“Fifty thousand.” Lorraine Hemingway replied. Hemi knew his mother would want to know the sex of her first grandchild.
“Fifty-five thousand,” the call came from Hemi’s father, Deuce.
“I love you,” he whispered to Kamiya. “You are the best thing ever to come back into my life.”
“One hundred thousand,” the call came from Kamiya’s father.
“Two hundred thousand,” the competitive streak in Deuce was showing. There was no way he was going to let anyone know the sex of his grandchild before him. Not even the grandchild’s other set of grandparents.
“I love you,” Kamiya whispered back to him, “You are the best thing ever to stay in my life.” As her lips sought him out, ignoring the bidding war going on behind them. She glowed with love and happiness as her dream finally came true. She was with the love of her life, and they were going to have a child together. She reached up and pulled Hemi’s head down to her. Conveying her love for him with a touch of her lips.
Hemi broke off the kiss to announce loudly. “One million dollars.”
Another loud cheer went up at Hemi’s bid.
“I have a bid of one million dollars, do I hear one million five.” The auctioneer continued to try to drum up more bids, but nobody was willing to bid against the baby’s father. “One million going once. One million going twice. Sold to Mr. Roman Fitzgerald Hemingway the Third. Sorry Mr. Roman Fitzgerald Hemingway the Second, you’re just going to have to find out from your son the sex of your new grandchild.” The auctioneer announced to Hemi’s father.
Hemi walked over to the auctioneer with his arm still around Kamiya’s waist. As soon as he had the envelope in his hands, the crowd started chanting “Open it. Open it Open it.” He looked down at Kamiya’s smiling face.
“Open it,” she chanted with the crowd.
Hemi quickly opened the envelope and pulled out the ultrasound report. He quickly read the report. A huge grin spread across his face. He dropped down to his knees to kiss to Kamiya’s stomach. “Welcome Roman Fitzgerald Hemingway the Fourth.”
About the Author
I live in Fountain, Colorado with my husband and two kids and a whole truckload of family members. I have been writing all my life. I became addicted to romance novels when I was teenager thanks to my matra’s love of reading. I wrote my first romance novel when I was in junior high school. I decided to stop hiding my desire to write and to just go for it.
Thank you for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Stay tuned there is more to come. Sign up for my Newsletter http://mailinglist.donnarmercer.com/hotcoffee for a free Ebook. Follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Please consider leaving a review.
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/MissSassy714
Bookbub: http://www.bookbub.com/profile/donna-r-mercer
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DonnaRMercerAuthor/
Donna R Mercer Website: http://www.donnarmercer.com/
Also Available from Donna R. Mercer
Club Envy Series
Jericho: http://www.donnarmercer.com/jericho
Sebastian: http://www.donnarmercer.com/sebastian
Lathan (forthcoming)
Brandon (forthcoming)
Inappropriate Date Series
Studdin’ Axxel: https://www.donnarmercer.com/studdinaxxel
Catchin’ Wesley: https://www.donnarmercer.com/catchinwesley
Stealin’ Reaver (forthcoming)
Lickin’ Karamel (forthcoming)
Book Bundles/Set
Scorned part of the Without Limits Book Bundle: http://www.donnarmercer.com/scorned
Sparks Fly part of the Moonlight Mist Book Bundle: http://www.donnarmercer.com/sparks-fly
Hollidae’s Gift part of the Heart of a Hunk Book Bundle: http://www.donnarmercer.com/hollidaes-gift
The Great Fruitcake Bake-off
By Vicki Batman
“I’m not entering this year.” I pinned an unbreakable stare on Bethany, my co-worker and long-time friend who lived in the same apartment complex as me. Standing firm, I crossed my arms. “Period.”
We'd arrived early for work and were piddling over coffee in her cubical like we always did before diving into the nuts and bolts of company business. She rolled her eyes in the “I'm so not believing this” fashion and tweaked the Santa garland decorating her cube's walls. “Why not, Samantha? You should be proud to be the five-time winner of The Great Fruitcake Bake-off. You're a-a”--her words trailed off as she searched the ceiling for the ultimate in descriptive--“legend.”
I dropped my arms to twitch my black skirt in place, then I tucked my shoulder-length hair behind my ear. I let loose a long exhale, “Is being a legend in the fruitcake world a good thing?”
“What’s your point?” Bethany asked.
“Alright already, it's exhausting. Finding the perfect recipe, then bake and exhibit it. The tension comes close to killing my holiday enjoyment. Besides”-–I shoved my finger in her direction—-“shouldn't the love be spread? Shouldn’t somebody else win the Bake-off?”
“Oh, by golly, Sam.” Bethany's hands covered her eyes. A few seconds passed, then she clasped them to her chest, inhaled, and composed her annoyance before saying, “We're talking fruitcake here. It's not groundbreaking like-like the Declaration of Independence. Or the Pyramids.”
I set my palm to my breastbone. “I'm shocked, shocked to hear you, my very best confidant since dance school days, belittle fruitcake. It is the cake of all time, dating to—-”
“I know. I know.” Her head slumped to her chest. “To the sixteenth century.”
I raised my finger. “It gets a bad-—”
“Rap.” She sighed, a soul-searching blow of breath which told the world “I've heard this issue” before. “You always say that. You also always say you love participating; yet, you're not defending your title this year. Why?” She bored a laser-like glare into me.
I tossed my hands skywards, sending a plea to the universe to bring forth an answer. None there. “I've used all of Grammie's recipes. I don't know where to find a new one.”
“Couldn’t you start over with the first confection you entered five years ago?”
“I suppose I could.” My finger pulled on my lower lip. “But in a weird way, it seems like cheating. And I don't cheat.”
“You’re a shining example of excellent values.” She plopped in the ergonomic lime green chair and spun about to face her desk. Drumming her fingers from the littlest to the index, she considered. Like a flash of lightening, she brightened. “I've got it! Why not check online and find a recipe? A new creation to bake. There has to be one somewhere.”
“They don't call you brainchild for nothing.” A tiny speck of excitement blossomed within me. I can do this one more time, that is, if I find the perfect recipe. I rubbed a finger along the divot below my lower lip. If.
“If I'm participating, I'll need a brand-new fruitcake. I wouldn't want to be like Crazy Wanda who enters the same freakin' lump of dough every freakin' year.”
“It never hurts to expand your repertoire, even if it's by collecting fruitcake recipes.”
“Then let's get to work.” Propping my hand on the laminated desk surface, I stood by her side and studied the screen over her shoulder while she set her fingers to her keyboard. Bethany started the quest by typing in the search engine Fruitcake Recipes. Pages of options appeared.
“Wow. So far”--she scrolled lower to the page numbers at the bottom of the screen—-“there's more than twenty-six pages worth.”
Surprised, I said, “I had no idea the subject would be this popular. We can’t go through all of them. Let's start at the top.” I skimmed the first recipe. “Nah. Chocolate chips in a fruitcake—-it's sacrilegious.”
“You need to recheck your memory because four years ago, you dipped fruitcake cubes in melted chocolate. A humongous hit. Even though fruitcake is a Christmas tradition, like most Americans, I hate it, but I tasted your entry. Reminded me of...candy.” Noting my frown, she returned to the listing. “Here's another.”
I read the caption. “Apricot Delight. Made it two years before.”
“Okay.” She clicked on the next in queue and squinted. “How about—-”
“Brazil Nut Fruitcake with dates and cherries. Baked it three years prior.”
“Well, rats.” She pushed her lower lip into a semi-frown. “Isn't there something you haven't made?”
I crooked my head and considered. “There is. Lemon butterscotch grapefruit poppy seed--”
“You're making that up.”
My lips twitched. “Yup.”
As she manipulated the mouse to reveal the next recipe, the word orange drew my attention. What can orange be? Tilting closer, I tapped the monitor. “Check out this one.”
She opened the file. “Huh. Orange Slice Fruitcake by someone named Aunt Nellie.”
“Never heard of her.”
“Say...” She reclined in her chair and narrowed her eyes into thin slits. After she rolled back her white shirt cuffs, she swiveled from side to side on the tips of her toes. “I think I've seen an Aunt Nellie on public television. She's a, a whatchamacallit-—a chef, cook, you know, a baker. That’s it, a baker. A famous one.”
“You watched a cooking show? Notify the press.” I giggled. “I'm thinking my sister gave Mom an Aunt Nellie cookbook for Mother's Day.”
“If I remember right, someone in marketing served her ham and pear puff pastry—-”
“Saints alive! You said puff pastry,” I commented.
“Puff”--she scowled--“pastry appetizer at the Thanksgiving potluck. One bite and I died and ascended to heaven.”
I snickered. “How was heaven?”
Bethany clasped her hands in a prayerful gesture. “Heavenly.”
“Ham and pear appetizer sounds beyond delicious. Make it for me.”
“Ah, but you forget. I'm an awful cook.” With a sniff, she took a tissue from a box and pressed it her nose. “Allergic to the kitchen.”
Bethany was not an “awful cook.” More like...lazy. Time after time, I'd heard her refer to her cooking as “food assembling.” Take-out from Super Saver Grocery decorated with sprigs of parsley seemed to be her favorite go-to meal. “Everyone knows you're the worst cook imaginable.”
She sent the balled tissue to the trash. “Gee, thanks.”
“Now, let's see if Aunt Nellie has the recipe listed on her website.”
A couple of subsequent strokes and we found a listing which appeared promising. Bethany tapped the screen. “This one looks like a contender.”
I scanned the contents. “Who would have thought to put candy in a fruitcake? I guess candied orange peel is sorta like candy orange slices.” Straightening, I overlapped my arms. “Print it, will you?”
Bethany clicked a few options, sending the document to the printer. As she reached to snag the page from the tray, she said, “Wonder who else will enter?”
“Crazy Wanda,” we said in unison. “She always does.”
/> I shook my head. “Does she believe lots of almond extract will taste good? She never improves. Every year, it's the same ol', same ol'.”
Bethany passed me the printed-out recipe. “I know. Maybe her approach is to wear down the judges. Some century, they'll feel sorry for her and vote her in.”
I snickered. “More like poison them.”
“Say, what about the new guy?” She shook her finger at me. “You know, the one we met by the pool this past summer? Think he'll enter?”
“The tall blond with the gorgeous green eyes? I have one word for him—-Va Va Va Voom.”
“That's four words, rather, four syllables.”
“You know math isn't my strong suit.”
“Yet, you studied accounting,” she said, sending us into hysterical laughter.
I sobered to correct her. “Not accounting. Finance. There is a difference.”
“He is pretty hunky.”
“Dreamy. Something about the scent of lemon furniture polish reminds me of him.”
“I like guys who smell like citrus. What if I make a play for him?”
From the way she doodled circles on the desk’s tabletop, I knew she was kidding just to see how I'd react. Tweaking my snowflake pin fastened to my collar, I said what she expected me to say, “You can't. You're married to Mr. Wonderful.”
“That I am.” She wobbled her head with her mouth shaping a self-satisfied smug expression. “I'll look, or in this case, smell, but not touch. What about you?”
Walking to the office partition, I trailed a finger along the chrome trimming. Why did Bethany assume I was ready to date the millisecond after a break-up? “Do you recollect two weeks ago?”
“Yes. My sister's birthday was two weeks ago.”
“And besides that?”
“Oh”--her hands waved in a dismissive gesture--“thaatt. Who could forget The Creep? After the big dump, you sobbed and sobbed like a two-year-old.” In an affectionate manner, she patted my arm to convey her support. “Just kidding.”
Whispers of Winter: A Limited Edition Collection of Winter Romances Page 40
