Was he just not seeing everything he should? His mother had said that Grace lit up when she was with him. Mica had noticed that in The Louise House earlier, but that was just how Grace always was, wasn’t it? He hadn’t noticed any change.
Grace’s life in Paris had to be enormously fulfilling with enough challenges to test her talent and skills. Her teammates obviously respected her. And it wouldn’t take much for that Rene guy to stake his claim.
So, why exactly did Grace need to come across the ocean? Was it simply guilt that she hadn’t told Mica about Jules?
Or was it something else?
Was Grace in love with him? Did her feelings go deeper than what they’d shared over a year ago? And if she was in love with him, why hadn’t she said so?
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “Here you go,” Sam said, coming in. He held out a stack of sheets, soft baby towels, baby blankets and washcloths.
“Thanks, Sam,” Mica said.
“Your mother is making pasta and salad. It should be ready in ten minutes. I’m broiling garlic and parmesan bread for us. See you in a few.”
“Great.” Mica smiled wanly, his head still swirling with unanswered questions.
Mica made up the crib and smoothed out a velvety soft baby blanket. He took the towels to the bathroom and placed them on the counter.
The rooms were warming up nicely, but he still felt the strange hollowness that overtook him sometimes, like when he was tilling the soil on his tractor on one of the tracks far from the villa. There, he would sit, with nothing but sky and bare earth for as far as he could see. At those times he would think about the choice he’d made to come back to the farm and work alongside his father and brother.
He hadn’t leaped headlong into engineering the way Grace had jumped into fashion design. He’d puttered and sputtered and tinkered, but he hadn’t plunged.
Choices. Grace’s greatest gift to Jules would be a closetful of choices. She would be not only a good mother, but also an excellent mentor.
The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if there was anything he could offer his son that Grace could not. Other than a name.
And what did that name stand for? Passion. His father had enough passion for forty men. Nothing but death had stopped him from building his dream.
Angelo had wanted to get off the streets in Sicily. He had wanted a better life and he’d wanted Gina. But he hadn’t known how to love his wife or his sons.
Mica could see that now.
He’d never had much of a bond with his father. And if he was brutally honest with himself, he wasn’t that close with his brothers.
“Which is all my fault.”
Mica had used isolation to protect himself from being hurt emotionally.
Grace had chipped away at his carefully constructed defense mechanisms. She’d forced him to think about other people. Other places. Other ways to live.
She’d been the earthquake he’d needed.
She’d shown him the importance of passion.
He ran his hand down his numb arm. His disability hadn’t held him back, he saw now. He’d used it as an excuse to drop off the grid, stop challenging himself.
It was amazing to him that he’d cobbled together his invention at all. If he’d had Grace’s passion he would have finished it and sent it off a year ago.
He credited her with the way he’d confidently emailed his prototype design to Peerless. She’d forced him to look more closely at himself. What he admired most was that she didn’t treat him any differently than she did anyone else—unless Gina was right about her lighting up when he was around. Grace didn’t expect any less of him just because he couldn’t use one arm. In fact, he thought she was pushy at times. But maybe he needed that.
“I need it a lot,” he grumbled.
He reached in his back pocket and took out his iPhone.
Courage might have been a stranger to Mica over the past year, but if he didn’t go looking, he’d never find it again.
He pulled up Grace’s number and sent her a text.
I miss you.
* * *
GRACE MUNCHED ON a protein bar and sipped hot chamomile tea as Etienne, Rene and Jasminda filled her in on the latest Fashion Week plans via Skype.
This conversation was less design-oriented and more focused on business. Rene had taken the helm and was steering their nervous crew through choppy waters.
“Grace, what are the chances of you coming back early. Say, tomorrow?”
Grace choked on her cinnamon-flavored oats. She reached for the tea and took a gulp. “Tomorrow? I can’t fly tomorrow. I’ll be home in a few days. Isn’t that soon enough?”
“In a word, non.” Rene grimaced. “I’ve been in meetings at The Eloise House of Fashion all day.”
“Eloise? They’re talking to you?” She lowered her cup and leaned into the screen. Eloise was a young house, but lately it had been making waves in the fashion world. Big waves.
“To us, Grace. They want to talk to you.”
“What? How do they know about me?”
“I sent over three of your spring ensembles when I heard they were hunting for new designers. They called and asked for more. I rushed over with some of the new pieces you sketched the other day. Jasminda threw them together practically overnight.”
Grace dropped the protein bar. “This isn’t happening.”
“It is. They want to see you in their offices the day after tomorrow.”
Her breath caught in her throat—Grace was speechless. “Can we stall?”
Rene rolled his eyes. “Stall? This is our first break. Granted, it’s not as big as being courted by a big house, but it’s a step. An important one, Grace.”
“Rene. I can’t...”
“The directrice wants to see you before Fashion Week. I think they’ll buy for this year’s show. That’s why the tight window. I don’t want to pass this up.”
Jasminda was nearly vibrating with excitement. “You have to come back, Grace. This is for all of us.”
“I know. I know,” she replied, dropping her forehead to her palm. “I have to think. First, I’ll find out if I can get a flight out. Do they know I’m overseas?”
“Yes,” Rene answered. “I wish I’d lied.”
“Why?”
“Because Eloise’s assistant made a smarmy remark that you’re not taking Fashion Week seriously.”
Grace clenched her teeth. “Oh. That’s not good.”
“I told her it was a family matter. Life-and-death stuff.”
“And that’s not lying.”
Rene grinned. “Technically, Jules is life. So...”
Grace had to laugh. “Okay. I get it. Thank you for that. It buys me a bit of time. I guess cutting my time here short by a few days isn’t going to make that much difference.”
Etienne slapped the table, making the screen shake. “C’est magnifique! I knew you’d come through, Grace. If they would take on your new designs for this show, especially your evening wear, we’d make a significant presence.”
“Etienne,” she interrupted. “Slow down. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ve done well selling bits and pieces to all the houses.”
“But Grace, a steady position at Eloise—” Jasminda said.
“That’s right, Grace. You’re the one who first told us Eloise was the new star in couture. Sure, they’re new, but also fresh,” Etienne said. “If I were you, I’d be on a plane tonight!”
Grace spread her palms and held them up. Since the night of the power outage, she’d had felt Mica warming to her. She was afraid to hope that he would come to love her, but something was happening. Something wonderful. If she left now, those sprouts of affection blooming between them would freeze.
; But this was her career. It was her creation and the life she’d built. And her team depended on her. “I surrender. Okay? I’m in. I’ll wrap things up here as best I can.”
“Grace...” Rene leaned into the screen as Etienne and Jasminda did a happy dance in the background. “I know all this is tough on you, but everything I’ve said—remember that you said it first. You’ve got one of the best heads for business I’ve ever seen. But this trip was about your heart, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Her excitement drained away and disappointment and sadness took its place.
“And it wasn’t what you thought?”
“No. Not really.”
“Then come home. Come back here to the people who love you,” he said. “We’re going to be great, Grace. Your vision has always been marvelous.”
“Thank you, Rene. Ciao.”
“Bonne nuit.”
The screen went black.
How odd, she thought. She’d dreamed of a coup like this since she was in design school and she’d worked hard to achieve it. Yet she didn’t feel like celebrating.
Instead, she felt numb. Maybe it was shock. Or disbelief. She was finally on her way to rubbing shoulders with today’s great designers.
“And how wonderful that would be,” she said aloud, hearing a hint of delight in her voice. It still wasn’t the joy she would have expected.
As she searched for flights, she thought about Jules spending the night with Mica.
This was the first night she’d ever spent away from her baby. Though the Skype conference had been a distraction, she’d felt adrift without Jules to care for. She’d skipped dinner except for the protein bar and tea. No appetite.
Earlier she’d wandered down to visit with Mrs. Beabots but found she wasn’t home. When she’d gone back upstairs and glanced out the window, she’d seen Sarah and Luke, Timmy, Annie and Mrs. Beabots all bowing their heads in prayer before eating their dinner.
Grace felt a sense of loss for her and for Jules. Her world in Paris was frenetic, exciting, artistic and creative.
The world Mica offered was stable and defined by tradition and family.
Strangely, though Mica had been pressuring her to stay here and raise Jules in Indian Lake, he didn’t seem happy.
Granted, the accident had something to do with that, but she guessed it wasn’t all of it. He had a huge family, rich with traditions, more friends than he could count, and yet...he wasn’t happy.
She pulled up the flights to Paris and sat back.
But he is happy with Jules...
Chills raced across her entire body, making her scalp tingle and raising the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. “Are you happy around me, Mica?”
Was it possible that she’d finally broken through his shell and pried open the vault around his heart? Was that what she’d actually hoped to accomplish on this trip?
Rene had seen right through her. Supposedly, this trip was about schedules and getting help with Jules. But it was actually about emotion.
True, she’d needed to tell Mica the truth. Living with gnawing guilt had started to affect her work.
There were lots of practical reasons for this trip, but underlying them all was her desire to find out once and for all if Mica had any feelings for her.
Well, you have the answer to that question, don’t you, Grace?
She tapped in the confirmation number of her Paris flight and hit a button to reschedule.
This meeting at Eloise was crucial for her team.
Grace finished the transaction and turned off the computer.
She picked up her phone and realized the battery had gone completely dead. She plugged it into the wall and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
She washed her face and then smeared it with night cream. With her toothbrush stuck in her mouth, she went to the bedroom to check on Jules.
She was halfway there when she remembered that Jules was at Mica’s. She stood stock-still in the empty apartment.
“I can’t do this.”
She went back to the bathroom and rinsed out her mouth. She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
How could she have thought she could leave Jules half a world away? He’d only been gone a couple hours and she missed him so much she ached.
She closed her eyes, placed her hands on the sink and groaned. Then she lifted her head. “How are you going to explain this to Mica?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ALL NIGHT, GRACE TOSSED, turned, paced and finally sat at the table fiddling with her drawings. No ideas came to her. All she could think of was how much she missed Jules.
From the day Jules was born, they’d been inseparable. Her arms had grown accustomed to his weight. Her heart needed his nearness and her head would not quiet down from worry until she clutched him close.
What if Jules had slipped in the tub, gulped too much water and Mica couldn’t pick him up fast enough? What if Jules choked on his food? He’d been doing that with his zwieback toast, but he loved it so much, she indulged him. Jules was crawling everywhere now. What if Mica didn’t watch him close enough and he hurt himself? What if he rolled off the bed? What if he suddenly came down with a fever again?
Grace forced herself to wait until six before dressing and heading out the door to drive Aunt Louise’s car to Mica’s farm. The cold wind bit through her thin wool coat with a vengeance.
What if the Barzonnis had encountered another power outage? There was no telling what these high winds could do across those open fields.
She started the engine, and while it warmed a bit, she texted Mica that she was on her way.
She didn’t expect an answer. Surely Mica was sound asleep.
She backed out into the dark street, thankful for the streetlamp so close to the driveway.
Just as she reached the end of Maple Boulevard, her phone pinged.
“Mica?”
At the stop sign she glanced at his text.
Jules will be glad to see you.
“What does that mean?”
Now she was really worried. She wanted to text him back, but two cars pulled up behind her.
“Seriously? It’s six in the morning!” She went through the stop sign and turned south. Both cars turned north toward town.
The highway had been plowed and was bone-dry. It was as if the blizzard had never happened. Yet it was a night she would remember forever. Mica had been her hero, taking care of her, Jules and Mrs. Beabots. He’d had all the answers and hadn’t flinched at the situation. Mica had been brought up on a farm and he’d obviously absorbed skills and knowledge she’d never had the opportunity to see him put into action.
Her cell pinged again.
On this part of the two-lane, divided highway, she was the only car. She glanced at the message.
I miss you.
“What?”
It was the first time Mica had ever voiced any feeling for her. As intimate as they’d been, she’d always felt that she didn’t hold his heart. Not even a fraction of it.
“Last year, I would have been satisfied with a crumb. I would have tried to build on that. But now? With Jules—?” It’s all or nothing. She loved Mica. She wanted him. She always had.
She turned into the farm gates and drove up the drive.
“Hi, Grace!” Mica called from the top of the stairs to his apartment as she got out of the car. “We’re up here.”
He looked handsome, freshly showered and shaved, his dark hair still a bit wet. His blue eyes gleamed at her. After climbing the stairs, she came to stand by him and he kissed her cheek.
“Good morning,” he said brightly and then kissed her other cheek.
This time he nuzzled her neck briefly, but it was enough to set her heart pounding and
send a rash of chills straight down her back and up to the top of her scalp.
She was ash. Cooked on the spot.
She closed her eyes as a flash of romantic possibilities crossed her mind. Mica in Paris. The three of them in Venice. Mica holding Jules as she roamed the silk factories in Lyon.
“You okay?”
“Huh?”
“You’re holding your breath.”
She exhaled. “I was.”
His smile was happy and just a bit impish. “That’s a good sign.” He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face closer to him.
“A sign?”
“That you won’t mind a good-morning kiss,” he said.
Before Grace could protest, not that she wanted to or thought she should, he kissed her. It was the Mica kind of kiss that had brought her to her knees one too many times. But there was something vastly different. His lips were soft and caressed her with a need to linger, as if he didn’t want the kiss to end.
She couldn’t help melting into him and filling her head with the scent of his lemon shampoo. She kissed him back like he was the only man in the world for her.
He held her with so much strength, she would have sworn he was using two arms, not one.
She didn’t want this kiss to end. But she forced herself to pull away. “We should check on Jules.”
“Yes,” Mica said. He stepped inside. “I couldn’t wait for you to get here. Jules is walking!”
“What?” Grace forgot the kiss. “That’s impossible.”
“No, really. He did. We’re going to show you.” Mica stepped around her and went to Jules, who was on two feet, gripping the mesh walls of his playpen. He was dressed in a sweater she’d designed, red with a black collar, black corduroy pants and little black-and-white oxford baby shoes she’d found at an infant designer’s show on the Left Bank in Paris. She was impressed that Mica had put the outfit together just as she would have, rather than simply throwing something on.
Hmm. That’s a sign, too. Isn’t it?
His Baby Dilemma Page 20
