by ANDREA SMITH
I think it had sealed the deal when he assured them we’d be making our home in the States, having a home in New York and another one in D.C., so that they’d have plenty of interaction with the first of many grandchildren we planned to give them. I’d raised my eyes to look at him, my mouth going slack momentarily at that one. He’d only squeezed me a bit tighter, the corners of his mouth turning up.
I was glad we’d found a new home not far from my parents house once we returned from getting married. It worked out well for Eli, too. Cain had moved into the apartment and those two were as ‘in love’ as Easton and me. My old room was now serving as their “walk-in” closet, Cain being every bit as much of a clothes whore as Eli, possibly worse. They’d hosted a bridal/baby shower for me.
Lindsey had come to terms with the death of her father. Her grandmother was serving time in prison and Lindsey said she hoped the old bitch rotted there until hell wouldn’t have her. (Not sure exactly what that meant, but knowing Lindsey and the way she always tried to see the best in people, I’d say she parted with some of that naivety that didn’t seem to work in her best interest at times.)
Taz, of course, had seen to it that Lindsey wasn’t made aware of the fact it’d been Slate that took the rat bastard down. My money said Sammie had likely fucked Slate raw all night long after she found out, though.
Lindsey felt so damn guilty and repentant that she’d involved me in the drama. I had to keep reminding her that it was at my insistence I’d gone with her that day, and the fact that Easton was so freakin’ possessive and had that clit jewelry imbedded with tracking software, just may have saved both of our lives. Hey, it was her dad’s choice to run with her as a human shield, rather than give his sorry ass up.
Taz and Lindsey were expecting a baby boy in mid-May. I figured Taz had gone out of his way comforting her after the scene that night in the park, giving her another baby in the process. She was so happy, especially since they had a home under construction that would be ready in mid-April.
She and I’d decorated the nursery for my baby in primary colors that were gender neutral. Easton had insisted we be surprised and not know the baby’s gender until it was born. I had really wanted to know the sex of the baby beforehand, because I was dying to shop for baby couture, but I’d finally relented and agreed on one condition: if the baby turned out to be a boy, I selected the name, if the baby turned out to be a girl, he selected the name. He agreed, on the condition the baby not be a ‘junior’ anything.
Problem solved…almost. Once Easton had shared his girl name choice for me I was tempted to devise a sure-fire scheme that would allow me to successfully pull off a baby-swap at the hospital, if necessary.
So, are you ready for this?
Easton’s girl-name selection: ‘Prudence Stormy Matthews.’
I know, right?
He seemed to think it reflected her conception beautifully: It was a stormy night and he’d used good judgment (prudence) in comforting me with his body.
I’d refused to divulge my name selection until ‘Junior’ made his screaming debut. I was all about making sure that a baby’s name matched their looks, and I was hoping like hell it was a ‘Junior’ and not a ‘Juniorette’ because I was so regretting the deal I’d forced on him.
Just then, the proud daddy came into my hospital room, cradling our son against his chest, cooing softly to him, as the baby’s finger was curled around Easton’s thumb. The nurse had fluffed my pillows, checked my temperature and pulse, and was on her way out. She stopped to gaze at the baby, giving him a smile and murmuring how much he favored his daddy.
Yeah—okay, thank you very much, but I can actually see some of me in his cute little face.
“Easton,” I said, holding my arms out. “Do you think you might allow me to hold our baby at least once?”
His smile lit the room as he came close, carefully transferring the baby into my waiting arms. I loved both of them so much.
“Make sure you support his head, sweetheart,” he cautioned me and then, quickly catching my eye roll, continued. “Hey you, I’m sorry, about disappearing like that,” he said, taking his place on the edge of my bed. “I didn’t want to miss the class. The nanny teaching it was brilliant. I even changed his nappy.” He beamed proudly.
Probably a first for him—and likely the last…
“It was even a bit of a pooey one,” he bragged. “So, on those, you’ll need to be extra vigilant with boys,” he explained. “Make sure you put something over his Willy whilst you’re cleaning his bum, Darcy, otherwise, you’re likely to get whizzed on.” He was beaming like a fool who had single-handedly discovered fatherhood.
Who’d a thunk?
If I hadn’t realized it before, I did at that moment. Easton truly had shed the demons of his past: his mother, Bianca, Miss Gennifer (the fucked-up, perverted bitch!). We’d discussed his overly-possessive tendencies, and I’d explained to him that, while I loved gifts of jewelry, I’d prefer from here on out they not contain track-ware. Easton had finally learned to trust women. I’d finally learned to trust love.
I looked over at my husband, who was clearly mesmerized by the little baby sounds and movements coming from the newest member of our family.
“Thank you for the diaper-changing tips, Easton,” I replied, smiling down into my beautiful little cherub’s face. He had a mass of nearly raven-black hair and dark, smoky blue eyes. “Tell me, Easton? Did they show you how to feed him?” I teased.
He cocked his brow, gazing at me, as I unhooked my nursing bra and got the baby situated to latch on. He nuzzled into me, his little head rooting and bobbing until I helped guide him on to a successful latch. I gave Easton a smug smile as I one-upped him.
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of the attention I’m giving our son?” Easton asked, leaning forward to brush his lips against my cheek, his fingers, pulling an errant strand of hair behind my ear, and then kissing me softly there. “I love you, Darcy,” he said gently. “And I adore the son you’ve given me. Well done, sweetheart.”
I traced my finger softly against the baby’s finely arched eyebrow. It was just like Easton’s. I was glad. I looked up at my gorgeous husband as he watched me, fascinated by the closeness and the cute little, sucking noises our baby was making as he nursed.
“Maybe you’re the jealous one, Easton,” I teased him softly. “Someone else seems to be enjoying one of your favorite places.”
I saw Easton furrow his brow and I couldn’t stifle a giggle. “Yes, well the doctor said six weeks, but I assured him you’re a quick healer, Mrs. Matthews.”
“I love you, too, Easton.” I sighed. “I adore our baby and the life we have together. And, Mr. Matthews, you deserve some credit here, too. I mean, I couldn’t have done it without you, right?”
He nodded. I could tell he was getting kind of choked up with us being a little family now and our baby making that part of it official. Easton took my free hand in his, raising it to his full lips, kissing each one of my fingers softly. I hadn’t seen him quite so emotional since our wedding night.
We’d taken a walk on the beach after the ceremony, talking and making plans about where we’d look for our new home. Easton had stopped suddenly, a look of determination on his face as he pulled something from the pocket of his trousers. It was a ruby-encrusted, gold-filigreed ring. He looked at it for only a few seconds and then hurled it into the waves of the ocean. I’d asked him about it, curious as to what the ring had meant. He told me it had meant nothing, that everything that meant anything to him was within inches of his reach.
“So, Mrs. Matthews,” he said now, his eyes smoldering as he looked into mine. “Do you plan on keeping me in the dark forever as to what name we’re giving this little chap?”
I shifted the baby a bit, looking at his face to make sure the name I’d selected fit. That had been important to me. I decided it fit perfectly. I only hoped Easton liked it.
“Weston Jamison M
atthews,” I announced proudly, watching Easton’s expression for a reaction. “I think it signifies ‘east meeting west’ and making it work out,” I explained. “Do you like it?” I asked tentatively.
He leaned in, capturing my lips with his. “I love it, baby,” he said, between his soft kisses. “It’s perfect. And we can save the name ‘Prudence’ for one of our daughters.”
I kissed him back, making sure he could feel the smile passing from my lips to his.
“I think I’m going to want more sons, Easy-E.”
Bonus Chapter
Darcy
The wind is blowing loudly against the leaded glass windows of our home in the posh Georgetown area of D.C. It is too much house for the three of us, but it is what Easton had wanted and he assured me that it would be well-staffed when I’d questioned him as to who was responsible for cleaning the huge three story home.
It’s unseasonably frigid in this area of the country, even for mid-February. Snowflakes swirl in the night air, as I look out of the second story window of our bedroom and see that the snow is actually starting to blanket over the winter brown grass out front.
Westin is a month old and already tucked in for the night. He is a perfect baby, just as I knew he would be. Easton is away, traveling on business again, and is due back tomorrow. I hate it when he’s away on business, even though he has cut back considerably in that respect since we’ve been married.
Not only that, but he has turned out to be a model husband and a doting father. He certainly does his share of caring for Westin as well. He changes diapers, feeds and bathes him and even rocks him to sleep if he’s fussy.
I sigh and turn away from the window, deciding to grab my e-reader and pull up a good book when the house phone rings.
I grab the extension next to the bed. “Hello?”
“Yes, may I speak with Easton Matthews please?” an unfamiliar female voice asks.
“He’s not in at the moment, may I take a message?”
“Are you his housekeeper?”
I feel my blood pressure on the rise. “I’m his wife,” I reply, trying to maintain a pleasant tone.
“His wife?”
Click.
The hell?
Now you have to understand that Darcy Nicole Matthews isn’t one to be easily intimidated by anyone. But given that some unknown female with a sensual voice just happened to call my home after nine o’clock at night, asking for my husband, and having no clue that he’s out of town—or married for that matter, just didn’t set well with me.
I immediately pick up my cell and call Easton.
“Hello love,” he answers, sounding genuinely pleased to hear from me. “How’s my girl?”
“Who’s the whore that’s calling here for you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Some…female just called here on the house phone asking for you. She asked me if I was your housekeeper for Chrissake. What the hell is going on?”
“Darcy, calm down, love. I haven’t a clue who it might’ve been. Did you check the caller I.D.?”
I pick up the cordless and look at the screen. “It says “Unavailable,” Easton, as in that damn well better be how you’ve been presenting yourself to your female business associates.”
I hear him chuckle from the other end. He’s enjoying this unusual flare-up of jealousy. It’s generally the other way around with us. “No worries, love. It likely was some sort of a telemarketing call. I wouldn’t worry yourself with it. I’ll be home tomorrow night, and prove to you just how much I’ve been abstaining. Don’t you know you’ve spoiled me for anyone else?”
This isn’t really what I need to hear. It wasn’t a telemarketer, I know how those calls start out and this was not that. I think Easton is making too light of it.
“Easton,” I say with a sigh, “Just please tell me that no one from your…sordid past is trying to weasel back into your life—no, into our lives?”
“I think dear wife, that for whatever reason, you’re over reacting to some benign sales call of some sort. I assure you, love, no one from my past—sordid or not—is trying to mess with you, okay?”
“Okay,” I reply, still not feeling totally convinced. “I love you. See you tomorrow.”
“I love you, too. Kiss Westin for me.”
I forget about that phone call the minute Easton comes through the door the following evening, just as I’ve finished making dinner. He’s always super attentive after returning from a trip, and true to form, he shows me just how much he’s missed me at the earliest opportunity.
TRANSLATION: Westin’s nap time.
Afterwards, we lay together, a thin film of perspiration coating our bare skin. Easton traces the circumference of a nipple, as he gazes down at me lovingly. “Convinced of my devotion to you, love?”
I smile up at him. “Sometimes I get these thoughts that things are going too well, you know? That I’m too content, or too happy and it’s time for something to go wrong, or for someone to step all over our happiness.”
His brow knits in confusion. “Where is that coming from?”
I shrug. “Past history maybe?”
Just then, Rita our housekeeper taps on the door of the master suite. “Mr. Matthews, I’m sorry to disturb you, but a courier letter has arrived that requires your signature.”
“It’s seven-thirty at night,” I say, clearly hoping this isn’t the dreaded crumbling of our happiness I voiced just minutes ago to my husband.
“It’s probably something from one of the businesses,” he remarks, as he launches himself from our bed, pulling up his discarded boxers. “I’ll be down straight away, Rita.”
“I’m going to hit the shower before Westin’s next feeding. See you in a bit.”
As the warm water washes over me, and I lather my body with scented soap, my imagination is now seriously working overtime. Every worst case scenario is playing over and over in my mind, until I’ve had enough and rinse myself off, deciding I will find out exactly why that phone call and now this registered letter has taken control of my mood.
This is simply not like me.
At all.
But instinctively I’m feeling out of sorts.
And that is real.
I’m dry, dressed in my night gown and robe as I go downstairs in search of Easton. He’s in his den; and he’s on the phone.
He looks up as I come through the doorway, and signals me to come into the room.
“Thank you, Alyce,” he says into the phone. “Yes and please make sure that you put on the card, “With sincere condolences, Mr. and Mrs. Easton Matthews. That’s right. Smashing. Good evening to you as well.”
Oh God.
“Bad news?” I ask, looking over at him trying to see what type of mood he’s in, but I see nothing but his usual businesslike demeanor.
“Not really,” he replies, “Not for me anyway.” He hands me the contents of the registered letter envelope in front of him. “Go ahead. It explains that call you received last night.”
I glance at the typed letter enclosed. The top of the stationery reads: From the desk of Karina Templeton. I don’t read further.
“Who’s Karina Templeton?” I ask, knowing that somehow she’s related to Bianca Templeton, Easton’s former fiancée.
“She’s Bianca’s younger sister.”
Do I even want to know what’s in the letter?
“Just tell me, Easton. What does she want?”
“She wanted to let me know that Bianca and her partner and love interest, Christopher Rolando, were killed in an automobile accident early yesterday on the Autobahn near Cologne. I suppose she wanted to let me know as a courtesy since we were involved at one time.”
“And so she was the one that called last night?”
“She was. I asked her if she had called and she said that she had. She apologized for hanging up. She said that she was simply stunned. Apparently, she runs into my mother fro
m time to time at various charity fundraisers or social events in Europe. Mother always makes it a point of letting her know how much I continue to carry a torch for Bianca, and of course, how much she hopes a reconciliation is on the horizon for us someday.”
“What the hell?”
“Relax, love. It’s just my mother’s way of fucking with me since I’ve banished her from my life. I did feel it appropriate to have my assistant order flowers for the funeral—from the both of us.”
I look up at him. “No, that’s perfectly fine, Easton. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Darcy. Bianca stopped being a part of my life a long time ago, you know that.”
“But,” I continue, “Are you okay with this continued estrangement from your own mother? I mean, we have her grandchild. Don’t you think it might be nice if she gets to know him and vice versa?”
“No fucking way,” he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. He turns off his desk light and stands up, taking my hand as he leads me out of the study. “Come, let’s go and see about Westin.”
And though I know the subject of his mother is closed, for now, I also know that it isn’t one that will be dropped permanently. I am persistent, but I’m also patient when necessary. I will meet Easton’s mother some day, and of that, I’m sure.
prologue
~ Darcy ~
I probably need to start where we last left off. Let’s see, Lindsey and I had survived being abducted and held captive by her sociopathic father—and grandmother, Louise, in a deserted warehouse in New York City. Luckily, my on-again, off-again boyfriend, lover, whatever, Easton Matthews had a definite propensity for stalking. He had gifted me some clit jewelry. It just so happened that the clit stud contained a state-of-the-art chip of Night Moves® Track-ware. Pretty cutting-edge stuff, which in the end, just may have saved our lives.
