“I know. It has to sit for exactly four minutes after the heat’s turned off.”
“And her tea. It must be…”
“The Twinings English Black. I’ve got it covered. The car’s waiting for you. Go home and get some rest.”
Maria obviously had her doubts but gathered her suitcase-sized purse. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
Gina was up and waiting when her grandmother walked into the kitchen just after eight-thirty the next morning. The duchess was impeccably dressed as always in a calf-length black skirt and lavender silk overblouse. Her hair formed its usual, neat snowy crown atop her head, but Gina saw with a quick dart of concern that she was leaning more heavily than she normally did on her cane.
“Good morning,” she said, masking her worry behind a cheerful smile. “I got a text from Sarah a while ago. She says it’s balmy and beautiful in Majorca.”
“I expect it is. Are you doing breakfast?”
“I am. Sit, and I’ll bring your tea.”
Surprised and just a little wary, the duchess seated herself in the sunny breakfast room off the kitchen. Its ivy-sprigged wallpaper, green seat cushions and windows overlooking Central Park seemed to bring the bright May spring right into the room.
Gina poured hot water over the leaves she’d measured into her grandmother’s favorite Wedgwood teapot and placed the pot on the table. While the Twinings Black steeped, she popped some wheat bread in the toaster and brought a saucepan of water back to a boil before easing two raw eggs out of their shells. The sight of the yolks gave her a moment’s qualm, but it passed. Still no twinge of morning nausea, thank God! With any luck, she’d escape that scourge altogether.
“Here we are.”
She hadn’t kept the yolks from breaking and going all runny, but the duchess thanked her with a smile and buttered her toast. Sensing there was something behind this special effort, she munched delicately on a corner of toast and waited patiently.
Gina pulled in a deep breath and took the plunge. “I was wondering, Grandmama…”
Dang! Admitting she was a screwup and needed to come live with her grandmother until she got her life in order was harder than she’d anticipated.
“I thought perhaps I might stay with you until I get a job. If you don’t mind, that is.”
“Oh, Eugenia!” Charlotte’s reaction came swift and straight from the heart. “Of course I don’t mind, my darling girl. This is your home. You must stay for as long as you wish. You and the baby.”
Gina wasn’t crying. She really wasn’t. The tears just sort of leaked through her smile. “Thanks, Grandmama.”
Her own lips a little wobbly, the duchess reached for her granddaughter’s hand. “I admit I wasn’t looking forward to rattling around this place by myself now that Sarah’s moving out. I’m delighted you want to stay here. Will you need to fly back to L.A. to pack up your things?”
“Dev’s assistant, Patrick, said he would take care of that if I decided to stay in New York.”
“Good!” Charlotte gave her hand a quick squeeze and picked up her fork. “Now, what’s this Sarah told me about you wanting to go into the catering business?”
“Not catering. Event planning. I did a little of it in L.A. Just enough to know I’m better at organizing and throwing parties than…” She managed a watery chuckle. “Than everything else I’ve tried.”
“Well, you certainly did an excellent job with the wedding.”
The praise sent Gina’s spirits winging. “I did, didn’t I?” She preened for a moment, her tears forgotten. “And the photographer from Sarah’s magazine shot some amazing video and stills. He gave me a disk with enough material to put together a portfolio. I just emailed it to the woman I’m interviewing with this afternoon.”
Her grandmother paused with her fork halfway to her lips. “You have an interview this afternoon?”
“I do. With Nicole Tremayne, head of the Tremayne Group. TTG operates a dozen different event venues, three right here in the city.”
“Hmm. I knew a Nicholas Tremayne some years ago. Quite well, actually.” Her thoughts seemed to go inward for a moment. Shaking them off, she lowered her fork. “This Nicole must be his daughter. If so, I’ll call him and…”
“No, Grandmama, please don’t.”
The urgent plea brought a look of surprise. “Why ever not?”
“I want to do this on my own.”
“That sentiment does you justice, Eugenia, but…”
“You don’t have to say it. I know my track record doesn’t suggest I’ll make a very reliable employee. When you add the fact that I’m pregnant, it’ll be a miracle if I land any job. I want to try, though, Grandmama. I really do.”
“Very well. I’ll refrain from interfering.”
“Thank you. Dev and Patrick made the same promise. And I’ll get Jack to do the same when I meet him for lunch today.”
The duchess tilted her head. Sudden interest gleamed in her faded blue eyes. “You’re having lunch with Jack? Why? I thought you’d said all you have to say to him.”
“I did. Several times! The man won’t take no for an answer.”
“So again I ask, why are you having lunch with him?”
“He badgered me into it,” Gina admitted in disgust. “You can see why I don’t want to marry him.”
The duchess took her time replying. When she did, she chose her words carefully.
“Are you sure, Eugenia? I treasure every moment I had with your mother and with you and Sarah, but I speak from experience when I say raising a child on your own can be quite terrifying at times.”
“Oh, Grandmama!”
Her eyes misted again. Blinking furiously, Gina bared her soul. “I’m scared out my gourd. I admit it! The only thing that makes me even think I can do this is you, and the love you lavished on Sarah and me. You filled our lives with such joy, such grand adventures. You still do. I can give that to my child. I know I can.”
A smile started in her grandmother’s eyes and spread to Gina’s heart.
“I know you can, too.”
* * *
Gina had intended to spend the rest of the morning prepping for her interview with Nicole Tremayne. To her annoyance, her thoughts kept slipping away from party planning and instead landed on Jack Mason.
Her irritation increased even more when she found herself scowling at the few outfits she’d brought to New York with her. They were all flashy, all playful. Thigh-skimming skirts in bold prints. Tights in eye-popping colors. Spangled, midriff-baring T-shirts. Reflective of her personality, maybe, but not the image she wanted to project to Ms. Tremayne. Or to a certain ambassador-at-large.
Abandoning the meager offering, she went next door to Sarah’s room and rummaged through the designer classics her sister had salvaged from their grandmother’s closet. After much debate and a pile of discards strewn across the bed, Gina decided on wide-legged black slacks. She topped them with a summer silk Valentino jacket in pearl gray that boasted a flower in the same fabric on one lapel. The jacket strained a bit at the bust but gave her the mature, responsible air she was aiming for. A wad of cotton stuffed into the toes of a pair of sensible black pumps added to the look. As a final touch, she went light on the makeup and wrestled her waterfall of platinum-blond curls into a French twist. When she studied the final result in the mirror, she gulped.
“Oh, God. I look like Grandmama.”
If the duchess recognized herself, she mercifully refrained from saying so. But Gina caught the slightly stunned look she exchanged with Maria as her new, subdued granddaughter departed for her lunch meeting.
* * *
If Gina had needed further evidence of her transformation, she got it mere moments after walking into the Boathouse. A favorite gathering place of tourists and
locals alike, the restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling windows gave unimpeded views of the rowboats and gondolas gliding across Central Park’s Reservoir Lake. Both the lake and the trees surrounding it were showcased against the dramatic backdrop of the Manhattan skyline.
The Boathouse’s casual bar and restaurant buzzed with a crowd dressed in everything from business to smart casual to just plain comfortable. Despite the logjam, Gina spotted Jack immediately. As promised, he’d secured a table tucked in a quiet corner that still gave an unobstructed view of the lake. She stood for a moment at the top of the short flight of steps leading down to the dining area and put a hand on the railing to steady herself.
Oh, Lord! Her hormones must be cartwheeling again. Why else would her knees get all wobbly at the way the sunlight streaked his tawny hair? Or her lungs wheeze like an old accordion at the sight of his strong, tanned hands holding up a menu? In the tux he’d worn to the wedding yesterday, Jack had wreaked havoc on her emotions. In a crisply starched pale blue shirt with the cuffs rolled up on muscled forearms lightly sprinkled with gold fuzz, he almost opened the floodgates.
She was still clinging to the wooden rail when he glanced up. His gaze swept the entrance area from left to right. Passed over her. Jerked back. He was too polished a diplomat to reveal more than a flash of surprise, but that brief glimpse gave Gina the shot in the arm she needed. Channeling the duchess at her most regal, she smiled at the head waiter, who hurried over to assist her.
“May I show you to a table?”
“Thank you, but I see the party I’m meeting.”
She tipped her chin toward Jack, now rising from his chair. The waiter followed her gaze and offered a hand.
“Yes, of course. Please, watch your step.”
Jack had recovered from his momentary surprise. Gina wasn’t sure she liked the amusement that replaced it.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he admitted. “Are you going for a new look?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
She took the seat next to him and considered how much to share of her plans. After a swift internal debate, she decided it might be good to let him know that she did, in fact, have plans.
“I’m also going for a new career. I have a job interview this afternoon with the head of the Tremayne Group. TTG is one of the biggest event-coordinating companies in the business, with venues in New York, Washington and Chicago.”
The change in Jack was so subtle she almost missed it. Just a slight stiffening of his shoulders. She bristled, thinking he was going to object to her making a foray into the professional party world while carrying his child. Instead, he responded quietly, calmly.
“TTG also has a venue in Boston. My wife used them to coordinate our wedding.”
Three
“Oh, Jack!”
Gina’s soft heart turned instantly to mush. She didn’t want to marry this man but neither did she want to hurt him. Ignoring the obvious inconsistency in that thought, she dug in her purse for her cell phone.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had that connection to TTG. I’ll call and cancel my interview.”
“Wait.” Frowning, he put a hand on her arm. “I’ll admit I would prefer not to see you pursue a career here in New York. Or anywhere else, for that matter. But…”
“But?”
Still frowning, he searched her face. “Are you really dead set against marriage, Gina?”
Her gaze dropped to his hand, so strong and tan against the paler skin of her forearm. The stress and confusion of the past weeks made a jumble of her reply.
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
She looked up and met his serious brown eyes. “I like you, Jack. When you’re not coming on all huffy and autocratic, that is. And God knows we were fantastic together in bed.”
So fantastic she had to slam the door on the images that thought conjured up.
“But I think…I know we both want more in a marriage.”
He was silent, and Gina gathered her courage.
“Tell me about your wife. What was she like?”
He sat back, withdrawing his hand in the process. Withdrawing himself, as well. His glance shifted to the rowboats circling the lake. The ripples from their oars distorted the reflected images of the high-rises peeking above Central Park’s leafy green tree line. The buildings seemed to sway on the lake’s blue-green surface.
“Catherine was funny and smart and had a killer serve,” he said finally, turning back to Gina. “She cleaned my clock every time we got on a tennis court. She might have turned pro if she hadn’t lived, breathed and slept politics.”
The waiter appeared at that moment. Gina ordered decaffeinated mango tea, Jack a refill of his coffee. They listened to the specials and let the menus sit on the table after the waiter withdrew. She was afraid the interruption had broken the thread of a conversation she knew had to be painful, but Jack picked it up again.
“Catherine and another campaign worker were going door-to-door to canvas unregistered voters for the presidential campaign. She suffered a brain aneurysm and collapsed. The docs say she was dead before she hit the sidewalk.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“We didn’t learn until after the autopsy that she had Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. It’s a rare, inherited condition that can cause the walls of your blood vessels to rupture. Which,” he said as he eased a leather portfolio out from under his menu, “is why I prepared this.”
“This” turned out to be a set of stapled papers. For a wild moment Gina thought they might be a prenup. Or a copy of a will, naming the baby as his heir if he should die as unexpectedly as Catherine had. Or…
“Your obstetrician will want a complete medical history of both parents,” he said calmly. “As far as I know, I haven’t inherited any rare diseases but my father and grandfather both suffer from chronic high blood pressure and my mother is a breast cancer survivor. Who’s your doctor, by the way?”
“I don’t have one yet.”
The frown came back. “Why the delay? You should’ve had your first prenatal checkup by now.”
“It’s on my list, right after getting resettled in New York and finding a job.”
“Move the obstetrician to the top of the list,” he ordered, switching into his usual take-charge mode. “I’ll cover your medical expenses until you land a job.”
“No, Mr. Ambassador, you won’t.”
“Oh, for…!”
He dropped the papers, closed his eyes for a moment and adopted a calm, soothing tone that made Gina want to hiss.
“Let’s just talk this through. You’re currently unemployed. I assume you have no health insurance. Few obstetricians will take you on as a patient unless there’s some guarantee you can pay for their services.”
“I. Will. Find. A. Job.”
“Okay, okay.” He held up a placating hand. “Even if you do land a job in the next few days or weeks, health benefits probably won’t kick in for at least six months. And then they may not cover preexisting conditions.”
Well, crap! Gina hadn’t considered that. Her throat closed as her carefully constructed house of cards seemed to teeter and topple right before her eyes.
No! No, dammit! Hormones or no hormones, she would not break down and bawl in front of Jack.
He must have sensed her fierce struggle for control. His expression softened, and he dropped the grating, let’s-be-reasonable tone. “This is my baby, too, Gina. Let me help however I can.”
She could handle autocratic and obnoxious. Nice was harder to manager. Shoving back her chair, she pushed away from the table.
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
* * *
After some serious soul-searching, she returned from the ladies’ room to find the waiter h
ad delivered their drinks. Gina dumped artificial sweetener in her tea and took a fortifying sip before acknowledging the unpalatable truth.
“I guess I didn’t think this whole insurance thing through. If it turns out I can’t get medical benefits in time to cover my appointments with an obstetrician, I would appreciate your help.”
“You’ve got it.” He hesitated a moment before extending another offer. “Finding a good doctor isn’t easy, especially with everything else you have going on right now. Why don’t I call my chief of staff and have him email you a list of the top OB docs in the city? He can also verify that they’re accepting new patients.”
And coordinate the payment process, Gina guessed. Swallowing her pride, she nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Just call me when you decide on a doctor. Or call Dale Vickers, my chief of staff. He’ll make sure your appointments get on my schedule.”
“Your schedule?”
“I’ll fly up from D.C. to go with you, of course. Assuming I’m in the country.”
“Oh. Of course.”
The sense that she could do this on her own was rapidly slipping away. Trying desperately to hang on to her composure, Gina picked up her menu.
“We’d better order. My appointment at the Tremayne Group is at two-thirty.”
Jack’s hand hovered over his menu. “This might sound a little crass but between Catherine’s family and mine, we spent an obscene amount of money on our wedding. I could make a call and…”
“No!”
Gina gritted her teeth. Was she the only person in the whole friggin’ universe who didn’t have an inside connection at TTG? And the only fool who refused to exploit that connection? Sheer stubbornness had her shaking her head.
“No calls. No pulling strings. No playing the big ambassadorial cheese. I have to do this myself.”
He lifted a tawny brow but didn’t press the point. After signaling the waiter over to take their orders, he steered the conversation into more neutral channels.
The awkwardness of the situation eased, and Gina’s spirits took an upward swing. Jack soon had her laughing at some of his more humorous exploits in the field and realizing once again how charming he could be when he wanted to.
The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride Page 3
