“I’m too tired.” He scrubbed a hand across his eyes, his palm rasping on the stubble of his beard.
“It’s okay.” I peeled back the bedcovers and slid between the sheets.
“What about the food?” Sam stripped down to his boxers and followed me.
“I’ll get it,” Crocket said, his voice clearly audible through the closed door.
“Thanks,” I said. With my cheek pressed against Sam’s chest, I savored the warmth of his body next to mine. He tugged me closer.
“Did you make an appointment with the doctor?”
“Yes. I’m going on Friday.”
“Excellent.” Beneath my ear, his breathing began to slow, and I heard the steady beat of his heart. I toyed with the dark blond hairs covering his sternum. These were the moments I treasured most, just the two of us, in the dark, together. “Let Xavier know the time. I’ll go with you.”
“Okay.” We fell silent for a moment. “Did you talk to your father today?” He didn’t answer, because he was already asleep.
Chapter 9
DAKOTA
THE DAYS began to speed by with stunning swiftness, blurring into each other like passing box cars on a freight train. On Friday, Sam accompanied me to the doctor. An exam confirmed that I was seven weeks pregnant. Immediately after the appointment, Sam caught a flight to Tokyo to meet with Mr. Takashima. The Japanese investor had agreed to supply us with a temporary infusion of capital that would allow the acquisition of Langston & Howe. Sam intended to parcel out the company and already had buyers for their assets. We were well on our way to a successful run, a fact that filled me with pride. He’d faced adversity and kicked its ass.
The following Tuesday, Venetia stopped by the office, James in tow. He stood outside my office door alongside Chandler, crowding the hallway. Having a bodyguard still rubbed me the wrong way.
“I’ve found the perfect place.” Venetia breezed through the door and dropped into the chair across from my desk, crossing her long legs between us.
“Hmm…okay. Get with Layla. Maybe I can drop by there tomorrow.” I frowned at the computer screen, distracted by research on a potential acquisition.
“Not tomorrow. Today.” Her voice carried the Seaforth tone of authority. “We need to go see it right away. It won’t be on the market for long.” She leaned forward, stirring up the scent of peaches and jasmine. The linen of her dress whispered with the movement. When I didn’t respond, she tapped a finger on the desk. “Hello?”
“Really?” I sighed and leaned back in my chair to give her my full attention. “Beckett’s going to kick my ass if I don’t get this information to him today.”
“Don’t you worry about Beckett. I’ll take care of him.” Her long, blond ponytail twitched as she snorted. She drew the end over her shoulder and smoothed her fingers along the glossy tresses. “Believe me, condos like this don’t come along every day. The only reason I know about it is because Helena staged it for the sale. I thought of you guys the minute I stepped inside the door.”
“Where’s Jane today?”
“She’s with Quinn, our nanny.” Venetia bit her lower lip as she tapped a text into her phone. It dinged with an immediate reply. “Good. That’s Helena. She’ll meet us there with the keys.”
“I thought you hated nannies.”
“I don’t hate nannies. I hate parents who use them as a replacement for parenting. The way mine did.” She stood and leveled intense long-lashed eyes with mine. “Jane will never feel like that. She’ll always know I love her more than the air I breathe. Quinn is only around to help ease a little of the burden while I attend to other things. Most of the time, they’ll both be with me, but I had a few errands to run today, and Jane was asleep, so I left her at home.”
“We’re considering a nursery here at the office. What would you think about that?” I powered down my computer then called Layla. “Have Rockwell bring the car, would you? And tell Mr. Beckett that I’m going out with Venetia for a bit.” No matter how many times I requested the car, I still hadn’t grown accustomed to having a driver at my beck and call.
“Oh, a nursery would be excellent.” V clapped her hands together. “I could send Jane here with Beckett. I’d still keep Quinn, though. She’s cool.”
An hour later, we pulled in front of the most exclusive co-op in the city. The property broker, a svelte middle-aged woman with a sleek platinum bob, greeted us at the front doors. After a lengthy process to pass through security, we rode the elevator to the top floor. Venetia laughed when my mouth gaped open. I snapped it shut and tried to absorb the numerous architectural features in the private lobby. A waterfall cascaded down the granite wall adjacent to the elevator. An opulent crystal chandelier sparkled from the top of a twenty-foot glass atrium. She stopped in front of an enormous pair of double wood doors covered with rivets.
“The doors are from a medieval monastery in France,” the broker said, following the focus of my gaze. “This condo has two stories and close to eight thousand square feet. Five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a library, an office, and a den for Sam. There’s a private pool on the roof and an exercise room. A separate entrance for servants and staff. There are two small adjoining suites for security and a housekeeper.” She flourished a hand through the air like a game show host. “And this is just the lobby.”
“It’s nice,” I whispered in awe.
“Nice?” She arched an eyebrow. “Two-bedroom bungalows are nice. This is perfect. The location is unparalleled, the schools are top notch, and this place is locked up like Fort Knox, which means no media.” She pushed the doors. They opened to reveal soaring archways and tall columns in a warm Mediterranean style.
Wood moldings and paneling, coffered ceilings, and terrazzo tile covered every surface. We wandered through a great room, large kitchen, and the bedrooms. Inside the master bedroom, she pressed a button to draw back the blinds and expose a wall of windows facing Laurel Lake. Sunlight shimmered over the calm surface. The azure waters reflected a cloudless sky.
Venetia tugged me aside, her face bright with excitement. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s amazing, but I don’t know.”
“Don’t know? Seriously?” She perched on the edge of a tufted bench at the foot of the bed. “Sam will love it.”
The broker opened the doors to the bathroom and revealed a bathtub the size of a small swimming pool. “If you like it, you need to move on it right away. It goes on the market tomorrow, and it won’t last a day.”
“How much?” I finally managed to ask and braced for disappointment.
“It’s a steal at six point two million.”
“No way.” The pit of my stomach fell. I shook my head. “We can’t afford this.” I couldn’t imagine living in anything so grand, let alone spending such an exorbitant amount of money. I’d grown up in a house trailer and lived most of my adult life in the same tiny apartment.
The broker frowned and glanced at Venetia. “I thought you said she’s a qualified buyer.”
“Of course she’s qualified. She’s a Seaforth.” Venetia returned the woman’s scowl then winked in my direction. “She just wants to know she’s getting her money’s worth.”
“Are you crazy?” I asked Venetia, in a tone low enough to exclude the broker. “We’re trying to save up. Sam says we’re broke.”
Venetia rolled her eyes and sighed, as if I’d tried her patience to the limit. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sammy’s got enough money to buy ten houses like this and never miss the cash. You need to face facts. You married old money. You’re one of us now, and we’ve got a standard to uphold. Sam isn’t going to want to bring up his kids in anything less than a beautiful home.” It was the first time anyone from Sam’s family had recognized my membership in their family. I gave Venetia’s hand a quick squeeze and swallowed down the thickness in my throat. “Don’t go getting all mushy on me. You’ve treated me better than my own sister.” She hopped to her feet. “So what’s your thought?”
“I don’t know.” I trailed a hand over the textured plaster wall, its surface painted a buttery ochre hue.
“Well, I do. If you’re going to play with the big dogs, you need a big doghouse. Appearances count to people with money. It’s all a game about who’s got the biggest toy chest. They’re going to look at what you’ve got and judge whether or not you’re worthy of their business by who you know and where you live. Sam requires a place to wine and dine his business partners. You can’t entertain in a one-bedroom apartment.” She tugged the hem of her dress as she preened in front of a tall mirror. “I’m just trying to help you out here, Dakota. You’ve got to step up your game if you’re going to succeed.”
Ever since I met Sam, people had been telling me how he felt, what he wanted, and how to accommodate his needs. If I’d learned anything from our divorce, it was this. No one knew better about Sam’s desires than Sam. I refused to be swayed in one direction or the other without his direct input.
“Are you getting a kickback on this commission?” I asked her.
“No.” Deep dimples appeared on either side of her mouth. “But I do expect an invitation to dinner from you once in a while.”
“Okay, give me a minute.” I dug through my purse for my phone.
“I’ll give you some privacy.” The broker glided out of the room.
“I’m going to call Quinn and see how she’s doing with Jane,” Venetia said. “Meanwhile, you stay in here and think about how grand it would be to wake up to that view every morning with my hunky brother beside you.”
Sam answered on the first ring. “Go.” His staccato greetings came off as gruff to some, but not to me. He didn’t like to waste time with fluffy words. I stared at the phone in shock, surprised to actually contact him on the first call.
“Hey. Venetia found a place for us.” I recovered and plunged into the topic of conversation, knowing he’d appreciate the directness. “A condo, on Laurel Lake.”
“You like it?” Various airport noises hummed in the background; voices, an intercom, the thunder of jets.
“Yes. It’s perfect, I just—”
“Then get it.”
“But you haven’t even seen it.”
“Text me pictures. Xavier, call the hotel and find out what’s holding them up.” The sharp edges of his voice softened—the tender tone he reserved for me. Waves of pleasure buzzed through my nerve endings. “Sorry. We’re waiting on a ride from the airport. Damn paparazzi are everywhere today.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be home next week for that gala thing. In the meantime, if you like the apartment, buy it. I trust you, baby. Anything you want.”
Chapter 10
DAKOTA
ANYTHING YOU want. Sam’s words echoed in my head as a limo drove me to the gala. What I wanted was him, a seemingly unattainable wish. Between the time zone discrepancy and our conflicting work schedules, I’d barely spoken to him since the call regarding the condo. After what seemed like forever apart, I craved his company.
Wings of anxiety twittered in my stomach when the limo reached the line to the entrance of the Seraphim Theater. Curious onlookers crowded the red carpet, pushing against the velvet rope barriers, jostling for a peek at the celebrities and richest of the rich. The butterflies doubled at the sight of television camera crews. I closed my eyes and drew in a succession of deep breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
You can do this, Dakota. I glanced at my phone, resting on the leather seat to my left, willing it to vibrate with a text or call from Sam. Where was he?
Not only was this my first official public appearance as Sam’s wife, it was also my first event as a partner in our new company. Sure, I’d attended dozens of charity functions over the years, but never anything on this grand of a scale, never alone, and never with the paparazzi watching my every move. The car inched forward another few feet, bringing me closer to the melee.
The partition lowered between the front and back seats. From the passenger side, Chandler turned to face me. In keeping with the event’s dress code, he wore a black tuxedo instead of the usual jeans and baseball cap. His brow furrowed as he glanced from me to the sidewalk and back again.
“There are lots of people here tonight. Security’s tight,” he said. “You’re next in line to get out. I’ll open the car door for you and follow you into the gala. Stay at least an arm’s length from the velvet ropes. If anyone bothers you, give me a nod. I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay.” His calmness soothed a few of my anxieties. “Where is Sam?” Rockwell had picked him up from the airport less than an hour ago. After a delayed flight, Sam was running behind schedule, a hiccup guaranteed to ruin his mood.
“Rockwell’s about ten minutes behind us with your husband. Mr. Seaforth will meet you at your table.”
Annoyance replaced my nervousness. I hadn’t spoken to Sam since this morning, and I hated getting messages from my husband through a third party. No matter how busy he might be, surely he had time to send me—his wife—a quick text.
Another dozen yards, and the car came to a halt. Within seconds, the toes of my silver sandals hit the carpet. Cameras whirred and clicked. I sucked in a breath to flatten my stomach, erasing the tiny swell of the baby, squared my shoulders, and tried to appear relaxed. Flash bulbs exploded, leaving blind spots in my vision. I blinked and trained my gaze on the double front doors at the end of the walk. Someone called my name. On instinct, I turned toward the voice. One of my four-inch heels caught in the hem of my gown. I pitched forward and would have planted my face in the sidewalk, but Chandler snaked an arm around my waist.
“Thanks.” I placed a hand on his chest and pushed away to put distance between us.
“No problem, ma’am,” he replied.
At the doors to the ballroom, I paused to take in what had once been a turn-of-the-century opera theater but now served as a venue for balls and weddings. Chandeliers glittered from three stories above tables draped in snowy-white linens. From the balconies of the second and third floors, attendees peered over the railings. The quiet hum of voices underscored the music of an orchestra. I scanned the sea of strangers for one familiar face. Finding none, I headed toward Sam’s table at the front of the room.
“Good evening, Dakota.” The voice at my shoulder lifted the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Good evening, Maxwell.” Of course, he was here. His first wife, Sam’s mother, had founded this benefit gala, and tonight was meant to celebrate her contributions. I’d hoped he might forgo the event, considering his controversial financial troubles, but as always, he was impervious. I glanced around for someone—anyone—to rescue me.
“You’re looking lovely tonight,” he said, his tone mild and pleasant.
“Save it,” I replied.
His cold gaze drifted down the length of my body and lingered on my still-flat belly. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Given the opportunity, he’d spoil our blessed event. I placed a protective hand on my tummy. Determination surged through my body. As long as I lived, Maxwell would never come in contact with my child. I’d do anything and everything to make certain of it.
A waiter passed, a tray of champagne balanced on one hand. Maxwell took two glasses and handed one to me. “My apologies. What was I thinking?” He returned the glass to the tray and spoke to the waiter. “Could you bring Ms. Atwell—I mean, Mrs. Seaforth—a glass of sparkling grape juice, please?” The corners of his lips curled upward like commas when he turned back to me. “Samuel let the cat out of the bag about the baby. We had a nice chat in New York. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Oh, of course.” Sam hadn’t mentioned any meetings with his father. I tried to school my features into ambivalence while swallowing down a mixture of hurt and confusion. We’d vowed a policy of honesty in all things concerning Maxwell. Then again, we hadn’t spent more than a few waking hours together in a very long ti
me.
Maxwell studied my face, searching for signs of weakness. In his world, knowledge equaled power. If he had any idea about my true feelings, he wouldn’t hesitate to use them against me or Sam.
He regarded me over the rim of his champagne flute. Diamond cufflinks winked when he lowered the glass. “I suppose you think you’re quite proud of yourself.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” I turned my back to him. The crowd had thickened exponentially, blocking any chance of a graceful exit. My temper surged. I held it in check and adjusted the side seam of my gown while pretending to study the orchestra.
“My family has dealt with your kind for generations. You think that once you’ve had Sam’s baby, you’ll have a permanent spot in his life and his bank account. Assuming it is Sam’s child.” The sinister mixture of mirth and cruelty in his tone reminded me of all the reasons I hated him. “I spent a lifetime raising Venetia as my own. I have no intentions of allowing another bastard into the family under any pretense. I’ll make sure this kid never sees a dime of my money.”
I’d endured too many years as a pawn in Maxwell Seaforth’s demented games to listen for another minute. With a sweet smile, I met his gaze. “You mean, if you have any money left. From what I gather, you’ve been playing fast and loose with the Seaforth family fortune.” Beneath the tailored fabric of his Armani tuxedo, he flinched. I took aim at his ego and went for the kill. “Don’t look for us to visit you in prison. I wouldn’t want my children exposed to your kind.”
“Dakota, there you are! Hello, Maxwell.” The smooth, cultured tone of Fran Barrett brought the conversation to a halt.
“Franny, so nice to see you,” Maxwell said. “Aren’t you a beauty? I don’t know what Sam was thinking when he let you get away.”
I ignored the slight and gave Fran a grateful smile. She’d become one of my favorite people. The only thing more extraordinary than her beauty was the immense kindness of her spirit.
Pretty Broken Promises: An Unconventional Love Story Page 6
