by Joanne Rock
“We can see your parents first thing in the morning. But I would like to leave for New Orleans shortly afterward.” He bent into the crib and laid César beside a stuffed baby whale.
One broad shoulder brushed the starfish mobile as he straightened, setting off a few gentle musical notes.
“You’re going there to tell your family?” She knew his parents, Theo and Alessandra Reynaud, had been divorced for years and weren’t even full-time residents of Louisiana anymore. Alessandra worked in Hollywood. Theo globe-hopped, content to live off his family’s money. But Jean-Pierre’s grandfather, Leon, still acted as the Reynaud patriarch in the public eye.
Leon, who had fired Tatiana’s father from the Mustangs and created the Doucet-Reynaud rift. Her stomach clenched at the thought of facing him.
“My family can wait.” Jean-Pierre stared down at her in the soft blue glow of the nursery’s night-light, his strong male presence radiating warmth and making her realize how close they stood. “We need to go there together to fulfill the promise I made in a televised interview this evening. I told the world you were going to be a guest of the Reynauds before the Gladiators-Hurricanes game.”
The words didn’t make sense at first. He couldn’t be serious about them simply pretending to be dating.
“I don’t understand. Now you must see that’s impossible.” She gestured to the crib, where César clutched a handful of blanket. “I can’t leave New York.”
“We are a family now, Tatiana, whether you want to be or not.” His voice suggested a patience that his body language did not. He loomed over her, tense and unyielding. “It makes more sense than ever that you come to Louisiana with me while we work out some logistics of parenting.”
Her gaze slipped back down to César, peaceful and unaware of the tension between his parents. She knew that Jean-Pierre was right. They had to find some way to raise their child together even though there would be no wedding. No pretend romance to mask the animosity between them.
Maybe, given some time, she could negotiate a peaceful future for her son in the same way she argued court cases. She would find a way to get on top of her runaway pregnancy hormones and the mixed feelings she still had for Jean-Pierre—hurt, resentment, attraction. A potent mix.
“I’ll need a private room,” she said finally, tilting her chin up and laying the groundwork for this very dicey compromise. “I will go with you, but I can’t perform a charade for the media or our families.”
“Meaning you won’t pretend to like the father of your child?” One heavy eyebrow arched as he watched her.
Her heartbeat quickened for no discernible reason. They were drawing boundaries, weren’t they? That was a good thing.
“Meaning there will be no maneuvering each other by implying an engagement or imminent wedding that we both know will not happen.”
“Deal.” His agreement was quick and easy, catching her off guard. He took her hand in his. “You have my word.”
His touch sparked memories of another time they’d been face-to-face like this—arguing heatedly about her court case. He’d touched her to emphasize a point, perhaps. And somewhere in that moment, the chemistry of the contact had shifted, turning heated. Making it impossible to pull their hands off of each other. She felt the weight of that moment now, along with the possibility that it could happen again if she wasn’t careful. It was there, in her fluttering pulse. In her rapid breathing.
She hovered there, on that razor’s edge between tension and attraction, understanding too late how easy it would be to slide into that dangerous terrain.
“Sleep well then.” He lifted her hand to his lips. Brushed a brief kiss along the backs of her fingers as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll pick you up in the morning so we can speak to your father together. And make no mistake, I will be there by your side.”
She nodded, her mouth dry, her skin tingling where he’d kissed her. She watched Jean-Pierre turn to leave and show himself out, her emotions tangled, knotted and taut. She had thought telling him about their child would be the most difficult thing she’d ever have to do. But now, feeling the way her body still responded to him, she knew that resisting the lure of a Reynaud man would be a challenge beyond anything she’d imagined.
Three
Between NFL games, Jean-Pierre had a week to strategize. He studied his opponent, searching for weaknesses and ways to exploit them. He developed a game plan and made adjustments right up until the moment when he took the field to execute it.
With Tatiana, he didn’t have a week for anything.
He’d had twelve intense hours to get his head around fatherhood before facing her family with news that had obviously blindsided them. Twelve hours to figure out his game plan, when his whole world was off balance. And while they’d delivered the news to the Doucets in their living room half an hour ago and it had gone as smoothly as could be expected, Jean-Pierre now braced himself for whatever his coach wanted to say to him privately. In a room nearby, the women took turns holding César while he watched Jack Doucet shut the door behind him and turn on him.
“You bastard.” Red-faced, his coach stared him down with a fury he no longer hid. A defensive end in his college days, Jack had softened in his coaching years, a rounded gut and flushed face attesting to the comfortable life of a man who didn’t deny himself any pleasures.
But right now, with the look in the older man’s eye, Jean-Pierre didn’t doubt for a second the guy would deliver one hell of a hit if he decided to come after him.
“She didn’t tell me,” Jean-Pierre reminded him, remembering the time the coach had hurled a helmet across the locker room into a rookie’s head for missing his play cue. “I didn’t know until last night and I’m here now—”
“Don’t bullshit me. A man always knows there’s a chance.” Jack’s fists clenched at his sides, his chin jutting closer. “That’s my daughter we’re talking about.”
“And that’s my son.” Jean-Pierre kept his voice quiet, recognizing the imperative of keeping a lid on this conversation with the women in the other room. “And since we both want to protect our families, I suggest we figure out how to have this discussion without upsetting anyone on the other side of that door.” His heart slugged hard in his chest.
He did not want a brawl to commemorate this day. That wasn’t the kind of start he needed with Tatiana.
“As much as I’d like to plant my fist in your jaw, even if it cost you a game, Reynaud, you have a point.” The older man spun on his heel and turned to the bar. He poured himself a measure of Irish whiskey from a bottle centered on a silver serving tray.
Jean-Pierre hoped the whiskey cooled him off. He edged back a step, waiting to resume their conversation once Jack had a hold of himself.
All around the study were framed news clippings and photographs from Jack’s career as a head coach in New York. The most prominent photos were of the team’s two division championships and a Super Bowl win four years ago. There were no photos from Jack’s years as Leon Reynaud’s second in command for the Mustangs, even though the two of them had taken the team to new heights, developing a fast style of offense copied throughout the league and setting records in passing that still stood today.
Jack had severed all ties with Leon and the Reynauds until he needed a strong quarterback to lead the Gladiators. Even then, the head coach hadn’t done much to make Jean-Pierre feel welcome in New York. They’d simply worked toward their common goal to make the Gladiators a powerhouse team again.
“You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve.” Jack slammed the whiskey glass on the desk as he turned to face him. “I brought you to New York to give you a chance to step out of the family shadow. To make your own mark on this game. And this is how you repay me?” He gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle tighter, his voice low.
“Now I’
d like to return the favor and ask that you don’t try to bullshit me. You didn’t bring me here out of the kindness of your heart. You brought me here to win games,” he said evenly. “I’ve done that and more.”
Jack remained silent as he scrubbed a hand through thinning hair.
“I’ve played my part for you,” Jean-Pierre continued. “A little too damn well now that I think about it. It’s one thing for you to ask me to win games, but it was another to expect me to stay away from Tatiana.”
He’d backed off ten years ago when she had sided with her family and told him they were through. But all those old feelings hadn’t just evaporated because Jack Doucet told his daughter not to see him anymore. They’d been festering somewhere inside them both, only to implode that day in the courtroom when he’d confronted her after the case.
“I should have never brought you to the Gladiators,” Jack muttered, pouring himself a third shot.
“Beyond the winning record, I’ve provided the locker-room stability you need to keep a team of aging veterans and wild rookies on the same page each week. If you’re unhappy with my performance, I’m happy to revisit our terms at contract time.” Knowing he wasn’t going to smooth over this problem today, he wondered how soon he could reasonably walk out of the Doucet household with Tatiana and his son.
His son.
He still couldn’t think about the magnitude of that news without the words reverberating through him long afterward. But he needed to move past the awe of it fast in order to protect César’s future. He had so much to organize, so many plans to put in place. Not the least of which was convincing Tatiana to stay with him.
It was a feat that he’d never achieve while her father remained furious with him. But dammit, he needed to ensure César had the kind of stability his own life had lacked. Theo’s illegitimate son—Jean-Pierre’s half brother, Dempsey—had suffered the consequences of their father’s choices his whole life. Jean-Pierre didn’t want that for César.
“I don’t care if you set the record for completions this season.” The older man raised his voice, scaring off a heavy gray tabby cat that had been snoozing on the leather chair behind the desk. The animal took cover behind a red drapery and peered down into the expansive view of Central Park. “I want my daughter happy and my grandson to have a name.”
“He has my name. My protection. All the resources my family can possibly give him.” He’d been up most of the night working out details with his lawyer to ensure paperwork was already in motion.
“Let me be clearer.” Jack shook a finger too damn close to Jean-Pierre’s face. “I want my grandson to have a name that isn’t Reynaud.”
“Nevertheless, I will do everything possible to ensure Tatiana is taken care of as well. You know as well as I do that being a Reynaud ensures she’ll never want for anything.”
“Meaning you will marry her?” Appearing to mull this over, Jack strode over to the tabby cat, picked it up and stroked the animal’s broad head.
“She asked me not to pressure her about that and I will do as she requests.”
“But you will see that it happens.” The coach met his gaze over the cat’s head.
It was a directive, not a question. Maybe Jean-Pierre would have resisted more if he hadn’t been on the same page with the man.
“That’s my intent. Yes. But I’m curious. You wouldn’t protest a union between families? Despite the rift?” He remembered a time when the Doucets had taken away Tatiana’s car as a punishment for driving to see him.
That was a long time ago, but Jack held the kind of grudges that grew deeper with age.
“You’ve given me little choice.”
“I have two weeks with her in New Orleans and even she won’t back out of that.” He wouldn’t break his agreement with Tatiana by implying a union she might not agree to. But he also couldn’t afford putting more pressure on the Gladiators by ticking off his coach further. “I hope that attending my brother’s wedding will make her reconsider marriage.”
“I’m not so sure about that plan. She ought to keep the child secret longer down there,” her father mused. “Old Leon must have the family compound locked down like Fort Knox with a foreign princess on the grounds.”
“It’s secure. There will be no media unless Tatiana chooses to speak with reporters.” He hadn’t really considered that option—keeping César a secret from the press for a while longer. But maybe Jack had a point. There would be pressure enough on them with the media interest already brewing. “I won’t be budging on that.”
“Good.” Jack set down the cat on a wingback chair. “By the time I see an announcement about my grandson in the papers, it will coincide with news of your marriage.”
He didn’t argue with Jack. But as he stood to exit the study with him, he couldn’t help but remind him of one important fact.
“It has to be her idea to get married since she’s already put her foot down on the subject.” He understood that much about her. She was a strong-minded woman and she didn’t budge once she made up her mind. He’d seen it in the courtroom last year.
“And so it will be.” Jack opened up the door and gestured for Jean-Pierre to go ahead of him. “Because if it’s not, you can start looking for a new team. I can guarantee that if I’m not happy with you, son, I’ll do everything in my power to bury your career.”
* * *
“I’ve missed this place.” Tatiana stared out the window of the chauffeur-driven luxury SUV that had met them at the private airport just outside of New Orleans.
Spanish moss dripped from live oak trees on either side of the private driveway leading into the Reynaud estate on Lake Pontchartrain in an exclusive section of Metairie, Louisiana, west of the city. Pontoon boats were moored in the shallow waters while long docks stretched into the low-lying mist that had settled on the surface. The green of the gardens was rich and verdant, the ground so fertile that a team of gardeners was needed to hold back the wild undergrowth that could take over land like this in just a few short weeks’ time.
She knew because her family’s yard had been like that, full of kudzu back when her father had been with the Texas football team. The Doucets didn’t have the same level of wealth as the Reynauds and even now, the apartments on Central Park West were relatively new luxuries. Back when Tatiana had attended prep school nearby, her mother had taken a condo in Baton Rouge while her father remained in East Texas for his job with the Mustangs.
Jean-Pierre sat beside her while César napped in his car seat in the bench-row seat ahead of them. The trip had been smooth, from the car service in New York to the quick private flight to the spacious SUV with a Reynaud family driver to load their luggage. She wished she knew what exactly had transpired between Jean-Pierre and her father when they left to speak privately, but she’d only learned that her father suggested they keep news of César out of the press for as long as possible, an approach that made sense while they figured out how to share custody.
After leaving her parents’ home, Jean-Pierre had assured her that he would immediately outfit a nursery in Louisiana for César, so she hadn’t brought much for him. The baby’s night nurse would fly to New Orleans later, but until then, local staff had been retained to help Lucinda.
Tatiana had to admit, Jean-Pierre had made things as easy as possible for her. And while she’d guessed he would probably step up and be supportive of their child, a small part of her had feared otherwise. That he would be too angry at being shut out of César’s birth to treat her with so much thoughtfulness. She’d hardly slept the night before, wondering how today would be with him, not to mention all of his family.
“I miss this city every time I’m away,” he confided to her now. Leaning forward to look at the lake with her, Jean-Pierre was a warm, vital presence in the vehicle.
The tinted windows ensured their privacy as they round
ed the first bend. She spotted a Greek revival mansion that hadn’t been there before.
“Wow.” She marveled at how well the new home complemented the existing one where Jean-Pierre had grown up, a home she’d visited as a teen even before they dated since her father had worked with Leon Reynaud. “Did Gervais build this for his soon-to-be bride?”
Speculation about Gervais and Princess Erika’s wedding had filled the tabloids for weeks. Tatiana had devoured the articles during those uncomfortable last weeks of pregnancy when she had done little more than read and wait.
“No. Dempsey had this built when he took over as head coach of the Hurricanes. Gervais and Erika are in the original home.” Jean-Pierre pointed to the mansion, which was almost double the size of the Greek revival house, on the other side of the street. “Henri and I share time in the big Italianate monstrosity that Leon purchased for guests when we were young. You remember it?”
“The abandoned house where you wanted to celebrate my seventeenth birthday?” Her skin warmed at the memory. She'd had such a crush on him back then, she would have followed him anywhere. Even into a house that had been fenced off and marked with construction-zone signs.
But he’d just started attending the same school as she and they’d been spending more time together. Their families had been friends for years—before the big rift—so they’d had an easy relationship marked by meetings at football games or summer homes. But once Jean-Pierre had enrolled in her school, things shifted between them. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him.
That weekend at the Reynauds’ house—her birthday weekend—had moved things out of the friend zone. He’d kissed her that night and everything had changed.
“You have to admit I made you one hell of a birthday cake.” His gaze lingered on her. Was he thinking about that kiss, too?
