Secret Baby Scandal

by Joanne Rock

  “Or your family chef did.” She refused to be charmed by old memories. There were too many unhappy newer ones.

  “But how do you think he knew to make a raspberry almond torte with purple frosting?”

  “I was in a serious purple phase.”

  She had all but melted at his feet when he brought it out with seventeen lit wooden matches in place of the candles he’d forgotten. They’d eaten it on the dock outside the boathouse, and she’d informed him that at seventeen, she was officially old enough to be his girlfriend.

  The night had only gotten more romantic after he fed her that first piece of cake.

  He’d been eighteen, worldly beyond any other boy she knew, and wary of dating someone younger. But she’d been persistent.

  “Not much has changed.” He gave the hem of her skirt a light tug for emphasis, the lavender silk edged with darker plum fringe.

  Through the fringe, the back of one knuckle grazed her bare knee and sent a jolt of adrenaline buzzing up her thigh. She bit the inside of her cheek.

  “I’ve only just returned to bright colors, though. For years, I draped myself in navy and beige when I went in front of a jury.” She’d grown tired of the conservative wardrobe her career dictated, but she hadn’t realized how much she’d reined in her fashion creativity until her more recent wardrobe choices had all been bright colors, sequins, feathers and fringe.

  “Anything to win a case,” he remarked dryly, no doubt thinking of the civil suit she’d won against his friend.

  “I hope you don’t expect me to apologize for being good at my job.” They might as well address it since it had been the source of their last argument, the reason he’d walked out on her and said their time together had been a mistake. “It’s not up to me to determine right from wrong. That’s a jury’s job. I’m simply paid to win. Just like you are.”

  She tucked her phone into her purse as the vehicle stopped in front of the stucco Italianate mansion that had been updated and whitewashed since the last time she’d been here. Their driver, a former Hurricanes’ player named Evan, opened the back door for them and began to bring their bags inside.

  “You didn’t use to believe in winning at any cost.” He didn’t move to exit the vehicle.

  “That was before I realized that if you don’t fight for yourself, no one else is going to fight for you.” She reached into the car seat to unbuckle César, but Jean-Pierre took over the task.

  “Let me.” He lifted the baby in one arm and stepped out into the sunlight to help her exit the SUV. He held onto her arm even after she stood by his side. “Do you really think I didn’t fight for you all those years ago?”

  She didn’t need to ask what he was talking about. She’d been hurt when he hadn’t tried harder to see her despite their families’ dictate that they stay away from each other.

  “It’s ancient history now.” She wasn’t about to admit how much that breakup had stung.

  Especially not now, when she needed to shape a future for herself and her son. The less she looked back at the past, the better.

  “I hope so. We’ve got a whole future ahead of us to plan.” His hand found the small of her back as she stepped up onto the stone landing of the front steps. “Together.”

  His touch set off the familiar awareness that he’d always inspired. And how potent it felt now as they moved toward the threshold of this home with their son in his arms.

  She’d be staying for two weeks inside a home where Jean-Pierre had almost seduced her ten years ago. How resistant would she be here, of all places, when they shared so much history? Lucky for her, she had César to remind her of her priorities. She wouldn’t allow herself to be trapped in a loveless marriage. Children didn’t thrive in that kind of stilted environment.

  “I’m sure we’ll figure out an equitable arrangement.” Her familiarity with legal settlements had already prompted her to draw up some possible scenarios for sharing custody, but she wanted to wait a few days to raise the topic for discussion.

  Give him some time to see she genuinely wanted what was best for their child.

  “His happiness will be our highest priority.” Jean-Pierre shifted César in his arms and the baby made a soft cooing sound. “Welcome back, Tatiana. If there’s anything I can do to make your stay here more comfortable, I hope you’ll let me know.”

  “Thank you.” She felt the warm Louisiana breeze tousle her curls. Camellias and roses all around the front entrance beckoned her toward the open door. “It looks so much different.”

  “I should hope so. You’ve been gone a long time.” He followed her into the cool foyer, where pale tile floors and heavy, dark furnishings gave the place a Mediterranean feel.

  A courtyard ahead of them made her realize the house was built around a wide space that was open to the sunlight. Terra-cotta floors and some kind of potted citrus trees imparted a warmth to the home she hadn’t expected. Brightly patterned pillows decorated carved wooden benches while a water feature in the center gurgled softly.

  “It’s very inviting.” She could picture herself here, surrounded by sunlight and flowers.

  “Fiona, Henri’s wife, did some decorating when they married. But Henri and Fiona will be staying at their home in the Garden District all during the wedding festivities. So we’ll have this whole place to ourselves.” He gestured toward the steps and she followed him up the gently rounded staircase.

  “I may need a map to navigate.” She peered over the thick banister down into the foyer, noting the tapestry that bore a Reynaud family shield from the days of the Crusades. Jean-Pierre had written a paper on the meaning of the heraldry in high school and she’d proofread it for him before he turned it in.

  “Hardly. Your father’s house in the Hamptons is bigger than this.” He pointed to a room on the left side of the main corridor upstairs and led her into a nursery decorated in gray, blue and yellow. A stuffed giraffe almost as tall as the ceiling stood in one corner, watching over the crib. A carved fireplace covered with a cream-colored grate took up the opposite wall.

  While Jean-Pierre lay the still snoozing baby in the crib, she marveled at all the special details in place for the room’s tiny occupant. Besides the beautiful décor, the open closet held extra blankets, diapers, towels and clothes. A discreet changing station had been built in to the gray cabinetry.

  “Your staff must have worked all night to decorate.” She couldn’t imagine how they’d created the beautiful space so quickly. “Are you sure we’ll be able to keep César a secret if—”

  “The staff here is carefully screened and sign confidentiality agreements before working with the family. But in this case, I didn’t need to ask for extra help. Henri and Fiona had already installed the basics for a nursery before...” He straightened from the crib. “Fiona lost a pregnancy and they had a difficult stretch. Her experience makes me all the more grateful you and César are both healthy and thriving.”

  The concern in his eyes told her how deeply he meant it. The emotion she glimpsed touched her, even as her heart ached for his brother and sister-in-law.

  “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.” She leaned into the crib to kiss her son’s soft baby hair. The mattress was raised to the highest setting inside the wooden rails since he was too young to sit up on his own.

  “Thankfully, she’s well now. There’s a video monitoring system if you’d like to keep an eye on him.” He pointed to a handheld device broadcasting a color image of the crib. “The camera is inside the giraffe’s mouth. You can also program your phone to pick up the feed if that’s easier for you.”

  “That would be great.” She hugged her arms around herself, feeling oddly adrift without César to hold now that she’d handed off some of his care to Jean-Pierre. “I will rest easier knowing I can check on him without even leaving my room.”

 
“I can introduce you to the relief caregiver later, to help out when Lucinda needs a break. I’ll show you to your room first. You must be exhausted with so much travel in the last week.”

  Not to mention the stress of telling him about their child.

  But she didn’t remind him of that.

  “Thank you. I would appreciate it.” She tucked the nursery monitor in her bag and followed him through the wide hallway to a room two doors down.

  “I thought you’d prefer to be close to César, although if the room isn’t to your liking, there are several other options.” He switched on a chandelier, even though daylight still shone in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the exterior wall.

  At first, she thought he’d brought her into a family room by mistake. But it was actually the sitting area of a spacious guest suite. Beyond the couches and wet bar of the living space, two steps led into the bedroom, the area divided by a low wall with two red marble pillars. A king-size bed was tucked into a corner beside an exit to a private terrace overlooking the lake. A fireplace had been built into one wall, and a ceiling fan turned languidly over the bed. The ceilings had to be at least fifteen feet high.

  “The Reynauds live well,” she said finally, setting her bag on one of the long, forest green couches. “I’m sure this room will be more than adequate.”

  “Good.” He nodded, satisfied. “I told Evan to put your luggage in the closet, but I can send someone up to unpack for you.”

  “That’s not necessary.” She’d forgotten the level of wealth in his family. The Reynauds didn’t just have homes around the globe. They had well-staffed homes. Private planes. A global shipping empire.

  For her father, football was a lucrative career. For the Reynauds, it was a passion and a pastime, the income a small facet of a net worth she couldn’t fully appreciate. And while that was all very nice for them, she wasn’t sure how she felt about having her son raised to think this was how people lived.

  “As you wish.” He nodded and backed up a step. “Dinner is at seven thirty if you’d like to rest before then. The caregiver can oversee César’s next feeding if Lucinda needs to unpack.”

  “No.” She wouldn’t hand over her son to a woman she hadn’t even met yet. “I’ll just keep the monitor close by.” She retrieved it from her bag.

  “But you’ll join me for dinner?” he asked. He did not demand. “I’ve asked my family to give us some privacy until we settle in, so it will be just us tonight.”

  She appreciated that for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was needing to steel herself for a reunion with a family she hadn’t acknowledged in a decade. A family that had been kind to her, whose kindness she’d repaid by turning her back on them when her father told her to.

  But she was also glad for the way Jean-Pierre seemed to understand she needed some time and space to make her own decision about their future together. She was grateful for that right now when she was beginning to feel overwhelmed by this life of privilege.

  “Dinner sounds nice.” Maybe after a shower and a change of clothes she’d feel less vulnerable, more ready to stake her claim for a future independent of Reynaud influence. “I look forward to it.”

  She said it as a polite social nicety. But something flared in his eyes at the words, a heated interest she didn’t miss. That he could feel attracted to her now—when she was bone-weary and still recovering from pregnancy—caught her by surprise. It amazed her even more to realize his interest stirred her own.

  Where would he be sleeping? And what a crazy thought that was on more than one level. The doctor hadn’t even cleared her for sex yet. If she was even planning on having sex with Jean-Pierre again. Which she wasn’t.

  “As do I.” His gaze roamed over her, warming every place it rested. “Until then, you should feel safe to walk the grounds if you wish. Between the extra security on staff for the wedding and the usual precautions around the property, you won’t have to worry about any unwelcome interruptions from the media. Just be careful near the lake or on the decks overlooking the water. Telephoto lenses from boats or nearby properties would be able to capture images at that distance.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She would keep her blinds closed as well, as much as she’d prefer the water view. “The longer we can protect César’s privacy, the better. Although some photos of you and me here together might help quiet the rumors I created back in New York.”

  “If you feel up for a boat ride tomorrow, I’ll take you out on the lake.” His gaze held hers. “Just like old times.”

  A half smile teased his mouth as he reached for the door. A shared memory flashed between them. He used to take her out on the boat to be alone with her—away from his family. They would anchor near a quiet cove and steal belowdecks. She would try to tempt him enough to forget the restraints he’d always put on their relationship, always knowing she was safe with him. But there were times that they’d pushed the boundaries...

  Just thinking about those trips warmed her skin. The urge to kiss him flared hot even though they stood on opposite sides of the room. She licked her lips instead, suddenly nervous.

  “I’m sorry you have to spend your time staging photo opportunities for the press to cover up my mistake with that reporter.” She had never understood how he could rattle her so easily when she felt sure of herself with the rest of the world.

  His hand fell away from the door but he didn’t advance toward her.

  “Even if it hadn’t been for that comment to the reporter, we would need to be together this week anyway.” The hint of a smile had vanished, his expression serious. “You and César are my highest priorities now.”

  Jean-Pierre would bear his responsibilities because he had to, not because he wanted to. She nodded, understanding better than he realized.

  As he left her alone to rest and unpack, Tatiana knew it would be a stretch to appear in photos with him as if they were still old friends. The truth was that they were so much more than that. Enemies, lovers, parents. A combustible combination with attraction simmering just below the surface.

  It would take a whole lot of focus just to keep it from boiling over.

  Four

  “Tatiana?”

  A man’s voice awoke her later that night, the sultry drawl of a Cajun accent lingering in her ear. Confused about the time and her whereabouts, she struggled to orient herself. A strange coverlet pressed into her cheek, the pale piping making a ridge along her jaw. Moonlight streamed in through a door near her bed where she’d forgotten to close the blinds. She lay atop the duvet, still fully clothed.

  “Jean-Pierre?” The voice sounded so close to her, but she didn’t see him in the moonlit room.

  Had she been dreaming of him?

  “I’m in César’s room,” the voice returned softly, the sound coming through the nursery monitor, which rested on the bed nearby. “I wasn’t sure if you heard him cry, but I think he’s hungry if you still want to feed him.”

  Waking faster now, she realized it must be late. Her breasts were swollen to aching.

  “Yes. I’m coming.” She scrambled off the bed, wishing she’d changed into something more comfortable. She was a wrinkled mess in her traveling clothes. She must have slept right through dinner.

  “Don’t hurry. We’re fine.” The gentleness in Jean-Pierre’s tone slipped right past her boundaries, making her smile. Of course, the warmth and kindness were intended for his son. He was speaking as much to César as to her. “It’s a nice night if you want to sit outside. I’ve got a fire going.”

  “I’d like that.” Her eye went to the door; she could see a blaze in one of the fire pits. She hurried anyway, thinking maybe she had time to slide into fresh clothes after all.

  “I’ll stop by the kitchen to grab you something to eat. You must be hungry,” he said as she slid out of her dr
ess and into a pair of knit pajama pants and a matching button-up top that made nursing easier.

  Hearing him while she was mostly naked roused a whole host of feelings she wasn’t ready to deal with.

  “I’m on my way.” She grabbed a throw blanket off the end of the bed for good measure. The more barriers between her and Jean-Pierre, the better.

  She had to remind herself that he only saw her as a responsibility. A duty to be handled, the way he competently managed every other task and obstacle life had thrown his way.

  Steeling herself with that chilling reminder, she ventured out onto the second-floor veranda.

  The cool breeze carried the scent of wood smoke and ginger. The gardens here were heavy with flowers even though it was November. Camellias bloomed all around, along with a golden flower on nearby trees she didn’t recognize. But the fragrant ginger came from dense plantings of white flowers lining the paths around the pool. She’d noticed it earlier as she was falling asleep, the Louisiana breezes taking her back to childhood and happier times when her father had worked with Leon Reynaud and the families had spring holidays here after the football season ended.

  “Someone misses you,” Jean-Pierre called to her from a spot by the fire.

  Rounding a hedgerow on the far side of the pool, she spotted the Adirondack chairs pulled up to a round fire pit surrounded by a low wall of flat rocks. A glider swing with a seat as big as a full-size bed anchored the space, draped in breezy white gauze threaded with a few fairy lights overhead. The cushion in the swing was draped in colorful blankets, as if someone had dragged half the contents of the linen closet outdoors.

  “I think I see my seat.” She hugged the blanket she was carrying like a shawl, tightening it around her as she stepped into the firelight.

  Jean-Pierre rose from one of the chairs. César was wide-eyed in his arms, their son’s tiny face only half visible behind his father’s shoulder. Even in his casual clothes, Jean-Pierre looked crisp and pressed while she felt rumpled and tired from the long nap she hadn’t meant to take.