by Joanne Rock
Until the night they’d made César. They had been long past virginity days, but they’d still had a first time together. Their only time?
Tongue-tied, she smoothed back her loose hair and tried to recover.
“You’re blushing,” he said in her ear, the soft whisper almost a caress in itself. “And it’s killing me.”
She braved a look at him then, only to find he was watching her with the same hunger she was feeling. If they hadn’t been headed to a family dinner party, she might have dragged him back to his house. But just then, he pressed the doorbell.
“Welcome home, Mr. Reynaud.” An attractive gray-haired woman in a pressed black uniform stood aside to let them enter. “Won’t you come in?”
Tatiana’s stomach muscles clenched as they stepped into the echoing foyer. She took in the white marble floors and walls covered in hand-painted murals depicting a fox hunt. An impressive banister wrapped around a huge staircase with a landing that looked big enough for a cocktail party.
“They’re outside,” the servant informed them, gesturing for them to go through a room on the left. “We’re serving cocktails by the fire.”
The woman hurried ahead to open a second set of doors, but Jean-Pierre shook his head.
“I know the way. Thank you.” After dismissing the help, he returned his attention to Tatiana as they walked through an opulent dining room surrounded by silk curtains and set aglow by the light of a breathtaking chandelier. Fresh flowers dotted the table at regular intervals.
Nerves tightening with every step, she smoothed a hand over her hair. She’d left it loose after her shower, but now she wished she’d gone with a more polished style.
“You look beautiful.” Jean-Pierre’s voice startled her, mostly because he seemed to have read her mind.
No. He guessed she was nervous because she was fidgeting with her hair like a preteen. She should have worn one of her navy court suits that gave her the mental armor for battle, clothes that reminded her she was smart and well prepared for her job.
“Thank you.” She appreciated his thoughtfulness even as she resented him for seeing that vulnerability. She needed to work out a plan for co-parenting with him, not rely on him for muscle massages and emotional support. This was the same man who’d walked out on her after the most passionate encounter of her life. “I’ll be fine. I’m ready.”
Nodding, he seemed to accept her at her word. He led her out of the dining room and into a more casual family space with an entertainment bar and Palladian windows overlooking the pool and grounds. A slow Cajun love song drifted on the breeze, the accordion and fiddle pouring out a heartfelt zydeco tune. Torches were lit at regular intervals around the pool in addition to landscape lighting that highlighted ornamental plantings and statues. To one side of the pool, she thought she spied an outdoor kitchen. But the hearth area was unmistakable, a fire already ablaze in the stone surround. Built-in stone seating was covered with thick cushions protected by a pergola, where another wrought-iron chandelier hung, this one more casual.
She couldn’t see the faces of the people out there, but she heard their laughter, saw the movement of a couple slow-dancing to one side of the pool.
“They don’t bite,” Jean-Pierre promised, waiting for her while she took it all in.
“You forget I met Henri before he was fully domesticated.” She had always liked the Reynaud brothers. When they were younger, she loved to see them wrestle and play, always in competition with each other, from sports to board games to who could eat their cereal faster.
Sometimes, when her father would spend a week with Leon to plot and plan a strategy for trades, she would roam free with the boys on their big ranch in Texas, or else they’d stay here. The best part of the Louisiana house had always been the lake. Before they were old enough to take out boats, they’d still built sand castles or tried to dam a little waterway that ran into Pontchartrain. She hadn’t needed to worry about appearances with them back when Jack Doucet had viewed Leon Reynaud as a trusted friend. It was only afterward that her father had warned her never to reveal the financial hardship brought on by the rift. That part was in the past, but the resentment hadn’t faded.
“He channels the fierce side into game days now.” He paused at the screen door leading out onto the patio. “Although you’d never know he had a fierce side lately to look at him with Fiona.” He pointed to the couple she’d seen dancing by the pool.
The two moved as one, the woman’s long black skirt wrapping around the man’s thigh when he turned her, their steps synched to a private beat. Just looking at them made Tatiana’s heart ache. There’d been a time she’d longed for that kind of romance in her life. Now, her heart was full of love for César and she was glad for it. But a mother’s all-consuming tenderness for her child was a far cry from the emotional bond so obviously shared by the dancers.
Everyone on the pool patio looked happy, in fact. The two couples seated near the fireplace spoke animatedly. An extravagant blonde held court with a story that required both hands to tell. Tatiana almost hated to interrupt them. It would have been awkward enough setting foot in the Reynaud home after the way Leon had fired her father. And her dad had reciprocated, bashing the family’s lauded football savvy in the press, calling Leon a mircromanaging control freak who couldn’t share the spotlight with anyone who knew more than him. The quotes came to mind easily even now. But that wasn’t all; tonight she had to get reacquainted with the family at the same time she introduced them to them to the child she’d kept secret.
“Here we go.” Jean-Pierre palmed the small of her back, guiding her through the door out into the night air.
The scent of burning firewood wafted on the breeze, mingling with the chlorine tinge of the pool. Six sets of eyes turned toward them as they strode closer.
“It’s the prodigal son returned,” Jean-Pierre called to them. “I’m back on the bayou and ready for a wedding.”
Tatiana couldn’t process who shouted what, but he was greeted with a chorus of male taunts with every step.
“I hope you can find a tie before the wedding.”
“I thought I was the prodigal son?”
“Technically, we’re not on the bayou, dude.”
But despite the ribbing, his brothers descended on him, giving him a variety of punches, backslaps and complicated handshakes that looked more fit for the gridiron than cocktail hour. They were an absurdly good-looking family with their tall, athletic builds, dark hair and dark eyes. Their mother had passed along their coloring while their father had donated his size and strength. Would César look like them as he grew up?
Tatiana was only too glad to fade into the background for the moment, but she could feel the keen eye of her hostess and the other women even before Gervais separated himself from the men.
“Tatiana.” His nod was reserved as he extended a hand. He had always been the most refined of the brothers, aware of his role as head of the family even as a teen. Tonight, he was dressed like a man worthy of a princess, his flawless silk suit custom-tailored to fit his wide shoulders. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Is that any way to greet my biggest fan?” Henri elbowed past Dempsey and Gervais, his slim-cut jacket a smooth fit over a dark T-shirt. He pulled her in for a hug. “Welcome back to Cajun country, darlin’, and thank you kindly for single-handedly increasing my odds of winning next week’s Hurricanes versus Gladiators matchup, according to the latest Vegas line.”
Henri cut a glance at his brother, clearly angling to aggravate Jean-Pierre. Before he could respond, however, Dempsey pulled Henri away and stood beside her, his gray jacket as crisp as the gray linen shirt beneath it. His white-and-gray-striped tie was pinned into place with a silver football tac.
“Don’t mind Henri,” Dempsey warned. “He’s had locker-room manners for so long we don’t know if we can fix him
.”
“You all flunk the manners class,” the platinum-haired beauty informed them from her seat beside the fire. Only now was it evident the woman was pregnant, the empire waist of her dress settling on a baby bump. “Some of us have not been introduced to our guest.”
Jean-Pierre escorted Tatiana over to Gervais’s fiancée, who must not have been quite as frightening as she sounded since none of the Reynauds appeared chastened in the least.
“Erika, my apologies. Thank you for having us. Please meet Tatiana Doucet.” His hand was steady on her spine, a warmth that gave her courage.
Because no matter how the family responded to her now, they were bound to behave differently once they found out about the son she’d kept a secret from Jean-Pierre. That is, if they didn’t know already. Would Dempsey have mentioned it? But looking into the cool blue gaze of her hostess, Tatiana couldn’t glean a guess one way or the other. Which was rare for her since she’d always been good at sizing up a jury.
“A pleasure to meet you.” Her fingers closed around Tatiana’s, a collection of delicate silver rings pressing against her skin. But Tatiana’s gaze was all for the impressive sparkler on the woman’s left hand; it seemed to throw rainbows of reflected firelight into the dark evening. “We have all been curious who Jean-Pierre would bring to the wedding. You can imagine our surprise when we heard his date announced in a press interview rather than an RSVP.”
Henri’s wife, Fiona, a woman Tatiana had only seen in photographs online, came to stand beside Erika. A petite brunette with a ponytail almost to her waist flanked the princess’s other side.
Tatiana took a moment to formulate a response, but the woman with the ponytail leaped into the momentary silence.
“Actually, Dempsey announced our engagement in a postgame conference, so I wasn’t at all surprised.” She thrust out her hand. “I’m Adelaide.”
“So nice to meet you.” Tatiana remembered reading that Dempsey had proposed to his longtime personal assistant, a friend from his childhood.
“I’m Fiona, Henri’s wife,” the other woman said, shaking Tatiana’s hand. “And I’m thrilled to have finally evened out the gender gap at family events, so you are most welcome, Tatiana.”
“Thank you. I’m grateful for the chance to reconnect with the Reynauds.” Her gaze slid over the faces of each brother as they crowded closer to their respective women. She really had missed their friendship even though she’d never been as close to the others as she’d been to Jean-Pierre. “I didn’t realize until recently what a mistake it’s been to allow my father’s quarrels to become my own.”
“There is a family dispute?” Erika frowned, turning her crystalline-blue gaze to Gervais. “I thought the problem stemmed from the court case—” She must have sensed the sudden tension in the group because she cut herself off midsentence. “Forgive me. I have been away from diplomacy for too long and my skills are rusty.”
Tatiana’s cheeks heated as the blaze in the fireplace flared high.
“There is nothing to forgive. Long after my father argued with Leon, I added fuel to an old fire by taking a case that pitted me against a well-known football player who is a friend to this family.” She hadn’t known the connection at the time—not until the case had gone to trial.
She swallowed hard, feeling the convivial atmosphere fading. Even easygoing Henri wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“But the case is done,” Jean-Pierre reminded her—and everyone else—while a server moved silently around the patio setting up trays and glasses. “And I’ve never held her father’s choices against her. So I thought it was well past time for her to return to New Orleans.”
Uncomfortable as she was about subterfuge, she shifted slightly closer to him, grateful for his support among people who respected Marcus Caruthers, the player whose career she’d effectively ended.
No, she reminded herself. The man who had effectively ended his own career by firing an assistant after she’d complained about sexual harassment in the workplace. Tatiana steeled her spine again; she needed to recover her lawyerly disposition even more than she needed her prebaby body.
“Actually, Jean-Pierre is being kind. He came to my rescue after I made a very offhanded remark to a man I didn’t realize was a reporter.” She’d been a babbling, nervous wreck before she had finally confronted Jean-Pierre about their son. She needed to be careful she didn’t become a babbling nervous wreck all over again. Cursing postpartum hormones, she turned to Erika, feeling as if she owed her hostess an explanation. “So I was as surprised as anyone that he invited me to be his guest for the week. It was quick thinking on his part to deflect interest from my comment, and I’m truly grateful he did since I didn’t mean it and because it gave me the chance to reconnect with all the Reynauds.”
A beat of silence followed. Beside her, she sensed Jean-Pierre’s tension in the way he held himself. For her part, however, she felt relieved to share the truth.
The family shared uneasy glances. What had she said?
“We had hoped you were a couple,” Adelaide explained, perhaps seeing her confusion. “Photographs from your boat ride today are already appearing online, so we hoped—”
“Let’s have a toast,” Gervais proposed, coming to Adelaide’s rescue. He waved forward a server who’d been setting up a small outdoor bar. “It’s time we celebrated your return, no matter how unorthodox the circumstances.”
The young man tending the bar brought a tray full of glasses in one hand and two distinctive black bottles of champagne in the other. Another server, a woman dressed in a tuxedo shirt and pants that matched the man’s, joined him to help him pop the tops and quickly pour champagne for everyone but Erika, who was given a fresh glass of seltzer. Tatiana decided a small, social sip of champagne would not derail her nursing.
Gervais didn’t miss a beat, raising his cut-crystal flute as soon as it was placed in his hand. Everyone else followed suit and waited for his toast. Tatiana could hear the waves of the lake against the shore nearby in the quiet.
“To Jean-Pierre and Tatiana, reunited after too long.”
Grateful for the way the eldest Reynaud smoothed over the strained moment, she relaxed for the first time since she’d walked in the front door. But before she could lift her glass to her lips, the maid who’d admitted them reappeared at Jean-Pierre’s side.
“Excuse me.” She spoke in soft tones that Tatiana could overhear. “I believe the guest you invited is here, sir.”
“Of course. Hold that thought, Gervais.” Jean-Pierre strode toward the back of the patio, where Lucinda was standing at the door, a small bundle in her arms.
All at once, Tatiana remembered that the biggest hurdle of the night still awaited them.
And while the timing felt a bit awkward to her, Jean-Pierre grinned, as if a big reveal had been his intention all along.
Her knees turned to water as she stood alone with the rest of the family. All eyes turned to Jean-Pierre as he escorted Lucinda into the firelight with her precious charge cradled in her arms.
A collective gasp sounded. Tatiana could feel the shock travel from one Reynaud to the next, like Sunday football fans performing the wave around a crowded stadium.
“When Tatiana said she was glad to reconnect, she didn’t mention the reason we are happiest to be together.” He stared at her in the shifting shadows from the burning torches all around the party, his expression full of paternal pride.
“Meet our son, César.”
Seven
Somehow, the zydeco music continued playing on Gervais Reynaud’s expansive patio and pool deck. The servers poured more champagne and Gervais offered a toast to César Reynaud, the first of the next generation. People helped themselves to hors d’oeuvres while conversation slowly recovered.
Tatiana sat on a far ottoman, nibbling on a grits-and-gumbo crostini to
pped with a tiny shrimp skewer. She knew it was delicious, as it incorporated all the flavors of the famed Cajun stew. But she barely registered the taste.
Everyone offered congratulations. Of course they did.
She’d murmured polite acknowledgments and enough commentary to be social, but as the focus shifted fully to the baby, she was able to clear her head long enough to take a much-needed deep breath and calm down. Because all the while Jean-Pierre showed off his firstborn, she seethed at the way her son’s introduction to his family had been tainted by half-truths.
Since the Reynauds had been given no explanation for why Tatiana and Jean-Pierre had kept their baby news quiet, she knew without question his family would blame her for keeping César a secret. Surely they all believed that if Jean-Pierre knew about the baby before now, he would have told them. And, no doubt, he would have.
So even as they passed around the sleeping newborn in his cream-colored footie with a velour shawl collar, they must have guessed that Tatiana had been the one keeping secrets.
But what Jean-Pierre had failed to share with them was her reason for not including him in their son’s birth. He had called their union a mistake. He’d walked out on her the morning after their one-night stand, making it clear that he’d only been on board for one night.
What was she supposed to do when that first pregnancy test had come back positive? How could she share such incredible, life-changing news with a man who might view their son as...another mistake? She swallowed hard, reminding herself that her fear had passed. Seeing Jean-Pierre hold César so tenderly now, and hearing the obvious pride in his voice as he talked about their son, it was almost inconceivable that she’d once feared early on that Jean-Pierre might have suggested she terminate her pregnancy.
But with the way they’d parted, she had most certainly feared the worst.
“Excuse me,” she said to no one in particular, backing away from the crowd around César. She needed a moment to herself, the ugly thoughts spinning so fast she felt dizzy. “I’ll be right back.”
