Miranda was struck by visions of her mother, all of six years old, being tucked into bed only to awaken in the morning to find that the mother she loved wouldn’t be coming home.
Life’s too short, big sis. Lighten up and enjoy yourself, Victoria had told her.
When had her sister gotten so wise?
“I’d just decided to wait until the morning to break the news to the girls when the second call came.” The hardness in her grandfather’s voice didn’t hide the hollowness she heard there, and Miranda braced herself, not wanting to hear how such a tragedy could grow even worse, knowing she had to.
“Who called, Grandfather?”
“Laure’s lawyer. He told me she’d retained him to deliver a letter to me in the event of her death, that he had to drive in from the city and would arrive shortly before dawn. He asked me not to announce her death until I’d read her letter.”
Inhaling deeply, he tightened his grip on the cane, visibly steeling himself, and Miranda did the same, waiting, her sense of foreboding nearly overwhelming, despite her resolve.
“Her letter explained everything. The monthly Women’s Club meetings she’d been attending for years had actually been visits to an art studio in New York City. While I thought she’d been dabbling in a hobby at home, content to paint portraits of our daughters, she’d been painting with a passion and taking her work into the city to show.
“For one weekend a month, she lived as she’d been born to. But I forced her into living a secret life that I never suspected. I’d blinded myself because I needed to believe she was content. And that one letter proved how wrong I’d been.”
“You had no idea?” The question slipped out as a pained whisper when she realized what a shock learning about her grandmother’s secret career must have been.
He shook his head. “She’d started as a lark. That weekend was her private getaway, a way to replenish her soul, but then her career exploded. She found solace in her work, an outlet for her passion, the life I forced her to keep inside.”
Forced? Miranda heard the bitterness, wasn’t sure she understood.
“She felt guilty.” He gave a harsh laugh. “She knew I associated her painting with her life back in France, and I’d shut out anything about that time. In her letter, she explained that she’d tried to abandon her painting, but it was such a part of her…she feared I’d learn her secret and be hurt. Even though I forced her to hide who she was, she only cared about hurting me. She’d planned for every eventuality so she couldn’t be connected to Mireille Marceaux. No publicity. No paper trail. The only people who knew her identity were her art dealer and lawyer.
“On that one weekend a month, she worked in the gallery as an assistant, mingling with people who celebrated her art. But no one knew who she was. She even planned for death to make sure the money she’d earned would be dispersed so there would never be a need for the media or lawyers or anyone to start following her finances. She dotted every I and crossed every T.”
Westfalls Academy suddenly made sense. She’d left her fortune to her daughters’ school. “Oh, Grandfather.”
“I was so angry.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I had to be. If I wasn’t I’d have had to face that my need to forget the war had driven the woman I loved into hiding. I brought her to this country because I couldn’t live without her. But I abandoned her here. I needed to forget the war so much that I tried to erase every memory. Even in her. I molded her into the perfect society wife and nearly killed her soul and her passion—the very things I fell in love with.
“I was angry because if I wasn’t, I’d have had to face that I would rather sacrifice the woman I loved than slay my own dragons. I was responsible for driving her away and robbing my daughters of the mother who loved them so much. All because I couldn’t face the memories of what happened inside that concentration camp. To our men. To me…”
Miranda didn’t know when she’d started to cry, but silent tears welled in her throat, a lump of emotion that choked her.
“Laure tried for years to convince me to get help, but I was too proud. If I hid how hard I was struggling, the problem would go away. But she loved me enough to be who I needed her to be. Except for that one weekend a month.”
He finally met her gaze, and she could see the weight of the truth in his eyes, the sorrow. “She was a magnificent woman, Miranda. Instead of hiding from all the tragedy of the war, she’d faced it and learned a precious life lesson—to love as if every moment was her last. So she loved me that way, and our girls. It has taken me decades to face this, to understand that to be the mother our girls deserved, she couldn’t let her soul die. Even if she had to hide. In order to love us, she couldn’t let anyone take away who she was, not even me….”
His words trailed off, fading to a hollow quiet that punctuated the truth, and the distance between them. Tears slipped down Miranda’s cheeks, and she stood there, watching him, her own heart breaking, the silence so complete.
She ached for this strong man, who’d borne the crushing weight of this truth all alone. Instead of embracing his family and comforting each other in grief, he’d pushed everyone away. He’d been so devastated that he hadn’t even allowed his daughters to take comfort in each other. He’d hidden his heartache the same way her grandmother had hidden her painting.
And Miranda ached for two little girls who’d gone to bed one night never suspecting how tragically their lives would change when they awoke, never taking comfort in knowing how much their mother had loved them.
How much their father still did.
“Mother should know.” Her words were a whisper that would bridge the distance between them, if he would let her.
He inclined his head, and when he finally turned to face her, there were tears in his eyes, too. “I know.”
She willed him to understand that only he could choose to face the past and let his family back into his life, to accept their love and support and stop hiding.
To love as if each day was the last.
She could take the first step, but he had to let himself be included.
And Miranda understood that this was a lesson she needed to learn, too.
Life was growing and learning and achieving and, yes, failing, too. Life was ups and downs and handling them with the people she loved. She had no right to deny herself and Troy the pleasures and experiences of being a man and woman who loved each other.
Because that’s what they were—people with strengths and weaknesses, who could live and love and grow together.
If only she let them.
So she went to her grandfather. She placed her hand over his where he held the Roussell family device so tightly within his grasp, and raised up to kiss his cheek.
“I love you, Grandfather.”
And when he opened his arms to her, Miranda knew she’d done the right thing.
16
TROY HAD EXPECTED opposition when he insisted on parading Miranda blindfolded through the Wedding Wing, but to her credit, she made the trip in stride. He kept a firm hold on her arm and led her from their suite to the elevator then down to the lobby.
They’d gotten a few smiles from the desk clerks, but he didn’t mention them. After the night she’d had wondering about what was happening with her mother and grandfather, he led her past The Falling Woman, by passing another reminder of the long-hidden truths that were currently being revealed between people she cared about.
It wasn’t until he’d steered her inside the spa then followed an attendant into a special room that he finally brought her to a halt and untied the blindfold.
“Okay, Mrs. Knight. Open your eyes.”
Miranda took one look around the tiled room, where a small oval pool bubbled with fragrant brown mud and an entire wall comprised an open shower, and frowned at him.
“I thought you rolled around in enough mud on land maneuvers, Lieutenant Commander.”
“I do. But I have a prize to collect and I want to collect it h
ere.”
“In the mudroom?”
“Rolling around in the mud will make you happy.”
“Troy, we don’t have to do this just because I want to. I won’t mind—”
“Yes, we do.” There was no room for argument here. “You put a smile on your face when I took you fishing. Consideration works both ways.”
“Fishing wasn’t so bad.”
“I don’t care if mud bathing is worse than furniture shopping. I’ll wallow in it to make you happy. Fair’s fair.”
She gazed up at him with a searching expression then inclined her head. “Okay.”
“No debate?”
He’d expected one. It had taken him too long to identify that Miranda wasn’t nearly as comfortable being accommodated as she was accommodating, but now that he’d finally opened his eyes, he intended to repay her consideration in kind.
“What’s there to debate? You’re right. Fair’s fair. And if you really want to collect your prize here… I’m an accommodating wife.”
Now it was his turn to eye her curiously, but she just smiled invitingly and started unbuttoning his shirt.
“This won’t be nearly as painful as furniture shopping,” she said.
“That’s a promise?”
“It is.” Her blue eyes sparkled as she tugged the shirt from his waistband. “We’ll sit in that cool mud and relax—”
“And you’ll tell me what your mother said when she called this morning.”
“And I’ll tell you what my mother said when she called this morning.” Miranda’s smile widened as she dragged his sleeves down his arms.
Troy waited as she hung his shirt on a hook then returned for his pants. His blood began to hum, every nerve on edge because he’d been anticipating his prize. Her smile struck him as mysterious, enticing, an invitation to great sex.
And then there was the way she touched him… She had that familiar determination she used to get after he’d been away too long. Ready. Hungry. Wanting to take the lead and ensure he satisfied her the way she wanted to be satisfied.
This was one of his favorite things about marriage to Miranda—watching the bold, sensual woman emerge when she let her hair down.
He wanted her to let that mane of silky curls fall down her back and keep it there.
“Mother called to tell me she was going to a storage facility to arrange to have Grandmother’s paintings brought home today.” She dragged his pants down.
“So Laura’s mother was right. Your grandmother hadn’t wanted the paintings destroyed.”
Miranda shook her head, making him struggle to concentrate when she unleashed a promising erection, her smooth fingers making his body come to life in her hands.
“Actually, no,” she said. “My grandmother did leave instructions for her paintings to be destroyed. She didn’t want anything left behind to connect her art to Mireille Marceaux’s. She knew people might notice the similarities like Mrs. Wellesley did.” She gazed up at him with a soft expression. “Grandfather couldn’t bring himself to destroy them. Not when they were all his daughters would ever have of her.”
“So Victoria was right,” he said thoughtfully. “The senator was devastated when she died.”
Troy could understand. After Miranda had delivered her mother to her grandfather’s study last night, she’d given him the synopsized version of the senator’s revelations on the ride to the hotel. They’d decided to sit back and wait while the senator worked things out with his daughters.
And so far, so good.
Even the publication of Victoria’s column in this morning’s paper seemed anticlimactic by comparison. Except to the town. It wasn’t yet noon, and Adam had told them that the morning edition had already sold out of the stands and a local television network wanted to send a crew for the wedding, turning this denouement into a live media circus.
Also according to Adam, the brides were pleased the story would be picked up on the local network. Not only could this sort of coverage spread the magic of Falling Inn Bed, but a little family unity would go a long way toward putting the fascination with this family to rest once and for all. And since both camps remained silent about the weddings, it appeared that everyone stood united behind this event.
He hoped that turned out to be true.
His sister-in-law and Laura wanted family unity, and he suspected they were about to get a lot more than they’d bargained for. Neither of them had a clue yet about the forces mobilizing at the family mansion, or the enormity of the secrets to be revealed. The families would get to put their rusty togetherness skills to the test when they decided how best to deal with Laure Roussell’s many identities.
“So what’s going to happen with Laura’s mom?”
“Mother says after she makes the arrangements to have the art shipped back to the house, she’ll pay her sister a visit.”
“Alone?”
“I offered to go, but she wants to do this herself.”
“She’ll be okay?”
Miranda nodded. “She sounded…good. Here’s a chance to fix things, and you know Mother, she loves a good challenge.”
“What about Victoria and Laura?”
“Laura’s out of my jurisdiction, but Mother’s leaning toward surprising Victoria at the wedding tomorrow. I told her go for it. Victoria has no idea who’ll show up and who won’t, so we’ll show up together as a wedding gift. She likes surprises.”
“I like that.” He liked this side of his wife, too. She seemed at peace with the unfolding events, at ease in a way she hadn’t been for too long.
Slipping his arms around her, he pulled her close, aligning all her curves with his. She exhaled a breathy sigh that made him smile, and he reached for the zipper at her nape, deciding it was time to see some skin.
“Should be some party. What about your grandfather? Think he’ll come, too?”
She lifted her hair to help him access the zipper. “I suppose that depends on how this afternoon goes between mother and Aunt Suzanne.”
Aunt Suzanne.
He couldn’t imagine life without his family—even scattered around the globe as they were. Knowing he could pick up the phone any time effectively erased time zones. He wanted Miranda to have that kind of family support, too. People she felt close to. People she could share her life with. He sensed the future held lots of possibilities for this family, and he liked that Miranda had grabbed them with both hands.
Now if they could just overcome a few obstacles in their lives…
Troy might have to amend his goal of getting her to share what had been going on at home, but he wasn’t too disappointed. They were moving in that direction. Many things had changed since their arrival at this hotel. Miranda had assumed control of the situation and was opening up to excellent results.
Her mood had also improved dramatically, and she hadn’t put on her perfect smile and pretended everything was okay since her confrontation with Victoria. She’d been sharing her thoughts, and he intended to put forth the effort to help her continue this trend at home.
“Thanks for being so understanding with all the time we’ve had to spend dealing with my family on our vacation.” Letting her dress slither to the floor, she snuggled against him, and the contact of all her curves shot his pulse into the red zone.
“My pleasure. I like when you appreciate me.”
“I do, you know,” she whispered against his lips, dragging her tongue against his mouth in a kiss that tasted like a promise. “You won our bet, and I can be a very gracious loser.”
“That’s what I like best about playing games with you—it doesn’t seem to matter who wins or loses. Now, I want you to get naked and in that mud.”
“Is that a command?”
“It is.”
She laughed and the next thing he knew she was slipping away, leaving him standing there hard and eager as she shimmied out of her undergarments.
This was a deliberate striptease, and he smiled as she kicked off her sandals and d
escended into the pool, a bold performance that had his blood pumping hard enough to make him overcome his every hesitation about the merits of a mud bath.
He followed, slogging into the cool mess until he was neck deep. Miranda piled her hair high on her head and sat on a built-in seat. She closed her eyes with a sigh, and he took advantage of the moment to find her leg and slide his foot behind her knee.
“You know, Troy, something occurred to me last night while I was talking with my grandfather.”
“What’s that?”
“He told me that my grandmother had tried to convince him to get help dealing with the after affects of his imprisonment. But he was so focused on his family’s expectations of him, and his own, too, I think, that he tried to block out any reminders of the war instead.”
“Not uncommon, especially after the conditions he endured in a concentration camp.” Troy not only knew history, but was intimately acquainted with the risks servicemen and-women took on as part of the job. “Coping isn’t easy, Miranda. The government provides assistance to rehabilitate servicemen physically and emotionally, but I don’t know what was available in your grandfather’s time.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. My grandfather didn’t want help. He told me it took him years to understand what happened, and by then he’d already sacrificed everything by pretending everything was fine.”
She was in a reflective mood, reminding him again of how long it had been since she’d been this at ease and casual about how she felt. He stretched back against the wall, surprised how the velvety cool mud penetrated his muscles.
“What’s bugging you about that?” he asked.
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