by Jennie Lucas
“Calm down, dear. You’re acting crazy.”
Maurine stepped calmly between us on the hill. She peered down at Edward benignly, as if about to offer him cookies at a party, and the upside-down SUV behind us, with its crushed steel doors and a wheel still spinning, was just a decoration, like fairy lights or balloons. “Whatever you think is wrong, Alejandro is my grandson.”
Edward gave a hard laugh. “It’s a lie.” He coughed. “I’ll prove it when I get the court order for a blood test....”
“You know, I always wondered.” She smiled, then looked at Alejandro, who was still on the ground, holding me protectively in his lap. She gave a brisk nod. “I was about to tell you, before all the fuss broke out. The hairbrush. You’re my grandson, Alejandro. Really and truly. The grandson of my heart.” She gave us a broad, self-satisfied smile. “Also a grandson of a DNA test.”
I felt Alejandro jump. His face was pale.
“What...?” he breathed.
“The silly secret was just causing such a problem between you two.” She looked between us severely. “And the way you were botching things. It just was ridiculous. Honestly, I’d always wondered why your mother stayed on as housekeeper for all those years, even when my son wasn’t paying her. And then there was that family resemblance.... Anyway. It never mattered to me one way or the other. Until it started to interfere with your happiness.” She grinned. “So I took your hairbrush and had a DNA test. You are my grandson, Alejandro. By heart, as you always were. But also by blood.”
“No!” Edward screamed. Then he was suddenly quiet. I think he had fainted from pain.
Rather vengefully, I hoped he had. Although I didn’t want him to die, of course. I didn’t. Really, I didn’t.
Alejandro’s eyes were wide. “Is this true, Abuela?”
She nodded. “Remain the Duke of Alzacar, and if anyone wants to check if you are my grandson, let them.” She looked at him and said quietly, “There is no one left in the family to inherit, if not you. No one you’re cheating of his rightful due. And let me tell you something more. You’re the finest duke of them all.”
I saw him blinking suspiciously fast. He rose to his feet, helping me to rise, as well. He hugged his grandmother, then pulled me into the embrace. When we finally pulled away, I wiped my eyes, then glanced over at Edward, still unconscious.
“We should call an ambulance, do you think?”
“I can see him breathing,” Maurine said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’s fine.” She sighed. “But I’ll call.” She glanced at Alejandro. “And I expect the policía will want to come, as well....”
She went toward the castle, and Alejandro looked at me.
“She’s right. We have only a few moments before the police arrive,” he said quietly. “A choice must be made.”
“So make it,” I said, trusting whatever he’d decide.
He clawed back his hair. “I am tired of secrets. Tired of lies.” He turned to me. “I never want another secret to shadow the light between us.”
I nodded, unable to speak over the lump in my throat.
“So.” He smiled at me, blinking fast, then gave a decisive nod. He walked over to Edward, who was still unconscious, his legs stretched out at a painful angle. He put his fingertips to the other man’s neck, then straightened.
“Is he—dead?” I said. Not hopefully. Really.
He shook his head. “His pulse is strong. He will recover.”
“Too bad,” I said.
Alejandro looked at me in amazement. Coming back, he wrapped his arms around me. “It’s not like you to be bloodthirsty, mi amor,” he murmured.
“I can be dangerous—” I reached up my hand to caress his cheek “—when it comes to protecting those I love.”
“Yes.” The corners of his sensual mouth quirked. Then his expression became serious. “But are you brave enough to face what lies ahead? There will be scandal. Or worse. Though perhaps I can protect Maurine....”
“How?”
“I will say that she was distraught over her family’s death, and that I tricked her into believing I was her grandson.”
“Oh, she won’t like that at all.”
“No,” he agreed. He looked at me, emotion in his dark eyes. “Can you bear it, Lena? The storm that might come? Miguel will lose his legacy....”
“You’re wrong.” I put my hand on his cheek. My eyes were watery. “His legacy is more than some title. It’s doing the right thing, even when it’s hard.”
“And love,” Alejandro whispered, pressing my hands together as he kissed them fervently. “Loving for all your life, with all your heart.”
“It’s family, always and forever.” Looking up at my husband, I smiled through my tears. “And whatever may come—our forever has already begun.”
* * *
There are all kinds of ways to make a family.
Some ways are big, such as the way Maurine took in an orphaned twelve-year-old boy and insisted on claiming him as her grandson.
Some ways are small, such as when I sent an invitation to my wedding reception to my cousin Claudie.
Autumn had arrived at Rohares Castle, and with it harvest season for our tenants. The summer heat had subsided, leaving a gorgeous swath of vivid colors, of morning mists and early twilight, full of excuses to sip oceans of hot tea with milk in the morning and go to bed early with my husband with a bottle of ruby-red wine. Every night, we lit a fire in the fireplace—and in our bed. And that fire, as months passed, seemed only to get bigger and brighter.
Just that morning, Maurine had caught us kissing in the breakfast room. She’d laughed. “I don’t think the honeymoon will really ever end for you two,” she said affectionately. Then the doorbell rang, and she’d hurried from the room with a desperate cry: “The florist! Finally!” And we were alone.
I’d given Alejandro a sensual smile.
“Could I interest you in a little more honeymoon?” I said, batting my eyes coyly, to which my husband whispered, “All day, every day,” before he kissed me senseless, then picked me up like a Neanderthal and carried me upstairs, back to bed.
Now, the crowded banqueting hall was lit up for evening, bedecked gloriously in autumn flowers in the most beautiful wedding reception I’d ever imagined. Across the crowds of our guests, I caught Alejandro’s eye. He smiled back at me hungrily, as if it had been a year since he’d last taken me to bed, instead of just a few hours. His hot glance almost made me forget we were surrounded by family and friends.
“I told you he would be your husband,” a voice crowed behind me. “I always can tell!”
“You were right.” Turning, I smiled at Dolores, my neighbor from San Miguel de Allende who’d been whisked here from Mexico for the reception. She’d been equal parts impressed and triumphant when Alejandro had sent a private jet to collect her.
I’d sent Mr. Corgan, Mrs. Morris and Hildy a first-class ticket here from London. They were still working for Claudie. “But she’s mellowed a great deal since she became Mrs. Crosby,” the butler informed me. “He’s rich, and that has made her very happy.”
But I could see that for myself. Claudie had arrived at my door swathed in fur, with her brand-new husband at her side.
“I’m going to give you your inheritance back,” was the first thing she announced to me. “David said it’s the right thing to do. And besides—” she grinned “—we can afford it.”
Same old Claudie, I thought. And yet not exactly the same. “Thank you,” I said in surprise. I paused, then smiled. “Donate it to charity. Introduce me to your husband?”
She beamed. “I’d love to.”
David Crosby was fat, short and bald, but he was indeed very rich, a king of Wall Street. They looked totally wrong together. Until you saw the way they looked at each other.
>
Claudie told me they’d met through a matchmaking service just for rich people.
“Trophy wives for billionaires?” I guessed.
“After all, Lena,” she sniffed, “not everyone can manage to randomly fall pregnant by the love of their lives.”
“No, indeed,” I said.
“And I’m so happy...” she said wistfully, and I thought that she, too, must have been very lonely in London.
“I’m happy for you, truly,” I said, and impulsively hugged her. My cousin stiffened, then let me hug her. I was encouraged. We weren’t exactly best friends, but it was a start. And after all, we were family....
Pulling away, she wiped her eyes. “At least you dress better now. Your style used to make me physically ill.”
Distant family, thankfully.
But Alejandro and I were surrounded by people who cared about us. I looked around at all the people who were here, celebrating our marriage. Thinking with relief about the one who was not.
I still woke up in a cold sweat occasionally, thinking how I’d almost lost everything by getting into Edward St. Cyr’s SUV that day.
Edward, sadly, had lived.
Oops, did I say that out loud?
Yes, he lived. From what I’d heard, he’d had an easier time than he deserved. A punctured lung and five broken bones. When the ambulance and police arrived, he’d refused to press charges against anyone, or even talk about the accident. But as he’d been lifted into the ambulance, our eyes had met, and he’d coldly and silently turned his face to the wall. He was done with me. A fact that left me profoundly grateful.
I tried to wish him well, because he had once been my friend.
Okay, but seriously. He’d tried to run over my husband with his Range Rover. That’s not the kind of thing I could ever forgive, or forget. So mostly I just tried not to think of it.
Because we had so many other things to be grateful for. As I stood in the banqueting hall of our castle, wearing flowers in my hair and a blue silk gown, I caught Alejandro’s eyes across the crowd. And I suddenly didn’t see all the princes and farmers, starlets and secretaries, or the happy mix of our neighbors and friends. I didn’t see the champagne, or the amazing food, or the flowers hung joyously across the rafters amid a profusion of music and laughter. When I met my husband’s gaze, I shivered, and no one else existed.
Alejandro had contacted a lawyer and confessed everything. With the lawyer’s advice, he’d thrown himself on the mercy of the court. As Maurine’s DNA test had proved, he was the duke’s heir, and his only heir at that, and so the group of nobles who oversaw this type of thing decided to allow him to keep his title. He’d also kept the name. Apparently the combination of money and being a direct blood descendant made a big difference. Suddenly, no one was using the word fraud.
The scandal was intense, though. For weeks, our castle had been under siege, with crowds of reporters shaking our gates, clamoring for a picture or an interview. But since no one on the estate or in the nearby town would talk, even the scandal died eventually, especially when the Hollywood star I’d seen at Alejandro’s party in Madrid had been discovered naked, drunk and belligerent at the base of the Eiffel Tower. Bless her heart. The paparazzi eventually melted away, as our story was old news. Just in time for our reception today, too.
Tomorrow was Alejandro’s birthday. His real birthday. I would give him the painting of Miguel and Maurine, and show him the brand-new photo album I’d begun for our family. On the back page, I’d tucked in a picture of a sonogram. We were going to have another baby sometime next summer, when the jacaranda trees were in bloom.
I could hardly wait to give Alejandro his gift....
I heard a clank of silverware against crystal. “Everyone. Could I have your attention?” Looking up, I saw Alejandro holding up his champagne glass. “I’d like to thank all our family and friends for coming today....”
“Any time you want to send your private jet,” someone shouted.
“Or first-class tickets!”
“Or help me pave my garden path—how’s Wednesday?”
There was scattered laughter, and a few tipsy cheers.
Alejandro grinned. “I’d also like to thank my grandmother for doing such a wonderful job designing this party....”
“Darn straight,” Maurine said stoutly, holding our smiling baby in her arms. Miguel, though barefoot as he did not like shoes, was suitably dressed in a baby tuxedo.
“I’d like to thank our baby son for sleeping so well at night....”
Darn straight, I echoed, but didn’t say aloud.
“But most of all—” Alejandro’s dark eyes glowed with tenderness that took my breath away as he looked at me “—I’d like to thank my beautiful wife. Lena. You gave me the family I never dreamed I could have. Just waking up in your arms every morning is a heaven beyond what any mortal man should deserve. But I will spend the rest of my life trying.” He held up the flute. “To family. Forever.”
“Family forever,” everyone cried, with the greatest cheer of all.
“Thank you,” I said to them. I blinked fast, smiling with tears in my eyes. “I love you all.” I looked at my husband. “Especially you.”
Coming through the crowd, Alejandro took me in his arms, and kissed me soundly in front of everyone. And I kissed him back. Oh, boy, you bet I did.
It was crazy. Just a year ago, I’d been so scared and alone. I’d hated Alejandro. I’d thought I would remain a single mother forever.
The disastrous night we were married in Madrid, Alejandro said sometimes fate chooses better for us than we can choose for ourselves. But I think there’s more to it.
It’s not just fate. You create your own future, step by step, by being brave. By doing the right thing. By telling the truth. By trying your best.
By reaching for the man you love, and giving him the chance to reach back, pull you into his arms and finally show you the man he really is inside—the powerful, infuriating, sexy, compassionate man whom no one else will ever truly know.
Love, like trust, is earned. It is kept, day by day, night by night, as we reveal to each other who we were. Who we are. And most of all, who we hope to be.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from UNDONE BY THE SULTAN’S TOUCH by Caitlin Crews.
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Ten years ago one devastating night changed everything for Austin, Hunter and Alex. Now they must each play their part in the revenge against the one man who ruined it all.
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CHAPTER ONE
THE GIRL CAME out of nowhere.
Cleo Churchill stamped on the brakes in her tiny rental car, gasping as the car swerved before coming to a jolting halt in the narrow little alley of a road somewhere deep in the twisting, ancient heart of the capital city of Jhurat.
For one panicked heartbeat, then another, she thought she’d been seeing things. The blazing desert sun was only then beginning to drop behind the ornate historic buildings, making the shadows lengthen and stretch. She’d lost her way in the tangle of old streets and one city looked very much like another after six months of traveling all around Europe and into the Middle East. And more to the point, there was absolutely no reason a girl should dive in front of her car—
But there she was, young and wide-eyed and startlingly pretty behind her flowing scarves, right there at the passenger window—seemingly unharmed.
I didn’t hit her, thank God.
“Please!” The girl spoke through the car’s open window, desperate and direct. “Help me!”
Cleo didn’t think. The adrenaline of the near miss hummed through her with an almost sickening electricity, but she motioned toward the door, aware as she did it that her hands were shaking.
“Are you all right?” she asked as the girl wrenched open the door and threw herself inside. “Are you hurt? Do you need—?”
“Drive!” the girl cried as if pursued by demons. “Please! Before—”
Cleo didn’t wait to find out before what. She’d escaped her own demons, hadn’t she? She knew how it was done. She stepped on the gas pedal, scowling as she concentrated fiercely on the narrow road in front of her, which she dearly hoped led back out of this maze of ancient narrow streets that wound erratically around Jhurat’s central palace, home to its governing sultan. Beside her, the girl breathed heavily and high-pitched, as if she’d been running.
