EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2019 Peri Elizabeth Scott
ISBN: 978-0-3695-0085-4
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Audrey Bobak
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For Audrey. Your children inspire me.
LESSON LEARNED
Romance on the Go ®
Peri Elizabeth Scott
Copyright © 2019
Prologue
The intense pressure, an atavistic need to push, overtook her and Jessie groaned in concert, bearing down in response to the obstetric nurse’s urging. The sensation was at least a departure from the agonizing waves she’d been experiencing for the past dozen or so hours.
Again she bore down and knew when the life she and Adrian made was expelled from her womb on a rush of fluid and heat, perhaps not so unlike the way he was created. There was a flurry of movement at her feet, the nurse abandoning her vigil at Jessie’s shoulder as the team tended to her child.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong with my baby?”
A long, choking wail filled the birthing room, followed by an indignant squall and she sucked in a breath of relief.
“The cord was wrapped around his neck, Jessie.” The doctor handed the bloody little body to her nurse as he turned to tend to her again. “But he’s a good color, and I believe it tightened only as he came into this world. He’s fine.”
“I want to hold him.”
“Gail is just cleaning him up, weighing and measuring him. A minute.” A sting of something took her breath, and she realized he was freezing her in advance of the stitches. At least she hadn’t torn, although the episiotomy hadn’t been the “little pinch” they’d assured her it would be.
Enduring, she focused her stare on Gail, whose gowned back was to her as she worked over her baby. Michael Grayson Brandt. Nothing to connect him to his father—to save her sanity—although she regretted little Michael would never know his father or perhaps appreciate the finer things Adrian’s precious money could buy. But she’d never ask for, or accept, anything from that man. Things were highly overrated, and he was stuck in the past.
Gail approached with the baby cradled in her arms, swaddled in hospital blue, as Jessie tried to put a lid on her thoughts. Now wasn’t the time. Never was the time. That ship had sailed. While she might wish for the best for her child, her love and nurture would make it so, not the luxuries Adrian Matsakis could provide. Because the man didn’t have a loving or compassionate bone in his body. How foolish she’d been to surmise he had. Don’t go there.
“Here we are, Jessie! He’s lovely. Seven pounds, six ounces, and twenty-two inches long. He must take after his daddy, or there’s someone taller in your family than you.”
She didn’t respond, choosing to block everything and everyone out to explore her beautiful baby boy. Dark hair capped his tiny skull, and little starfish hands poked out of the swaddling. A perfect mouth made a moue as Michael’s eyes blinked open and she fell inside the blue-gray orbs.
He was a miniature Adrian, and for a moment, her heart clenched hard, a claustrophobic sensation she fought against as she cuddled her child. Freeing a breast from the pale yellow gown, she placed him against it, guiding his little face there as she crooned to him, the two of them an island in the quieting room.
Snuffling a bit, he latched on, and the feeling was indescribable. All she knew was she’d defend this small being to the death and love him without reservation for the rest of her life, no matter how he’d come to be. No matter that his father despised his mother.
Chapter One
We believe you know Jessie Brandt. Please see the attached picture. Come for dinner tonight. Mikhail
Adrian Matsakis shoved back from his desk with such strength the back of the chair hit the wall, and the resulting shudder made his teeth clack together. The distance from his computer monitor didn’t make it less true. The attachment he’d clicked on nearly filled the screen with a picture of a sturdy, little toddler, laughing up at a woman who crouched beside him, holding an enormous balloon.
It was like looking into a mirror of his youth, pictures of him as a child festooning most available surfaces, compliments of his doting mother. She’d been unable to have other children, and thus lavished every maternal ounce of her being upon him. His father created a balance, or Mama might have driven him crazy.
Maybe he was crazy, seeing something in that image that was wishful thinking. It couldn’t be. Rolling back to his desk, he clicked to reread the email from Mikhail. Nothing changed.
After opening up the image again, he soaked in the two faces featured there, noting how little Jessie had changed over the three years since he’d last seen her, the golden-blonde hair and laughing brown eyes, clear, ivory skin, long, slender hands, and a lithe body with all the requisite curves.
His son—for he had no doubt the child was his—was still exhibiting baby roundness, but his arms and legs were long like Adrian’s, and the riot of black curls that would be the bane of his existence unless fads changed, and maybe even then, waved wildly about the boy’s head. Olive skin set off the tiny white teeth visible in the wide smile. He thought his son’s eyes were gray like his own, but perhaps they were a velvety brown like Jessie’s.
Adrian finally allowed the cacophony of emotions churning in his gut to be labeled. He was furious, firstly. Furious to learn he had a child after all this time, and curious about the boy. Elated too. He wouldn’t deny it. He had badly wanted a child, children, and learning that his ex-wife Sharon terminated not one, but two of his babies still sent shards of agony throughout his being.
But he now had a child, and it must be love, if not intense affection flooding his system as he stared at the little boy. He purposely narrowed his gaze, keeping it directly on the toddler, because he didn’t want his confused emotions toward Jessie to spill over, even within his own head, onto his son.
His son. Why hadn’t she told him? Contacted him as was his right? Especially when she knew how much he wanted children? Because I threw her out. He shook the vaguely remorseful thought away.
He’d thrown her out for good reason. She’d been lucky he hadn’t pressed charges, although she’d challenged him to do so even as she accepted his edict and marched away down the hall, her spine erect and her head held high.
Out of sight, out of mind. He’d made certain she left with nothing. Except she left with something. And if she’d really wanted my money, then why hadn’t she used the child? He decided to ignore that inconvenient niggle as well.
He shot an email to Mikhail, accepting the dinner invitation when what he really wanted to do was phone the man and demand an explanation. But he hadn’t climbed to where he was in his business by flying off the handle. He’d attend the dinner tonight armed with all possible information and pool it with what his friend knew. And plan.
He closed down his computer after carefully saving and printing several copies of the toddler and then obtained the number of an experienced investigative agency. He’d head out and pick up some wine and flowers for the hostess—and begin the plan of retrieving his child. Anything this important would take great care and strategy.
****
“Adrian!” Denise’s sweet face flus
hed with pleasure as she accepted the gifts, though she avoided his direct gaze.
He kissed her cheek and followed her to the kitchen where Mikhail toiled over a hot stove—literally. His best friend gave him a vague smile as he whipped the ingredients in the pan he held.
“We need to talk, Mikhail.”
“Agreed, but you’ve waited this long, and it’s a conversation we should have over dinner.”
Drawing on his patience, Adrian crossed to the cupboard where the wine glasses were stored. Denise and Mikhail were a fine example of what a marriage could be, much like his parents, whose domestic bliss had once upon a time planted the same desire. Except he obviously drew the wrong type of women and didn’t care for a third strike.
Sharon was in the past, and after her, he’d grown a hard shell around his heart. With the exception of his mother and father and a few good friends, he’d felt no attachment to anyone in the detritus of Sharon’s wake. He shunned it. It made him weak. And then Jessie Brandt came along… That was who haunted him.
He closed his eyes against the storm assaulting his brain. Jessie Brandt was a startlingly bright spot in that sea of gray, one he’d never forgotten. His desire for her was so out of touch with his anger…
“Adrian?” Denise’s query drew him back.
“Sorry, wool-gathering. Where’s Yvonne?”
“Sleeping. Big day and she missed her nap. I know you love to see her, but believe me, it’s better that we didn’t keep her up.”
He was disappointed not to see their little girl, though he understood. Placing three glasses on the counter, he retrieved the bottle from Denise’s grasp. Drawing the cork, he set the wine to breathe.
Denise added, “I set the table, and hubby assures me everything is ready except this confounded sauce. It’s his second attempt.”
“Traitor! You don’t get any of this if it turns out.”
He tried to be content to envy their laughter and closeness without sinking into the past and allowed the warmth to envelop him a little. “I really want to talk about that email you sent, buddy.”
“I’m sure you do.” Mikhail poured the golden sauce into a jug. “Here, my sweet. Take this to the table, and we’ll bring the wine.”
Following the couple to the dining room, the bottle and a glass in hand, Adrian took his usual place and set his burdens down. Denise perched across from him while Mikhail took the head of the heavy, wood table, giving his wife a glass before sipping appreciatively at his own.
“Good choice as usual. How did you know it would be beef?”
“I didn’t. But we all like red, and I’m past caring what wine pairs with what. I want to enjoy what I prefer.” The latter part of his comment struck him. Life had been tasteless this long past while. Well, it was about to change. He wasn’t going to wait until after the meal.
“Tell me about Jessie and the child.”
“Your son, you mean.” Mikhail never minced words. He passed Adrian the platter of beef.
“I didn’t know, Adrian.” Denise pursed her lips and stared at him, perplexed.
“Nor did I.” He accepted the tiny, new potatoes, lightly dusted with dill. The hollandaise was destined for them and the asparagus, and even if it wasn’t, he planned to drench them. He feared the food would be like sawdust in his mouth.
“No,” she breathed. “How could that be? I mean, Jessie is so sweet. Why would she withhold such a thing?”
What in hell was going on here? How did Denise—and Mikhail—know Jessie? How was that possible? The email said his friend had met her. Different from knowing her. He didn’t believe in coincidences. Although he knew she’d settled in San Francisco. Not because he’d been following her career. Much. She hadn’t completed her Ph.D., and he thought he now knew why.
“Maybe you should explain, Denise.” Mikhail gestured to his wife as she carefully put vegetables on her plate then festooned them with the sauce.
“I’m on the board of a few nonprofit organizations, as you know. One of them involves offering education for gifted children, separate from what the government offers. For people who don’t care to be a square peg in a round hole.”
Adrian nodded grimly. The United States had excellent educational institutions, but it was his opinion it tended to focus on mass training and discouraged free and individual thinking. He was a major contributor to that particular organization Denise referenced. “And you met Jessie there?”
“Yes. She’s on the board too.”
“And she was aware you knew me so arranged for me to find out about the child.” What was her game?
“What are you talking about?” Denise furrowed her brow and stared him down. “She has no idea we know you, something I’m not pleased about. We should have told her.” She shot a far less adoring look at Mikhail.
“I told you we couldn’t just spout off to Jessie about Adrian,” his friend said mildly. “Especially when she didn’t acknowledge that she knew him.”
“But she did. I thought she’d pass out when his name came up as a contributor.”
“That wasn’t acknowledgment, Denise. At least not for our consumption. She didn’t share anything with you directly.”
His head was beginning to hurt. “Look, I’ve had enough surprises for the day. I’d appreciate it if you could just cut to the chase and tell me what the hell is going on.”
Two faces turned to him, Denise’s shocked, Mikhail’s assessing.
“We’ve known Jessie for a little over a year now. She and Denise have built a friendship—”
“One I plan to continue,” Denise interrupted with another glare at Mikhail.
“And we met Michael. Your son. He’s been here with Jessie to play with Yvonne. They’re much the same age. And we’ve been to her home.”
“And she never knew about our friendship?” It was his turn to interrupt as his gut urged him to seek Jessie out and claim what was his. It was ridiculous it wasn’t only Michael he thought of.
If it hadn’t been for the investigative agency working on the subject, he’d be over there now, acting out and probably undermining his status and the opportunity to claim the boy.
“We didn’t talk about you. I’m almost one hundred percent certain. I mean, we don’t connect socially anymore, and Jessie doesn’t frequent those circles either.”
Adrian nodded. Mikhail had married below his status, according to his family, and their punishment was banishing him from the family fold, something Adrian abhorred, but it had indeed curtailed some of their contact. Not that Mikhail wasn’t happy and flourishing without the Yvgeny name behind him. He had his own business—and Denise. And he and Adrian kept connected, if not as often as they liked.
His phone chimed, and he automatically checked it. A text from the agency he’d hired—already. He was torn between opening the attachment and hearing his friends out. Deciding to view the report in privacy, he turned his attention back to Mikhail.
“It was the friendship between the women that grew to include me. And then your name came up at one of the meetings and Denise remarked about Jessie’s response.”
“Hah! I came home worried sick. Jessie went white and nearly doubled over. She barely whispered your name to confirm it and then excused herself. It was like someone had struck her. The other board members remarked on it, but it was just curiosity, except maybe for that bitch Faith, you know her, she—”
“Denise.” Mikhail’s calm but deep voice caught his wife’s attention.
She drew in an audible breath and looked to him, quite obviously taking direction and settling. Adrian speculated on their relationship, not for the first time.
But it was Denise’s description of how Jessie had reacted to his name that shook him. What was she so afraid of? Stupid question. Him. Because she had his son and hadn’t told him.
“Sorry. I meant to say her response really bothered me and piqued my curiosity. I called and texted her, and she didn’t reply. I told Mikhail, and he put two and two together.
That little boy had always seemed so strikingly familiar. We had a dilemma but decided to tell you.”
“A dilemma,” he repeated.
“Adrian, when Denise told me the other night about Jessie’s reaction, it was like blinders fell from my eyes. Michael is your spitting image. It was there in front of me all this time, but I had no idea you knew her, let alone knew her. You never spoke of her. I still wasn’t certain and didn’t know how to raise it with you.” Mikhail paused, as if inviting Adrian’s response, but he found he couldn’t put any words together.
His friend continued, “I saw Jessie with Michael in the park. I took a picture without her knowledge and then Denise and I talked.”
“And the dilemma?”
“Loyalty.”
Adrian worked hard at keeping his voice even. “You hesitated in telling me about my son?”
“We did. You never mentioned Jessie—or a child. She’s a wonderful person, and if she kept the news of the boy from you, we had to wonder why. Or if you knew and didn’t wish for people to know. It didn’t make any sense. But you’re my best friend, and Denise loves you. So I sent you the picture, to do with as you saw fit.”
They’d known for days. Days. And withheld the information. Adrian’s clever brain sifted through the information, and his outrage calmed. He too would have given it careful thought, although he doubted he’d have blindsided someone with a picture.
A bolt of shame overtook him. Damn it. Mikhail and Denise were good people who put up with his behavior after Sharon when others saw him as suddenly arrogant and aloof and distanced themselves. They, like his parents, didn’t know the other reason behind his divorce. They’d given him the chance to ignore the image and the space to assimilate it. Offered their support via the dinner invitation.
Lesson Learned Page 1
