“About what?”
“About being his daughter.”
“I don’t tolerate lying,” his father sniffed. “Especially unattractive in a woman.”
Eric couldn’t resist defending her. “It wasn’t precisely that she lied. Only, she kept it a secret.”
“Now, why would she do that?” his mother inquired. She enjoyed playing the fool, but Eric knew it to be a dangerously deceptive pose.
“Possibly because our family has made its absolute contempt for her father well-known, Mother.”
For the first time, Eric wondered if Peter Tate was any more crazy or ruthless than his own great-grandfather had been, than any man would be in founding a dynasty. Than himself.
“What did you do when you found out about her father?” His mother folded her newspaper and put it aside.
“I left her.”
“Commendable family loyalty,” his father muttered around a mouthful of bacon.
“You left her because of who her father is, something over which she has no control?”
Eric quailed at the piercing look in his mother’s grey eyes.
“Not because of that, Mother. Because she kept it secret. Because I found out in the middle of a room full of people, and then I had to act like she hadn’t made a complete fool of me. That’s why I left.”
Although, as he came to say it out loud, it did sound like a gross overreaction.
“Women do have their secrets, Eric. Sometimes for good reason.” His mother looked across the table to his father and winked at the old man. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
His father chuckled. “You’ve managed a few grand ones over the years, Cecily.”
“Like what?” Eric demanded.
“You, for one thing.” His mother picked up another piece of toast and carefully buttered it.
“Me? How was I a secret?”
“We had you quite late in life, Eric. We’d tried for a long time, and we were quite resigned to Antony being our only child,” his mother said. “Your brother was ten years old and your father and I in our late forties when I found out I was to have you.”
“The plans we’d made.” His father shook his head. “You were quite a disruption, boy.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your father’s quite right,” his mother agreed. “We’d finally got Antony off to boarding school and were looking forward to being able to live it up a bit. We’d planned a round-the-world cruise when the doctor told me about you. I’m sure I didn’t know what to do. I walked around with that secret for a month. Your father had been looking forward to us being alone together again.” His mother peered sideways at her father and blushed.
Eric pinched the bridge of his nose. His jaw began to twitch.
“My dear, I was at a loss. I couldn’t tell your father.”
“But she did tell her girlfriends and a few of the maids as well.” Eric’s father recalled. “And of course, they all went home and told their husbands and their servants and anyone else they could find. Why, I was sitting in my club reading the paper when Lord Atwell walked up to me and congratulated me on my impending fatherhood. I informed him that he was dreadfully tardy, as my son had just gone off to Eton. To which he replied, No, Greyford, I mean the new one. Congratulations on the new child. Quite a shock. Good thing I had a stronger heart in those days.”
Eric’s mind reeled. “Weren’t you angry at her?”
His father laid his knife and fork down on the plate and folded his hands beneath his chin. “I was furious.” He gazed at Eric’s mother with blatant devotion. “Wouldn’t speak to her for days.”
“And then?”
“Ah, well. I love her, don’t I? She hadn’t done anything deeply wrong. Her only guilt was being afraid. I suppose we Greyford men can have rather intimidating tempers. And look how brilliantly things have turned out—her little secret is the joy of my old age.”
In a different family, Eric might have hugged his father. As it was, it took him several minutes to compose himself well enough to speak. “I’m glad I’ve brought you joy, Dad.”
“You have at that.” His father made it sound like a bit of a surprise.
Eric pushed his plate back and stood. “I’m afraid I can’t stay. I have a plane to catch.”
“Oh?” His mother gazed up at him. “Where to?”
“I need to go back to Capri.”
“But I thought when you came home, you said you never wanted to go there again?”
“I’ve changed my mind.” Eric leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
She picked up her paper and unfolded it. “Very well, dear. Say hello to Stacey for us.”
Eric couldn’t be sure, but he thought his mother winked at his father as he hurried out of the small dining room.
***
Artemisia Nash wouldn’t shut up. Ordinarily, that was good news for a reporter. It meant Amanda would have plenty of material to choose from later, when she pieced together the article. However, Amanda’s powers of concentration had been rather poor this week, and the more Artemisia talked about the many storybook weddings she’d planned, the more Amanda’s eyes glazed over. No one knew better than Amanda how rare storybook endings were. Her mother and father hadn’t had one, and it seemed unlikely she’d ever have such an experience either.
“Can you turn a little more to the left, Ms. Nash?” Zeke asked.
They were doing the interview in the Augustus Gardens, a stunning, picturesque location. Artemisia said she’d planned and held several weddings there over the years, so it had seemed the perfect location. As Artemisia shifted her position and rearranged her long floral sundress, a shadow fell across their bench.
“Hey, buddy, out of the way!” Zeke protested.
Amanda looked up, but she was staring straight into the sun and it blinded her. As the smell of cedar and sandalwood wafted down to her, her heart began to skip madly in her chest. Her palms broke out in a sweat and she laid down her pen and paper.
“Sorry, Zeke,” said a wonderfully familiar baritone voice. “I need to speak to Ms. Nash.”
Ms. Nash? Why did he need to speak to Ms. Nash?
Eric knelt down on the ground between them, carefully avoiding Amanda’s gaze. He was casually dressed in jeans again, and Amanda thought he never looked better than when he was so loose and relaxed. She noted with some surprise that he carried a small paper bag, which he sat down on the bench between Artemisia and herself.
“Ms. Nash,” he said. “I urgently require your services.”
“How delightful!” She beamed and clapped her hands. “Wait, aren’t you the one who was supposed to marry Miss Dakota?”
“Only in the mind of Miss Dakota’s mother,” Eric replied.
“That does happen from time to time.” Artemisia nodded sagely. “Now, whose wedding would I be arranging?”
“Mine.”
Amanda’s heart stopped for a split second. He had been playing games with her. She’d been a thoughtless last-minute fling, after all. That was why he couldn’t even look at her now. He was probably marrying some horsey noblewoman in England, someone who’d bring some additional capital into his burgeoning media empire. She was living her mother’s life all over again.
“Excuse me, Amanda dear.” Artemisia fished in a huge red tote bag and pulled out a large notepad. “Let me take down the pertinent information for Mr. Greyford, and then we can get back to the interview. I do hate to keep love waiting. Now, when is the wedding to take place?”
“As soon as possible.”
Amanda winced. Did he have to do this right in front of her? Of course he did. He was paying her back for embarrassing him in front of Senator Harkness.
“Ah, an eager groom. I like it!” Artemisia began to scribble away. “Do you have a preferred location?”
“Here,” Eric told her. “The wedding must be on Capri. I only have one problem.”
“Yes?”
“No bride.”
Arte
misia leveled a blank stare at him. “That’s a rather insurmountable problem.”
“Not in this case. I have a very specific idea of what I want. She must be blonde, with huge brown eyes the color of melted dark chocolate.”
Amanda’s lower lip began to tremble.
He still refused to look at her. “And I’d like her to have a spirited temper and a good sense of humor.”
Artemisia Nash cast a sidelong glance at Amanda. The look she saw there must have tipped her off to what was happening. She stuffed her notebook back into her bag. “I might have a candidate for you, Mr. Greyford. Can you give me any more detail?”
“Yes, I can. I’d also like her to be a reporter for Fame and the daughter of the man who tried to take over my family’s business. But most importantly, she must love melon-kiwi gelato.”
He picked the bag up and handed it to the wedding planner, who turned to Amanda.
“Miss Jackson, I’ve only been on Capri for a few days. Do you know of anyone who fits this description?”
Amanda tried to answer but she found herself bursting into tears instead.
Eric rose up and sat down on the other side of her.
Artemisia handed the bag to Amanda. “I think the photographer and I will go off and do some attractive poses near the birds of paradise. Congratulations, dear.”
Amanda nodded and opened the bag. She pulled out a container of gelato and dissolved into helpless, tear-filled laughter.
Eric hugged her to his chest. “I do wish you’d stop crying so much whenever I’m around. It might give a man a complex.”
“Not you,” she retorted.
“No, I suppose not.” Eric trailed his hands through her hair and showered kisses on her forehead and neck. At last, he pressed his lips to hers and sighed with pleasure. She tasted of the sun and the salt air. She tasted like forever.
“You came back to me,” Amanda said, when at last he broke their kiss.
“Yes. Forgive me?”
“I should have told you sooner about my father. In fact, I shouldn’t be trying to keep it a secret. I realized after you left that I’ve been unfair to him. He wasn’t a great dad, but I don’t think my mother gave him the opportunity. He’s trying now. He gave me this job at his most successful magazine and—as you know—he invites me to parties on his yacht. I should stop acting like I’m ashamed of him.”
“I didn’t make it easy for you to own up to who you were.” Eric stroked his thumb over her lips. After another kiss, he spoke again. “I should warn you I’ve spent most of my money on taking over Greyford Publishing.”
“I don’t care about that. You’ll wind up on top in the end,” Amanda grinned.
“As a matter of fact, I plan on winding up on top later this very afternoon.”
“You’re very sure of your reception, aren’t you?”
Eric’s expression grew more serious. “No, not really. That’s why I didn’t bring a ring. I thought if you said yes we’d pick one out together when I take you to London to meet my parents.”
“That’ll be fine,” Amanda said. “I like gelato better than jewelry anyway.”
“I’m not feeding you gelato during the wedding, love. You’ll have to settle for a ring.”
“Oh, all right.” She gazed into his eyes and stroked her hands over his stubbled cheeks. “Are you sure about this? This is quite a whirlwind, isn’t it?”
“Amanda, I’ve known a lot of women and none has shaken up every corner of my life the way you have. I want you beside me while I try to rebuild this company. I want you to be my lover and my partner and my best friend. What do you think?”
Amanda sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I think yes.”
EPILOGUE
Four Months Later
Artemisia Nash swept past Amanda, barring the entrance to Franco Battali’s villa. The flamboyant wedding planner waved her hands at a knot of reporters clustered in the foyer, as if she were shooing away flies.
“Signore Battali’s villa is off limits!” she cried. “Come out to the garden, and I’ll speak with you there. The happy couple will be along shortly for a photo opportunity.”
As they shuffled out, a photographer murmured an inaudible question. In answer, Artemisia threw up her ring-covered hands in an expression of delight. “Darling, they had to come back to Capri. This is where their love story began. And Capri is the island of love, n’est-ce pas?”
Beside Amanda, Stacey Dakota stifled a snort. “N’est-ce pas? Why does she talk that way? Isn’t she from Cleveland?”
Amanda giggled. “Yes, but I can’t argue with a woman’s desire to re-invent herself, can you?”
“No,” Stacey agreed.
“Besides, she does plan a beautiful wedding.” Amanda tugged at the chapel train of her gown, trying to push it behind her.
“Here, let me. My job, after all.” Stacey knelt down, no easy task in her blue, sheath-style bridesmaid dress. She carefully fanned the train behind Amanda.
“That looks great.” Zeke shambled into the foyer with a camera and tripod. “Make her stand still like that so I can get a couple of good portrait photos.”
Stacey nodded and rose to her full height beside Amanda.
“I guess it’s a good thing Artemisia works fast too,” she whispered.
Amanda ears flushed red. “Yes, it is. I can hardly fit into the dress now. And I want to go to the Rain Forest before I’m too fat and pregnant to enjoy it.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a honeymoon to me.”
“We’re going to spend two weeks on the beach in Brazil first, for the non-working portion of the honeymoon,” Amanda explained.
“Is Eric okay with you going to the Amazon in your condition? Isn’t he worried about your safety?”
The women turned and peered across the corridor, where Eric was surrounded by a cluster of laughing, backslapping groomsmen. As though he sensed Amanda’s eyes on him, he turned from them to meet her gaze. His chest swelled, and a wide smile brightened his handsome face. He made a brief remark to his companions, and then made his way to her through the crowd.
“Hello, Mrs. Greyford.” He brushed his lips against her cheek and pulled her backwards against his chest, totally disarranging her train once again. She snuggled into his ready embrace, flooded with a feeling of supreme joy.
Across the foyer, Zeke muttered a few choice curse words and put his camera down.
“Give us a minute, Zeke,” Amanda called to him.
He rolled his eyes but stood patiently off to the side.
“How are you, Stacey?” Eric asked.
“Doing great.”
“You and your mom getting along okay?” Amanda asked.
“We are,” Stacey nodded. “We argue a lot less now that we’re mother and daughter and not manager and client. My dad took being fired pretty hard, though. He still won’t speak to me. I suppose it doesn’t help that my mom’s finally decided to file for divorce.”
“Considering their constant bickering, I think they’ll both be better off.”
“I do too,” Stacey agreed. “Mom’s been very happy and relaxed. We went shopping together for your wedding present yesterday.”
“Good, good,” Eric nodded and brushed his lips against Amanda’s cheek again. She could tell he didn’t care what anyone was saying to him right now. As he drew her against him, she could feel that he was quite ready for the honeymoon to begin.
Amanda struggled to keep her mind on social niceties. “How are things with Franco?”
Stacey shrugged. “He’s a good guy. I don’t think we’re going off on a hasty wedding and honeymoon, though. I think he’s still carrying a torch for someone else.”
Amanda leaned away from Eric and grinned up at him. “That’s what Eric keeps saying.”
“It’s all right,” Stacey insisted. “We enjoy each other’s company. And he has such a great family. I’m mostly dating him for the ready access to all that fine Italian food.”
They were still laughing together when Amanda’s father approached them.
“Greyford.” He nodded stiffly at Eric, who responded in kind.
“You two,” Amanda sighed. “Dad, at least shake his hand.”
“Why should I, when he keeps robbing me of all the best prizes? Bad enough he’s marrying you. Did he have to hire you away to write nature documentaries?”
He frowned at the glass he was holding. Amanda found herself touched by his gruff display of affection. She pried herself free of Eric’s embrace and patted her father’s cheek. “I appreciate you being here to give me away.”
“Had to rearrange a board meeting to do it,” Peter Tate muttered. “I’m trying.”
“I know you are,” Amanda nodded. She stepped back into Eric’s waiting arms.
“Greyford, are you quite sure about taking her to the Amazon with you?”
“We’ve been over all of this, Mr. Tate,” Eric sighed. “It’s not like we’re going to be living all that rough. Amanda and I will only be there for a month, and we’ve got a doctor and nurse on the team. And no doubt you’ll flit in via helicopter for the occasional annoying, unexpected visit.”
Amanda’s father harrumphed and swirled his drink. “Want to know I’m getting my money’s worth out of this joint venture. Greyford may be producing the documentary but Tate Global’s going to be airing the thing on my American television stations. Hope I don’t regret letting Amanda talk me into this project.”
“You won’t,” Eric retorted. “I know what I’m doing.”
Peter Tate cast a stern, appraising look at Eric. “Yes, I think you do. You remind me of myself at your age.”
Eric’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Good God, do I?”
The older man chuckled. “No. You’re much smarter. Congratulations.”
He thrust a hand out to Eric, gave him a quick, sharp shake, and then turned to Stacey.
“Where’s that mother of yours? Quite an attractive woman. I can see where you get your good looks.”
Stacey laughed. “I think she’s out on the terrace. I’ll help you find her.”
She waved to Eric and Amanda, and then strolled away with Peter Tate. Zeke had been lounging against the banister of the central staircase and straightened hopefully.
Love Capri Style Page 17
