Let’s Make a Baby!
Jacqueline Diamond
Digital edition published by
K. Loren Wilson
P.O. Box 1315
Brea, California
Copyright 1999, 2017 by Jackie Diamond Hyman
First print edition published by Harlequin Enterprises Limited. This digital edition has been revised.
Cover design ©Jackie Diamond Hyman
Cover background photo ©Mendeed /Shutterstock
Photo of couple ©freyaphotographer /Shutterstock
Licensing statement
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More information about Jacqueline Diamond and her books is available on her website, jacquelinediamond.com, where you can sign up for her free newsletter. You can also stay in touch with her on Facebook at JacquelineDiamondAuthor, and on Twitter as @Jacquediamond.
Reviewers say...
“Jacqueline Diamond is the heavy-hitter of the romance novel world... For over three decades, Diamond's work has filled the hours of many people with interesting plot twists and a light, airy style that is uniquely Diamond.”
—Online reviewer Marc Stern
“I’ve enjoyed every book I've ever read by Jacqueline Diamond and I've been reading her books for years and years.”
--Kathy Boswell, The Best Reviews
“Jacqueline Diamond writes interesting stories that her readers can immerse themselves in and forget about the real world for a while. Her books are very well thought out and multifaceted, giving us characters that we love to read about.”
--Donna Zapf, Cataromance
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
About the Author
Chapter One of The Would-Be Mommy
Let’s Make a Baby!
by Jacqueline Diamond
Chapter One
“What do you mean, you want me to have a baby?”
Annalisa Maria von Schmidt De La Pena, better known as Lisa, struggled not to glare at her parents. Glaring never worked. In fact, her tendency to thrust out her chin, set her jaw stubbornly and narrow her green eyes was almost guaranteed to land her in trouble.
So far, it had gotten her yanked from working at her father’s office in Amsterdam, prevented from visiting her best friend in Rome and stuck away in a moldy old château in France’s beautiful but remote Loire Valley.
“What higher aim could a daughter have than to present us with an heir?” demanded her father from halfway across the tapestried receiving room, which was the size of a soccer field and equally as cozy.
Lisa’s temper got the better of her. “So now it’s not a baby, it’s an heir!” She gripped the arms of her straight-backed antique seat, which bore an intimidating resemblance to an electric chair. “You make me feel like some kind of broodmare.”
Before her father could respond, her mother spoke in the quiet but authoritative manner that could make an entire ballroom full of guests fall silent. “You are twenty-six.” Although they usually conversed in Spanish or Dutch, this time Valeria von Schmidt De La Pena addressed her daughter in English, the language of business. “It is time that you married and produced a child. Not only for the sake of the company that your father has built, but for my family, too. Do not forget that we are descended from nobility.”
“I haven’t forgotten!” Impatiently, Lisa brushed back a strand of her long, dark hair. “But what’s the rush? I want to work with Papa some more, either in Amsterdam or one of our other offices. I think I have a lot to contribute, if you’d just give me a chance.”
Her father, Schuyler, a balding man who stood a head shorter than his wife, tapped his fingers on a bowlegged end table inlaid with ivory. His determined expression reflected the formidable will that had enabled him to claw his way up from working on the docks in Amsterdam to founding a business empire. “You are not tough enough to fill my shoes at Von Schmidt Components International,” he commented acidly. “You need to marry a strong man, one who can father offspring that have what the Americans call grit. Someday I’ll need to hand over the reins, and I want it to be to my own flesh and blood. Your children!”
Lisa bristled. Not tough enough to take over his business? Not experienced enough, certainly, but that wasn’t by her choice. However, there was no point in pursuing the argument, when her father’s glower made it clear she had no chance of winning.
At least she might be able to turn this situation to her advantage. “I’m not sure I want gritty children, but I suppose it is time I got back into circulation.” And, she added silently, out of this damp château in which her parents took such pride. “Mother and I could move to the apartment in Paris.”
“You have met all our eligible acquaintances in Paris,” Valeria responded coolly. “And rejected them.”
That was true. “As you know, my friend Nicola has invited me to visit her in Rome,” Lisa reminded them. “You keep saying you’ll consider it.”
“Nicola no longer moves in the best circles,” Schuyler said. “I realize she had good reason to divorce the baron. I do not approve of wife beaters, and you were right to stand by her. But she is in no position to sponsor you.”
“Sponsor me?” Despite her best intentions, Lisa couldn’t resist quirking an eyebrow. “Well, if not her, how about Maureen Buchanan? You know, the Canadian I met skiing in St. Moritz, the one who came for Christmas last year. She’s dating a film director. They live in Geneva and they know lots of...”
The words trailed off. Her parents didn’t need to say anything; their frowns said it all. Living with a man who wasn’t one’s husband might be tolerated in today’s world. However, Maureen was a free spirit with neither money nor family connections who came from a Canadian city with the peculiar name of Moose Jaw.
“It isn’t as if we haven’t tried,” her mother went on. “You’ve been to so many balls and dinner parties. You could easily have chosen someone suitable, but... well, perhaps we’ve spoiled you.”
Lisa couldn’t deny that her family had taken pains to introduce her to young men. They’d been suave and attractive and, to a man, impeccably dressed. They’d also been fixated on money and social status. Lisa had always hoped to meet someone more down to earth, a man who...
Who what? She certainly didn’t want an ugly, ill-mannered slob. So what did she want?
She snapped back to the present as a meaningful glance passed between her parents. Too meaningful. Like a cold splash of water, the truth hit her. They weren’t talking about marriage in the abstract. They had someone in mind! An arranged marriage, like something from the Middle Ages.
Lisa supposed that, in this liberated age, she could simply refuse and, if her parents insisted, cut her ties to them. But she was their only child, and she knew how much they loved her. Needed her. Depended on her for their happiness. Her anger faded as she noted the anxiety furrowing her mother’s forehead. It was an expression Valeria had
worn often since her daughter’s last birthday
While she might be pampered and sheltered, Lisa was fiercely loyal to her family and friends. She might as well hear them out. “Who is he?” she demanded.
“He?” inquired her mother.
“This guy you expect me to marry,” she said.
Schuyler shot her a glance of respect mingled with exasperation. “You do have a gift for reading people’s minds. It gave you an edge in our marketing department until, of course, you became so stubborn about sticking to your own ideas.”
Or rather, Lisa amended silently, until she began to develop some self-confidence and professionalism. That, she felt certain, was why her father had really sent her home from Amsterdam last year.
This wasn’t the time to refight that old battle. “What’s his name?”
“Boris Grissofsky,” her father said gruffly. “He owns an import-export business in Bulgaria. Also, he is descended from Austro-Hungarian nobility. His pedigree is impeccable.”
Like a stallion on a stud farm? Aloud, Lisa said, “How well do you know him?”
“We’ve done several successful deals together.” Her father’s company provided parts for repairing old cars, farm equipment, airplanes and computers that, although obsolete in the West, were heavily used in other regions of the world. “He has a keen financial sense and he can be ruthless if necessary.”
“Ruthless?” Lisa repeated. “Papa, we’re talking about marriage, not hiring a bodyguard.”
“I’m aware of what qualities it takes to get ahead in this world!” Her father’s temper flared. “My heir will need all of them.”
“His family is distantly related to the Hohnersteins, who as you know are an ancient noble family.” Valeria fixed her daughter with a steady gaze.
Despite her bad feeling about this, Lisa didn’t dare reject her parents’ choice out of hand. “You wouldn’t happen to have a photo?”
“Better than that,” said her father. “A video.”
It was, Lisa learned, accessible via the Internet. Grimly, she moved to a couch for a better view as her father clicked on the TV.
The image was crisp and high quality; apparently Mr. Boris Grissofsky had hired a professional to film his introduction to his future wife. On the deck of a yacht, a tuxedo-clad man struck a pose in profile. Then he swung toward the camera and extended a glass of champagne as if inviting her on board.
Lisa could forgive the hokeyness of the pose, but two other unattractive elements caught her attention. The first was Boris’s nose, flattened like a boxer’s. The second was a pugnaciously thick neck out of place with the starched collar and white bow tie.
Still, she couldn’t hold minor physical defects against him. After all, Nicola’s baron had a perfect nose and an elegant neck, and he’d turned out to be a jerk.
Next, the video cut to a sidewalk café, a charming scene with flower boxes marking the edges of the dining area. Menu in hand, Boris bowed toward the camera, once again inviting her to join him. As he straightened, a painful glint of sunlight hit his eyes and he scowled at the cameraman.
For a second, his eyes revealed a naked cruelty that made Lisa shiver. Immediately the camera cut to a different angle. Once again Boris beamed affably. But she felt as if she’d witnessed an ugliness deep within his soul.
The images continued, showing Boris exiting a limousine and boarding a private jet. Lisa sneaked glances at her parents, but she could tell they hadn’t noticed anything amiss. Nevertheless, she trusted her instincts. As her father had said, sometimes she could almost read people’s minds. In this case, what she had read in Boris’s expression could fill a horror novel.
What could she do? She didn’t even wish to meet this man, let alone spend the rest of her life with him.
Tears pricked Lisa’s eyes. She loved her parents. To please them, she’d suppressed the impulse to insist upon taking a role in their business or to strike out on her own. She’d even allowed them to dictate where and how she lived. She could see now that, without realizing it, she’d been avoiding open conflict ever since she came of age.
But she couldn’t marry this man. Clearly, her parents had made up their minds. If she refused them directly, the result would be a pitched battle, the first of her life. Nicola had disobeyed her own parents when she left the baron, and they hadn’t spoken to her since. Was Lisa prepared to risk that?
The video ended. “Well?” harrumphed her father.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, and fled to her room.
*
Lisa sent an urgent message to Nicola in Italy and Maureen in Canada, alerting them that she was in the midst of a family crisis and needed to video chat. They were the only people she trusted.
While awaiting their responses, she checked a few favorite shopping sites. Today, however, she had no interest in buying stuff.
Afternoon sunshine washed through the many-paned windows that punctuated the length of her chamber. A canopied bed, armoire and oak wardrobe filled the far corner; a massive fireplace and several couches occupied another quarter of the room. Closer to her, love seats were grouped around an elaborate entertainment center. This corner, nearest the door, held Lisa’s computer desk, printer-copier and overflowing bookshelves.
While she enjoyed having space, Lisa would have traded this château gladly for the tall, narrow house in Amsterdam where they’d lived during her childhood. The rooms had been alive with clatter from the street in front, with light that refracted off the canal in back, and with color from the tulips that crowded her window box and filled her vases.
Here, hardly any sounds penetrated, and while the walls might be covered with plaster, a chill radiated from the cold stone beneath. The busy world seemed far away.
Through the window, she could see the April sun glimmering across green vineyards and a serenely flowing river. In the distance lay the nearest town, where dark-timbered houses surrounded an open market. Lisa imagined she could smell the crusty bread from the village bakery.
She enjoyed taking walks there, buying fruit tarts from the pastry shop and listening to the friendly chatter of housewives and storekeepers. For a few months, she had volunteered at the local hospital, assisting the nurses and delivering flowers. But her parents had objected that people were watching her, speculating and gossiping.
Under pressure from Valeria and Schuyler, Lisa had reluctantly withdrawn. She supposed other people were curious about her. With its white spires and peaked roofs, the château resembled a storybook castle, and some townspeople might have cast her in the role of princess. Unfortunately, this fairy tale had an ogre, and his name was Boris Grissofsky.
Minutes later, Nicola appeared on her screen. The former model had high cheekbones and wide-set eyes, with a rich mane of chestnut hair touched, at thirty-three, with a hint of frost.
“What is so urgent? Please tell all!” Nicola was, as usual, hungry for news. Before her divorce two years earlier, she had enjoyed a social whirl, but due to the resulting scandal, most of her acquaintances had dropped her.
Lisa related her story. “What should I do?”
Nicola didn’t hesitate. “You cannot marry this man.”
“Do you know him?” If she had solid information against Boris, Lisa could present that to her parents.
“No.” Nicola shook her head. “But if you have such a bad feeling, you should listen to your heart. I wish I had heeded my intuition about the baron.”
“Any ideas how can I get out of this without antagonizing my family?” Lisa knew her friend would understand how devastating that could be, considering Nicola’s estrangement from her own parents.
There was a pause. Then Nicola shrugged. “Have a baby.”
“By myself?” That sounded intimidating.
“Why not? Your father demands an heir. Also, if you were already pregnant, surely this Boris would not marry you.” Nicola adjusted the silk scarf around her neck. She’d begun wearing scarves as a cover-up during her abusive
marriage and had discovered she enjoyed the beautiful colors and patterns.
Lisa nibbled her lower lip. It was an interesting idea, but scary. Very scary. She did love children. On her last visit to town, she’d found herself fussing over every baby carriage that passed and watching every chubby-cheeked toddler in fascination. Her biological clock must be nearing high noon.
But it would never have occurred to her to have a child outside of marriage. Other women did it. Took lovers, set up their own households, had babies. Not Lisa.
She didn’t exactly deplore the notion. Still, her brain ticked off a list of reasons against this drastic step. If possible, children deserved to have two parents. Also, she was a virgin. Over the years, there’d been more than one opportunity to lose her virginity. None of the men had touched her heart, however, and Lisa harbored an old-fashioned longing for her first lover to be special.
Another hurdle: What if the snoops and gossips on social media or in the press found out? She shuddered at the prospect of her disgrace being trumpeted before the world. “Heiress in love nest!” or, worse, “Secret photos! Heiress bares all for love!”
She’d be more of a pariah than Nicola. Worse, the scandal would hurt her parents.
Still, they insisted on an heir. They’d emphasized that more than the need of a husband, and more than Lisa’s happiness.
Maybe Nicola wasn’t entirely off base.
“How could I arrange to have a baby?” Lisa asked. “I can’t just order one up.”
“Clinic,” came the terse response.
“As in, fertility?”
“As in, sperm bank.”
To be impregnated with a—what did they call them?—a specimen? She grimaced. It sounded cold and repellant. Also, could she trust the clinic to research the man’s character and background properly? What if some clinic employee yielded to the temptation to sell the information to the press? She’d be right back with her worst fears.
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