Let's Make a Baby!

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “Are you? Pregnant?”

  “I don’t know. It hasn’t been long enough to tell.”

  The scar on his temple flashed as he removed a white shirt from the wardrobe and slipped it on. His dark eyes, which had barely flicked at her, were focused a thousand light-years away.

  Was he angry? Bored? She’d never been good at forcing issues, but heaven knew when they would have another chance to talk. “First of all, I’m sorry.”

  “How sorry?” He buttoned his cuffs.

  “Acutely,” she said.

  He regarded her directly. “What’s second?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said, ‘First of all.’ What comes next?”

  He was taunting her! “Can I hit you with something?” she asked. “Tell me where you don’t hurt, and I’ll hit you there.”

  A smile animated his face. “I don’t hurt anywhere. Pummel me wherever you please.”

  Lisa wasn’t sure what to make of this sudden change in mood. “I don’t want to hit you. I just want your attention.”

  Ryder reached into another drawer and extracted a newspaper. Holding it, he came and sat beside her. “Take a look at this.”

  Confused, Lisa studied the paper. It was the real estate section of the Los Angeles Times. “Is there a hidden message? Some kind of code?”

  He opened it to a double-page spread showing new homes. “I wondered if you prefer the Mediterranean style or the Tudor. Frankly, I think Tudor is pretentious in Southern California, but don’t let that influence you.”

  His meaning dawned. “You’re asking me to pick a house?”

  “With my savings plus the bonus I earned Saturday, while you were so inconveniently getting yourself abducted, I can afford the down payment,” Ryder said. “That is, if you can tear yourself away from all this”—his gesture encompassed a gilded mantel clock and a group of china shepherdesses—“froufrou.”

  Lisa began to laugh. “I hate all this froufrou! Mediterranean sounds perfect!”

  Muscular arms gathered her close. She burrowed into him, inhaling his freshly showered manliness and relishing the whisper of his lips against her ear.

  “Je t’aime,” said Ryder.

  “Te amo.”

  “Ich liebe dich. Did I say that right?” he asked.

  “Perfectly.” She could hardly swallow.

  “I love you.” Ryder brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek. “When I saw Boris drag you toward the vehicle... I’ve been frightened, plenty of times. But I’ve always known that I would either live or I’d die, and if I lived, no matter how badly injured, I could go on. But not if I let something happen to you, Lisa. I couldn’t live with that.”

  “What about children?” she asked. “You didn’t want them.”

  “That was in the abstract,” he murmured. “It’s like abstract art. It doesn’t necessarily portray reality.”

  Lisa couldn’t believe it. “You won’t feel trapped or cheated? We never have to worry about being poor, you know.”

  “Is that a reference to the fabled dowry?”

  “Sort of.” She held her breath, wondering if she’d offended him.

  “Keep it in trust for our kids’ education,” he said. “I can support my own family.”

  “Kids, plural?”

  “A singleton might get lonely.” He grinned. “Do you suppose your parents would mind if we didn’t go downstairs for a few hours?”

  “They might mind, but I wouldn’t.”

  *

  It was dinnertime before they descended the grand staircase and entered a dining room the size of Grand Central Station. Ryder was amazed that this place belonged to a single family. What did the De La Penas plan to do, hold roller-skating competitions indoors?

  The wonderful release of lovemaking, followed by a much-needed hour of sleep, had refreshed him. He had showered again and put on his best suit, which was almost identical to his worst suit. One glance at Schuyler and Valeria, standing beside a sideboard drinking wine from crystal glasses, and Ryder surmised he’d fallen short of their standards yet again.

  Lisa’s father wore a black-and-white tuxedo; her mother, a high-necked amber gown that swept the floor. Lisa returned from her room in a scoop-necked blue dress with flowing sleeves cuffed at the wrist. She looked like a princess in a fairy tale. Thank goodness he’d freed her from the ogre.

  They said little as they took their seats and servants brought a plateful of garlicky escargots. “You don’t have to eat them,” said Lisa, seated opposite him. They were halfway down the immense table from her parents.

  “Is something wrong with the food?” asked her father icily. “Don’t tell me you’re squeamish about snails.”

  Ryder suspected him of ordering these on purpose. “Do you raise them on the estate?”

  “Hardly,” said Valeria.

  “I’m sure we’ll have lots of them in our garden,” Ryder said. “They infest Southern California like termites. But don’t worry, Lisa. I’ll stock up on snail bait.”

  She nearly choked, apparently trying to stifle a laugh. Schuyler sputtered in annoyance.

  “Your garden?” said Valeria.

  A poignant silence hung over the table until Lisa explained, “We’re getting married and buying a house.”

  As he awaited his future in-laws’ response, Ryder noticed a cupid winking at him from the mural on the dining room wall. Oddly, he felt neither defensive nor boastful, but completely at peace. Somewhere between knocking Boris-who-is-distantly-related-to-the-Hohnersteins into the mud and seducing Lisa in Marie Antoinette’s bed, Ryder had ceased to resent their snobbery.

  It simply no longer mattered. To him the attitudes of the rich had become an affectation, like getting one’s nose pierced or claiming to have read books when you’d only seen the movie. If it made the perpetrators happy, why should he care?

  He felt Schuyler De La Pena’s assessing gaze and awaited a torrent of objections. Instead the man said, “I don’t suppose you have any experience in running a business, do you, Mr. Kelly?”

  “Only my detective agency.”

  “I’m considering opening a branch in America,” Schuyler went on coolly. “I would prefer to keep the management in the family.”

  “You’re offering me a job?” Ryder asked.

  “Naturally, we would have to work out the details.”

  “I don’t even know what kind of business you’re in,” Ryder said. “But it doesn’t sound like my cup of tea. Thanks, anyway.”

  Despite a flaring of his nostrils, Schuyler remained calm. “Even in the United States, it’s hard for people to find parts for any product that isn’t the latest model.” The man patted his mouth lightly with his cloth napkin. “I think we could do well there.”

  “You’ll do even better if you have a service department that can repair things for the customers,” Lisa put in. “And you’ll need to plan a major promotional push that makes it more environmentally friendly and just plain cooler to repair old stuff than to buy new.”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to offer you the presidency! You’re not hard-headed enough for this kind of thing,” said her father.

  Although Lisa must be irritated by this insult, she didn’t reveal it. “Of course not. I’d rather not work twenty hours a day, either, especially since I plan on having children,” she said. “I was offering a little helpful advice.”

  “You wouldn’t want to head up our American branch?” her father asked in disbelief.

  “I might consider a consulting position,” said Lisa. “If I could work part-time.”

  Ryder fought back a grin. As far as he was concerned, his wife could pursue any career she chose. Still, having warmed to the idea of children, he relished the prospect of both parents spending lots of time with them.

  Valeria De La Pena broke the silence. “I think our daughter has done very well for herself. You wanted grit, Schuyler. Here it is, in both of them.”

  “Grit?” Ryder arched an eyebrow.


  “My father wants feisty grandchildren,” Lisa explained. “That’s how this whole... situation got started.”

  “We shouldn’t have tried to push you into a marriage,” her mother admitted. “But you seemed to be drifting through life.”

  “I was afraid of losing your love if I stood up to you,” their daughter admitted. “You never approved of anything I did on my own.”

  “You thought we would stop loving you?” Her father set down his fork. “Lisa, you mean more to us than anything in the world.”

  “More than all the money,” said Valeria.

  “More than my own life,” said Schuyler.

  Lisa’s eyes glistened. Her lips twitched, and then she pushed back her chair and raced to hug her parents with such a rush of emotion that, had Ryder not held on to the tablecloth, she would have swept it and half the dishes with her.

  Unwillingly, he found his thoughts drifting to his own mother. As a young man, he’d blamed her for her poor choice in husbands, but she’d done her best to support him and his sisters. According to last year’s Christmas cards from his sisters, Mom was single again and living near San Francisco. It was time, he decided, to get back in touch with her. Long past time.

  “Well, son?” demanded Schuyler, rising to his feet. “Will you shake my hand?”

  “It would be my honor, sir.” He strode to the head of the table and shook hands firmly. Then he accepted a warm hug from Valeria.

  “It’s been hard for me to accept that my trust in Boris was completely misplaced,” admitted Lisa’s father. “On reflection, Mr. Kelly, I have to concede that you’re exactly the sort of son-in-law I sought. Independent, tough-minded and devoted to your wife.”

  “A lot like you, dear,” murmured Valeria, slipping one arm through her husband’s.

  “Did I tell you how he saved a little girl on the ski slope the first time I saw him?” asked Lisa. “And how he rescued me at the beach?”

  “All that in a little over a week?” said her mother.

  “Ryder does this kind of thing for a living,” chirped Lisa.

  “Not exactly.” Ryder could feel his cheeks reddening. He had never had anyone boast about him this way.

  “I witnessed your conduct today,” Schuyler conceded as they took their places again at the table. “It was difficult for me to admit, but you deserve the credit for foiling Boris’s plans. I’m sorry I let my pride intrude.”

  “Do tell us about the other adventures!” said Valeria, clearly entranced.

  Lisa launched into the tale of the little girl on the ski run. As the servants brought the rest of the meal, Ryder noticed that they lingered in the background, listening in fascination. The person enjoying it most was Lisa herself. Her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed.

  Ryder’s chest swelled with a warm and delirious sensation that had to be love. Come to think of it, she’d done plenty of daring deeds herself, including marching out of a hospital in New York despite her amnesia and finding Ginger at the beach. He could scarcely wait until she concluded the tales about him, so he could tell his wonderful stories about her.

  Even Schuyler De La Pena was sure to be impressed.

  *

  “The hat was definitely a wise choice,” said Nicola. “Much more stylish than a veil.”

  “And infinitely better than a gag and a blindfold, eh?” said Maureen ruefully. She’d apologized over and over since breaking up with her perfidious boyfriend. Lisa might never forgive him, but she’d happily forgiven her Canadian friend.

  “I think a headband of flowers would be cool,” sighed Buffy. The preteen and her pal had been thrilled beyond measure at being treated to a trip to France, with guest quarters at the château.

  “She’s not getting married on the beach,” reproved Starr. “This is a palace. She can’t just stick a few daisies in her hair.”

  Lisa gazed fondly at the friends grouped around her in her dressing chamber. What an unlikely bunch they were! Nicola wore her golden Italian designer gown elegantly and her chestnut hair—the gray recently expunged—in a sophisticated French twist. She’d been enjoying the prenuptial festivities, the more so because her role as maid of honor thrust her once more into the center of society.

  A simpler dress in a quieter shade suited Maureen’s open looks and wedge-cut red hair. The younger girls’ rose pink dresses had been artfully conceived by the couturier as both suitable to their ages and a complement to the other gowns.

  Viewed in the oval mirror, the four reminded Lisa of a bouquet of flowers in golds and pinks, with herself as a white rose at the center. She could hardly believe this radiant bride was her.

  While Lisa had always assumed that someday she would marry, she’d envisioned the event as simply a necessary prelude to filling the role her parents laid out for her. The woman beaming at her in the glass had a few familiar characteristics: the aristocratic De La Pena jawline, for instance, and tendrils of black hair curling from beneath the silk hat. But in those green eyes burned new confidence and determination and happiness.

  “I can’t believe this is me,” she admitted. “I can’t believe I found Ryder, out of all the men in the world.”

  “It’s surprising what you can find on the Internet, eh?” joked Maureen.

  “I suppose we have to thank your ex for that,” Lisa admitted.

  “Even if he was a rat,” said her friend.

  “The world is full of rats,” sighed Nicola. To Starr and Buffy, she added, “Before you marry a man, investigate him. If possible, interview his former wives and girlfriends.”

  “I never thought of that,” said Buffy.

  “Make sure he wouldn’t sell you out for a few bucks,” added Maureen. “Character is everything.”

  “I’ve never even gone out on a date,” said Starr. “I don’t think I need to worry about this yet.”

  “Luckily for me, Ryder came highly recommended,” Lisa said.

  “He’s cool,” said Buffy, once again using her favorite word.

  “Definitely,” affirmed Starr.

  “Where did you find these two little charmers?” asked Nicola. “I must take them under my wing. Would you girls like to visit me in Rome?”

  “Yes!” they chorused.

  “Can we try on your clothes?” asked Starr.

  “Absolutely!” agreed Nicola.

  As the others chatted together, Lisa applied a final layer of lipstick. She bent toward the mirror and tried to ignore a sudden churning in her stomach. She refused to be sick. At four months along, she ought to be past that phase of her pregnancy.

  The burning sensation subsided. Relieved, she studied herself again in the mirror and was grateful that the subtle pleats at the waistline hid her slight roundness. Only her parents and Ryder knew about the baby. They had decided it would be discreet to wait another month, by which time her state would become obvious, for a public announcement.

  A knock at the door drew Maureen’s attention. She opened it to admit Schuyler. “Are you lovely ladies ready?” he asked. “Everyone’s waiting.”

  Lisa’s father had been basking in the festivities all week, genially playing host to business acquaintances, his wife’s friends and family, Parisian society and even Ryder’s surprised and quite delightful sisters and mother. The château had, for the first time since they’d bought it, been packed to the rafters with company.

  In her element, Valeria commanded an army of caterers, valets, seamstresses, florists and maids. After all this fuss, Lisa was fervently looking forward to settling in their newly purchased home on a quiet cul-de-sac in the Los Angeles area.

  Escrow had closed last month, and, Ryder had assured her when he returned a few days ago, most of their furniture was in place. She couldn’t wait to be alone with him. The man she loved. Her husband.

  Her one concern these past weeks had been that Ryder’s miraculous transformation would prove to be temporary. How could he show such forbearance in the face of so much wealth and pomp? Above all, c
ould he really commit himself to a wife and children, when he had spent much of his life battling for independence?

  As she took her father’s arm, Lisa hoped her uncertainty didn’t show. To everyone else, the pageantry of the wedding had assumed a life of its own. But she knew what mattered. If Ryder had asked it, she would gladly have eloped with him. Please let him be as happy as I am.

  “You look pale.” Schuyler leaned close to his daughter’s ear. “Not feeling sick, are we?”

  “Just nervous,” she said.

  “Want to sit down?”

  She shook her head. A delay wouldn’t help. Until she descended the staircase and saw Ryder’s face as he waited for her, she couldn’t be sure of anything.

  Maureen shooed the other bridesmaids ahead of them, out the door and down the hallway. Picking up her bouquet of roses and summer flowers, Lisa leaned gratefully on her father’s support. Approaching the top of the curving staircase, she could hear people shifting and murmuring below. The grand entryway and the main salon, with its doors thrown open, had been filled with chairs. Hundreds of them: she’d lost count of the number of guests attending.

  She could smell the flowers that filled every corner. She pictured the white-draped altar and the family’s minister waiting with prayer book in hand, and heard the organ play the opening notes of a lovely melody by French composer Charles Gounod.

  Ahead of her, Nicola wafted down the staircase to the oohs and ahhs of the guests. Lisa was certain that, after this event, her friend would be restored to her position in society. Next went Starr, surprisingly dignified, followed by the elated Buffy. Lisa distracted herself by thinking how much their parents, among the guests, must be enjoying this scene. Maureen followed, her jaunty step defying her attempts at decorum.

  The music segued into Mendelssohn’s wedding march. Beside Lisa, Schuyler vibrated with eagerness. She could scarcely force herself to move forward. Electric tingles invaded her joints, and had it not been for her father’s aid, her knees might have buckled.

  The bend in the stairs hid from her view the man waiting below. Will I see panic on your face, Ryder? Are you feeling trapped?