“Can’t a body enjoy a meal without being bothered?” Maxine grouched as she rose from her chair and tossed her napkin down on the table. “I’ll send whoever it is packing before he can open his mouth.”
“Faster even,” said Ivan.
It rang a second time, and she swung open the door, ready to do battle. A man stood on the welcome mat. He was of moderate height, moderate build, with a thick head of silver hair and a big smile. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t quite place who it was.
“How’re you doing?” he asked, extending his right hand. “You’ve gotta be Maxine. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Maxine had lived in New York long enough to look at his extended hand with suspicion. “And who might you be?”
“Matty,” he said, shaking her hand firmly. “Matty Bronson.”
“Would you be Daniel’s father?”
He nodded. “I am and proud of it.”
“He’s a fine boy.”
“That he is.”
Gazes steady, they took each other’s measure.
“Would Isabelle be in?”
Maxine shook her head.
“Would she be back soon?”
Maxine again shook her head.
“Has she gone away?”
Maxine hesitated. “You might be sayin’ that.”
“And what else might you be sayin’, Miss Neesom?”
“She has a foul temper, Mr. Bronson. I can’t vouch for what she might do if I told you.”
“My son has a foul temper as well, Miss Neesom. He’d sell all of my stocks in Bran-Co if he knew I was here.”
Maxine had the heart of a romantic and the soul of a born matchmaker, and she knew an opportunity when she saw one.
“Come in, Mr. Bronson, and I’ll tell you a story if you promise to keep it a secret.”
“Call me Matty.”
She dimpled. “And you can call me Maxine.”
She proceeded to tell him everything, right down to the placemats Isabelle was using on the kitchen table.
“They are making a terrible mistake,” said Matty with a shake of his head.
“Of course they are,” said Maxine, “but they’re too stubborn to admit it.”
“My son is pigheaded.”
“And my girl is stubborn as an ox.”
“It’s about time he had himself a kid.”
“And that baby will be here before Isabelle gets ’round to tellin’ him she’s expecting.”
“We have a problem.”
Maxine nodded. “What are you going to do? This is a secret, after all.”
He looked at her and smiled like the cat that ate the canary. “I’m going to call him,” he said. “What did you think I was going to do?”
“Saint’s be praised!” She leaped up and planted a kiss on Matty Bronson’s cheek. “A man after my own heart!”
* * *
“Buckle up, Mr. Bronson.” The flight attendant flashed a bright, professional smile. “We’ll be landing at JFK shortly.”
Like he’d have unbuckled the belt while he was suspended in a flying tin can thirty-nine thousand feet above the ground. “Thanks,” he said.
“And return the tray—”
“—to the original, upright position.”
Her smile widened. “You know the drill.”
“By heart.”
She hovered a few moments. He wasn’t rude, but he didn’t encourage her, either, so she moved back through the first-class cabin to chat with the other passengers.
He was beyond small talk. A part of him still couldn’t believe that less than twenty-four hours ago he’d been asleep in his Tokyo hotel room, thinking about the plumbing facilities at the work-site. Matty’s call had come out of the blue. “We’ve got us a situation brewing here, Danny,” his father had said. “I want you to catch the next plane out.”
“What the hell’s going on, Pop? Why can’t you handle it?”
“Because your mother’ll have my head on a platter if I don’t take her to Florida this weekend to see her sister Flo.”
Daniel had named three other executives, all of whom were equally qualified to handle any emergency. Matty would have none of it.
“Just get your butt on a plane,” Matty had said. “A car’ll be waiting for you.”
“This damn well better be good,” Daniel muttered as he strode from the International Arrivals building.
“Hey, Mr. Bronson!” A skycap with a familiar face hailed him near the taxi stand. “Been a long time.”
“Sure has.” Daniel scanned the street for the Bron-Co car. “How’ve you been?”
“I was workin’ over at Teterboro Airport—right near home—for a while but I got laid off.”
The guy’s name came back to him. “Glad you got your old job back, Joe. Watch out you don’t hurt your knee again.”
“Thanks for rememberin’, Mr. B.” He paused. “You still seein’ the princess?”
Daniel laughed. “Unless you know something I don’t know.”
The skycap disappeared back into the terminal.
“Hey, Danny!” Another familiar voice. “Over here!”
His father waved to him from the other side of the street.
They exchanged greetings as Daniel climbed into the Lincoln.
“I thought you and Mom were in Florida.”
“Tonight,” said Matty around his cigar. “Frank has the day off.”
“Don’t tell me he had another kid?”
“Tonsils,” said Matty.
“His kids?”
“Frank’s.”
Daniel shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it in the backseat as his father gunned the engine. “So where’s the fire?”
“Patience, Danny,” said Matty. “Patience.”
“Hey, Pop,” Daniel said ten minutes later. “Manhattan’s that way.”
“I know,” said Matty.
“And you missed the turnoff for the expressway.”
“I’m not heading out to the Island.”
“So where the hell are we going, Pop?”
“You’ll see.” He glanced over at Daniel. ‘Why don’t you grab some shut-eye? I have a feeling you won’t get a hell of a lot of sleep tonight.”
Daniel was a couple of decades past obeying his old man, but he hadn’t slept in a day and a half, and if Matty’s broad hints were any indication, he had a hell of a lot of work ahead of him.
* * *
When he opened his eyes two hours later, he was in the middle of a forest—at least it seemed like a forest. Mountains jutted up toward the sky. Big trees grew thick along a country road that hadn’t seen a repair crew in a generation or two.
“Where the hell are we?”
“Sit tight. We’re almost there.”
“Where the hell is ‘there’?”
“Isabelle.”
Maybe it was jet lag because nothing registered on him. “Isabelle?”
“You know,” said Matty around another cigar. “The princess.”
“There’s a town named after the princess?”
“Snap out of it, Danny. I’m taking you to see your girlfriend.”
They pulled into a rutted driveway and rolled to a stop next to a beat-up VW bug.
“Last stop,” said Matty.
“Okay, Pop. The joke’s over. What in hell’s going on?”
“Get out.” Matty leaned across and opened the door. “I have a plane to catch.”
“You’re gonna pay for this, Pop.” Daniel climbed out of the Lincoln. He grabbed his jacket and bag from the backseat. “How do I get back from here?”
“Don’t worry about it, Danny. I don’t think you’re gonna want to.”
With a beep of the horn, Matty backed out of the driveway and disappeared down the road.
Daniel took a look at the simple A-frame house. He thought about the princess. No way could he bring the two images together. Whatever his father had up his sleeve, there was no way it included Isabelle. Not her
e.
He strode up the path and knocked on the door. No answer. Terrific. He knocked again and listened. He heard the sound of a radio or television inside, then the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps heading toward the door.
“I’m on my way. Just be patient!” That throaty voice, the half-aristocrat, half-siren accent. That mane of dark hair—the sleek little body—
The door swung open. She was more beautiful than he’d remembered. That perfect tittle face with the high cheekbones and those big dark eyes that had haunted his dreams the last few months.
“Oh my God!” Her beautiful eyes widened in surprise, then brimmed with tears. “Bronson!”
She threw herself into his arms. “Whoa, princess! You’re—” He stopped. She met his gaze. His entire life passed before him.
She took his hands and placed them on her belly. “Welcome home, Daddy.”
Chapter
Seventeen
Sometimes a man doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.
For Daniel, thirty-four years of living finally made sense the moment Isabelle placed his hand against her belly and he felt their baby move. Everything she was, everything he wanted to be—all of it was right there beneath his palm, growing stronger and larger every day within the nurturing darkness of her body.
At another time in his life and with another woman, his surprise would have been shock, colored by anger and reluctance. Now he was surprised rather than shocked. He would have felt trapped before; now he experienced a sense of rightness that gave depth and meaning to every breath he took, every beat of his heart from this moment forward.
He drew her into the circle of his arms and kissed her deeply, hungrily, wishing he could find the words to tell her what was in his heart.
She broke his kiss. “Say something, Bronson. You have to be surprised.”
“That doesn’t begin to cover it.” He cupped her belly again, trying to comprehend a miracle. “When were you going to tell me, princess?”
“I tried,” she said, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead with her hand. “It isn’t the type of announcement that lends itself to long-distance phone conversations.” A furrow appeared between her brows. “How on earth did you find me here? Why aren’t you in Japan?” She peered out the living room window. “And how did you get here?”
“Matty.”
She started to laugh. “And I’ll wager I know who told him.”
“Maxine?”
“She has threatened on more than one occasion to tell you about the baby herself.”
“I wish she had.”
Isabelle shook her head. “No. It was better this way.”
“I should’ve been here with you.”
“If you were with me, nothing would have changed between us, Bronson. We wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’d still be looking for you to do my bidding.”
“I’ve never been much for taking orders.”
She waved her hand in the air. “Yes, but I had many years of practice in getting what I want from people. It was not one of my more endearing traits, as you’ve pointed out on many an occasion.”
He stepped back and took a long look at her. “You’ve changed.”
Her face lit up with a smile. “You’ve never seen my hair in a ponytail before.”
“And I’ve never seen you in maternity pants, either. It’s something else.”
“Eighteen extra pounds can change a woman.”
But it was more than that. She was more womanly, more centered, as if she’d lived a lifetime in the few months they’d been apart. She told him where the bathroom was, and he went to wash up while she made some coffee. It was a tiny room with a stall shower and a simple sink and vanity. Her red plastic toothbrush hung from the holder. A bright pink plastic drinking cup rested next to the biggest crystal bottle of perfume he’d ever seen. The room smelled of Comet and Chanel No. 5, and he laughed out loud as he thought of the little princess cleaning the toilet.
“I made tuna fish salad this morning,” she said as he entered the kitchen. “I haven’t mastered anything too terribly complicated yet, but I handle the basics quite well.”
“Come here,” he said, sitting down at the table.
She dried her hands on a paper towel and walked toward him. Her gait was measured, as if her center of gravity changed with each step. She was dressed simply: black tights, a white sweater with the sleeves pushed up to the elbow, and the bracelet he’d given her for Christmas. Her breasts were rounder than before, their fullness swaying beneath the soft fabric of her sweater. Her belly was an act of God. She wore no makeup. He knew he would never see a more beautiful woman.
He motioned for her to sit on his lap.
“I might hurt you,” she said, cheeks reddening.
“I’ll take my chances.”
She eased herself down and looped her arms around his neck. “You couldn’t possibly know how much I’ve missed you, Bronson.”
“I think I can.
“I hope you enjoyed your freedom, princess, because it’s over for both of us. From here on, we’re in this thing together.”
She bristled. Just enough so he was reassured the real princess wasn’t hidden away in a pod in the basement. “I have my trust fund now and before long I’ll have a real income from my venture with Ivan. I don’t need anyone’s help in caring for the child.”
“I need to be part of this, princess. My kid’s not going to grow up wondering who his father is or why he’s not around.”
“If we could be half as successful as your parents have been, I would consider myself blessed.” She held his face in her hands, her dark gaze intent, as if she were hungry for the sight of him. “Every night I have the same dream, that we’re together in a beautiful house on top of a mountain with three beautiful children and family all around us.”
“I can go for all of it except the mountain.”
She laughed and nuzzled against the side of his neck. “All right, we’ll substitute the ocean.”
“Perfect.” He paused. “Three kids?”
She nodded. “And not a one will go to boarding schools or have to make an appointment to talk to us.” Her voice broke. “I never want them to feel they can’t count on their family the way I did. I want them to know so much love that it will warm them for the rest of their lives and give them strength.”
“I’m not going to leave you, princess,” he said as the loving yoke of commitment settled itself across his shoulders. “You’ll always be safe with me.”
They sat together in the kitchen, arms around each other, as the long shadows of afternoon fell across the tiled floor. She listened to the beating of his heart against her ear. He felt the movement of their child beneath his hand and he knew that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep them safe from harm.
* * *
Juliana was delivered of a girl on the fifth of May. Her labor was long and arduous, and she begged her doctor for something that would dull the agony. “Better for the child if you do not,” the doctor had said while crushing pain wracked her body.
“I don’t give a bloody damn about the child,” she cried. “The child is nothing.”
Neither the doctor nor his nurse mentioned her outburst, but each recognized that it was not the usual ragings of a woman in transition.
They said Allegra was a beautiful infant with her fair curls and cornflower-blue eyes, but her mother saw nothing but failure each time she looked at her. Eric was attentive and loving, but Juliana saw the disappointment on his face, and she felt that disappointment through to her marrow.
Her mother-in-law, Celine, sent flowers from her villa on the Mediterranean and a note saying she would return to Perreault in July when she intended to shower the child with grandmotherly affection.
Honore, however, was on hand for the birth and the christening. He held the child while Father Guilbeaux baptized Allegra as he had baptized three generations of Perreault royalty. No one could know
by looking at Honore that he had suggested that Juliana abort the child just six short months before. After the service, he took Juliana aside and pressed into her hands the deed to one hundred acres of French farmland.
“There is a clinic in Geneva,” he said, linking her arm through his, “that performs miracles in gender selection. There is no reason to allow fate to make these decisions for you.”
He looked so disappointed in her. She couldn’t allow him to feel that way when he alone controlled her happiness, her future with his son. “I want the name of the clinic and the address,” she said. “I intend to waste no time.”
The look in his eyes was worth the prospect of enduring another nine months of torture.
There was no way to avoid the necessity of another timely pregnancy. Not with Isabelle big with child, a son only eight weeks from being born.
Lately, Isabelle was never far from her thoughts. The fool probably had no idea that the son she was carrying would be the rightful heir to the throne. Not that it was of any consequence. Isabelle was an acquisitive little creature. She would never endanger her precious trust fund by taking a jaunt across the Atlantic to visit her family. All Juliana needed was the time to produce a male heir of her own. Certainly her own child, the issue of her marriage to Eric, would be more desirable than the bastard offspring of her sluttish sister, no matter the dates of their birth.
* * *
Isabelle and Daniel spent an amazing two weeks in Ivan’s Pocono hideaway, discovering that even without the balm of sex, they enjoyed each other’s company immensely. The chalet was smaller quarters than either one of them was accustomed to, but somehow neither found the closeness anything but delightful. Isabelle wondered if the day would ever come when she would take for granted the miracle of companionship, of feeling cherished and protected.
What she enjoyed most was the ordinariness of it all. The minutiae of daily living filled her heart with joy: seeing Daniel’s face the last thing at night, awakening in his arms as the first light of day streamed through the bedroom windows; long walks down country roads, planning their child’s future right down to what college she would attend. All these were small joys to be savored.
They had their spats—silly, heated arguments about toothpaste caps and breakfast choices—but in all of the important matters they were in perfect accord. The happiness they’d found together mattered, and they were both willing to work hard to hold onto it.
The Princess and the Billionaire (Billionaire Lovers - Book #2) Page 23
