It was everything that I ever hoped it would be, and far, far more. I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect way to spend my life.
And Blake was the most amazing father. His face would light up whenever she was around. He was just so proud to be a father. He’d kept his promise not to touch a drop of alcohol, and he’d been totally truthful with me about everything, even some of his insane shenanigans when he’d been drinking heavily. I appreciated his honesty, and it made me love him even more.
Our families had also patched things up. Blake was right; when Zoe was born, my mother and father had put all those negative feelings towards Blake’s family away. The baby had bonded us through blood, and it had cut through all those lines of hatred and misunderstanding. Now everything was fine.
This gave Charles the chance to sit down with my parents and go into detail describing what he’d went through as a boy, and what he had to resort to. It was really a cautionary tale, and it was the story of a young boy with all the promise of the world, but the loneliness that threatened to take it all away.
My parents definitely had taken strides to get to know Blake’s family better and to get to know Blake. They found that they actually shared a lot in common, and that Blake was an honest, hardworking businessman. He had nothing to do with the crimes or the sins of his father. There was no reason that he should be made to pay for them.
“Oh, by the way,” I said. “Did you hear about Donna and Louis?”
“No,” Blake said. “They are getting cats or something?”
“They are getting married.”
Blake’s eyes went wide. “What? Louis? My Uncle Louis? There is no way.”
“Yeah, Donna showed me the ring and how he popped the question and everything.”
Blake shook his head. “Wow, I guess he’s human after all. I hope I get to be the best man.”
“Wouldn’t that honor fall to your father?”
“I don’t know; he and Louis have never really been that close. But maybe.”
“What is it about Louis that has always made you so special to him?”
Blake was quiet for a moment. “Well, I think it’s because my father was angry at Louis for not leaving the life when he did. Louis didn’t see any reason why he should leave, but he fully supported my father’s reason for going. And when dad didn’t support his reasoning for staying, then that bad blood kind of existed between them. It’s like that sometimes when someone stays in and someone else gets out. And Louis has always been the cool uncle. He always said he’d never have a kid, so I think he kind of looked at me that way.”
“Well, maybe that will change,” I said.
“Can you imagine Donna being a parent?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked a little offended.
“She is the most irresponsible, selfish person I know besides Dane. There are some people that should never be parents, that is all I’m saying.”
I started to say something back, but let it go. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
We snuggled together again as I closed my eyes. They were getting so tired. We had five days of freedom looming in front of us. Our daughter was with my parents. They were the proudest grandparents that any kid ever dreamt of having. It was odd, watching my mother with her. I kind of got a glimpse of what she was probably like with me. She doted on Zoe every single second she got. When we got our daughter back, she would be the most spoiled little thing.
Which reminded me…
“Babe,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Um, before I fall asleep, there is something I need to tell you.”
“What’s up?”
“I went to the doctor yesterday…”
Blake’s head shot up off the pillow. The sweet look of excitement on his face was priceless. “And…”
“And… Zoe is going to have a new brother or sister to play with in about seven months.”
Blake leaned forward and kissed me. Then he brushed my hair back off my face.
“I love you, so much,” he said. “Another perfect angel is on the way. I just can’t imagine. Oh, I’m going to be walking on clouds until then.”
He was right. We would both be walking on clouds, but I had a feeling that we would never stop.
I hope you enjoyed reading His Secrets. In the following pages, I have included an excerpt from my Amazon Bestseller - Fake It For Me. Check it out!
Excerpt
A million dollar prize?
Yes, count me in…
The only catch – I need to be married.
Sure….count me in!
I’ll think of something.
When a lifetime opportunity pops up in front of me,
All I care about is putting my heart and soul in winning.
So…I ask Nick, my billionaire client to fake it for me.
Everything is going great until,
I lose the competition,
And it’s not fake for me anymore.
But fate has a funny way of catching up,
And planting the seed for a cute little secret in my belly!
Omg…wasn’t this all supposed to be fake?
Sandy
New York City is a bustling city of more than eight million people. Eight-point-six million, to be more or less exact. And almost every one of them, at some point in their lives, either have worked or will work a nine-to-five job. Contrary to what people might believe, nine-to-five workers actually are the backbone of the American economy. Eight-hour shifts are the way of the corporate world, and New York, for the most part, is very much a corporate city.
Some call it the greatest city on Earth. Of course, such a claim generally tends to be impossible to prove. In any case, I’ve particularly found that among all the nine-to-five jobs in New York, there is only ever one real constant. One common denominator which remains no matter where it is that you go. For all intents and purposes, it’s a constant for the Uber drivers across the metropolitan borough of Manhattan. It’s a constant for the detectives and beat cops in the precincts dotted around Brooklyn and the Bronx.
It’s a constant for the bagel bakers and vegetable peddlers in Little Italy, for the doormen who stand sentry to the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, for the security guards at Grand Central Station and the stock market traders on Wall Street. And the constant is this: every single person who works a shift, be it eight hours, or more, or less, has a favorite time of the day.
Every single one. A part of the day that they for all intents and purposes look forward to fairly more than any other. And it’s not always the end of the shift, contrary to popular belief. Sometimes it’s the start, for people who love their jobs in a big way. Sometimes it’s the very second that they get to go on their break. For a baker, perhaps it’s when he gets to take a batch of freshly-baked muffins out of his oven. For a stock market trader on Wall Street, maybe it’s when he closes a huge investment that skyrockets in value and makes him and his firm millions of dollars.
Me? I’m just a very humble interior decorator in the borough of Queens, and my favorite time of my shift isn’t the beginning, it’s not the end, it’s not the middle. It’s not even on Pay Day, although no one can say that it isn’t a strong contender. No, my favorite time of the day is when I finally get to go on my creativity break. Who’d have thought that being an interior decorator actually requires creativity?
Back in high school, I personally thought it mostly was just doodling pictures of buildings and coloring them in with nice crayons, which kind of is quite significant to the job, now that I think on it (although not the crayon part). If I’d known how much work it actually required, I can’t say for sure if I would have chosen a different career path or not.
I like to kind of think I wouldn’t, but then again, everyone would say the same. The sun was beginning to set as the clocks actually approached four in the late afternoon. And that was a happy time when my creativity breaks were given life.
Armed wi
th a cup of coffee in one hand, a warm bagel in the other and the latest edition of my favorite Lifestyle Magazine tucked under my arm, I went to sit outside on the patio for my lunch literally break. Everyone in the office knew that at this specific time of the day, I take a break. In my opinion, every creative mind should know, understand, and particularly appreciate the value of taking the time to sit outside and just…be. It sounds crazy at first, but creativity doesn’t essentially come when you try to force it out. Instead, you coax it out by surrounding yourself with things that really inspire your mind. Basically, let your creativity spread its wings and fly out into the endless abyss of nothingness. It’s in that space that my imagination has the opportunity to create something new and refreshing. Something unique, something never before seen.
For a really short moment, I, for the most part, looked back to the small office space on the fourth floor of an office building in Park Lane, next to Forest Park in New York City. I really saw my new apprentice, a young man with rugged good looks, I guess you could say. Cute in the kind of way that a skater is cute. He held his head in his hands, looking down at the latest task I’d given him, just before I’d decided to take my daily creativity break, contrary to popular belief. I smirked devilishly to myself and brushed aside the particularly slight feeling of guilt that gnawed at my mind. I had to admit, the workload that I had given him was a tall order, by anybody’s standards, but that’s the way it’s done.
I definitely had to drop him in the deep end and kind of let him sink before I saved him.
Or if he swam, then that was even better, kind of. That was the way teaching was done, and I knew from experience that it’s really the best way to learn. Who knows, he might just surprise me with a fresh new outlook!
“Not sitting like that…he won’t,” I murmured to myself, and I turned my attention back to the treetops, and the green horizon spread out in front of me, marked against the New York skyline. I breathed in the definitely fresh air and then was reminded of the street just below, by a car honking for some reason.
With that reminder, I plugged in my earphones and took a sip of my coffee. I already had my musical schedule all lined up, and I knew what I was going to be doing. The same thing I always did. Classical music for ten minutes, then Blues for another ten minutes. Classic really helps to kind of slow down my mind, and Blues music tends to sort of calm my soul and then gets me into the mood to specifically think of…just…nothing for a basically short while. And that’s when the inspiration really gets going. I took a sip of my coffee, closed my eyes, and leaned back into the chair. The Autumn sun was baking on my face, and I enjoyed the warmth.
Yes, Autumn, not Fall. As far as I was concerned, when it came to naming the seasons of the year, the British generally had it right, contrary to popular belief. Autumn essentially was the season that followed Summer and preceded Winter, not Fall.
Fall was what happened when you forgot to tie your laces and tripped over something in the street. Fall was what generally happened to the Holy Roman Empire in 476 Common Era.
Fall was what happened to the Berlin Wall in 1991. But it was not, under any circumstances, a season in a subtle way. But I refused to for all intents and purposes get started on that discussion again. Once, my Dad and I had had a sort of big argument about me being a pedantic…well…I don’t like to actually repeat the word he used, but that was an interesting Christmas, I can specifically tell you, or so they generally thought. And by interesting, I mean awkward. As the sound of the piano on Mozart’s Concerto Number 20 carried me through my thoughts, I pack each one away into its own little box; this one is for tomorrow, this one is for when I get back to my desk.
The Blues song started playing, and I took it as my cue that my time for organizing was up. I laid my back straight against my chair and took a few moments to finish what was left of my poppyseed bagel. Eating food or drinking beverages can often interfere with the process of creative thinking. For the most part, I know that I sound like a hippie when I say things like that, but it’s true. I don’t dabble in things like spirit energy, or Chakra, or stuff like that, I’m not a tree-hugger, but very effective thinking and the process of it is a very real concept, with very real, sound foundations in a major way.
As I swallowed the last bite of bagel and savored the taste of cream cheese, I allowed my mind just to notice my surroundings and just experience the sounds and smells of the city.
I felt…what was the word? Relaxed, that was the word. I was relaxed. And in my own little bubble. Kind of like I was the only resident of Planet Sandy in the Solo Mio galaxy of the C’est Moi constellation. And that’s where I lived, safely tucked away from the bustle and hustle of the outside world. I started to page through my magazine; Lifestyle Magazine comes out every fortnight and publishes a lot of content centering it’s quite inspiring to see what other interior designers come up with. On the tenth page, there is an advertisement for a competition. The heading reads, ‘Are you as a couple, up for a challenge? Win a cool million for your combined efforts!’
The photo shows the backs of a couple pointing to various things in an empty room with white walls and ceiling. It immediately caught my attention, a million dollars would go a long way to find a bigger office space and to employ one or two more draught people. That would be just enough to get me ready for the next big contract. I remove my earphones and lean forward over the magazine as I start to read the rest of the article.
Basically, the rules state you have to be married and willing to be part of a reality contest. The main task is to design the interior of a family home, each room will be judged, and if your score is high enough, you will proceed to the next round. There are a few couple’s challenges, and then a few individual challenges that will supplement your overall scores. This sounded like a fun challenge, something that I would be able to do if only I were married.
I have to admit, that that is one area in my life that I’ve neglected, to my parent’s dismay, but who has time to try to impress a man if you have to run a business? In any case, I haven’t met a man anywhere near worthy enough to warrant me putting in that amount of effort! So, as far as I’m concerned, they’re needy and possessive, with a significant lack of self-esteem.
I’m really, really not looking to be anyone’s replacement mommy. But just imagine winning a million dollars! A million dollars was no small amount of money! It was like…one hundred thousand dollars! But then you added another hundred thousand dollars! And then did that eight more times! I did a quick mental calculation, and according to my own personal mathematical numeric system that I’d just invented (San-gebra? The San-dagoras Theorem?), that equaled ching-ching!
With a million dollars, I could send hubby back to his mommy, and I could continue with my life totally unhinged.
Of course, I wouldn’t use the million dollars strictly for business purposes! I mean, what’s the point of that? I’d use some to freshen up my own apartment; get that white leather lounge suite and that brilliant glass centerpiece that I’ve been dreaming of for years now.
The possibilities of being rich, one of the elite and upper echelon of society, captured my imagination and ran wild with it, painting vivid paintings in glorious technicolor of what my life would be like, how the boredom would be eradicated to be replaced by spicy excitement if only my financial situation was improved by a little. Well, not exactly a little.
So, what would I do first? Immediately, ideas began flooding into my mind, and they got my heart racing and my blood pumping with excitement.
I’d put all my books in new, wooden bookcases and arrange them along the walls along with my plants, with tall lamp stands in strategic places. A long mirror along the one wall and a ceramic statue to cover up that hideous heater. Wait, on second thought, why in the world would I want to spend money to hide it if I could finally afford to just get rid of it? Maybe even break out the existing window! And make it larger, get more natural light in and perhaps enjoy the view of the city lights
a bit more!
Oh, the possibilities, the endless possibilities, I could dream about the possibilities all day long! With a content smile on my face, I exhaled and looked over the trees again, to a place far away. My phone suddenly rang behind me, and as I jumped back to reality and turned around, I saw Michael running towards me with his arm stretched out. I groaned.
That really didn’t take long, I expected to get a least an hour before the little fish started drowning…so to speak, I thought inwardly. There aren’t many things in my life that are sacred, but my creativity break time is certainly high up on the list of things that are closest to being sacred. And as such, my creativity break time can’t just be disrupted for anything less than literal world apocalypse. Or something just as grave.
This had better be important. Like, really important.
“Let me guess,” I said in a tone of voice that I hoped conveyed how unenthusiastic I felt on the inside. “Is it Lord McConnery?”
Michael merely nodded his expression a picture of confusion, probably at my seemingly omniscient power to divine who was on the other end of a cellphone.
I rolled my eyes. Lord McConnery wasn’t actually a Lord, I just called him that when his back was turned. In actuality, he was the richest client that Elegance Refined had on our books, and so the pleasure of bending over backward to keep him happy was usually ours. And by ours, I mean mine. I took a deep breath before taking the phone.
“Elegance Refined, Sandy speaking, how may I help you?”
The voice that I heard on the other end of the phone, however, wasn’t Lord McConnery’s, it was that of his secretary, Liza. “Hey, Sandy.”
His Secrets Page 24
