Blood Strangers: Behind Closed Doors: Family Secrets
Page 18
“If you wanted to be the center of the adoring press, you should have stayed in New York.”
“What?” Even when Toni raised her eyebrows, nothing else on her face moved. He’d lost count of the number of face and body lifts she’d had. “And miss meeting my granddaughter?” She shivered and cast a disdainful look in Annabelle’s direction. “Couldn’t you at least have picked a brood mare who didn’t have children? Especially a teenager? She makes me look old.”
If the press weren’t everywhere, Stephen would have walked off. Brood mare stung, but Toni wasn’t that far off the mark. She never was. That’s why she and Clive got along so well. Both were blunt to a fault.
It had been Clive who reminded him of his duty to the family.
You’ve got to find a wife and have a son to carry on the family tradition, Stephen. I’ve worked too hard to find the secret to the perfect rose to have it die with the third generation.
Stephen had met Lily this past summer at a benefit to raise money for the Walter Anderson Museum. She was a gorgeous woman with blue eyes and long wavy hair that looked like a sunset, vivid red streaked with gold. All natural. Her daughter was proof she’d bear him a great-looking son, one worthy of the Allistair name.
She was easy-going and easy to love. But the truth was that his work consumed him, especially of late.
That’s why he’d moved up the wedding date. The sooner he got Lily pregnant, the quicker he could concentrate on his masterpiece--a rose that would be so impossibly beautiful, he hadn’t even confided in his grandfather. His heart sped up just thinking about it.
“Look at what the cats dragged up.” Toni nudged him, bringing his attention to the second floor landing where Clive posed with Stephen’s fiancée on his arm. Wearing his full silver hair long enough to touch the collar of his tuxedo, he appeared to be a man far younger than eighty-eight. And Lily was simply stunning in the white Christian Siriano gown and heirloom necklace Stephen had given her. “I see the little tramp wasted no time getting her hands on your grandma’s diamonds.”
Thankfully, the press and the photographers Stephen had hired for the evening were too busy snapping pictures of Clive and Lily to overhear his so-called mother’s vicious remarks.
“Toni, retract your claws, or I’ll call you a cab to the airport.”
“I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t let that bedraggled urchin call me grandma.” She nodded toward Annabelle then made a beeline for a group of reporters on the other side of the room.
The air seemed fresher without her. At his grandfather’s signal, Stephen joined Clive and Lily at the top of the stairs where he announced his engagement with all the fanfare worthy of an Allistair.
With dozens of cameras turned on them, he leaned in and whispered to Lily, “Are you happy, darling?”
“Of course.”
Her smile was genuine, and that made everything so much easier for Stephen.
She had to have noticed he didn’t introduce Annabelle. But neither had he mentioned his wicked biological gene-pool of a mother. Thankfully, Lily would not be like the narcissistic Toni. And she certainly wouldn’t be like his grandmother, who had been too weak to be an Allistair.
Just as Lily’s daughter proved her great genes, her history proved her courage. She’d survived a pregnancy at sixteen, a tumultuous one year marriage to a muscle-bound football player who didn’t want her or their daughter, single motherhood, and the death of both parents. Still, she had managed to earn a college degree in interior design and start her own business.
“Kiss her,” someone called.
“I’m happy to oblige.” Imagining the picture they made, much like the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, he held the kiss through the frenzy of clapping and congratulations that echoed through the downstairs ballroom. Allistair Roses could only benefit from this kind of publicity.
One of the reporters called, “Roses,” and the rest of the crowd took up the chant. “Roses! Roses!”
“Duty calls, Lily. You don’t mind finding the girls and bringing them to the conservatory, do you? Clive and I need to get there ahead of the reporters.”
“Of course not. I don’t have to be pampered like your greenhouse cultivars.”
“You’ve picked a champion, son, and a stunning one, at that.” Clive clapped him on the shoulder then winked at Lily. “I’ve got to borrow this stud for the Allistair show.”
They flanked Lily and escorted her down the stairs then watched until she was out of earshot.
“Don’t you think you’re laying on the champion brood mare/stud analogy too thick?” Stephen asked.
“I can say a lot of things now that I couldn’t when I was your age.” Clive, who never displayed remorse about anything, led the way out of the ballroom toward the attached glass conservatory.
Two guards stood on either the door, and four more were strategically placed inside. Stephen nodded at them, but didn’t stop to speak. They knew their job. In five minutes they’d remove the gold rope and let the reporters along with Lily and the two girls inside. Afterward, the rest of the guests, which included most of the population of Ocean Springs and the surrounding Gulf coastal area, would be allowed to view the roses in groups of ten.
Colors and fragrances exploded around Stephen. The conservatory was covered with Allistair roses, each with its own pedestal and plaque. In the center stood the black rose. The plaque beneath it said Clive Allistair, Poe’s Raven. “Quoth the raven, Nevermore.” Tea rose inspired by Edgar Allan Poe.
Also showcased in the center was Stephen’s latest cultivar. Brilliant blue with white edges. Stephen C. Allistair the plaque read. Mariposa. “Butterflies are white and blue in this field we wander.” Floribunda rose inspired by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
The roses unleashed a thousand memories. Formulas and secrets swirled through his mind. Closed doors and dark rooms whispered while midnight hours and grueling work filled him with both exhaustion and exhilaration. The mystery of the roses filled Stephen until he felt as infinite as the moon casting its silver light through the glass ceiling of the conservatory.
His grandfather’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the moment. “Well done, son.”
Together they walked to the small dais at the front of the conservatory and waited for reporters and photographers to gather. All attention and cameras were turned on them until Lily came in with the girls. She and Cee Cee looked stunning, but Annabelle looked flushed and out of sorts.
Clive nodded in her direction. “Is she sick?”
“No. She’s stubborn. She hates this house and me, too.”
“I suggest boarding school.”
“Lily would never stand for it.”
Stephen didn’t have time to worry about Annabelle, though. Reporters were already firing questions.
“Mr. Allistair, how many cultivars have you originated?”
“Sixty-five,” Clive said, and applause thundered through the glass room. “My grandson Stephen has already produced forty-five, and if he lives to be as old as I am, he’ll surpass me.”
“And what about your son, Wyler?”
It was the question Stephen always dreaded. He was glad to let Clive answer.
“He did only one, but it’s spectacular. It buds out deep red, and then the blooms turn to a pale blush. The Vanishing Red is named for the Robert Frost poem by the same name. You’ll find Wyler’s climber beside the yellow floribunda I created after his mother died.”
The reporter from CBS turned to read aloud the plaque on The Vanishing Red. “It’s too long a story to go into now. Why did Wyler choose such a cryptic quote? Did it have anything to do with him ending up a recluse in Switzerland?”
Clive nodded, handing off the difficult question. Stephen prided himself on being the Allistair family’s spin doctor.
“As most of you know, Allistair Roses has many traditions. One of them is naming our roses for literary works or figures. There’s no patte
rn or agenda in the way we select our names. But we do seem to be partial to the poets.”
Most of the reporters laughed, but others shouted questions.
“Why has Wyler given no interviews in thirty-eight years?”
“Stephen, how do you respond to rumors that your father is mentally ill?”
“Why does Toni Allistair refuse to talk about her husband in interviews?”
“Why did a beauty like Toni Allistair never divorce Wyler and remarry?”
Making his face a careful mask, Stephen stuffed his hands into his pockets to hide his balled-up fists. He wasn’t about to let them keep digging into his family history.
“We have nothing to add to our original statement about my father’s rare disease and his subsequent retirement to Switzerland. Thank you for coming. Before you leave, do take the time to say hello to my beautiful fiancée.” He gestured to the back of the room where Lily stood with the girls. “Enjoy the food, the music and the roses, especially my new blue and white floribunda, the Mariposa. It was nine years in the making, and we’re delighted to add it to the collection of award-winning Allistair roses.”
He was turning to leave when a reporter shouted, “What’s next for you, Stephen?”
“The Margaret. A blue tea rose so vivid it will be neon.” Adrenaline burst through him, and the flush crept over up his neck. “The inspiration is a Carl Sandburg poem by that name.” He glanced toward the back of the room. Her face was glowing, and his heart picked up speed as he quoted from the poet. “’In your blue eyes… I saw many wild wishes.’”
The reporters turned their attention and their cameras on Lily, and Stephen rushed from the conservatory. He had to have some air.
* * *
We hope you enjoyed this sneak peek of Savage Beauty, the next book in the Behind Closed Doors: Family Secrets series.
Behind Closed Doors: Family Secrets Series
Don't miss this brand-new series from the bestselling authors of the STORMWATCH and BREAKDOWN series!
THE LIE Debra Webb
(December 2)
BLOOD STRANGERS Vicki Hinze
(December 9)
SAVAGE BEAUTY Peggy Webb
(December 16)
DEADLY REFLECTIONS Regan Black
(December 23)
FATAL DECEPTIONS Cindy Gerard
(December 30)
Coming in December 2020 in ebook and paperback.
About the Author
VICKI HINZE is the author of nearly forty novels, nonfiction books and hundreds of articles published in more than sixty-three countries. Her books have received many prestigious awards and nominations, including her selection for Who’s Who in the World (as a writer and educator), nominations for Career Achievement and Reviewer’s Choice Awards for Best Series and Suspense Storyteller of the Year, Best Romantic Suspense Storyteller of the Year and Best Romantic Intrigue Novel of the Year. She co-created an innovative, open-ended continuity series of single-title romance novels, an innovative suspense series, and has helped to establish sub-genres in military women’s fiction (suspense and intrigue and action and adventure) and in military romantic-thriller novels. Hinze loves genre-blending and blazing new trails for readers and other authors. She is a former columnist for Social-In Global Network and radio host of Everyday Woman.
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Also by Vicki Hinze
Behind Closed Doors: Family Secrets
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Multiple-Author Collections
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For a complete listing visit http://vickihinze.com/books
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Holly blows in with subzero temperatures, ice and snow better measured in feet than in inches, and leaves devastation and destruction in its wake. But, in a storm, the weather isn’t the only threat—and those are the stories told in the STORMWATCH series. Track the storm through these six chilling romantic suspense novels:
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You'll want all four books of the thrilling BREAKDOWN series!
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