Yuletide Baby Surprise

by Catherine Mann

  “I’m a physician. That’s my primary goal, my mission in life.” He paused, unable to dodge the truth as he kneeled in front of her. “But yes, I help out Interpol on occasion with freelance work in the area. No one thinks twice about someone like me wandering around wealthy fundraisers or traveling to remote countries.”

  He could see her closing down, pulling away.

  “Mari?”

  “It’s your job. I understand.”

  “Are you angry with me for not telling you?”

  “Why would you? It’s not my secret to know. Your friend…he assumed more about us than he should. But you know I won’t say a word. I understand well what it’s like to be married to your work.”

  Her words came out measured and even, her body still, her spine taking on that regal “back off” air that shouted of generations of royalty. “Mari, this doesn’t have to mean things change between us. If anything we can work together.”

  “Work, right…” Her amber eyes flickered with something he couldn’t quite pin down.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s all just a lot to process, this today. Issa yesterday.”

  He cradled her shoulders in his hands. She eased away.

  “Mari, it’s okay to shout at me if you’re mad. Or to cry about Issa. I’m here for you,” he said, searching for the right way to approach her.

  “Fine. You want me to talk? To yell? You’ve got it. I would appreciate your acting like we’re equal rather than stepping into your benevolent physician shoes because no one would dare to contradict the man who does so much for the world.” She shrugged free of his grip.

  “Excuse me for trying to be a nice guy.” He held up his hands.

  “You’re always the nice guy.” She shot to her feet. “The saint. Giving out comfort, saving the world, using that as a wall between you and other people.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” He stood warily, watching her pace.

  “There you go. Get mad at me.” She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest. “At least real emotions put us on an even footing. Oh, wait, we’re not even. You’re the suave doctor/secret agent. I’m the awkward genius who locks herself away in a lab.”

  “Are we really returning to the old antagonistic back-and-forth way of communicating?” he asked. Her words felt damn unfair when he was working his tail off to help her through a rough time. “I thought we’d moved past that.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. You’re a smart man.”

  “Actually, you’re the certified genius here. How about you explain it to me.”

  “You want me to cry and grieve and open myself up to you.” She jabbed his chest with one finger, her voice rising with every word. “But what about you? When do you open up to me? When are you going to give me something besides the saintly work side of your life?”

  “I’ve told you things about my past,” he answered defensively.

  “To be fair, yes you have,” she conceded without backing down. “Some things. Certainly not everything. And when have you let me in? You’re fine with things as long as you’re the one doling out comfort. But accepting it? No way. Like now. You have every reason to grieve for Issa.”

  “She’s in good hands, well cared for,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “See? There you go doing just what I said. You want me to cry and be emotional, but you—” she waved a hand “—you’re just fine. Did you even allow yourself to grieve for your brother?”

  His head snapped back, her words smacking him even as she kept her hands fisted at her sides. “Don’t you dare use my brother against me. That has nothing to do with what we’re discussing now.”

  “It has everything to do with what we’re talking about. But if I’m mistaken, then explain it to me. Explain what you’re feeling.”

  She waited while he searched for the right words, but everything he’d offered her so far hadn’t worked. He didn’t have a clue what to say to reassure her. And apparently he waited too long.

  “That’s what I thought.” She shook her head sadly, backing away from him step by step. “I’m returning to my old room. There’s no reason for me to be here anymore.”

  She spun away, the hem of her sarong fluttering as she raced into her room and slammed the door. He could hear her tossing her suitcase on the bed. Heard her muffled sobs. And heard the click of the lock that spoke loud and clear.

  He’d blown it. Royally, so to speak. He might be confused about a lot of things. But one was crystal clear.

  He was no longer welcome in Mari’s life.

  Twelve

  The conference was over. Her week with Rowan was done.

  Mari stood in front of the mirrored vanity and tucked the final pin into her hair, which was swept back in a sleek bun. Tonight’s ball signified an official end to their time together. There was no dodging the event without being conspicuous and stirring up more talk in the press.

  As if there wasn’t enough talk already. At least all reports from the media—and from Rowan’s Interpol friends—indicated that Issa was adapting well in her new home after only a couple of days. Something to be eternally grateful for. A blessing in this heartbreaking week.

  Her pride demanded she finish with her head held high.

  After her confrontation with Rowan, she’d waited the remainder of her stay, hoping he would fight for her as hard as he fought for his work, for every person who walked through those clinic doors. But she hadn’t heard a word from him since she’d stormed from his room and she’d gone back to her simple room a floor below. How easily he’d let her go, and in doing so, broken her heart.

  But his ability to disconnect with her also filled her with resolve.

  She wouldn’t be like him anymore, hiding from the world. She was through staying in the shadows for fear of disappointing people.

  Mari smoothed her hands down the shimmering red strapless dress, black swirls through the fabric giving the impression of phantom roses. The dress hugged her upper body, fitted past her hips then swept to the ground with a short train. It was a magnificent gown. She’d never worn anything like it. She would have called it a Cinderella moment except she didn’t want to be some delicate princess at the ball. She was a one-day queen, boldly stepping into her own.

  Her hands fell to the small tiara, diamonds refracting the vanity lights. Carefully, she tucked the crown—symbolic of so much more—on her head.

  Stepping from her room, she checked the halls and, how ironic, for once the corridor was empty. No fans to carefully maneuver. She could make her way to the brass-plated elevator in peace.

  Jabbing the elevator button, she curled her toes in her silken ballet slippers. Her stomach churned with nerves over facing the crowd downstairs alone, even more than that, over facing Rowan again. But she powered on, one leather-clad foot at a time. While she was ready to meet the world head-on in her red Vera Wang, she wasn’t prepared to do so wearing high heels that would likely send her stumbling down the stairs.

  She was bold, but practical.

  Finally, the elevator doors slid open, except the elevator wasn’t empty. Her stomach dropped in shock faster than a cart on a roller-coaster ride.

  “Papa?” She stared at her father, her royal father.

  But even more surprising, her mother stood beside him. “Going down, dear?”

  Stunned numb, she stepped into the elevator car, brass doors sliding closed behind her.

  “Mother, why are you and Papa here? Together?” she squeaked as her mom hugged her fast and tight.

  The familiar scent of her mom’s perfume enveloped her, like a bower of gardenias. And her mom wasn’t dressed for a simple visit. Susan Mandara was decked out for the ball in a Christmas-green gown, her
blond hair piled on top of her head. Familiar, yet so unusual, since Mari couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Adeen and Susan Mandara standing side by side in anything other than old pictures.

  Her father kissed her on the forehead. “Happy Christmas, little princess.”

  She clutched her daddy’s forearms, the same arms that used to toss her high in the air as a child. Always catching her.

  Tonight, her father wore a tuxedo with a crimson tribal robe over it, trimmed in gold. As a child, she used to sneak his robes out to wear for dress-up with her parents laughing, her mother affectionately calling him Deen, her nickname for him. She’d forgotten that happy memory until just now.

  Her mother smoothed cool hands over her daughter’s face. “Your father and I have a child together.” She gave Mari’s face a final pat. “Deen and I are bonded for life, by life, through you. We came to offer support and help you with all the press scrutiny.”

  Did they expect her to fail? She couldn’t resist saying, “Some of this togetherness would have been welcome when I was younger.”

  “We’ve mellowed with age.” Susan stroked her daughter’s forehead. “I wish we could have given you a simpler path. We certainly wanted to.”

  If her mother had wanted to keep things simple, marrying a prince was surely a weird way to go about it.

  Her father nodded his head. “You look magnificent. You are everything I wanted my princess to grow up to be.”

  “You’re just saying that because I’m decked out in something other than a sack,” she teased him, even though her heart ached with the cost of her newfound confidence. “But I can assure you, I still detest ribbon cuttings and state dinners.”

  “And you still care about the people. You’ll make your mark in a different manner than I did. That’s good.” He held out both elbows as the elevator doors slid open on the ground floor. “Ladies? Shall we?”

  Decorations in the hallway had doubled since she went upstairs to change after the final presentation of the day. Mari strode past oil palm trees decorated with bells. Music drifted from the ballroom, a live band played carols on flutes, harps and drums.

  The sounds of Christmas. The sounds of home. Tables laden with food. She could almost taste the sweet cookies and the meats marinated in chakalaka.

  A few steps later, she stood on the marble threshold of the grand ballroom. All eyes turned to her and for a moment her feet stayed rooted to the floor. Cameras clicked and she didn’t so much as flinch or cringe. She wasn’t sure what to do next as she swept the room with her eyes, taking in the ballroom full of medical professionals decked out in all their finery, with local bigwigs in attendance, as well.

  Then her gaze hitched on Rowan, wearing a traditional tuxedo, so handsome he took her breath away.

  His hair was swept back, just brushing his collar, his eyes blue flames that singed her even from across the room. She expected him to continue ignoring her. But he surprised her by striding straight toward her. All eyes followed him, and her heart leaped into her throat.

  Rowan stopped in front of them and nodded to her father. “Sir, I believe your daughter and I owe the media a dance.”

  Owe the media?

  What about what they owed each other?

  And how could he just stand there as if nothing had happened between them, as if they hadn’t bared their bodies and souls to each other? She had a gloriously undignified moment of wanting to kick him. But this was her time to shine and she refused to let him wreck it. She stepped into his arms, and he gestured to the band. They segued into a rendition of “Ave Maria,” with a soloist singing.

  Her heart took hope that he’d chosen the piece for her. He led her to the middle of the dance floor. Other couples melted away and into the crowd, leaving them alone, at the mercy of curious eyes and cameras.

  As she allowed herself to be swept into his arms—into the music—she searched for something to say. “I appreciate the lovely song choice.”

  “It fits,” he answered, but his face was still creased in a scowl, his eyes roving over her.

  “Don’t you like the dress?”

  “I like the woman in the dress,” he said hoarsely. “If you’d been paying attention, you would have realized my eyes have been saying that for a long time before you changed up your wardrobe.”

  “So why are you scowling?”

  “Because I want this whole farce of a week to be over.”

  “Oh,” she said simply, too aware of his hand on her waist, his other clasping her fingers.

  “Do you believe me? About the dress, I mean.” His feet moved in synch with hers, their bodies as fluid on the dance floor as they’d been making love.

  “We’ve exchanged jabs in the past, insults even, but you’ve always been honest.”

  “Then why are you still sleeping on another floor of the hotel?”

  “Oh, Rowan,” she said bittersweetly. “Sex isn’t the problem between us.”

  “Remind me what is?”

  “The way you close people—me—out. It took me a long time to realize I’m deserving of everything. And so are you.”

  “I guess there’s nothing left to say then.”

  The music faded away, and with a final sweep across the floor he stopped in front of her parents.

  Rowan passed her hand back to her father. “With all due respect, sir, take better care of her.”

  Her mother smothered a laugh.

  Her father arched a royal eyebrow. “I beg your pardon.”

  “More security detail. She’s a princess. She deserves to be cared for and protected like one.”

  With a final nod, Rowan turned away and melted into the crowd and out of her life.

  * * *

  Five hours later, Mari hugged her pillow to her chest, watching her mom settle into the other double bed in the darkened room. “Mother, aren’t we wealthy enough for you to have a suite or at least a room of your own?”

  Susan rolled to her side, facing her daughter in the shadowy room lit only by moonlight streaming in. “I honestly thought you would be staying with Dr. Boothe even though this room was still booked in your name. And even with the show of good faith your father and I have given, we’re not back to sharing a room.”

  Curtains rustled with the night ocean breeze and sounds of a steel-drum band playing on the beach for some late-night partiers.

  “Rowan and I aren’t a couple anymore.” Although the haunting beauty of that dance still whispered through her, making her wonder what more she could have done. “It was just a…fling.”

  The most incredible few days of her life.

  “Mari dear, you are not the fling sort,” her mother reminded her affectionately. “So why are you walking away from him?”

  Tears clogged her throat. “I’m honestly too upset to talk about this.” She flipped onto her back, clenching her fists against the memory of his tuxedoed shoulders under her hands.

  The covers rustled across the room as her mother sat up. “I made the biggest mistake of my life when I was about your age.”

  “Marrying my father. Yeah, I got that.” Was it in her DNA to fail at relationships? Her parents had both been divorced twice.

  “No, marrying the man I loved—your father—was the right move. Thinking I could change him? I screwed up there.” She hugged her knees to her chest, her graying blond hair trailing down her back. “Before you think I’m taking all the blame here, he thought I would change, as well. So the divorce truly was a fifty-fifty screw-up on our part. He should have realized my free spirit is what he fell in love with and I should have recognized how drawn I was to his devotion to his country.”

  What was her mother trying to tell her? She wanted to understand, to step outside of the awkwardness in more ways than just being comfortable in a killer red dres
s. Except her mom was talking about not changing at all.

  “You’re going to have to spell it out for me more clearly.”

  “Your father and I weren’t a good couple. We weren’t even particularly good at being parents. But, God, you sure turned out amazing,” her mother said with an unmistakable pride, soothing years of feeling like a disappointment. “Deen and I did some things right, and maybe if we’d focused more on the things we did right, we might have lasted.”

  Mari ached to pour out all the details of her fight with Rowan, how she needed him to open up. And how ironic was it that he accused her of not venting her emotions? Her thoughts jumbled together until she blurted out in frustration, “Do you know how difficult it is to love a saint?”

  Her mother reached out in the dark, across the divide between their beds. “You love him?”

  Mari reached back and clasped her mother’s hand. “Of course I do. I just don’t know how to get through to him.”

  “You two have been a couple for—what?—a week? Seems to me like you’re giving up awful fast.”

  Mari bristled defensively. “I’ve known him for years. And it’s been an intense week.”

  “And you’re giving that up? I’d so hoped you would be smarter than I was.” Her mom gave her hand a final squeeze. “Think about it. Good night, Mari.”

  Long into the night, Mari stared out the window at the shoreline twinkling with lighted palm trees. The rolling waves crashed a steady reminder of her day sailing with Rowan. He’d done so much to comfort her. Not just with words, but with actions, by planning the day away from the hotel and painful memories.

  What had she done for him?

  Nothing.

  She’d simply demanded her expectations for him rather than accepting him as he was. He’d accepted and appreciated her long before a ball gown. Even when he disagreed with her, he’d respected her opinion.

  Damn it all, she was smarter than this. Of course Rowan had built walls around himself. Every person in his family had let him down—his parents and his brother. None of them had ever put him or his well-being first. Sure, he’d made friends with his schoolmates, but he’d even admitted to feeling different from them.