I Think I Love You!

by Kathryn Shay

  “Not before they insisted I come over to their house when the night ended for a serious discussion.”

  “Did you have time to do that?”

  “No, I wanted to see you.”

  Her hand flirted with his groin. “I got that message.”

  He kissed her nose. “You know what he found out will change things. He’ll accept you now. And there will be no more talk of Audrey.”

  “Audrey?”

  “Yeah, hell.” He rolled his eyes. “He actually told me Audrey would get better and we could go on with our wedding. Who the hell wants that for their child?”

  “Parents can’t see the forest for the trees sometimes.”

  “What do you mean? Are you defending him?”

  “Of course not. But I’ve had experience with something like this this, remember? I told you about Calla.”

  “Yes, I guess.”

  “My mother almost left him over it. Calla had a hard time forgiving him.” She laid back. “And I saw it as another example of his blind autocracy.”

  “He seems so different, now.”

  “He is. It took me longer than anyone else to see that, but I believe he changed.”

  “Then maybe my father will, too.”

  “Blake, I could still never be a part of your family if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Actually, I was. Why not, if he’ll accept you?”

  “Because he’ll have you under his thumb all your life.”

  “I’ll own the gallery in a few months.”

  “Then there’s Audrey and her father, who’s a board member. You’re entrenched with all of them.”

  “I suppose I am.”

  “And I’d never ask you to give them up for me. I did that to myself, and it was horrendous.”

  “What if I insist?”

  “Would you do that?”

  He had to be honest. “I don’t know Raven. I don’t know.”

  Chapter 10

  “He hasn’t called in a whole week?” Lexy had come to the last of the nights Raven appeared in person at the gallery and now she seemed shocked. “You two looked like you were going to go at it on the gallery floor.”

  Raven giggled. “We already did that.”

  All six girls laughed. They were having a farewell breakfast before they went back to their lives. Mamá and Papá were on their way to the airport.

  “Yep, it’s been a whole week. Not one call.”

  “Are you upset?” Calla asked.

  She thought about that. A hole in her heart had formed from missing him, but she wasn’t upset. “I’m not. He said he needed time to figure out the rest of his life. I want time to figure out mine, too.”

  Frankie frowned. “You said you couldn’t be part of his family in any case.”

  “Yeah, I know. I also know I’m in love with Blake.” She shrugged. “I want him to decide what’s best for himself.”

  The girls exchanged looks.

  “Where did this new Zen attitude come from, kiddo?” Brie asked.

  “I don’t know. It feels good, though.”

  The breakfast ended, and Evvie cried when they all hugged each other goodbye. When they left, Raven headed for Stepping Stones, glad for the distraction.

  Macy greeted her, and when the kids came in, Devon raced toward her. “Raven, I read all the reviews. They were wonderful. Everybody loves your work.”

  Smiling at Devon’s enthusiasm, she said, “There were a few lukewarm ones.” From critics she knew were steeped in representational art. She didn’t even know why they’d bothered to comment.

  “Yeah, but no bad ones.”

  “You’re right, kiddo. So let’s celebrate that.”

  When they took their places at their easels, Raven pointed to the paper in front of her. “As far as what we’ll draw, I think we’ll each pick the medium and the subject matter and see what comes out. See what it tells us.”

  “Sounds like fun. What’re you going to do?”

  “Something different. I’ve been sketching all week. Charcoal portraits. In art, sometimes you have to follow an urge.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  They didn’t sneak peeks of each other’s work. Raven had sketched all her sisters, one per day, and Mamá. She knew whose turn it was today. She started with the hair, and for some reason the mane turned out all black. Black as night eyes. A square-cut jaw. By the time Devon had to leave, Raven had a complete outline. “Who’s that?” Devon asked.

  “My father. When he was young.”

  “Hey, I did my father, too.” She knew Devon’s father was the primary caregiver, and the man seemed to adore her. “But yours is a king. I still can’t believe you’re a princess.”

  Raven rolled her eyes and studied Devon’s canvas. “You captured him well.” He’d been very involved in all Devon’s classes, had asked to meet Raven and came to every school sponsored event.

  “Thanks. I gotta go. Will you wait to finish yours when you’re with me?”

  “I will.”

  After Devon left, she stared at the sketch. She knew what it symbolized. That she’d totally forgiven him.

  A thought came to her.

  You told Blake he couldn’t have you and still be part of his father’s life.

  Suddenly, that didn’t seem right.

  * * *

  Peter Bennett’s column in Art Today came out the Monday following Raven’s opening. Bennett’s weekly contribution was one Blake Sr. read, like everyone else who was part of Baltimore’s art scene. But just in case, Blake brought that magazine along with other documentation he needed.

  This would be his final confrontation with the man who fathered him and given him a birthright that at one time had meant the world to Blake. He rang the doorbell to his parents’ huge home on Federal Hill, and the butler drew open the door. “Blake, how nice to see you.” Blake had insisted the man call him by his first name.

  “Thank you, George.”

  Blake was shown to the den, a monstrosity of old wealth and male privilege with dark wood, high ceilings with more ebony wainscoting, and Persian rugs on the floor. He found his father in his leather chair which Blake had always thought, ironically, resembled a throne. Blake Sr. looked up at him. “So, did you come to gloat?”

  “No.” He gestured to the article on the side table. “But what did you think of the column?” Raven had given him an exclusive about her background and carefully chosen information about her sisters.

  “It’s effusive. He’s a sycophant, if you ask me.”

  “Royalty is a big deal.”

  “You do know we have royal blood.”

  “Hundreds of years back. And it’s miniscule compared to their pedigree.”

  “I spoke with Anderson. Audrey is doing fine. She’ll probably be home in a week.” Like always, when a difficult topic came up, his father changed the subject.

  “Audrey won’t be in my life anymore.”

  “Not that again.”

  “Yes, Father, that again.”

  “Your mother and I won’t approve of you and Ravenna being together. Ever.”

  “Don’t speak for me, Blake.” Lucinda stood in the doorway. “I approve of Ravenna.”

  “Because her father is king?”

  “No, because our son loves her.” She crossed to Blake, kissed him on the cheek and sat on a divan. “That’s enough for me, and should be enough for you.”

  His father’s gaze narrowed on his mother. “Don’t listen to her. My word is what counts.”

  “No,” Blake said. “My word is what counts, in this at least.”

  “You turn thirty-five in six months. You have wedding plans.”

  “Which I’ll cancel once Audrey comes back.”

  “No you won’t, Blake.”

  “I have something for you.”

  His father scowled. “What now?”

  Standing, he crossed to the chair and handed his father some papers. “Read them.”

  Scanning the
document, he turned the page until he got the gist. “What the fuck? Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Because of this.” More papers, which he also gave to his father.

  Blake Sr.’s face reddened. And reddened. “Over my dead body.” He bolted up. Took both sheaves of paper and ripped them in half. “That’s what I think of your new plan. I won’t have it, Blake. I simply won’t.”

  “You have no choice, Father. I came over only to inform you.” He crossed the room and sat down on the divan. “Mother, he’ll fill you in on what I’m doing. I’m sorry for this.” He took her hand. “I hope you can still be part of our lives.”

  “I will, son, no matter what your father says. I promise. I’ll see you out.”

  Together, they stood and left the room.

  * * *

  Renata and Alessio had planned to leave today for Casarina, but her husband had insisted on stopping by here. So, standing on the vast porch, she rang the doorbell. A butler answered, and after they told him who they were, he showed them to the study.

  Blake Sr. was sitting in a large chair, staring out the window, while his mother read a magazine.

  Lucinda stood. “Hello, Your Highnesses.”

  “Call us Renata and Alessio,” Renata said.

  Eyes bulging, Blake Sr. reluctantly rose too. “You—”

  Alessio lifted his hand. “We called your wife to make sure we could get an audience with you.” His bemused expression was mocking.

  “All right, then. Sit down. Have your say. But I won’t be convinced.”

  The king and queen sat. Alessio’s face was troubled. What he was about to confess wasn’t going to be easy for him to articulate. “I haven’t come to convince you of anything, but I want you to know some background.”

  “What is that?”

  “I’ve been estranged from Ravenna for years. Only during this trip were we able to put all that behind us. And it was a long road back. I’m going to tell you a story, Blake. And I want you to listen to the worst mistake I ever made.”

  Renata had never been prouder of her husband.

  * * *

  Blake reached Raven’s house—and nobody was home! Damn it! Now what? Well, he’d wait. He dropped down on the porch swing. The late afternoon sun was warm on his face with a welcome breeze wafting through the blossoms of a flower he couldn’t name.

  A half hour later, Raven’s van pulled into the driveway. She didn’t exit for a minute, then she got out and came up the walk and onto the porch. Standing in front of him, she said, “I was just at your house. You were here?”

  “Why did you come to see me?”

  “You first.”

  “Sit.” He patted the space in the swing next to him.

  She sat. Before he began, he slid his arm around her and kissed her soundly. She felt solid and firm, yet warm and yielding.

  “I choose you, of course, love,” he began abruptly. “I knew I would, but I had to take my time. Figure some other things about my life out, first.”

  “What things?”

  He handed her copies of the papers his father had shredded in a fit of anger. She read the top one. Then looked up with conflict written all over those lovely features. “No, Blake, I would never ask you to do this.”

  “You didn’t ask. This is my choice, Raven, and I’m entitled to make it.”

  “But this is a huge move. A gargantuan change for you.”

  “It’s exactly what I need. Now, read the next document.”

  She did and gasped. “I don’t understand. You renounced all rights to Parker’s and bought a building in downtown Baltimore?”

  “Not just any building. The space was built by a developer for a small warehouse, and the deal fell through.”

  “Why would you want a warehouse?”

  “I don’t. It’s going to be remodeled into an art gallery.”

  “An art gallery?”

  “For modern art. I want to exhibit your art for all to see. Its location is perfect for people who don’t usually get to go to galleries. For city schoolkids to come over and learn about modern art and how it portrays society in a different way. And there’s a space in the back if you want to do art therapy—”

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard.

  “I guess that means you like the idea.”

  “I do.” But she seemed hesitant.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I came to your house to tell you I’d try to accept your father. I came to terms with mine and I couldn’t ask you to reject yours.”

  “Ah, love. That’s very sweet, but my father has to come around for that to happen. Meanwhile, I refuse to be under his thumb, as you so eloquently put it.”

  “I understand. As for this,” she held up the paper, “if you legally rejected any of the Parker money and the rights to the Parker’s gallery, how did you afford the building? Real estate in town is astronomical.”

  “I had money saved and a small trust fund. And my friend Caleb invested. It was enough to purchase the building.”

  She shook her head.

  “But for the bad news.” Her head snapped up. “I’m broke now, sweetheart. At least until I can get art and humanities grants and more investors.”

  “Investors hell. We’re not turning this baby over to strangers. I have all the money we could ever need.” She frowned. “Wait, did you want to do this without my help?”

  “Of course not. I hope you’ll be an equal partner. Besides, when we’re married...”

  “Whoa, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” But deep, sweet warmth curled inside her.

  “We are?”

  “Uh-huh. You have to give me collateral for my partnership.”

  “Like what?”

  She ran a finger down his arm. “This beautiful body of yours to seal the deal. Once we do that, and keep doing it of course, all loans are forgiven.”

  “That sounds a bit seedy.”

  “Very seedy. I love it.”

  “I love you.”

  She stood and tugged him up. “I love you, too.” She arched a brow as he often did. “For now and forever.”

  “Forever for me, too.” He smiled. “Until death do us part.”

  “Geez, there’s that pesky marriage stuff. We’d better get moving on the collateral part.”

  “My pleasure, darling.”

  “Hmm, mine too.”

  Epilogue

  King Alessio Gentileschi sat under the pergola in the backyard of the palace cuddling his grandson, who was five months old. A soft wind ruffled the child’s thick dark hair as he kissed the baby’s head, and thanked a God he believed in again for his good fortune.

  “Ah, Michéal,” he whispered to the boy, using the Italian pronunciation which his parents intended. “You will have a good life like me, too. But you have to avoid my mistakes.”

  He had no doubt that Evangelina would make a wonderful mother who gave her children the tender care and understanding they needed.

  From where she sat at a table with her husband and Lexy and Ryder, Evangelina glanced over and smiled. “Done?” she called out.

  Alessio shook his head, just as a man approached him. “May I keep you company?” Blake Sr. asked him.

  “Sí.”

  As he dropped down on a nearby chair, he smiled at the baby. “Can you believe we’re having one in a few weeks?”

  “I never expected it of Ravenna. So soon, at least.”

  In a surprise to everyone, even the couple themselves, Raven and Blake made a bambino before their wedding. He worried about her coming this trip, as she was eight months pregnant, but she’d agreed to let Alessio send the private plane with the palace doctor on board. Looking more comfortable than she should, she sat in the shade with Francesca and Gabriella, more than likely discussing their upcoming nuptials. The beauty of the three of them together could eclipse the sun.

  Alessio poked the other man with his elbow. “Glad you came around.”

  Blake r
olled his eyes. “Thanks to you. You knocked some sense into me.”

  “I think the baby helped.”

  Alessio knew Ravenna had marched into Blake’s office one day and announced they were married and she was pregnant and he better get over his attitude if he ever wanted to see his grandchild.

  “A baby always does, I guess.” The man’s tone was tinged with a sadness that Alessio knew well.

  They talked some and as Blake rose to leave, they were joined by Richard Reynolds, who’d also lost, then regained, his son.

  “Golf at two, right, Your Highness?”

  “You both have to call me Alessio. And yes, golf at two. I’m pretty rusty, though.”

  “Good. I haven’t played much myself.” Richard had had two heart attacks in the last year amid a tumultuous relationship with Ryder.

  Lexy crossed to them. She practically glided through the air and her frothy dress made the illusion even more vivid. “Papá. Dad.” She kissed both men on the cheek.

  Richard put his arm around her. “Ah, my beautiful, talented and diplomatic daughter-in-law.”

  When the second attack happened, Lexy had taken over the situation much as Ravenna had and sought Richard out. She’d smoothed the way for a reconciliation between father and son.

  He got a glimpse of Renata, his queen, stretched out on a lawn chair like a jewel in the sun. She too had smoothed ways for him and his children.

  Lexy gestured across the grounds. “Did you know that Pickles was created in this very yard, over there under that tree?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Richard, who was the publisher of the very famous children’s series, glanced at Alessio. “The sixth book is in production already, Alessio. Aren’t you proud of her?”

  “More that I can say.”

  When the two left to get a closer look at the place of Pickles’ birth, Evvie came over to him carrying a bottle. She was breastfeeding the infant but made sure Michéal would also take the food from others.

  “He’s going to wake up in about…” she checked her watch.

  “Two minutes.”

  “You can predict that, mia figlia?”