LIKE THE RUMBLE and thunder of an avalanche, snowplows roared down Maple Boulevard in the early hours of the morning, jolting Grace from a deep sleep. Opening her eyes and slowly coming out of a hazy dream, she realized she had one arm draped over Mica’s chest and one arm curled up beside him. Jules was sound asleep on Mica’s stomach as if he’d slept with his daddy every night since he was born.
She blinked. Though the fire was still blazing, which meant Mica had woken through the night to stoke it, the Tiffany lamps were on.
“Power’s back,” she mumbled.
Mica stirred, but didn’t open his eyes. His arm tightened around her shoulders, then he ran his hand down her back and pulled her closer. It was the natural position of a husband who’d slept beside his wife for years. What was going on here? She nudged her nose against his chest, inhaling an intoxicating, spicy scent that was pure Mica. One that she’d never forgotten and never would. Looking at Jules lying on Mica’s stomach, she was once again struck with the similarities between them. Jules’s long dark lashes fanned against his cheek exactly like Mica’s. Their dark hair was the same texture and color. Jules’s lips parted only slightly as he slept, though he breathed through his nose...like his father.
Family traits. Family resemblance. Grace felt as if she could barely keep her head above water in the Barzonni sea. In Paris, she had designed and customized the world she inhabited. In Indian Lake she was an outsider, despite the fact that her Aunt Louise had been here all her life and Grace herself had visited often during her teen years here. Grace felt as if she was clinging to her plans with her fingernails, like the survivor of a shipwreck. And what a wreck she’d made of this.
The idea that she could just leave Jules with Mica for two months, then whisk him back to Paris was nothing short of absurd. She’d worried about Jules more on this trip than she had when she was at work in her atelier. Granted, Jules was getting older. He crawled now and was trying table food. When he was smaller and less mobile, he was easier to keep an eye on. But it wasn’t just that. Something in her had altered drastically.
Perhaps is it was the fact that on this trip, she’d had long stretches in which she only had to think about Jules. And Mica. She wasn’t glued to her design table or computer, or listening to Etienne and Jasminda argue. She wasn’t in conference with Rene or on another overseas call to England.
For the first time since Jules’s birth, she’d performed the role of mother more than that of businesswoman, designer or couture team partner.
Was this the real Grace she was exploring? Or was it another of the many facets most women polish in their lives? Was she any different than Sarah or Liz, who balanced careers and kids? She didn’t think so.
And, of course, there was Mica. For over a year in Paris, she’d actually thought she was past her feelings for him. She’d thought that bringing Jules here would be uncomplicated. She’d expected his anger and shock, yes, but she hadn’t counted on her own emotions. Her reaction to him last autumn had been a combination of compassion for what he was going through and the remains of a teenage crush that could never be anything more. All through her pregnancy and Jules’s first months, she’d tried to convince herself of that. But after only a few days in Indian Lake, it was obvious that she’d been in denial. Her love for Mica was full-blown and devastating.
Lying next to him now, with their baby son sleeping soundly on his stomach, was something out of a dream—one that Grace should certainly never trust.
Mica had never opened his heart to her. She wondered if he even knew his own heart.
She looked up at the high, stamped-tin ceiling. She would like to tell herself that she and Mica were practically strangers, but she’d just be making up excuses again. She was a victim of unrequited love and it was time she faced that cruel fact.
No matter what Grace did to reason herself out of loving Mica, it wouldn’t work.
“Grace...” Mica shifted and kissed the top of her head. “I think he peed on me.”
“Oh, no!” She scrambled to sit up, but he didn’t loosen his hold on her. “Mica, let me up. I’ll get the diaper bag.”
“The power’s on, right?”
“Yes.”
“Could you bring me a warm washcloth, then? Let’s not wake up Jules until we have to.”
Grace nodded. “Absolutely. The water heater might not have kicked in, but I’ll boil some. You don’t have a change of clothes, though. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ll wash up as best I can. How’s Mrs. Beabots?”
“Asleep.”
“Good. I’ll stay here and you get the things.” His smile was slow and sleepy. His dark hair was mussed and his dark stubble only made his blue eyes more intense. He’d never looked so handsome.
She didn’t know what came over her, considering she’d just been stewing over how painful it was to be in love with him, but she kissed his cheek. Then she grazed his lips with hers.
“Don’t,” he said.
“What?”
“I haven’t brushed my teeth.” He gave a low laugh, then pulled her close and planted a kiss on her temple.
I’m so toast, she thought and drew away from him.
“Be back in a sec.”
Grace rose carefully so as not to disturb Jules or Mrs. Beabots. She tiptoed to the kitchen and put a kettle on to boil. She looked out the window and saw that the streetlights were glowing. Now that she was up, she could hear the furnace had kicked on and the house would soon be warm again. She found a French press near the kitchen sink and there was ground coffee in a blue-and-white French porcelain canister on the island. She rummaged around and found two coffee mugs, a sugar bowl and some cream in the refrigerator.
Just as the kettle was about to whistle she took the pot off the stove and poured water into the French press. She placed the cups, sugar and cream on a silver tray she’d seen Mrs. Beabots use. She found a bar of soap near the sink and two washcloths in a drawer. She put the rest of the hot water in a cereal bowl and added it to the tray.
When she returned to the library, Mica had scooted into a sitting position and placed Jules on his baby blanket.
Grace whispered, “Here we are.”
“Thanks,” Mica said quietly.
Mica dipped the washcloths into the hot water and then soaped one up. He lifted his shirt and scrubbed his six-pack. Grace couldn’t help but stare. Her eyes darted to his.
“Told you I kept working out.”
“But...”
“My arm didn’t hinder my sit-ups.” He grinned mischievously.
“Apparently not.”
Grace turned to Jules and unsnapped his sleeper, glancing back at Mica. He caught her eye.
“What?” he asked, rinsing the suds off with the second washcloth.
“Sorry.” She smiled and took off Jules’s diaper, then cleaned him up with a wipe. Jules stirred, rubbed his nose and looked at Grace. He smiled and then closed his eyes, content that he was safe and his mother was taking care of him.
Mica dabbed at his sweater. “I’ll take care of this when I get home,” he said.
“What about your jeans?”
“Safe.”
“I didn’t give Jules his bottle last night. I’m surprised he slept all night,” she commented.
“Maybe he likes sleeping with his dad,” Mica replied proudly.
“I’m sure he does.” She dug in the diaper bag for a clean sleeper and a fresh sweater. She was surprised that Jules continued to doze through the change of clothing. “Now that the heat is on, we’ll all start to warm up,” she whispered to Mica.
Mica plunged the sieve on the French press, then poured coffee into the mugs for them both. He added a huge dollop of cream and a teaspoon of sugar to hers. He drank his black.
Grace sat cross-legged on the floor and placed a blanket in her lap and then Jules on top of the blanket and put another blanket over him. She took the mug from Mica. “How do you know how I like my coffee?”
“Isn’t that how all the French take their coffee?”
“I wouldn’t say—” She stopped as she took a sip, then she narrowed her eyes. “This is too perfect.”
“Okay, I lied about the French thing,” Mica said. “I made coffee for you once before.” His voice was wistful and he didn’t raise his eyes from his mug.
“I don’t remember,” she said.
“I do remember,” he said in a low voice tinged with a distant, mournful tone of loss.
He drank the rest of his coffee in silence. He looked as if his mind was a million miles away.
Grace put down her mug. She couldn’t take it. She had to know what he was thinking. “Mica—”
“Grace,” he interrupted. “Now that the crisis is over and we aren’t going to freeze to death, we need to talk about all...” He glanced down at Jules. “This.”
“I agree.”
“Good. Then let’s do the right thing and get married.”
Grace’s mouth fell open, then she slammed it shut. This wasn’t what she’d call “talking.” This was Mica making his declaration—again. For some reason he thought that the decisions should all be made by him.
“You can’t be this arrogant,” she hissed, glancing over at Mrs. Beabots. “We should go to the other room to have this argument.”
“Fine. But the problem is that we don’t need to argue.”
“Sure we do,” she retorted. “There is no way I’m going to enter into a loveless marriage like your mother did. I’m not going to spend my life wasting my years and my—my choices, chances, on...” Her brain had gone black again. She hated when it did that. She was so overwhelmed with emotions, she couldn’t think. She saw black. Felt black. “On...you,” she sputtered. It was all she could manage. And the second it came out, she wished she could stuff it back in.
Grace’s heart cried out in pain. Her anger was simply protecting her from hurt. She wanted Mica as her husband. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, but above all she wanted him to love her. Just last night, even this morning, she’d felt flickers of that love. She wanted to believe it was there. Last autumn there had been long nights and golden afternoons when she’d convinced herself that deep down, Mica loved her. But they had vanished that day when he’d said goodbye with a cold wave at the Indian Lake train station.
He shot to his feet and pointed at Jules.
“He’s my son,” he growled. “He’ll inherit my family’s farm one day, and I mean to make that happen. I’m not about to let you spoil that for him.”
Carefully, she put Jules on top of the blanket she’d used to cover herself that night. As she stood, she could swear she saw Mrs. Beabots pop one eye open and then close it. The octogenarian had been playing possum this whole time.
“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?” She picked up her mug and the French press.
She walked past Mica, who was standing like a pillar of indignation in the middle of the floor. “Well? Are you coming?”
“What?”
“To the kitchen, where we can talk.” She marched out of the room.
Mica followed her and closed the kitchen door.
“Look, Grace...”
“No, you look, Mica Barzonni. I’m not going to marry you. Got that? Women have babies every day of the week and raise them without fathers all the time. This is a new century. Times are changing.”
“Not for me, they’re not. A child needs both parents, Grace. Both. The statistics show that kids are better adjusted with both parents in the house.”
“Since when have you boned up on parenting?”
He leaned his right hand on the island and stuck his face close to hers. His eyes were glacier blue and hot with anger. Fire and ice. Grace realized there was nothing she could say to convince him.
“Since you finally got around to telling me about the existence of my own son!”
It took every ounce of her willpower not to cry. She did feel guilty, ashamed and embarrassed that she had kept the truth from him. He had her on that front. He was punishing her. She deserved it. But she wasn’t about to go on being punished forever.
“I told you that I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I should have told you. And I have told you now. That’s in the past and we can’t do anything about that. So, can we be adults about this?”
“Sure.” He clenched his jaw. “So, will you tell me the truth now?”
“What truth?”
“About what’s going on? Why you won’t marry me. You know it’s the best for Jules. And yet you refuse. So there has to be a real reason, and I think I know what it is.”
Confusion pinged around Grace’s brain. “What are you talking about?”
“This is all about that guy, isn’t it?”
Stumped, she asked, “What guy?”
“Rene? You’re refusing to marry me because he’s waiting for you back there in Paris. I saw him during your conference. I heard him, too. You both—you’re a lot more than just coworkers. That guy’s in love with you.”
“Rene?”
“Yeah.”
How could Mica tell if Rene was in love with her? If she thought about it, she had to admit she’d seen some signs of love, from time to time, but they’d both worked so closely and were both so driven, they’d never seen if it could go anywhere. Plus, she’d chalked a lot of their closeness up to the intimacy and intensity of their working relationship.
Still, Grace had not seen this coming. How could Mica see romance between her and Rene when he’d obviously missed the fact that Grace was deeply, irrevocably in love with him? But telling Mica that wouldn’t do either of them any good. He would probably use her feelings as leverage in his marriage campaign, even as he remained adamant that he didn’t love her back. Grace would hope Mica wasn’t that cruel, but she could see how much he loved Jules. How much he would do for that little boy. And that scared her.
Mica raked his hair. “So tell me, Grace. Did you and this guy cook this whole thing up about bringing Jules here to dump him on me so you can go back to him? Did you ever intend to come back for your son?”
Grace pulled back her hand to slap him but stopped just as her hand was about to make impact. She whirled away from him and went to the other side of the island. She needed distance. “That is the most insulting thing I’ve ever been accused of in my life. You can’t possibly think that, Mica. And I want you to take it back. Right. Now.”
He exhaled deeply. “Okay, fine. But if that’s not true, then what? You want to leave Jules here with me for a couple months, just long enough for us to bond—which we’ve done already, in case you haven’t noticed—then take him back to Paris? Boot me out of the picture for good?”
“No!” she barked. “None of that is true.”
“I’m sorry.” He put his shaking hand on the island and looked down. Then he lifted his face to hers. “I just don’t understand you.”
“We’re even, then,” she snapped. “You know, Mica, I think something about me really ticks you off. Not always, but you can be the biggest jerk to me. Why is that?”
Silence.
“I really want to know,” she said. “Is it because I was a teen queen and you still harbor some resentment about that? You’re right that I handled my pregnancy all wrong, but Mica, all I wanted from you was some help. That’s all. I’m not ‘dumping’ Jules on you. I love Jules with all my heart. I would never, ever give him up. And I hadn’t thought far enough ahead, but I don’t plan to keep him from you. That wouldn’t be fair. I’m not an evil person, Mica.”
Her throat thickened and cut off the rest of her words. It was just as well. Words were useless now. They’d come to the end of their road.
And it was a dead end. No fork. No road less traveled. No turning back.
Grace felt utterly alone at the moment she needed to feel wanted and loved. She, of all people, knew life didn’t work out the way she wanted.
“No,” he said softly. “You’re not a bad person. Neither am I.” His face softened and he stood back from the island. “I hope.”
“I never said you were. Mica, I can tell you that Rene is not my boyfriend or anything like that. We haven’t been plotting against you. I admit that he loves Jules. And he does have feelings for me...”
Mica pointed at her. “See? I knew it!”
“But I’m not going to marry him.”
Mica’s intake of breath was audible. “You aren’t?”
“Definitely not. In the first place, we’ve never even dated. In the second, he hasn’t asked me.”
“Yet,” Mica added. “You haven’t dated and he hasn’t asked you yet.”
“That’s accurate. Yes,” she admitted. Who was she to predict the future? Once she was back to Paris and after she got her company up and rolling, there was always the possibility that she could get over Mica. Move on. Have a life. A half life.
“Grace, we have to come to some kind of agreement. If marriage is out of the question, then could we work out a custody agreement?” he asked.
“Sure. I have no objection to that.”
“You don’t?”
“No,” she replied sincerely. “I want you to be in Jules’s life. I want you to know all the joys like I have with him.” Even as Grace spoke, she felt her heart break again. She was hopelessly in love with him. If Mica would only tell her that he loved her, she would marry him and never look back on this pain.
“Then I think I have a solution for us.”
Grace felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as if bad tidings had swept over her. “Oh?”
“I have an attorney friend here in town. He can draw up a custody agreement for us. We can have his name legally changed as well. A few papers—” he snapped his fingers “—and then it’s done.” He smiled winningly.
And Grace felt her heart sink.