Читать книгу Welcome to Mills & Boon - Jennifer Rae - Страница 17

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE SKY WAS sunny and blue, the air languorous with the scent of lilacs and roses.

Pushing my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose, I clutched my purse and ran toward Madison’s red convertible, sandals flapping hard against the driveway, my sundress flying.

I’d tried to call Edward’s phone, but there’d been no answer. I’d called the line at the Malibu cottage but there’d been no answer there, either. Why would Edward stay in California now? He wouldn’t. Then I’d suddenly had a sick feeling.

I have a private island in the Caribbean. That’s where I’d go if I needed to escape a broken heart.... No one can get at you there, Diana. There’s no internet, no phones, no way to even get on the island except by my plane.

I’d wanted to run out of the house in my robe and sleeping shorts. Madison had talked me into getting dressed first, in the closest clean thing that still fit me. Twisting my hair into a knot, I jumped into the sports car and drove down the road like a race car driver.

Now, as I drove west toward the coast, the low-lying mist was growing thicker, the air cooler near the ocean. The wind felt fresh and cold against my skin as it blew over the convertible, pulling my hair out of the knot and flying it around me. I pressed on the gas.

I had to reach Edward in time. I had to. Because if his plane took off, I feared it would be a long time before I saw him again....

Red lights glimmered on the cars ahead of me on the highway, forcing me to push on my brakes.

“Come on, come on,” I begged aloud, but the cars ahead just grew slower and slower until they stopped altogether. Was there an accident ahead? Someone filming a movie? A visiting political dignitary? Or was it just fate pulling Edward away from me, just when I’d finally realized what I’d lose?

What was the point in having a fast car just to be stopped in L.A. traffic?

I thought I could make you happy. But I can’t force you to marry me. Of course you deserve love. You deserve everything.

Every time Edward had loved anyone, they’d abandoned him. His mother. His father. The woman in Spain. He’d learned not to trust. He’d learned words were cheap. So he’d tried to show me he loved me, in a way more real than words.

How had he found the courage to come to California and humbly tell me he wanted me back? What had it cost him, to try to earn back my love?

Everything, I realized. His heart. His pride. Even his birthright.

All of that—and he’d still let me make the decision. He’d loved me enough to let me go.

Traffic finally picked up speed again. The sun was growing warmer, but I still felt cold, my teeth chattering as I finally arrived at the small nonpublic airport where Edward kept his private jet. He’d been here a month, I realized, and he hadn’t used it once. He’d been too busy taking care of me.

Would I be in time?

Driving past the gate, I parked the car helter-skelter in the tiny parking lot, leaving the convertible door open as I ran into the hangar.

No one was there, except for a lone airplane technician looking into the engine of a small Cessna. He straightened. “Can I help you?”

On the other side of the hangar, I heard a loud engine. Through the open garage door, I saw a jet that looked like Edward’s accelerating away, headed down the small landing strip.

“Whose plane is that?” I begged.

The mechanic tilted back his baseball cap. “Well now, I’m not rightly allowed to say....”

“Edward St. Cyr,” I choked out. “It’s his plane, isn’t it? Is he headed to the Caribbean?”

The man frowned. “How the heck did you...”

But I was no longer listening. I took off running, as fast as a heavily pregnant woman could run, across the hangar, straight through the garage door and out onto the tarmac.

“Wait!” I screamed, waving my arms wildly as I ran down the runway, following the plane, trying to catch it though I knew I had no hope. “Edward! Wait!”

The roar of the engine and wind from the propellers swallowed my words, whirling the air around me, pushing me back, making me cough. I felt a sudden pain in my belly and hunched over, at the same moment that the mechanic caught up with me.

“Are you crazy?”

“Edward!” I cried helplessly.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? Get off the runway!” The man, who must have thought I was having some kind of pregnancy-related breakdown, half pulled, half carried me back to the hangar. Winded and weak and grief-stricken, I let him.

Edward was gone. I’d lost him forever, because I’d been too much of a coward to fight for him, believe in him, when it counted. I’d let him believe that he could never earn my love, no matter how hard he tried....

Choking out a sob, I covered my face with my hands.

“I love you,” I whispered brokenly, sinking to the concrete floor as I said the words I’d been too scared to say to his face. “I love you, Edward....”

“Diana?”

Hardly daring to believe, I looked up.

Edward stood outside the open garage door. Bright California sunshine burnished his dark hair. His face was in shadow, his posture uncertain. He’d changed from his tuxedo to a T-shirt and jeans, and his hands were in his pockets.

On the airstrip behind him, I saw his jet, with the propellers still slowing down. The engine was loud, a blast of white noise. Was he a miracle? A dream? I wiped my eyes, but he was still there.

“You came back....” I gasped. Rising to my feet, I stumbled across the hangar.

“I saw you,” he breathed, his eyes hungry on mine. “And I was crazy enough to hope....”

Hiccupping a sob, I threw my arms around his shoulders. “You came back!”

“Of course I did.” He held me close, caressing my back. I felt the warmth and strength of his body, smelled the woodsy scent of his cologne. He touched my cheek with a fingertip and said in a voice so tender and raw it twisted my heart, “But you’re crying.”

Taking his hand in my own, I pressed it against my cheek, looking up at him with eyes swimming in tears. “I thought I’d lost you.”

I could feel him tremble. Then he exhaled.

“It’s all right, Diana,” he said quietly. “You can tell me the truth. If you’re trying to be loyal to me for our baby’s sake...”

“No!”

“I need you to be happy.” He looked away, dropping his hand to his side. “I told myself I could marry you even if you didn’t love me. That I could earn you back, and make you love and trust me again, over time.”

“Edward...”

“But I can’t be the man who takes away the light that’s inside you. I can’t. I can’t condemn you to being my wife when you don’t love me. When you might love someone else.” Looking away, his jaw tightened as he said, in a voice almost too low for me to hear, “I love you too much for that.”

“You love me,” I breathed.

Edward gave a low, choked laugh. “And for the first time in my life I know what that means.” He looked down at me. “I would do anything for you, Diana. Anything.”

“Even sell your shares of St. Cyr Global to your cousin.”

He looked started. “How did you know?”

“I called Victoria.”

“Why?— How?”

“I saw her going into your house last night.”

“You did?”

I hung my head. “You were acting so weird and secretive. I went back to ask you what was going on. Then I saw her going into your house so late, wearing that dress, and I thought the two of you...”

“What!” He blinked in astonishment. “You thought me and Victoria...”

“I was so scared of getting hurt again,” I whispered, feeling ashamed, “I took the first excuse to run. I’m sorry.”

His expression darkened. “When I think of how I treated you in London, I don’t blame you.” He stroked my cheek. “I didn’t want you to feel guilty, or feel like you were under obligation, because I’d made some kind of sacrifice.... Because you were right. I hated that job. I hated the man it made me. Now I’m free.” He gave me a sudden grin. “In fact, there’s nothing to stop me from coming with you to Romania, as I’m currently unemployed....”

Reaching up, I put my hands over his. “I don’t want to go.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I thought being an actress was my big dream. But I never wanted to audition.” The corners of my mouth quirked. “There was a reason. Whatever my brain tried to tell me I wanted, my heart stubbornly knew it wanted something else entirely.”

He pulled me closer, running his hands over my face, my hair, my back. “What?”

I thought of my mother, and the life she’d lived. Hannah Maywood Lowe had never been famous or celebrated. People who didn’t know her would have thought her quite ordinary, in fact, not special at all. But she’d had a talent for loving people. Her whole life had been about taking care of her friends, her home, her community, and most of all, her family.

“You’re my dream,” I whispered. “You and our baby. I want to go home with you. Be with you. Raise our family.” I lifted my gaze to his. “I love you, Edward.”

He breathed in wonder, “You do?”

“I have just one question left to ask you,” I said, smiling through my tears. I took a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”

Edward staggered back. Then he gave a low shout.

“Will I?”

As he took me in his arms, his handsome face no longer looked thuggish or brooding or dark. Joy made him look like the boy he’d once been, like the man I’d always known he could be.

“I love you, Diana Maywood,” he whispered, cradling my cheek. “I’m going to love you for the rest of my life. Starting now....”

Pulling me against his body, he kissed me hard, until I was gasping with joy and need, clutching him to me.

“Um,” I heard the mechanic’s awkward mumble across the hangar, “you guys still know I’m here, right?”

* * *

We were married two weeks later in my mother’s rose garden. All the people we loved were there, Mrs. MacWhirter and the rest of our closest family and friends. Our wedding was nothing fancy, just a white cake, a simple dress and a minister. No twenty-carat diamond ring this time, either. Seriously, I was afraid I’d put my eye out with that thing. Instead, we gave each other plain gold bands in the double ring ceremony.

It helps to have friends in the entertainment business. A musician friend of mine played the guitar, and a photographer friend took pictures. Madison was my bridesmaid, and Howard walked me down the aisle. As I held a simple bouquet of my mother’s favorite roses, in her garden on that beautiful, bright California morning, it was almost as if she were there, too.

It was all perfect. The only guests were people we really loved. Rupert and Victoria sent their congratulations and a very nice blender.

After the ceremony, when we were officially husband and wife, we held an outdoor dinner reception beneath fairy lights. Howard and Madison openly wept, throwing rose petals as Edward and I roared off in a vintage car, before jetting off to Las Vegas for our honeymoon. We spent two lovely nights at the Hermitage, a luxurious casino resort owned by Nikos Stavrakis, a friend of Edward’s, happily married himself with six children.

Our luxurious, glamorous hotel suite overlooked all the lights of the Strip, which we mostly ignored because we were too busy discovering the joys of married sex. Holy cow. I had no idea how different it would be. How it feels to possess someone’s body when you also possess their heart and soul and name—and they have yours. There’s nothing in the world like it.

“I’m just sorry the honeymoon has to end,” I murmured as we left Las Vegas.

Edward looked at me. “Who says it does?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re both unemployed now.” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “We can go anywhere you want. Rio. Tokyo. Venice. Istanbul. After all,” he gave a wicked grin, lifting a dark eyebrow as he said, “we do have a jet....”

But there was only one place I wanted to go.

“Take me home,” I said.

“Home?”

I smiled. “Where we first began.”

Hannah Maywood St. Cyr was born a few weeks later in Cornwall, at a modern hospital near Penryth Hall. We named her after my mom. She’s the sweetest baby, with dark hair and beautiful blue eyes, just like her father’s.

The three of us like to visit California in the winter. We even bought the Malibu cottage as a vacation house. But now we’ve been married a year, we’re already starting to outgrow it.

It’s summer again, and Hannah is starting to walk. Cornwall is a sight to behold, all brilliant blue skies and fields of wildflowers. I’ve started a small theater company in a nearby town, just to be creative and have fun with new friends—because who doesn’t love a play? But most of my time has been spent on my project of remodeling Penryth Hall, to let the light in. A dangerous endeavor. Yesterday I smashed my thumb with a hammer. I have no idea what I’m doing. But that’s part of the fun.

Edward opened his new business a few months ago, manufacturing athletic gear for adventure sports like skydiving and mountain climbing, renting a old factory in Truro. It’s a small company, but rapidly growing, and he loves every day of it. We live a mostly simple life. We got rid of the jet, sold the townhouse in London. Honestly, we didn’t need that stuff. We took most of the payout from his St. Cyr Global shares to create a foundation to help children all over the world, whether they need families or homes, water or school or shoes. I think my mom would approve.

We aren’t filthy rich anymore, but we have enough, and we’re rich in the things that matter most. Love. Hope. Most of all, family.

Madison was nominated for a prestigious award for that little movie she did in Mongolia, which left her unrecognizable as a gaunt slave of Genghis Khan riding bareback across the steppes. She was thrilled, but she’s even happier now she’s found true love with someone totally outside the industry—a hunky fireman. “He actually saves lives, Diana. And he’s so funny and makes this amazing lasagna....” My stepsister is a loving aunt to Hannah and often sends pictures and toys. Madison is happy, even with all the minor annoyances of being a movie star.

Annoyances I’ll never have to worry about, since my agent fired me, as threatened, when I told him I was turning down that movie after all. I called Jason next, to tell him I was leaving Hollywood to marry Edward. He got choked up, telling me in his Texas drawl that he’d never get over me, never. Then he replaced me with a beautiful blonde starlet in the five seconds it took you to read this sentence.

Howard visits our little family in England when he can, on breaks from his zombie series; or else we visit him on set, as we did recently in Louisiana where he was directing his upcoming TV Christmas movie, Werewolves Vs. Santa. (In case you’re wondering, Santa wins.) He’s just started dating a gorgeous sixty-year-old makeup artist named Deondra. After almost a decade alone, he’s giddy as a teenager.

He’s also the proudest grandpa alive, and the love is mutual. At just eleven months old, Hannah is already showing a scary amount of interest in covering her face in gray makeup and making “ooh—ooh” noises, just like all the zombie “friends” of her Grandpa Howard. Maybe she’ll go into that particular family business. Who knows?

But here in Cornwall, it’s August and the world is in bloom. As our little family sits together on a blanket, having a picnic amid the newly-tended garden behind Penryth Hall, I look down at Hannah playing next to me on the blanket, building a bridge out of blocks. Nearby, our sheepdog Caesar is rolling in the grass, snuffing with satisfaction before going back to chew a juicy bone. In the distance below the cliffs, the sun is sparkling over the Atlantic. The ocean stretches out toward the west, toward the new world, as far as the eye can see.

Our own new world is limitless and new.

I look behind me, at the gray stone hall I’ve come to love. The first time I saw it, it looked like a ghost castle in twilight. I thought then that it was a place to hide.

Instead, it was the place I came alive. The place where my body and soul blazed into fire. Where Edward and I each sought sanctuary when we were hurt, and Penryth Hall healed us.

It was the place our family began.

“I love you, Diana,” Edward whispers now behind me. I lean back against his chest, against his legs that are wrapped around mine, as one of his large hands rests protectively over the swell of my belly. Yes, I’m pregnant again. A boy this time.

Life is more complicated than the movies, that’s for sure. But it’s also better than I ever dared dream. Real life, the one I’m living right now, is better than any fantasy. Smashed thumbs and all.

I’ve finally found the place I belong.

Mrs. Warreldy-Gribbley never wrote a “how-to” manual about how to fall in love, or raise a child, or discover what you really want in life. Because there are no guide books for that, really. There are no surefire, guaranteed instructions. Each one of us can only wake up each morning and make the best choices we can, hundreds of choices each day, big ones and little ones we don’t even think about.

Sometimes bad things happen. But sometimes we get lucky. Sometimes we’re brave. And sometimes, when we least expect it, we’re loved more than we deserve.

It turned out I didn’t need to be a movie star. I didn’t need to be famous or rich. I just needed to be loved, and to be brave enough to love back with all my heart.

People can change, Howard told me once. Sometimes for better than you can imagine.

He was right. Real life can be better than any dream. And it’s happening, right now, all around us.

* * * * *

Read on for an extract from TO SIN WITH THE TYCOON by Cathy Williams.