Читать книгу The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 105

Thirteen

Evangeline lay on the bed and wiped her eyes for the fortieth time. Morning sickness was worse than a slow death at the hands of sadistic monkeys. Crackers didn’t help. Ginger ale didn’t help. Cursing Matt didn’t help and usually made her cry. Like now.

She craved his egg-white omelets with every pregnancy hormone in her body. All the other hormones craved him.

How could she still be so torn apart over a man who’d stripped her down to her base layer and then rejected her? She’d taken a huge leap of faith and trusted him enough to fall in love, only to be crushed. Again.

Really, she couldn’t be angry with him. He hadn’t lied to her. She’d been lying to herself about what he needed. He’d rather suffer than get over Amber.

But she was angry. And devastated. So much so, she couldn’t stand to be around him any longer. The look on his face when she’d threatened to disappear had nearly killed her, but what else could she do?

Vincenzo’s cousin, Nicola, knocked on the open door. “You need something, cara?”

“Thanks. I’m okay.” She wasn’t but Nicola didn’t have any magic capable of fixing her broken heart. Thank God she’d come to Monte Carlo, where people understood her.

“We go to a club soon. VIP lounge. No paparazzi. You join us?” The elfin woman raised a brow. “Maybe you meet someone new who helps you forget.”

Ha. If only. “I better pass. I doubt someone new would care too much for me running to the bathroom every five minutes.”

The effort required to simply get dressed was enough of a deterrent to a night out. Then there were the smoke machines, which probably pumped out fumes toxic to a baby. Flashing lights were guaranteed to give her a headache. Cocktails would flow—watered down most likely, but with enough alcohol to render them off-limits.

Of course all of that was just noise. She missed Matt, missed Venice, and nothing else held much appeal.

Nicola nodded and left her alone.

Evangeline bit back an urge to call after her, to beg her to come back and sit awhile. But Evangeline didn’t want to be a burden on her nonpregnant friends. Which was all of them.

Still, Monte Carlo was beautiful. Outside the window of her room in Nicola’s high-rise condo, the city unfolded in a myriad of lights, energy and people, generating an exciting vibe that spilled out into the Mediterranean via the hundreds of yachts lining the shore.

Alone time was good. She’d come here to feed her newly awakened muse. Now she had plenty of time to see what new brilliance flowed from her fingers.

But instead of reaching for the paper and pen on her bedside table—which had sat untouched for two days—she retrieved the printed page from under her pillow and unfolded the song she’d written in Venice the night she’d fallen asleep on the couch.

She’d probably read these words a hundred times now. The theme of connection ran through every line. Of course, because she craved it. Losing her voice had been devastating because it was the link between her and the listener.

But the song spoke to a different kind of connection. One between people, but deeper than the superficial link between a singer and a fan. It was about bonds, family. Things she’d never had at any point in her life, but somehow the right expression had come from her soul.

Because Matt’s soul spilled over into hers with his strong sense of unity, goodness...and now she was crying again. How could she have gleaned so much from his depths when he’d closed himself off? It shouldn’t be possible. But the evidence was on the page.

It was definitely a good thing she couldn’t sing this. She’d never get through the whole thing without breaking down. Sara Lear would do the song justice, and it would be a nice hit for her already-stellar career.

Why couldn’t she imagine Sara singing it? Professional jealousy? Probably.

She read the words again. She had to let go. This was part of moving on, something she must find the strength to do. Her voice was gone, but she had a baby on the way. One day, she’d like to look her child in the face and be able to say I overcame a huge struggle. You can, too.

One day, she’d like to tell Matt how he’d helped her realize she was more than just a voice, more than Eva. She still had something of value to give.

The song was proof.

All at once, she knew why she couldn’t imagine Sara Lear singing this song. Sara didn’t need a hit song writer—she had plenty of those barking at her door. Evangeline hadn’t written this song for Sara, but for someone else entirely.

And now was the right time to give it away.

Before she could change her mind, she picked up her phone and dialed. “It’s Evangeline. Your sister.”

Family.

What had started as a simple phone call was actually much more profound. Her heart hadn’t just been opened to Matt, but to a whole new world of connection. Even though he’d devastated her, he’d also introduced the wonders of permanence, longevity—all only possible if she allowed roots to grow.

“Hi.” Lisa’s surprise came through the line clearly in the one short word.

“Sorry to call you with no warning.” How did you build a relationship from scratch? Start slowly or jump in with both feet? “I’ve been going through a tough time and I wanted to apologize for losing touch. Can we start over?”

Maybe somewhere in the middle, then.

“I’d like that. How are you? Your voice is different.”

Evangeline chuckled. “The surgery messed it up. Listen, I wanted to ask you. Are you still singing?”

“Yeah. At school, we have a vocal group. I do that and karaoke on the weekends. Nothing that’s going to get me noticed, but Dad said I can record some demos after graduation.”

Dad. Her stomach twisted at the label Lisa so easily gave the man who’d done nothing more for Evangeline than donate sperm. But this was part of letting go too, and nurturing those fledgling roots instead of chopping them off at the source.

“I have a better idea. I wrote a song for you. I’d like to hear you sing it, and then if we both agree it’s everything I hope, I’ll book you a recording session with my former producer. He’ll lay it down right.”

“Omigod. Are you serious?” Half of Lisa’s sentence came out a squeal. “You wrote a song for me? Why?”

A million different throwaway responses rose up, but this was about forging a new direction and exposing the deepest parts of herself. About living up to the bravery Matt had seen in her.

“I’m branching into a new career. As a songwriter. I expect I’ll write quite a few songs. Who better to write for than family? If we work really hard and are fully committed, the partnership can launch both of our careers.”

Committed. It had a nice ring to it. She’d had precious little commitment to anything and expected it to drop a weight on her chest. But instead, the idea of collaborating with her sister, long term, carried the most intense sense of peace.

Best of all, if someone asked her, What are you going to do now that you can’t sing anymore?, she had an answer.

A new direction as a songwriter and a new direction with family. Timely, since she was going to have a family of her own when the baby was born.

A wave of guilt clogged her throat. She’d deliberately ensured that family would only consist of two—her and the baby.

That wasn’t fair to Matt, Matt’s family or the baby.

Evangeline surprised herself by saying, “I’m planning to be in the States soon. Would you mind if I dropped by Detroit so we can work this song face-to-face?”

“That would be killer. When?”

“I’m not sure exactly. I’ll call you. I have a stop to make first. In Dallas.”

Matt didn’t love her—and she’d almost accepted that—but she didn’t want her child to grow up without knowing its family. Her baby deserved to know his or her father. Grandparents. Uncle and aunts. Her child wouldn’t have to suffer crushing loneliness its whole life. Like she had.

But none of that was going to happen if she hid in Europe forever.

Pregnancy hormones, or maybe just sheer disappointment in herself and in Matt for not being what she wanted, had driven her to make a rash decision she now regretted. What else had she categorically rejected before it could reject her?

She had to figure out a way to be a coparent with Matt, no matter how much he’d hurt her. Her baby needed her to be brave. She had to go to Dallas and forge a relationship with her child’s family. She and Matt were getting a family together; it just wasn’t going to happen the way she’d have liked. Somehow, she’d make it work, no matter where she ended up living.

* * *

The flight to Dallas was miserable. Two layovers, one delayed flight and a near-morning-sickness-mishap in the aisle of first class later, Evangeline plunked down in a cab and handed the driver Francis and Andrew Wheeler’s address. When Matt had shoved it at her with instructions to mail any legal documents to his attention there, she’d never expected to use it personally.

When the cab stopped, her breath caught. The Wheelers’ house was exactly what she’d envisioned. Welcoming. Homey. Located in a quiet, stately neighborhood she’d have no problem allowing the baby to run free through.

A pretty middle-aged woman answered her knock. Matt had inherited his mother’s blue eyes and blond hair. The older woman’s shocked gaze reminded her an awful lot of Matt’s face when she’d handed him the pregnancy test.

“Hello,” Evangeline said. “We haven’t met but—”

“Matthew’s not here.”

“Oh. You recognize me.” That had not been the greeting she’d expected. Actually, she hadn’t known what to expect.

“Of course. You’re the mother of my grandchild.”

Not Eva. Not Evangeline. But something else entirely—part of a family. She took it as a sign that she’d made the right decision in coming here.

“I am.”

Obviously Matt had told everyone about the baby.

Matt’s mother blinked and her smile warmed. “And I’m terribly rude. I’m Fran. Please come in. You must be exhausted from your flight. May I call you Evangeline? I’m very happy to meet you.”

Fran ushered her inside, chattering as if they’d met years ago instead of minutes. The Wheeler household engulfed her the moment she stepped into the foyer. Warm, rich creams and teals tastefully accented the formal living room, but it didn’t feel stuffy. Framed photographs lined the mantel of a large fireplace. All the pictures contained smiling people, clustered together as if they couldn’t get close enough.

A family lived here.

“Your home is beautiful. I see where Matt gets his taste.”

The older woman shot her a puzzled glance. “Thank you. You call him Matt? And he lets you?”

“Is that unusual?” Evangeline perched on the edge of the sofa and Fran joined her.

“He hates that nickname. Always has. Says it sounds too much like a frat boy with a skateboard under his arm.” Fran patted her arm. “I like you already. Anyone who can unstarch my son is a friend of mine.”

Matt starched? Evangeline laughed involuntarily. If only Fran knew how unstarched her son could truly be.

“I hope we can be friends. I’m actually glad Matt’s not here. I came to see you.”

“You did?”

She had no idea how much Matt had told his parents, but the relationship between her and Fran could and should last a very long time.

“I did a selfish thing by taking off to Monte Carlo. Matt hurt me, and I used that as an excuse to keep everyone away from my baby. But I want you, and all of Matt’s family, to be a part of the baby’s life. It’s very important to me.”

Fran’s eyes lit up, just like Matt’s did when he was happy. “I’d like that, too. I’d like it better if my grandchild’s parents were married. But I promise that’s all I’ll say to interfere with what my son has clearly informed me is not my business.”

So maybe he had told her everything. Having that kind of bond with a mother—she couldn’t fathom it. This woman had shaped Matt, instilling in him many wonderful qualities. And most of them were outside of the kitchen. His depth, his sense of commitment, his patience and kindness. All products of his relationship with his family.

Having roots allowed for magnificent things to grow. She wanted that for her baby, but recognized that she had to make it happen by sticking around and creating the connections. Maybe she’d open herself to being hurt. And maybe this family would welcome her.

“Marriage was one of the many areas where we disagreed,” Evangeline admitted readily. “But I’m here because I realized I was wrong about a few of them. For example, I’m willing to reevaluate my stance on living in Europe.”

“Well, that’s a relief. It’s a shame Matthew’s not here so you can tell him personally. I think he’d be very interested in where else you might compromise. Ironically, you just missed him.”

She should talk to Matt. No matter how hard it might be. They were going to be parents, whether she wished they could be more or not.

“Do you mind if I wait?”

Fran smiled. “You might be waiting a long time. He flew to Monte Carlo this morning.”

* * *

Apparently Matthew was going to chase Evangeline around the globe.

He’d done everything short of walking up and down Rue Grimaldi yelling Evangeline’s name in order to find her. Vincenzo hadn’t realized she’d left Monte Carlo, and his cousin shook her head and said, “Sorry, cara. She said ciao and nothing else.”

Frustrated and quite sick of airports, Matthew slumped against the seat of the final vehicle in a long series of shuttles from place to place to place—a water taxi. He needed to regroup, and what better place to figure out what the hell he was doing than Venice?

Palazzo D’Inverno provided the only bit of sanity he’d experienced in forever.

Matthew tipped the driver and clambered up the dock to the water entrance of his house. The palazzo was the only permanent thing in his life, the only thing he actually owned. Coming here had been a gamble. Evangeline had infiltrated this house, and the memories were likely to be vicious.

When he swung open the door, the quiet hush of peace washed over him. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. The piano stood silently in the corner, draped for protection against lack of use. The U of couches faced the balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. Frescos kept watch from the ceiling, the scenes frozen in time for eternity.

The sense of freedom, as if he could do or be anything he wanted was exactly the same, too.

But that probably had to do with the woman standing by the glass, framed by the grandeur of Venice.

“I was starting to think you’d never get here,” Evangeline said, and smiled, punching him straight in the gut. Like always.

Evangeline was in Venice. Inside Palazzo D’Inverno, filling his house with her light. What did that smile mean? Was she buttering him up before she handed over the papers detailing the custody arrangement she hoped to talk him into?

“What are you doing here?”

It was far less than he’d like to say. But far more than his suddenly tight throat should have been able to voice.

“Vincenzo caught me at Heathrow. I changed my connecting flight and voila. Here I am.”

Which told him not one blessed thing about her intentions. He hated not knowing exactly where she’d been, where she wanted to go, what she was planning, what she was feeling. Once, he would have known instinctively, would have gleaned a hundred nuances from the vibe between them without a word exchanged.

He missed it. He wanted it back.

“How did you know this was where I would end up?”

His voice broke. She was beautiful—radiant like the Madonna with child. Like Evangeline with his child. There was nothing in Dallas, nothing anywhere in the world worth more. Exactly how stupid was he for not realizing that before screwing up everything?

Was she still in love with him? Or had he ruined that, too?

His stomach pitched. Well, he’d just have to convince her to forgive him for being such a shortsighted moron. Negotiation was his best skill.

She shrugged and crossed the room, stopping short of invading his space, likely because he’d given no indication of whether he’d welcome her. “Lucky guess.”

Or maybe something else had whispered his destination to her, something unexplainable and incomprehensible. But still real.

“I was coming to you. In Monte Carlo,” he said.

“I know. Your mother told me.”

Matthew shook his head. Evangeline scrambled his wits. “My mother?”

“I went to Dallas.” Her eyes filled. “Matt, I don’t want to cut our baby off from you. Or from your family. I was selfish and stupid. Apologies were in order, all the way around, starting with your mother. Ending with you. I’m sorry. I want you to have a relationship with our baby that’s more than holidays and birthday cards once a year.”

“Oh.” Disappointment wrenched his battered heart. What had he expected, that she’d miraculously decided to give him another chance when he’d plainly told her he had nothing to give? “I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry, too. So how do you envision a relationship between me and the baby if you’re living in Europe?”

“I’m not going to live in Europe. I called my sister. We talked, and she’s going to record some songs that I wrote. I never liked the idea of giving my words to Sara Lear. But Lisa, that’s a different story. It’ll be a great partnership. I’m going to stay in the States so we can work together.”

Pride filled him. She’d found her way after all. “That’s fantastic. Why did you fly all the way to Dallas to apologize in person?”

“Well, I was planning to go from Dallas to Detroit. It made sense in the mixed-up files of my pregnant brain.”

He contemplated her slight form. “But you’re here. Not Detroit.”

“A funny thing happened when I got to Dallas. You weren’t there. You went to Monte Carlo. I have to know why.”

“Evangeline...” He hesitated, unsure how to undo all the damage he’d done the first time by trying to follow rules that made no sense for the man he’d become. But there were no rules in Palazzo D’Inverno. So he said what was in his heart.

“When I got to Dallas, it took about five minutes to know I was still in the valley. And when I looked up, I realized I couldn’t get to the top of the mountain unless I had someone with wings to fly me there.”

“Me?” she whispered.

He nodded. “Please, please forgive me for all the stupid things I said before. I can’t be me without you. I love you.”

Tears streamed down her face. “Really?”

“Really.” He bridged the gap, drawing her into his arms, and she fell against him, clutching at his shoulders. Warm, light-filled Evangeline was in his arms. “I was the selfish one. Clinging to the past when I had the future right here the whole time.”

“I don’t understand. You said you weren’t ready for that.”

“I’m not.” Who could ever be ready for someone uninhibited, wild and perfect like Evangeline? “To compensate, I refused to put myself in the position of letting my emotions get the better of me again. The problem with that, of course, is that it was too late. I was already in love with you.”

The denial burst from her and he closed her lips with his fingertip.

“Shh. It’s true. Amber was an integral part of my life for a long time, and when she died, it was like a car losing an engine. One can’t function without the other. But I was never a car to you, and because of that, we fit differently. I couldn’t see that until I went home and tried to be a car again.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to be a car anymore? Or are you trying to talk me into buying one?”

He laughed, shocked at the quaver in it. “I’m saying you were right. I can’t pick up the reins of my old life and I don’t want to. I want to find a new direction with you and our baby. Wherever the wind blows us. I went to Monte Carlo to tell you that.”

Hope spread across her face.

“I want to believe you,” she said cautiously. “But I trusted you, and you smashed my heart all to pieces. I can’t be a replacement for your wife. How do I know you’re really over her?”

“I don’t want a replacement. Amber was only one color, and that was right for me before. You’re all the colors of the rainbow. It’s tattooed on you permanently because that’s who you’ll always be to me.”

Her eyelids dropped for a beat, and when she opened them again, the soft brown sucked him under. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”

Because he’d learned that the right thing had context. The right thing wasn’t always the same from day to day, and sometimes you had to do what was right for the person you were at that moment.

He grinned. “Several transatlantic flights in a row give you lots of time to think.”

“What do you want? Did you come loaded down with a ring and a fancy marriage proposal?”

The pain in her voice tried and convicted him. He’d hurt her, and saying the right thing wasn’t nearly enough to make up for it.

“No.” He’d gone against the very fiber of his being and come here empty-handed. “This time we’re doing things according to your schedule. I’ll follow you wherever you go, whether we’ve got a piece of paper calling us husband and wife or not. I will never again utter the word marriage until you flat out say that’s what you want.”

“Your mother will be upset.”

Obviously Mama had treated Evangeline to an earful of the Fran Wheeler Sermon on the Merits of Marriage. Hopefully it hadn’t stacked up Evangeline’s disfavor against him any higher.

“She’ll get over it. This is about us and what we want.”

“And you don’t want to marry me.”

“On the contrary. Nothing would make me happier than to claim you as my wife before God and everybody. But it’s your choice. Our relationship will be how you define it.”

Amber had been his wife; that role fit her and what they’d shared. Evangeline was something else and fit the man he was now. The harder he tried to pin her down, the harder she’d flap her wings to escape. And he wanted her to be free to fly, as long as she waited for him to catch up.

A shrewd glint in her eye set off a frisson of nerves. “What if I wanted to live in Dallas? What would you say?”

“I’d say who are you, and what have you done with the woman I love?”

Her gravelly laugh clawed through his stomach with heat he’d missed. “My name is Evangeline La Fleur. And your name is?”

The best question of all and the easiest to answer. “Matt. My name is Matt.”

“Nice to meet you, Matt.” She shook his hand solemnly. “That’s a nice name. I like it. You know the funny thing about names? They change. You think you’re this person, the one the name refers to, and then all of a sudden, you have to redefine yourself.”

“And with it comes a new name,” he said.

That ripple of understanding passed between them, as strong as it had from the first. Finally, finally, the knot of tension at the base of his skull unwound, and he started to believe he’d leave the valley and crest the mountain with her by his side after all.

“So,” he continued. “I’m getting a picture in my head of you living in Dallas. What else should I add to this picture? Will you be living by yourself? Or might I convince you to stay with me?”

A deep smile spread across her face. “You’re pretty good at convincing me to stay. I’ll give you that. If I stay with you, do I get my own room?”

“Nope. The baby gets his or her own room, but you have to share with me, whether we have a marriage license or not. See, I don’t need a replacement wife, but I do need a lover. I seem to have an addiction to inventive positions. And locations, apparently, because I’m envisioning a very sturdy table in the kitchen. And maybe a screened-in porch. A large shower is a must, as well. Sound like something you might consider?”

Say yes. He’d be happy to throw in some begging if it turned the tide.

She shook her head. “You’re crazy. I like that.”

Crazy. Yes, he was. But only because he’d fallen in love with a woman who allowed him to be and feel and do whatever he wanted.

“Please tell me I haven’t totally screwed up things between us. I’m open to discussion on how we’ll raise the baby, and I don’t care where we live. We can stay here in Venice if you want. I love you and want to be with you the rest of my life, wherever you are, whether we have a marriage license or not.”

Her eyes grew misty. “That was the most romantic nonproposal I’ve ever heard.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Not yet. I wasn’t done with my apology. I’m sorry I was so stubborn. Before. I never should have tried to force you to heal my way or discounted the idea of living where you wanted to. I’ve been pretty selfish for a long time, excusing it because I’d lost something important. Important, but not crucial. I can’t sing but I haven’t lost my voice.”

“Of course you haven’t. You’re my voice. You articulate the things in my soul far better than I could.”

“Geez.” Her lids flew closed and she swallowed heavily. When she met his gaze once more, the powerful connection swept through him again. “I was already going to say yes. But if you want to say some more romantic things, I’m all ears.”

His heart took flight. “You were? What swayed you, the sturdy kitchen table or me finally gathering enough wits to tell you I love you?”

“The fact that you flew to Monte Carlo. The rest was nice to hear, though. I came to Venice to tell you I wasn’t letting you go again, by the way.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. They’d chased each other around the globe. “I told you, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Then start walking.” She turned and flounced up the stairs, hips swinging saucily. Halfway up, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll be naked on the bed, thinking about how much I love you. I’m dying to see what you’re going to do first.”

Matt was pretty curious too and raced up the stairs to find out what two healed souls could become to each other.