Chapter 2 #2
He walked out from behind the bar to the large picture windows facing the sea.
He turned back to Samantha and shook his head.
“Losing Amanda and Callesandra changed everything.” He circled the piano, then fingered a coaster before setting his drink on it.
When he looked at Samantha, she nodded, confirming it was where his wife had placed his drink each evening.
“She played the most wonderful music I have ever heard.” He could picture them at home, their home in eighteenth-century Great Britain.
He smiled as he recalled one of many evenings he and Amanda would sit upon the piano bench after Callesandra had been put to bed and his wife would play and sing to him.
She was amazing. “God, I’ve missed her. She made me laugh more than I ever had before.
” He brushed his fingers across the keys.
“Amanda changed our lives, my life, in a way—”
“Are you talking about me?”
Amanda was standing in the doorway. They all turned toward her.
She looked as if she belonged there, star that she was, a presence of her own.
Tall with auburn hair and breathtaking cornflower-blue eyes, she was gorgeous, even five days after giving birth.
Fresh faced, hair straightened and pulled back, wearing a soft gray cashmere lounge set, she had Zander tucked up tight to her chest, and Helen stood less than a pace behind her, lips pursed.
Amanda was obviously in charge and Helen none too happy about it. Stan appeared behind her, a man always at the ready.
Sam spoke first. “You look pretty, sweetie.”
“For a mug shot,” Amanda replied dryly.
“Mama!” Callie hollered, coming running across the foyer from God knows where with Rosa, Amanda’s house manager, hot on her heels. Callie came to an abrupt stop at the sight of everyone and wrapped her arm around Amanda’s leg before pressing her face to the side of her long, lean thigh.
Amanda looked down at Callie and smiled. “Hi, baby,” she said, rubbing her head affectionately, which caused the cuff of her sleeve to move, revealing still-dark purple bruising. When Amanda brought her arm back up, she readjusted her sleeve to cover her wrist.
“Hi, Admiral,” Callie said before sticking two fingers in her mouth.
A rank Alexander in fact carried, and one she had often called him by, as had been his man Goodly’s practice.
Callesandra had loved Goodly and had mimicked most all of his salutations.
“Hi, Aunt Sam,” she giggled softly, her shoulders scrunching, before she looked at Stephen and said, “Avun.” Callie called her uncle Stephen “Avun,” short for avunculus, the Latin word for uncle.
Though her pronunciation made it sound like “aboon” instead. It was adorable.
“I’m going to New York,” Amanda announced.
Evan walked into the room just in time to hear Amanda’s declaration.
Bloody hell, welcome to the circus.
“Amanda, we spoke of this just moments ago,” said Dr. Childress.
“Why do you want to go to New York, sweetie?” Sam asked.
Amanda looked at Sam for a long moment, a very long moment, then said, “I don’t know.”
Alexander knew Amanda had stayed in New York upon her return from Great Britain.
She had an estate she’d inherited from her father that overlooked the Atlantic.
According to Stan, in the terribly short time Alexander had been able to speak with him, Amanda had never wanted to leave that New York estate.
She’d only done so because she felt it was in Callesandra’s best interest to settle in her home state of California.
Frustrating, but under the circumstances, that was as far as they had gotten.
Dr. Childress guided Amanda toward the deep oversized sectional.
Helen helped her sit and then pushed two pillows behind her back.
Evan continued, “Amanda, you were heavily sedated for forty-eight hours. We need to give your mind time to clear itself of the effects of the drugs you were given. I’m sure your body would like some time as well. ”
Callie crawled onto the cushion and tucked herself against her mother’s side.
Helen reached out her hands, but Amanda shook her head and stroked Zander lovingly.
Helen looked to Alexander pleadingly. He understood her frustration and told her in French he’d have the baby back in her care shortly.
He also thanked her for taking such good care of Amanda.
There was no way she’d been able to shower and dress so impeccably without assistance.
Of course, Stephen had to add his two cents of gratitude, and not a moment later Callie’s head popped up from where she lay and asked, in French, if he and Stephen were staying for dinner.
Amanda did a slight double take and sat up a little straighter. She looked at her daughter. “Callesandra Eleanor—you speak French?”
“Oui, Mama.” Callie grinned.
Amanda looked at Sam, and then back to Callie. “Do I?” Amanda seemed to consider it, then shook her head. “No. I don’t. Jeez.”
And so ended the length of her mental and physical rally. She tried not to let it show, but Alexander easily saw through her facade. Her eyes stayed closed longer than her usual blink, and she began to inhale deeply through her nose.
He was fondly aware of his wife’s tells, so to speak.
Coping mechanisms she’d learned over the years, useful especially when she was in large crowds or had to give a performance.
Seconds later, he was at her side to take Zander into his arms without drawing undue attention.
She hesitated a moment, but he assured her it was okay, and that seemed to be all she needed.
“Option two,” he whispered fervently into Zander’s tiny ear. “Option two.”
Alexander transferred his son to Helen’s eager, capable hands, then reached back down, intent on taking Amanda back upstairs, relying on her instinct to trust him as her lifeline.
Amanda shook her head; she didn’t want to leave the room. She just needed a few moments to adjust. She couldn’t remember her home being so full before. But in truth, she couldn’t remember a lot. Which reminded her. “Were you speaking about me?” she asked Mr. Montgomery.
She’d grilled Stan as much as she’d been able to, but aside from being told Mr. Montgomery may be richer than God and required a large retinue, as well as the fact that she felt she owed him more than gratitude for freeing her from her restraints and the hospital, she still knew only two things. No, three.
One—there had been a changing of the guard.
Two—the brothers Montgomery were now in charge.
Three—she should feel way more apprehensive than she did, but for some reason she didn’t.
“We were. I had just remarked on what a talented pianist and vocalist you are.”
Good lord the man had an incredible voice and accent. She remembered now how it had made her feel safe and grounded last night. Talking to Art Fisher about the Montgomerys had helped a lot too. He really was like a father to her.
Mr. Montgomery looked at the face of his watch, then signaled Stan and his brother on the other side of the room.
Seriously, the man signaled, like made a motion with his hand to tell them something.
She almost laughed when she saw it. Stephen walked out of the room and Stan said something to Rosa.
Then Amanda remembered. Stan and his cohorts often used hand signals when she was in need of more than just his assistance.
Light flashes came to mind as she remembered a morning news program and the subsequent award show.
Gosh, when was that? She’d had a detail of three then.
Sam had been holding Callie just off set.
It had to have been months ago, September, maybe?
She could picture what she was wearing—jeans and heels, blouse and cardigan, her favorite belt.
She hadn’t been showing, pregnancy wise.
How could she not remember who the father of her children was?
Or giving birth to not one, but two babies?
Tally off the memory column: Amanda Marceau, singer and songwriter. Check. She loved to dance too. Check. Wait, she’d been teaching Callie ballet. And piano. Check. Check. Heir to the Marceau fortune. Check.
She fought off a wave of sadness thinking of her father, who’d died in a plane crash with her stepmother a few years ago.
She looked around the room—where was Robert?
Her stepbrother was usually around to mark important occasions.
You’d think the birth of a child would be one.
Not that she missed him; she always had a bad feeling when he was around.
Sam, best friend, boarding school and college roommate. Check. Stan, guy who takes care of everything. That was a weird thought. Bodyguard, check. Rosa, best house manager and cook ever. Check.
Done with her mental housekeeping, she looked back at Mr. Montgomery.
“What did you tell them?” she asked.
Mr. Montgomery smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.
Handsome did not do this man justice. At well over six feet tall, with dark eyes, dark hair, and a ridiculously impressive physique, he was nothing short of extraordinary.
There was something so very familiar about him, yet she would swear she’d never met him before.
Maybe it was just that he’d taken her from the hospital, and she was still under the influence of the medication they’d given her.
“I told them I needed to speak with them privately. And the count for dinner tonight.”
“I like big family dinners,” she told him, not knowing if it was true, but the second she said it, she wanted it to be. “The bigger, the better.”