Crush (30 page)

“Those are things you like,” Bernie said. “What do you
love
about him?”

“I love how much he needs me and our baby.”

“Baby?” Bernie squeaked. “Meg got it right? You’re…how far along?”

“About five months.” She sat up off of Bernie and hiked up her big T-shirt. Bernie’s eyes widened at the petite mound of her lower belly. “I haven’t told anyone, other than Lucas,” she said quickly, to diffuse the indignant rampage she saw brewing in Bernie’s eyes. “I haven’t even told my parents or Calista.”

“No wonder Sir Lucas called me in such desperate straits,” Bernie said. “His biological clock is ticking. This changes everything, Miranda. You can’t deprive him of his child.”

“I don’t plan to. But I don’t plan to marry him, either.”

“Do you really think that’s fair to the child?”

“I’m trying to be fair to all of us. This baby will have two parents who love her, Lucas has the freedom to do whatever he wants, and I won’t ever find myself in the shoes my mother wore for over thirty years.”

“So you’d rather be a baby mama instead of a wife. Well, it sounds like you have it all figured out, then.”

“I do,” she said.
I hope…

* * *

Miranda, now adept with the crutches, hobbled up to the front desk of the Park Plaza Hotel. She watched the clerk’s eyes widen as the woman studied the two gargantuan men in black suits who carried Miranda’s overnight and garment bags.

“They’re my bodyguards,” Miranda explained in an embarrassed whisper as she slumped upon her crutches.

“Oh,” the clerk muttered. She stood on tiptoe to peek past the guards, to look at the mob of reporters and photographers crowding the front door of the hotel. Then she looked back at Miranda. Her mouth stretched into a wide smile as recognition dawned on her. “Miss Penney,” the clerk said. “You’re here for the Penney-Henderson wedding.”

“Yes,” Miranda said. “I have two rooms reserved.”

“You’re right here,” the clerk said, calling the reservation up on the computer. “We have you down for two suites, one for you and one for…” She glanced at the bodyguards. “Your entourage.”

“Thank you,” Miranda snapped. The busy and loud noise of the paparazzi reached her as the hotel’s front doors opened. Her bodyguards, Rudolph and Blaze, both former professional wrestlers, grunted as they closed in tighter around her, dwarfing her between their massively wide bodies. Another hotel guest was making his way toward the front desk, with a few photographers following him.

“Could we hurry this up?” Miranda asked.

The clerk understood. She called for the hotel manager as she finished Miranda’s check-in and retrieved the keys for her suites.

“Whose wedding are you here for, Mr. Duquette?” Miranda heard an eager voice ask. She turned to look over her shoulder, but all she could see was the black fabric of Rudolph’s suit.

“It’s
your
wedding, isn’t it, Jordan?” another voice suggested.

Jordan answered both questions with a sly laugh. Miranda was tempted to hand Blaze one of her crutches so he could give Jordan a ring-worthy beating.

“Let’s just say that Miranda Penney and I will be walking down the aisle together tomorrow,” Jordan said, his slick words making Miranda’s ears steam.

“Excuse me,” came another male voice. “I’m the manager of this establishment, and if you aren’t a registered guest or in the company of a registered guest, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”

While the hotel manager escorted the photographers and reporters from the lobby, Jordan stepped up to the front desk. He flashed a smile at the clerk who was helping him. The woman batted her eyes and bit the outer corner of her lower lip in a coquettish way that made Miranda’s stomach turn. When the clerk stepped away to run Jordan’s credit card, Miranda stepped around her bodyguards and made her presence known to him.

“Why did you say that?” she demanded under her breath.

“Good afternoon to you, too, Andy. And why did I say what?” Jordan asked innocently. He leaned one elbow on the butterscotch marble counter.

“That crack you just made to the press.” She moved closer to Jordan. Rudolph and Blaze, as if Velcroed to her sides, moved with her.

“Who are your friends?” Jordan asked. “Fletcher’s watchdogs?”

A low, menacing growl issued from the thick, muscled column of Blaze’s throat. Rudolph, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, cracked his neck, and it sounded like a gunshot.

“Easy boys,” Jordan said, his smile wavering a tiny bit.

“Why are you even here now?” Miranda asked Jordan. “It’s Friday. The wedding rehearsal isn’t until tomorrow night.”

“Alec told me that he and Callie and you were checking in a day early, so I figured I would, too. Maybe the four of us can have dinner tonight.”

Rudolph, the more judgmental of Miranda’s bodyguards, snorted.

“Okay, maybe the six of us can have dinner tonight,” Jordan amended.

“You just told those reporters that you and I would be walking the aisle tomorrow,” Miranda said. “You deliberately mislead—”

“I told the truth,” Jordan cut in. “We will be walking down the aisle tomorrow. Just not the way I would have hoped.”

Miranda, her lips pursed in anger, clutched her room key in her hand as she turned and made her way to the elevators. She used the end of her crutch to press the
up
button. Ever the professionals, Blaze and Rudolph checked the car before allowing Miranda to enter it. Miranda was safely inside the elevator waiting for the doors to close when she saw another man step up to the front desk. She used her crutch to bar the doors from closing when she realized who he was.

Even from behind she recognized his ramrod-straight posture and wide shoulders. His hair looked a little grayer than when she’d last seen him at Christmas. She even recognized his suitcase. It was the Clava garment bag that she had given him almost a decade ago, for his birthday. The sophisticated yet practical black leather bag had been the perfect gift for the businessman who travels.

She thought of calling out to him, but she couldn’t push the word “Daddy” past her lips. She hadn’t even spoken to him since the engagement dinner. Since he’d moved out of the house in Silver Spring, her mother had been the one reporting his comings and goings. Miranda lowered her crutch and let the doors close. Now wasn’t the time to repair the damage between her and her father. And the lobby of the Plaza certainly wasn’t the place.

* * *

The next morning, Miranda was having a late breakfast alone in the bridal suite she was sharing with her mother and Calista when her cell phone rang. The phone had come with Rudolph and Blaze, so she knew they were calling from right outside the door.

“Yes?” she answered.

“There’s a man here,” Rudolph said tonelessly. “About sixty—”

“Fifty-nine, thank you very much,” Miranda heard faintly in the background.

“Greenish-brown eyes, graying Afro, and he’s tall. About six feet,” Rudolph continued. “He says he’s your father.”

Miranda disconnected the call as she went to the door and opened it. Her father stood there in the Saturday morning costume she knew well: jeans, a plain button-down, a navy cardigan and athletic shoes. He was clean-shaven and bright-eyed. His hair was shorter than she remembered, and the style gave him a youthfulness that contrasted with the gray of his hair. Even in his understated Saturday clothes, he was painfully handsome.

“Hi, Andy,” he greeted.

“Come in.” Miranda pulled the door wide to accommodate him. He closed it behind him and followed her to the living room area. The remnants of Miranda’s French toast and fresh berries were spread out on the low coffee table before the sofa. Clayton waited for his daughter to sit before he joined her. Miranda picked up the remote and turned on the television.

“Mom and Calista are out shopping with Bernie on Newbury Street,” she said. “Callie’s looking for favors for her bridal party. She wants cinnamon chocolate truffles to match her cake.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Clayton asked.

“Too much hassle. My crutches kill my armpits and the
Herald-Star
dogs me everywhere I go. I need a day off from all the commotion.”

“Do you mind if I wait here for your mom and your sister?”

Miranda shook her head. She was grateful for his company and, until now, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him. She flipped through the stations until she came to the Red Sox game that was just starting. As they had on so many Saturdays throughout her childhood, Miranda and her father lounged on the sofa and watched a baseball game.

“Pitcher’s young,” Clayton said.

“He was recruited right out of high school. He could give the Sox trouble this afternoon.”

“Your mother told me that you quit the paper last week.”

“She told me that you bought a condo near D.C.”

“It’s nice,” Clayton said. “There’s an on-site laundry service, a pool, a gym. You should come down and see the place.”

Miranda toyed with a loose thread dangling from the edge of her denim cutoffs. This was the sort of conversation she never would have imagined herself having with her own father. He was inviting her to his new condo and into a life apart from her mother. “Do you have a roommate?” she asked.

He prefaced his answer with a heavy sigh. “I’m not seeing anyone these days. Anywhere.”

They watched the Red Sox first baseman labor along the base path as he bolted from third to home. “This guy gained twenty pounds in the offseason,” Miranda said. “He’s got to lose it. He did it, supposedly, for more power at bat, but it’s slowing him down.”

“I’m sorry I lost my temper the last time we saw each other,” Clayton said. “And I’m sorry about all the rest of it. I was a selfish bastard, Slugger.”

“It’s…okay, Dad. It’s over. I’m glad that you and Mom are still friends.”

“Your mother is the best friend I’ve ever had. She’s the best lover I’ve ever had. And, like a fool, I tossed it all away.”

Miranda totally empathized with her father’s loss. Lucas had been a wonderful friend and lover. He was one of the best people she had ever known. And she had thrown him away. “I’m a fool, too, Dad. I know where it comes from now.”

“Do you? Your mother and your sister have told me all about what’s gone on between you and Lucas. What you did isn’t about him or me. It’s about you, Slugger. You think you’re not enough for him. It’s always been that way with you.”

Miranda crossed her arms. Her father had plainly stated the one thing she herself had only danced around. Confronted with it, she had no defense for it. “I know what I am, Dad. I’m a flat-chested, sports-loving tomboy. If mom wasn’t enough for you, how could I possibly be enough for Lucas Fletcher?”

“You and I might be fools, but Lucas Fletcher doesn’t strike me as one. The man wouldn’t have hired a pair of gladiators to protect you if he didn’t love and care about you.”

“He loves and cares about our baby.” Miranda knew she was being unfair. “The gladiators are for her. Or him.”

Clayton bolted upright, staring at Miranda’s midsection. “You’re pregnant? He got you pregnant?”

“Don’t blame Lucas. I was there, too, Dad. And I haven’t told Mom and Calista yet, so try not to bug out.”

Clayton sat quietly, color flaring in his face then fading away as he struggled to accept his oldest daughter’s bombshell. “Does Lucas know that you’re carrying my grandchild?”

“Yes.”

“Did he propose to you before or after he knew about the baby?”

“He proposed before either of us knew.”

“He wants you, Miranda,” Clayton said as if that fact gave him the fatherly solace he required. “Give him a chance. You and my grandchild deserve that.”

“I can’t risk it, Dad. You, of all people, should know that.”

Mr. Penney took his daughter’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze before kissing it. “Your mother left me, and I’ve never seen her happier. You broke up with Lucas, and you’re miserable. If you’re so sure you’re doing the right thing, then why are you so unhappy? Why do I see such pain in your eyes?”

Miranda tried to work out a denial, but her brain wouldn’t feed the lie to her mouth. Tension seeped from her as she forced herself to face the truth of her father’s argument. “I made a mistake,” she said simply.

She had never been happier to be wrong, but accepting her mistake opened a whole new set of problems. Could she get Lucas back? Would he even want her after all she had put him through? He was determined to be a proper father, but was he still interested in being her husband?

The easiest way to find out would be to pick up the phone and call him. It could also be the worst thing for her to do, particularly on the eve of Calista’s wedding. How could she stand at the altar tomorrow, watching another couple join their lives, if Lucas were to shut her out of his? And likewise, how could she stand at the altar instead of running to find Lucas, if he wanted her back?

She could wait until after the wedding to call him. It would give her time to think of something to say to him, the right thing to say. And then, for better or worse, she would swallow her fears and take a leap of faith in Lucas.
And myself,
she thought.

Miranda went into her father’s embrace as easily as she had as a youngster, long before she knew the truth about him. As he held her and comforted her, she admitted that despite what kind of man and husband Clayton Penney had been, he had always been a good father.

* * *

Lucas stabbed the redial button on his phone as he paced the wide space of the solar at Castle Conwy. The computer screen at his oak desk cast the colorful image of page five of the
Herald-Star
Online
into the muted light of the room. The page featured a photo of Jordan Duquette taken in the lobby of the Boston Park Plaza Hotel. Jordan’s too-handsome, grinning face had been enough to inspire Lucas to put a fist through the monitor, but it was Jordan’s quote that had made tiny blood vessels behind Lucas’s eyes pop.

“Answer, Miranda!” Lucas demanded between gritted teeth. The phone rang twice more before an automated answering system picked up. Lucas, in a rare burst of uncontrollable temper, hurled the tiny cell phone. No match for the centuries-old stone, the high-tech phone exploded into glittering bits of microchips and plastic.