Notorious in Nice (25 page)

“He left you and Thomas alone, two fourteen-year-olds?”

“We had tutors, servants. We were never alone, per se, but we might as well have been. Thom had always loved reading and painting, and his tutor and he would spend hours in the attic with their damned canvases. Or he’d have his nose in a book.”

“While you wanted to be outside.” She swept him a sideways glance. His posture remained rigid, hands locked behind his back, spine straight, shoulders broad and squared under a black sweater.

“Yes, but with no one to ride with me, or play football, I found something that made everything a bit rosier. Father’s scotch. By the time Carol-Ann arrived on the scene, I was drinking regularly, daily.”

“Oh, Terry, how lonely you must have been,” she said and grabbed his middle finger.

For a second she thought he wouldn’t allow the contact, but then he twined their hands together.

“She was fun, loved to ride, and indulged my every whim. And she was every boy’s wet dream. I had a crush on her from the start. Honestly, I still can’t pinpoint the subtleties of how everything began to change, although Thom claims her seduction attempts started almost immediately. Father was gone that whole summer, though he was supposed to come back and we were to have a short vacation together at the end of August. Suffice to say -- somehow she manipulated events so she and I went to Scotland for a two-week holiday.”

“Terrence, I don’t --”

He grabbed her wrist and shook his head.

Clamping her lips together, she waited.

“If it had happened once, maybe I could have forgiven myself, but it went on for a period of over four months. From that September until Christmas, when Father threw me out.” Terry halted and dragged one hand through his hair. “He wants me to call him Papa, which is what we called him as boys. I’m not sure I’ll ever manage it naturally.”

“Are you finished?” She faced him.

“No. That Christmas day, Thomas told me he was gay. I got roaring drunk and beat him up. Father and Carol-Ann had been at some event and came home in the middle of our fight. The rest, I think you know.”

“Now can I speak?”

Although she had planned what she intended to say, wanted to say it, fear rose up her gullet making the words feel like balloons blowing up. Placing a hand on his forearm, she looked into his beautiful gray eyes and said, “I love you. I think I’ll always love you. Carol-Ann was an evil woman who made you feel less than you are. You are all I’ll ever want in a friend, a lover, a companion.”

She had more to say, but his mouth, hungry and desperate over hers, stopped all words. Powerful arms held her tight against his chest, no inches, no millimeters between them. His tongue swept into hers, and he tasted like Terrence, smoke and brandy and him.

He broke the kiss, one arm snug around her waist, the other holding her head to his chest. The cashmere sweater he wore smelled of cigars and aftershave. “Say it again,” he growled.

“I love you.”

To her surprise, he dropped to one knee. “Su-Lin Taylor, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Her knees buckled, and she grabbed his shoulders for support. Her dropped jaw just couldn’t seem to work back into place. Dark globes wove in and out of the morning sunlight and seemed to merge with poufy spots that blurred her vision.

“Darlin’, you’re not going to faint or anything are you? Su-Lin?” The alarm in his voice escalated. He scooped her into his arms and peered down at her face. “Say something.”

“I never faint,” she said and promptly passed out.

“Su-Lin.” Two fingers tapped her cheek, softly at first, but grew more insistent in pressure.

“Can you stop that please?” She tried to straighten, but Terrence’s arms formed a brick wall around her torso. Snatching at his patting hand, she caged it and muttered, “Any more of that and I’ll have a black and blue mark.”

“I can’t believe you fainted,” he said, his tone quite definitely amused.

“That’s because I didn’t,” she retorted. “I…don’t…faint.”

His lips twitched. “Is this like the way you don’t bellow when you come?”

If steam could come out of a human’s ears, it would have come out of hers; she knew it. Narrowing her eyes, she poked him in the chest and enunciated very slowly, “Precisely, and if any of our children ever think differently, you’ll rue the day.”

“Darlin’, you have to answer the question before said children can be born.” He reached into a pants pocket. “I bought a couple of days after I bought the earrings.”

He handed her a little black box. She flipped the lid up, peeped up at him, and exclaimed, “It’s a matching set. Will you put it on?”

She noticed his fingers trembled as he slipped the ring onto her finger. “You knew, even back then?”

“I knew that first moment in the steam room, darlin’. I knew I wouldn’t be letting you go. When Harry started talking crazy about marrying you for his daddy’s fortune, that was it for me.”

“I knew then too, but I didn’t think men thought like that. I figured having a small part of you was better than having none at all. And you’re so worldly and so perfect, and I’m no one from nowhere.”

“Never, darlin’, never. You’re the most precious gift I’ve ever had, and if I live to be a century, I’ll never have another treasure like you.” He brushed his lips over hers, a light delicate cherishing.

Her stomach didn’t growl; it roared.

Terry burst into laughter. “Do you know I’ve laughed more in the last few days than I’ve laughed in the last ten years? I don’t remember ever laughing after Mama died.”

“Does that mean we’re actually going to eat?”

“Come on,” he said, setting her on the bench. “Thomas said they do a marvelous champagne brunch, and” -- he winked -- “we can rent a room afterward and have champagne and dessert sent up.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Chocolate-dipped strawberries. What do you think, Ms. Taylor?”

“Done,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Darlin’, I’m never shaking on a deal with you,” he whispered, then added, licking the whorls of her ear between words, “I’ll make love on it, but never, ever shake on it.”

Over brunch, Terry told her he’d already started preparations for semiadopting Adria. Semi because she adamantly insisted Casmir should be her guardian. Gitana, who would turn sixteen on her next birthday, they both decided needed to be in school.

Su-Lin insisted on a quick marriage so they could be with Thomas and Jean-Michel for the operation and recovery period. Suresh had agreed they would share administrative expenses and procedures for their charity organizations, but Su-Lin’s and Terry’s would be headquartered in the old barn on the Fragonard estate.

“Will you invite your father to our wedding?” she asked.

“What do you think?”

“You should.”

“I’m not guaranteeing anything there, Su-Lin. It’ll be one day at a time.” He swallowed another bite of a Belgian waffle. “I forgot to ask. Do you think you could get used to the idea of being a countess? Thomas and” -- he took a deep breath and continued -- “Papa have agreed that the earldom is to pass to me. Thomas has no intention of producing an heir. He wants to marry Jean-Michel.”

“Me, a countess?” She knew she wore a silly grin. “Me? The little nobody from Mayo? But it really won’t change anything, will it?”

“Not really. It may mean spending more time with Father.”

“I wouldn’t mind that, Terrence. It’d be wonderful if we could all be a family. Jean-Michel’s seems so close.”

“Family is very important to you, isn’t it?” Across the table their fingertips met, stroked. “In a way we’re both stunted creatures, having never had a family to grown up in. But maybe, between the two of us, we can make each other whole, form our own family.”

She blinked and blinked but couldn’t hold back the tears. “That is probably the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me, Terrence O’Connor.”

“Will you stop pacing? You’re driving me crazy.”

Terry dragged his hands through his hair.

“And don’t do that -- your hair looks like you’ve been in a tornado as it is.”

He glared at his twin.

“What are you so worried about?”

“How the fricking hell am I supposed to know? It’s not every day a man gets married.”

“It’s not as if she won’t turn up. We’re in the middle of the Mediterranean, Ter, and your future wife
is
on board.”

“When did you last see Su-Lin?”

“When I checked on her, at your request two minutes ago, she told me that if I interrupted her one more time, she was going have Harry throw me overboard.”

The door opened, and Jean-Michel strode into the room wearing a jaunty grin.

“Honey, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m not a bride, mon amour. I came to let you know we’re ready to start the ceremony.” Jean-Michel fiddled with a delicate spray of baby’s breath decorating Thomas’s suit lapel.

“She’s there?” Terry croaked, his heart thundering erratic jumps and stutters. “My stomach’s in knots. Jaysus. Anyone else seeing black spots?”

“If you faint, Harry will never let you hear the end of it.” Rolan pushed his way into the
Glory’s
library. “And for Christ’s sake, don’t let Tony see you like this, man. He thinks you’re macho.”

“He’s a freaking bundle of nerves. His hands shook so much he couldn’t get the blasted tie knotted,” Harry drawled.

“Sarita will kill me if I ruin her meal. Time to get this show on the road.”

“Too right, boyo,” Terry agreed and cuffed Rolan’s shoulder.

“Well, brother,” Thomas stated. “Let’s get married.”

“Oui, let’s,” Jean-Michel agreed as he slipped his hand into Thomas’s.

Terry had grown accustomed to the Frenchman’s affectionate nature over the last couple of days. His initial impression of the man, frivolous, not around for the long haul, had morphed into a grudging recognition of Jean-Michel’s inherent old-soul wisdom. That he had managed to persuade Thom to wed proved nothing short of remarkable. That he and his brother were about to marry similar characters fazed him.

Discombobulated when Su-Lin suggested the double ceremony, it had taken him a couple of hours to agree to the suggestion. Lost in thought, Terry strode down the
Glory’s
corridor on autopilot.

As they reached the second deck, he caught a whiff of ginger. Since Sarita had told the new chef, Lolita, to take the week off, she had insisted on cooking the wedding dinner scheduled right after the ceremony.

Terry searched the deck, his hands balling into fists when he couldn’t find Su-Lin. Fighting the urge to break into a sprint, he stalked to the railing and looked down. No sign of her. Fingers tangling in knotted hair, he spun about, and his vision collided with Irish spring eyes, lips curved in a smile so sweet; his heart butted his rib cage. An unbearable ache blistered his chest.

She carried a small brass urn.

He frowned.

Su-Lin glided to him without a whisper of a sound as if her feet never made purchase with the teak deck.

“While we were dressing, Sarita suggested I scatter my mother’s ashes before we begin. Is that too morbid?”

He shook his head.

Cradled her face with clumsy hands.

“One kiss, darlin’. I need your taste.”

Beneath his mouth, her lips opened to his. He sighed at the comfort and love her tongue wrought, at the peace she smoothed over the jagged parts of his soul.

The strains of a guitar seeped into his mind.

Terry broke the kiss and turned his head to the sound.

Behind Harry, seated on a wicker chair, one foot propped on a coffee table, stood all the people in the world who mattered most to them.

Thomas, Jean-Michel leaning into the curve of his twin’s arm, stood to the right of a round table on which stood a three-tiered, chocolate-iced cake, decorated with yellow and white rosebuds curled between ribbons of the same colors.

On the other side of the table, Rolan held Sarita in front of him, hands looped around her waist.

Geoff, Austen, Gitana, Renée, and her husband, Martin, and Nigel Gore formed a semicircle behind the table. Off to the side, slouching on the
Glory’s
railing, a sullen Casmir squinted in their direction.

Tony, one hand tugging at his tie, followed Adria, who carried a delicate basket in one hand and scattered yellow and white rose petals before her with the other, walking directly to the two of them.

“Doesn’t she look beautiful?” Su-Lin whispered. “I can’t believe the change.”

Transformed into an elfin creature with navy-tinged ringlets hanging to her waist, the thirteen-year-old Gypsy girl strode to the edge of the deck and turned around to face the assembled wedding parties.

“What’s this?” Terry fingered a gold locket resting below the hollow of Su-Lin’s collarbone. “You didn’t want to wear the necklace?”

“This is my something old. You know, something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue,” she answered. “It’s the only thing I have left of my mother.”

“Mama had one of these. She had photos of the two of us on the inside. Does this have one of your mother?”

“Yes. Go ahead, open it.”

His big fingers fumbled with the latch, and because the metal proved stiff from disuse, it took a minute to pry the locket open. A slip of paper fell onto his palm.

“What’s that?” Su-Lin asked, her brow furrowing.

At first he didn’t understand what the letters on the onionskin paper meant. Peering closer, he chuckled. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Your mother couldn’t have been too strained mentally, darlin’. If I’m not mistaken, this is the number and pass code for a safety deposit box.”

“Can I see?” she asked and took the paper when he offered it.

“I think we just found the missing two bonds.” His lips curved.

THE END

Jianne Carlo knows multi-cultural romance. Born to an Indian father and a Hispanic mother intent on becoming a nun, she met and married her Dutch-bred immigrant husband in her last year at college. Their children check off the majority of the boxes under the category, Ethnic Origin.

Add to this the fact Jianne grew up on a sixty by forty Caribbean island where the population mixture represents the world's religious, cultural, and ethnic diversity (and some mixtures no one's dreamed up) and you have a multi-cultural woman who believes the word 'Mutt' represents the best of human nature.

For the factually inclined, Jianne has a Bachelor's Degree in English and Sociology, and a Master's in Management Science with three areas of concentration, Computers, Finance, and Statistics.

She's lived and worked in Canada (Ontario, Vancouver), the United States (San Francisco, various small cities in southern California, Miami, and Parkland) and the Caribbean (Trinidad and Tobago, Jamaica, Barbados, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, Tortola) and South America (Guyana).

Her passions in life center around her proudest achievements, a happy marriage (measure of happiness varies with level of irritation), and three grown sons of the finest caliber she's proud to call friends, although they're never allowed to forget the mom factor.

Other areas of interest include, traveling, meeting new people, reading, dressage, all animals, cooking eclectic food, eating said food, and sipping good wine, while hanging out, ('liming' in Trini-speak) with
 
friends. Jianne's proud to announce the only carbonated beverage she drinks is champagne. Who needs Coke?

And you never want to be in the same room if she picks up a dart and aims for the target. Run for your life. Her colleagues do. Her family hides such instruments.