The Heiress's Secret Baby (15 page)

She was going to make him see. If she could only figure out how.

* * *

She was biting her lip, looking thoroughly confused. It was kind of adorable seeing Polly off-kilter.

‘I spent the last two years here in Paris,’ he said, walking over to the window and looking out at the spectacular view.

It was like seeing the city for the first time, seeing it through her eyes. Golden, exciting, full of possibilities.

‘I know, you were working at Desmoulins.’

‘I had an apartment not far from here. I got up, jogged to work, worked, ate out, met friends, worked out. All in Paris.’

He took a step out onto the balcony and breathed in the city air. Car fumes, cooking smells, the river. It had always choked him before but today it was welcome. Felt fresher somehow.

Polly stood in the room for a moment and then came out to join him, looking around her in awe. ‘It’s even more beautiful than I thought it would be. It must have been hard to leave.’

Gabe shrugged. ‘Not really. It was just a place. A place to climb up the ladder a little further. It didn’t mean more to me than New York or San Francisco.’

‘Oh.’

‘I was hoping that if I came back to Paris with you, if I walked the streets with you, then that might change.

‘I was hoping it would become magical.’

The words hung there. Anxiously Gabe scanned her face but he couldn’t read her expression.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said finally. ‘Is this a test? If I don’t feel the pea through twenty mattresses I’m not a princess and we’re not worth fighting for? Is that what you mean?’

‘Non.’
She hadn’t understood. His heart speeded up; he could feel it thumping through his chest. ‘Polly, you told me to go and like a coward, like a fool, I went.’

He grimaced. ‘I told myself it was for the best, that I was doing it for you. But I don’t think it can be for the best. I don’t think anyone can feel the way I feel about you, love you the way I love you, and not be with you.’

He’d said it. Surely the sun should burn a little brighter, the birds sing louder. Some acknowledgement somewhere that he had finally cracked open his shell.

‘I don’t understand.’ She turned to him, eyes huge and clouded with an emotion he couldn’t identify. ‘What about the meeting?’

Damn the meeting. What about his words? He’d rushed in, confused her. ‘It’s not until Monday. I asked Rachel to get you here early so we could have the weekend. The weekend for you to try and see the magic, see if I’m worthy.’ He swallowed. Had he misjudged so badly?

‘If you want to, that is. Your ticket will let you return today if you would rather, or you can have the room on your own. It’s paid for, it’s yours...’

He paused, waiting, heart thudding as the seconds passed.

Her voice was small. ‘You arranged all this?’

‘
Oui
. For you. Although,’ he added fairly, ‘Rachel helped.’

Her mouth turned up. A smile. It was like a medal awarding him hope. ‘I had no idea. I guess she can be discreet after all.’

‘I tried to plan it all. I looked up all the romantic things to do in Paris but they all seem to involve champagne or cocktails, which is no fun for you. And I thought, if we need a list to find the magic then something is wrong. So I tried again.’

‘You did?’ She took a step closer, the tilt on her mouth more pronounced, a gleam of hope in her eyes.

‘I thought, what would Polly like? And I knew.’ At least, he hoped he knew. ‘Old Paris. Shopping at all the best vintage and antique shops, strolling around Montmartre paying our respects to the artists of the past. The Catacombs.’

It wasn’t too exhaustive an itinerary, not for three days. Organised enough for Polly to have a sense of purpose, fluid enough for some spontaneity.

Her mouth trembled. ‘What if there isn’t any?’

‘Any what?’

Her eyes closed briefly, the long lashes sweeping down.

‘Any magic?’

Gabe’s heart thudded, audibly, painfully. ‘Polly,’ he said, taking her hands in his. ‘For me there is magic wherever you are. I don’t need a walk around old streets to prove that. I can’t wait to show Paris to you, can’t wait to see you buy out the vintage shops or discover a new café with you, but I don’t need to do these things. I just want to do them for you. With you.’

Her hands folded around his. ‘Really?’ she whispered. ‘What about next week, next month, next year?’

He tightened his hold, drawing a caressing finger along her hands. ‘I can’t tell you I’m not afraid,’ he said honestly. ‘Your life is changing so quickly and if we do this, mine will too. I didn’t want to cause my parents more pain. The thought of putting you through that...’ He inhaled, a deep painful breath.

‘I got given my life back but somewhere along the way I forgot to live it. It was easier not to care. I thought I was in control. I set goals. I worked, I ran, I didn’t stop. The more I worked, the harder I pushed my body, the less I had to think. I thought I had found a way to conquer my demons, a way to take charge, but I was hiding. And then you came along and ripped my hiding place to shreds.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Tears were trembling on her lashes and he released one of her hands to capture the sparkling drop.

‘Don’t be. I’ve been more alive the last few weeks than I was in the last ten years. I worked away this week,’ he confessed. ‘Stayed at the vineyard, spent time with my parents.’ He smiled at her. ‘Trying to get my number one spot back with Jean. You’re right, of course, there’s a lot I can help them with even in England. Advice, contracts, that kind of thing.’

‘I’m glad. They’re so lovely.’

‘That’s funny, they say the same about you. I have to admit there’s a bit of me that thinks you’ll agree just to spend more time with my parents.’

‘Agree to what?’

‘To marry me.’

* * *

Polly blinked. Had she heard him right? ‘To what?’

Gabe squeezed her hands tighter. It was almost painful but she was glad of the contact. It was proof that she was actually here, on a balcony in Paris, being proposed to.

‘I should be on one knee...’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Just say it again.’

‘I don’t have a ring. I hoped we might include some jewellers on our antique trail, find something vintage. Sapphires, like your eyes. I was going to wait till then but I can’t,’ he confessed, the dark eyes so full of love it almost hurt to keep looking into them. ‘Polly Rafferty,
je t’aime
. And if you would do me the honour of letting me in, of being my wife, then I promise I will always love you. And the baby. I’ll be the best husband, the best father I can be. I want to start living again, Polly. I want to start living with you by my side.’

Polly struggled to find the right words. She couldn’t. She had no idea what to say. ‘And Mr Simpkins?’

‘He has always had my heart,’ he assured her, his face lightening with hope, with love. ‘Mr Simpkins, Rafferty’s, Hopeford. Everything you love, I love too. And I hope you feel the same way about my home, my family. My heart belongs to you.’

‘And you have mine.’ It wasn’t so hard to say the words after all. ‘I know the future is utterly terrifying. But with you by my side I can face it, whatever it holds.’

Gabe let go of her hands, reaching up to cup her face, pushing her hair back, his hands tangling themselves in its lengths. ‘Are you sure?’

Polly slipped her hands around his waist, pulled him in closer. ‘I’ve never been surer of anything. I love you too, Gabe. I think I loved you from that very first day. I had never met anyone so infuriating, so annoying, so challenging.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Anyone I fancied more.’

‘I thought you were going to slap my face.’

‘The accidental kiss? I think it was meant to be.’ She stood on her tiptoes and found his mouth at last, cool and firm and sure. ‘I think we were meant to be. I think it was magic.’

EPILOGUE

P
OLLY
DIDN
’
T
THINK
Rafferty’s had ever looked more beautiful. Her talented window dressers had moved some of the make-up counters and beauty areas back, draping the rest in purple and cream fabric, and suspended huge intricate paper sculptures in the same colours from the ceiling. Upstairs, she knew the tearooms were decorated in similar colours ready to welcome her wedding guests.

A stage dominated the middle of the floor, right under the point of the iconic dome. Cream vases, the size of a small child, were filled with silver branches creating an ethereal woodland effect.

The chairs were set in a wide semi-circle around the stage, each row flanked with a massive altar candle, the flames casting a dancing light over the room, discreetly backed up with the store’s lowlights.

They were usually open until nine in the evening on a Saturday but today, for her wedding, Rafferty’s had done something even the Blitz had never forced them to do.

They had closed early.

Most of the seats were already filled. Suited men and elegantly dressed women in a bright assortment of colours whispered and snapped pictures of the fairy-tale scene. There were several overexcited children fidgeting beside their parents, tugging at their best clothes, and Polly breathed a sigh of relief knowing she had a room put aside for them, complete with films, toys and paid babysitters to watch over the younger guests.

Peeking over the balcony, Polly spotted her grandparents, regal in the front row, entertaining Monsieur and Madame Beaufils. Her heart gave a little squeeze of joy, her family. All together.

‘Are you ready?’ Clara touched her shoulder softly.

Polly shivered. ‘I think so. I didn’t expect to be nervous but now that we’re here I’m beginning to wish that we’d run away and got married in secret.’

Clara laughed. ‘Summer would never have forgiven you. This is her moment of glory. I wouldn’t have forgiven you either and nor would Hope. It’s not every three-month-old who gets to be a bridesmaid.’ She dropped a kiss on her niece’s’s fuzzy head.

‘She looks gorgeous,’ Polly agreed, beaming at her small baby who was trying her best to eat the silk sleeve of her cream dress.

‘Best dressed girl in the room.’

‘For now.’ Polly eyed her daughter darkly. ‘I have three changes with me. I’m not sure that will be enough.’

‘It’s a good thing there’s a whole baby department just one level up.’

‘Clara...’ Polly pulled at her skirt, her fingers nervous. ‘...will I do?’

The other woman smiled. ‘You’re beautiful,’ she said.

Polly inhaled, a long deep breath. Her dress was simple, an ankle-length cream sheath, her loose hair held off her face with a beaded band. It was an utterly simple yet perfectly elegant outfit; a Rafferty’s original, copied from one of the old designs Polly had found in the archives.

Clara smoothed down her own purple dress, a loose design that skimmed over her stomach, flattering the bump. There would be less than six months between the cousins and Polly couldn’t wait to meet Raff’s child. The smaller bridesmaids, Summer and Hope, were looking uncommonly neat and tidy in cream. For now. The chances of them ending the evening in their current outfits were pretty slim. Especially Hope, who was currently averaging four changes a day.

‘I don’t know.’ Polly watched as Hope fiddled with the delicate platinum bangle she had given Clara as a bridesmaid gift. ‘You were a pretty gorgeous bride.’

‘I was marrying Raff,’ Clara said simply, her green eyes glowing with love. ‘I would have been happy with a sack and a takeaway.’

Polly grinned, she knew full well that Clara had adored every moment of her winter wedding to Raff. She would have preferred something smaller herself but Gabe wanted the world to see them become a family.

And she could deny him nothing.

They had started adoption proceedings as soon as they could but Gabe couldn’t have adored Hope more if he had fathered her, and, Polly thought loyally, he had in every way that mattered—from holding Polly’s hand through the long, arduous labour to night feeds and nappy changes.

The assembled guests had been talking quietly but when two tall men made their way to the front the murmuring ceased and heads craned to get a better look at the groom and his best man.

Dressed in identical morning suits, the two men couldn’t have looked more different. Although they were of a similar height Raff was built on broad lines, his hair as blond as Polly’s own, his brand of good looks deceptively boyish. Gabe was leaner, darker with a more dangerously attractive demeanour.

‘They’re there,’ she told her friend shivering with anticipation as her grandfather climbed the sweeping stairs to join them, pride beaming in his face as he readied himself to escort his granddaughter down the makeshift aisle.

Polly gripped Clara’s hand tightly and then took a deep breath, turning to greet her grandfather father with a kiss. She was ready.

Clara was poised, ready to go first, Hope in her arm, then Summer would follow on. Waiting out front, sprinkled throughout the congregation was her grandmother, her parents-in-law to be and all three of Gabe’s sisters with assorted husbands and children. Waiting for her at the bottom of the aisle was her brother, tugging at his cravat.

And Gabe. Her fiancé, father of her child. His eyes were fixed on hers, a small, private smile just for her on those well-cut lips.

This time last year she had had no one. Now she was just ten minutes and a few words away from a huge, extended, noisy, chaotic, loving family. A challenging, questioning, adoring, supportive husband. She had a daughter, dependent on her for everything.

There was a time all this would have terrified her. But now?

Polly smiled back at Gabe. ‘I love you,’ she mouthed.

His sensual mouth curved.
‘Je t’aime,’
he mouthed back.

Polly Rafferty was completely and utterly happy.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from A PREGNANCY, A PARTY & A PROPOSAL by Teresa Carpenter.

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