Fortune's Christmas Baby. Tara Quinn Taylor
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believed he meant it. “Accepted,” she said. And then, with an eye to getting rid of him for good this time, before she could be tempted to prolong the inevitable, she said, “Seriously, Nolan. I was upset when I tried to call you and the number was disconnected, but that was months ago. I’m really not harboring any hard feelings toward you, in spite of whatever Carmela might have insinuated.”
“I lied to you.”
She hadn’t expected the outright admission but she said, “Okay.”
“My real name isn’t Nolan Forte.”
Wow. The man was really unloading himself. Carmela must have done some number on him. When she was done chewing her roommate out for butting in someplace that wasn’t her place to butt, she’d tell her how successful she’d been. Where Nolan was concerned only.
“But then, you already knew that, didn’t you?”
If he was waiting for her to ask who he really was, he was going to be disappointed. She didn’t want to care about that.
“Look, Nolan, or whoever you are, I’ve told you, it’s fine. You’re making much more of a big deal of this than necessary. I appreciate you stopping by. I don’t feel as much like an inconsequential fling, and it’s really fine. I moved on months ago.”
He nodded, pivoted like he was about to leave and then turned back.
She would have liked to have been disappointed that it wasn’t over yet. So why did she have that one-second shot of relief?
Because maybe she did need to know the truth?
To tell her daughter someday.
Or just to find that last bit of peace within herself. Who was this man who’d managed to get past her defenses, the carefully constructed walls and rules that kept her safe out in the big bad world all alone? How had he done so? And how could she be certain that it never happened again, with anyone else?
“The real me isn’t someone you would like.”
“I’m not all that fond of the you I know.” Because he’d been a lie. But what was wrong with her? She didn’t spit mean words at people, no matter how deserving. It just wasn’t her way.
He acknowledged the hit with a bow of his head. It didn’t make her feel good.
“Look, Nolan. It’s not like you owed me anything. I just thought it was rude that you gave me a bogus number. The decent thing would have been to just let it end. Not drag it out with the illusion of possibility.” She turned to go back in. This was done.
“When I left here I was open to the possibility.”
Turning back, she stared at him. Her heart started to pound, constricting her breathing.
But it didn’t matter. “Our entire time together was a lie, based on you being someone you weren’t.”
She’d known. But until he’d acknowledged that truth, there’d been hope that she was wrong. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized she’d held on to that hope all these months in some small private recess of her heart.
“I am Nolan Forte,” he said, still meeting her gaze head-on. “On as many weekends as I can manage and for two weeks over the Christmas holiday.”
Confused, she reached behind her for the doorknob, not sure she was going in, but sure that she needed something to hold on to.
“Forte is my stage name.”
She hadn’t been important enough to be privy to anything other than that. So what did that make her, a common groupie? She felt stupid. She’d thought they were so much more than that.
He went on. “My family doesn’t know.”
About her? Or...
“They don’t know you’re Nolan Forte?”
He shook his head. “My oldest brother might suspect, but no, no one knows.”
“You just disappear and they have no idea where you are?”
“Pretty much.”
She had no idea what to do with that. So she focused elsewhere. He’d said “oldest brother.” “How many brothers do you have?”
Her curiosity wasn’t healthy. Still, she waited for his answer. Wondering if he’d answer.
“Three.”
Wow. Four boys. For a second there, she was imagining a nice brick two-story somewhere with trampled grass and a basketball hoop hooked to the garage. Nolan was out there with his brothers, topping a couple of them, showing them how the game was played.
“I’m the youngest of the boys.”
The imaginary video in her mind skidded to a halt and gave an instant replay. A little kid stood there now, watching the big guys play, wanting to play with them, but they wouldn’t let him.
“I also have three sisters.”
The mental video player disappeared. She stared at him. She’d thought they were both virtually alone in the world. Who, with a huge family, would be spending Christmas alone on the road, playing saxophone in a bar?
And then something else horrifying occurred to her. Maybe it should have before. Maybe in the darkest alleys in her mind it had.
“Are you married?”
“What?” His mouth dropped open and he frowned. “Are you kidding? Of course not! I wouldn’t have...” He shook his head.
She felt like smiling. The sensation passed almost immediately.
He wasn’t like her—mostly alone. Distance started to grow between her and the man she’d fallen so hard for the year before.
The man whose baby she’d had.
“My real name is Fortune.” He said the words like they were a death sentence.
Feeling bereft at the loss she’d just suffered, finding out that they were not kindred spirits in the world of those with no family with whom to share the holidays, she shook her head. And then asked, “Is that your first name or your last name?”
“Last.” His brow was still furrowed. She didn’t much care. “You know my first name. It’s Nolan.”
So he’d only half lied on that one. She nodded, wishing that she’d never come out to talk to him a second time. Hoping to God that Carmela didn’t betray her again and bring Stella back before she texted the okay.
Carmela... Her boss, the architect Keaton Fortune Whitfield... “Is your family into architecture?” It couldn’t be. Stella was related to Carmela’s boss?
“My family owns a financial investment firm in New Orleans. I work there.”
She watched his mouth move. Wasn’t sure she was taking in what he was saying.
“So you aren’t related to Keaton Fortune Whitfield, the architect?” She suddenly wanted him to be the architect’s cousin or something. Carmela liked and respected her boss.
Then she remembered... Keaton was an illegitimate son of a billionaire. It had been all over the news.
“No. We aren’t part of the famous Fortune family, but we’re probably as rich. My real life consists of everything you disdain,” he continued. “While I own my own condo I still have my own suite of rooms in the family mansion. I love my luxury car, my hand-tailored suits and my ability to jump on a private plane and head to the Mediterranean for a long weekend. I love my family more than life and value my place among them as much. I take my responsibility to them seriously. As the youngest son, I am constantly having to prove myself. To earn respect. I work horridly long hours in the family business. I am very good at what I do, probably the best at it, but my life, my family, they consume me. And sometimes bore me.”
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