The Magnate’s Baby Promise / Having the Billionaire's Baby: The Magnate’s Baby Promise / Having the Billionaire's Baby. Sandra Hyatt
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She shot a glance at Cal. “For…?”
“For being the woman to finally catch my son. He’s been notoriously single for too many years.”
A tense look passed between the two men before Cal broke it. He took Ava’s arm with firm gentleness. “Let’s be seated.”
With Cal seated next to her and Isabelle and Victor directly opposite, the meal began. To Ava’s surprise, there were no menus, just a discreet waiter serving the first of what was to be ten courses from the restaurant’s famous degustation menu.
“Venison, beef.” Cal named the tiny helpings on her plate, his murmur soft and intimate in her ear. “The others are fish.”
“So, Ava,” Isabelle began as she dipped her spoon in the gazpacho. “Are you from Sydney?”
“Born and bred near Dubbo, actually.”
“A country girl…I like that.” Isabelle smiled. “So a city this size would seem a little crazy to you.”
Ava slid a glance to Cal, who seemed intent on her answer. “It’s large. Noisy. But,” she added quickly with a smile, “very beautiful. Sydney’s harbour view is like no other.”
As she finished the rest of her bio, Ava was acutely aware of the attention she commanded. The scrutiny that worried her most, though, was Victor’s. Reputation aside, the man had a way of intimidating with just a look and the slight raising of an eyebrow. He let Isabelle ask all the questions, only interjecting to question her about Jindalee’s past incarnation as a sheep station.
As the meal wore on, and despite the glorious food—Ava had never tasted beef so wonderfully spiced before—she sensed an underlying tension settle over their table. She frequently caught a guarded sharpness in Cal’s eyes, as if he was waiting for something to happen, for someone to say something. She glanced over at Victor. The man eyed them both with speculation, a look that had frequented the meal. One that had first alarmed but now just plain irritated her.
On the flip side, Isabelle was a genuinely lovely woman. Cal’s obvious love and respect shone through like the sun on an overcast day. It was the way her whole face creased with humor when she spoke, the way his expression softened. She was obviously the catalyst between two equally forceful and stubborn males.
“And the poor man was covered in Béarnaise sauce!” Isabelle concluded her anecdote with a laugh, prompting Cal into a deep chuckle. Ava smiled through the tiny pang that speared her, forcing her eyes away. They landed on Victor, only to find him studying her with sharp intensity.
Quickly she dropped her gaze to her plate.
“You don’t like seafood?” Victor said suddenly. All eyes went to him, then to Ava’s plate, where she’d eaten the salad but left the shellfish.
Ava gave Cal a startled look. “I…”
“No, she doesn’t.” Cal answered smoothly, placing a warm hand over hers on the table. Calm down, the small gesture seemed to say. I’m here.
Victor snorted. “Well, I’ve never known a woman to refuse dessert.” His gaze became perceptive. “Chocolate cognac mousse…”
“Ava doesn’t drink alcohol,” Cal said smoothly.
“…and a superior cappuccino.”
“Or caffeine.”
Victor slowly raised the napkin to his mouth, dabbed, then folded it precisely on the table.
“I see. So to summarize this evening—you’re attractive, single, have no discernible indulgences and run a small business while supporting your aunt and the local community. Do you have any vices, Ms. Reilly, or can I assume you’re—” he held her panicky gaze in calculating summary “—absolutely perfect for my son?”
Cal’s hand tightened over hers. “Oh, for God’s sake, Victor, that’s enough. She’s—”
“Cal, no,” she murmured, urging the well of panic back down.
He glanced at her then continued calmly. “Ava hasn’t been well the last few days.”
Victor’s chair screeched across the floor as he abruptly stood. “Cal—a word?”
Cal nodded, rose fluidly to his feet and followed Victor across the room, out of earshot. Even knowing Cal for just a few days, she could still see something simmer below the well-groomed, polite surface. Something angry and resentful.
Ava’s stomach sank, aided by Victor’s cynical words, loaded to the brim with innuendo. She stared at her plate as the meal congealed in her stomach. It shouldn’t matter what that man thought of her, but it did. Painfully so.
“I hope you’re feeling better.” Isabelle’s hand on her arm startled her and when she met the woman’s warm brown eyes, they were fraught with concern.
The little white lie twisted inside. “Just a bug.”
“I’m sorry if what Victor said upset you. He’s just being protective of Cal. It’s nothing personal.”
“Well,” Ava cleared her throat, emotion clogging it, “it sure felt like it.”
Isabelle gave her a small smile. “I know. Victor can be a little…autocratic. Abrasive, even. But he’s a man used to running a billion-dollar business. Sometimes it’s hard to—” she gave an elegant shrug “—shut that off.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Ava said impulsively. At Isabelle’s nod, she said, “You and Victor are so different…” She paused, not wanting to offend, but the other woman’s smile drove her onward. “How did you and Victor meet?”
Isabelle laughed. “We are different, there’s no doubt about that. Cal was six when his father ran out. We never married, so there I was, five years later, a single mum and working at a winery on the north coast. Victor was looking to buy it, he saw me serving in the café and—” She trailed off, her face soft with remembrance. “We fell in love. People scoff at love at first sight, but truly, that’s what it was. As you probably know,” she added with a sparkle in her eyes. “Like you and Cal, I had no idea who Victor was. He didn’t know about my life, about my son. But we fell in love and that was it. We were married a year later, when Cal turned twelve.”
Ava couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s misty-eyed reminiscence. “He swept you off your feet.”
“And he didn’t take no for an answer—not that I didn’t make him jump through a few hoops first.” She arched a brow in a woman-to-woman look before taking a sip of her wine.
Ava nodded with a smile and finished the rest of her water. It surprised her that this warm, intelligent woman was married to a man like Victor Prescott. Yet there’d been a few times she’d spotted the cracks in the man’s ice-hard facade: When Isabelle had reached out to squeeze his hand and he’d returned the grip firmly. Her animated retelling of a story that relaxed his craggy face, softening the controlled lines. Yet in the next moment, the mask returned and he was back to studying Ava like she was a particularly fascinating bug under his microscope.
Isabelle tapped her hand on the table, bringing Ava’s attention to the sparkling wedding set on her ring finger. “Ava, I know it’s short notice, but would you like to go shopping with me tomorrow?”
Shopping? She glanced over to where Cal and Victor were still talking in hushed animation, then returned to Isabelle.
“We can buy heaps of shoes, drink cappuccino and people-watch,” Isabelle teased, with a gleam in her eye. “Uh!” She gestured with mock severity when Ava opened her mouth. “Don’t tell me. You’re a handbag girl instead.”
Ava laughed then. She wanted to know more about Cal, so what better way to get a handle on him than through his mother? “Sure. Shopping it is.”
“Excellent!” Isabelle beamed. “Do you have any preferences?”