The Beaumont Children: His Son, Her Secret. Sarah M. Anderson
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went on and on about the specifications of the house—the number of bedrooms and bathrooms and the view and so on. All Leona could do was trail along behind them, trying to take in the magnitude of the place.
She hadn’t allowed herself to be disappointed with her apartment because she’d been desperate and only had so much money. It was the best she could do on short notice and, for that, she was grateful for it.
But for the first time in a year, she allowed herself to think about living in a place that was above good-enough. Byron spent twenty minutes in the kitchen, examining the appliances and discussing a “work triangle” with the Realtor, who was back to full-on perkiness. While they talked, Leona held Percy and they walked through the living room again. Wide French doors opened onto a tree-lined yard. And, as Byron had promised, there was a swing set—although this was closer to the equipment one would find in a park.
They toured the four bedrooms, including a master suite that had a huge whirlpool tub, and then they looked at the office. “This would be yours,” Byron said in a low voice as he opened the door for her.
Leona couldn’t help but gasp. The room was mostly windows and looked out onto the green expanse of the golf course. Behind that, the mountains broke rank and raced up to the sky. The morning light gleamed deep purple off the mountains’ sides. There wasn’t a parking lot or Dumpster in sight.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“I thought that, if you ever quit working for that Fish guy—”
“Lutefisk,” she corrected, staring at the built-in bookcases and filing cabinets that made up the interior wall.
“Yeah, him. If you wanted to quit working for him, you’d need an office space for your business.”
She’d always talked about opening her own design firm—how she’d design his restaurant and then build her clientele from there. She turned to face him. “You remembered.”
“I never forgot. Not you,” he replied, holding his gaze with hers. “I want to make it up to you.”
She wanted to believe that—to believe him. But Percy squirmed in her arms and she thought of all the long months without Byron, of being completely on her own.
“By buying me an extravagant house?” She forced herself to walk back out into the hall, away from the beautiful office and the stunning views.
“I’ve got to live somewhere—somewhere that doesn’t involve my extended family,” he replied, following her out. “And you requested your own space, did you not?”
Sherry gave them a sideways glance. “Let’s go check out that playground!” she said, leaning forward to speak directly to Percy.
“I requested separate bedrooms. Not a freaking nine-thousand-square-foot mansion, Byron. It feels like you’re trying to buy my loyalty. Or at least my complicity. And I don’t like it.”
He stared at her. “What on God’s green earth are you talking about?”
“It just feels like this is something my father would do. Throw a lot of money at a problem—”
“You are not a problem,” he interrupted. “Percy is not a problem.”
“No? Maybe not right now, but how long before you remember you’re still mad at me? Or when Percy has a rough day, a rough night and won’t stop screaming? Then it’ll be a problem, all right. Mine. When the going gets tough, you’ll get going.”
Sherry poked her head back around the corner. “Everything all right?” she asked.
Byron fixed Leona with a hard glare. She fought the urge to step back, to agree with him—to go along to get along. Those days had passed. She had to stand firm—this was her life, too. So what if the house was beautiful? So what if it had everything she could ever want in a home?
It would still be bought and paid for by Byron. He’d control the money, the house—and her. She was only useful as long as Percy needed her. Oh, Byron could dress it up with a pretty office or whatever, but still—she’d be dependent on him. And after she’d left home, she’d vowed to never be dependent on another man for as long as she lived.
After all, if it was his house on his terms, what would happen to her if it didn’t work out? Would he show her the door? He might not disappear into the night again—but there were other ways to be abandoned. Wasn’t that what his father had always done? Hardwick had never gone anywhere, but as soon as he’d tired of his wife, out she went without a penny to her name. If that wasn’t abandonment, she didn’t know what was.
She couldn’t handle the rejection, not a second time. So she stood firm. She didn’t back down and she didn’t apologize for having an opinion. She was in control of her destiny, damn it all. If only destiny would stop throwing her curveballs.
Byron turned to the Realtor, who waited with an expression that made Leona think of a golden retriever.
“We’ll take it,” he said decisively.
Another freaking curveball.
Destiny had a funny sense of humor.
.
The next thing Byron knew, Leona was stomping away from him. Why was she being so damn stubborn?
He had the entire buyout from the sale of the Beaumont Brewery sitting in a bank account, completely untouched. Seventeen million dollars—plus compounded interest—was waiting for him and if he wanted to buy himself a nice house, then damn it, he would.
He thought Leona was just going to cool off in a different room—but then he heard the front door slam.
“Leona!” he yelled, running after her. He got the front door open as she was belting Percy into his seat. “Leona, wait!”
She shot him an incredibly dirty look, but she did not wait. She got into the car and fired it up.
Before Byron could give chase, his phone rang with the tone he’d selected for Matthew. What the hell... He had to talk to Matthew. If anyone could fix this mess that Byron kept making worse, it was his older brother. So, with a groan of frustration, he let Leona go.
“Yeah,” he said.
“For the love of God, tell me you’re not backing out of the restaurant.” Byron could almost see Matthew pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
The Realtor poked her head out. “Is everything okay?” she asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious. “Did your wife change her mind about the house?”
“Hang on,” Byron said. Then, to Sherry, he said, “No, we’ll still take the house. But I have an important—and private—call to take, if you don’t mind.”
The Realtor’s eyes lit up with commissioned dollar signs. “Oh, of course! I’ll be inside.”
Byron waited until the door shut. “No, I’m not backing out of the restaurant. And hello to you, too. Where the hell have you been? I called you three days ago!”
“You didn’t say it was an emergency and Chadwick didn’t call in a panic, so I figured it could keep. I unplugged for a couple of days.”
“Since when do you unplug in the middle of the damned week? I thought you were always working.”
“Not always. Not anymore.” Something in his voice changed. “I took a trip with Whitney. We got married.”
Byron was almost too stunned to speak. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” was the terse reply.
“Well, congratulations, man. I would have come out for it.”
“I