The Beaumont Children: His Son, Her Secret. Sarah M. Anderson
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had to think about that. “Margaret. And before you ask, mine is still John.”
“I hadn’t forgotten. Okay, fine. I’ll talk to the lawyers and get them working on something. But for the love of God, don’t marry her until the prenup has been signed, sealed and delivered, okay? If I were you, I’d think long and hard about marrying her at all. Even if you think this is a short-term solution and even if you have a prenup, the divorce would be a huge mess.” Byron swore he heard Matthew shudder. “The press would eat this for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We need to keep the whole thing as quiet as possible.”
Byron looked back at the house, where no doubt the Realtor was on her phone. “Understood. But I’m buying the house anyway.”
“Fine. Dare I ask how the restaurant is coming along?”
“Uh...”
“Byron,” Matthew said in warning.
“No, it’s coming along fine. I hired Leona to do the interior design.”
There it was again, that noise that sounded like Matthew was breaking something. “Are you kidding me?”
“That’s what she does,” Byron quickly defended. “That’s what she went to school for. She’s got a lot of really good ideas—we’re going to call it Caballo de Tiro, which is Spanish for draft horse. I’ve been testing out menu options and we’ve started lining up contractors. It’s going to be great. Really.”
“Caballo de Tiro?”
“It plays off the Percheron Drafts name but pulls in the European influences,” Byron explained.
“Yes, I get it. So let me see if I have this straight—you hid in Europe for a year to get away from a woman, only to come back and hire her, move in with her, and marry her—all at once?”
“Don’t forget the baby.”
“Oh, no—who could forget the baby?” Matthew scoffed. “Got any other surprise children hidden anywhere? Didn’t leave anyone knocked up in Spain, did you?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Didn’t sleep with anyone, if you must know. So yes, I’m sure. No more surprises.”
“Fine,” Matthew huffed, making it plenty clear that it was anything but. “I’ll deal with the lawyers. Stay out of the headlines, Byron.”
“Thanks,” Byron said, but Matthew had already hung up on him.
He stared at his phone. Well. That had probably gone as smoothly as possible.
Now he just had to convince Leona that this house and a wedding were all for the best. No matter what Matthew said, Byron knew that marrying her was not only the right thing to do, but the best for all parties involved. And he had to do it all without letting her break his heart again.
No problem, right?
Yeah, right.
* * *
If there was one valuable lesson that Byron had learned growing up as a Beaumont, it was that money talked. Loudly.
He told Sherry that he’d pay full price—and full commission—if everything was settled within two weeks and she kept quiet about both his new address and the people with whom he’d be living. Within a week, he was the proud owner of a fabulous family home. Now he just needed the one thing that money couldn’t apparently buy—a family.
His life was a strange dichotomy right now, and he wasn’t having much luck merging the two halves back into a recognizable whole.
During the daylight hours, he worked side by side with Leona. They met with contractors, finalized design plans and ate, of course. Byron kept tweaking the dishes or trying something that might work better—something that Leona might like better. They had long discussions about rotating menu items, which local sources to use for beef and herbs and exterior landscaping. She had no problem talking to him during the day.
But at night? At night she kept the distance between them. Even when he came over to the apartment to play with Percy, she made sure she was far more than an arm’s length away.
“I can move into the house next week,” he told her a week later. He was lying on the floor of her living room, rolling a ball to Percy and making happy noises when the baby got anywhere near it. He could hear music coming from May’s room, where she’d basically locked herself every time Byron came over. “I’ve got some basic furniture, but I wanted you to pick out what you liked.”
From where she sat at the kitchen table, staring at her computer she glared at him. “I am not moving into that ridiculous house.”
“And you have yet to give me a good reason why not,” he shot back at her. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You already agreed to move in so that we could raise our son together. I provided an adequate living space.”
She snorted and continued to scroll.
“And I’m basically giving you a blank check to decorate it any way you want. Explain to me again how this makes me the villain here.” When she said nothing, he sighed.
She shut her computer with a bit more force than was necessary. “You want to know what the problem is? Aside from the fact that I already told you once and you didn’t pay any attention?”
“I am not trying to buy your complicity,” he replied, trying mightily to keep his voice calm. “I’m not trying to buy your loyalty. I’m trying to provide for my family. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
She dropped her head into her hands. “Byron...”
Percy squealed as the ball went rolling wide to the right. “Whoa, buddy—now what are we going to do?” Byron asked him.
Percy flopped over and tried to crawl toward the ball, but when it turned out to be only unproductive wiggling, he howled in frustration.
“You can do it!” Byron said encouragingly to the baby. Then he looked back at Leona. Her head was still in her hands. Was she crying? “Leona?”
He got up off the floor and gently kicked the ball closer to Percy. Then he went to her. She was crying. Damn.
“I just want to know that you’re going to be here,” she whispered, her voice muffled by her hands. “And I don’t.”
Oh, come on. He fought this sense of frustration. “Leona. We have a child together. I’m buying a house for us—not even a rental. And in case you’ve forgotten it, we’re working on this restaurant that will keep me in the greater Denver area. Are these the actions of a man who’s going to bail?”
“No,” she sniffed. “But that’s not what I asked for, none of it is.”
“I asked you to marry me. What other reassurances do you want? Do I have to open a vein and sign my name in blood?”
As if on cue, May’s music got louder. Leona’s shoulders tightened in response. But she hadn’t answered yet.
He found a knot in her muscles and began to rub it. “I don’t mean to add to the stress. You know that, don’t you?”
“I do.” Her voice, however, wasn’t terribly convincing. But then she tilted her head to the side, stretching her shoulders for him. He found another knot and began to rub that one. “Oh, that’s good.”
It’d be better if Byron could lay Leona out on a bed. Then he could give her a proper massage, one that would work out all the knots. Maybe that was what she needed—to know that he would take care of her in every respect, not just the material ones.
Her body started to relax under his touch and, as he focused on the base of her neck, she let out a low moan of relief. That moan took all of his noble intentions and did something less than