Yet as I settled into the warm fragrant water of my bath, my skin didn’t relish the silky softness of the bath salts. Instead, mentally, I was back at the house, waiting for the customer to arrive. However, this time, I didn’t have the guidance of Miss Warner. I could call Irina, and ask her what?
Obviously, with the baby inside me, this wouldn’t be my first sexual encounter. What could she possibly say that I hadn’t learned through experience?
After my bath, I let down my hair. Since my arrival, it had been trimmed and shaped. I applied new mascara and a light pink lip gloss.
Most often I slept in oversized t-shirts and shorts. They were pajamas but nothing for viewing. Hanging in my closet was a black silk nightgown with a sheer robe. Forgoing panties, I pulled the black silk over my head and down my body. It sheathed my skin, leaving nothing about my baby bulge to the imagination.
As eight thirty approached I moved about the room, from the sofa and chairs near the balcony to the large bed. Opening the French doors, I started to step onto the balcony, but voices from below stilled my steps.
One was Andros. The other was a man I didn’t know. Their conversation was entirely in Russian and while it was difficult to understand, it sounded heated.
I closed the door and the drapes, opened the pocket door and stepped into the nursery.
Even the room calmed me. The furniture was white, matching the room’s trim. There was a baby bed, a bassinet, a table for changing the baby’s diaper, a dresser, and a large rocking recliner. I ran the tips of my fingers over the soft sheet and changing pad. Irina and I had already ordered lotions and powder. The top drawer of the changing table was filled with the tiniest diapers, baby wipes, and undershirts she called onesies.
A smile came to my lips as I ran my palm over my enlarged midsection. “Little one, no matter what Mommy endures, this is because I love you. I love you more than you will ever know.”
As my ears prickled at the sound coming from the attached room, my breath caught in my throat. There wasn’t a knock.
The door to my suite had opened.
Turning off the light in the nursery, I hurried back through the pocket door.
Andros’s dark stare simmered as he took me in: the black negligee hugging my curves as the sheer cover floated behind me.
“Andros.”
“Come closer, Madeline. I’m done waiting for what is mine.”
Madeline
Present day
Patrick and I were in the back seat of a dark sedan while Mason rode in the front seat with Garrett driving. I immediately recognized Garrett as the man with Patrick from our first trip to Ann Arbor, Corpus Christi, and then on to Dallas. He’d recognized me too, saying, “Ms. Miller.” Surprisingly, before I could correct him, Mr. Sparrow did.
“Madeline and Patrick are married. Her name is Mrs. Kelly.”
It wasn’t as if Mr. Sparrow had been overtly kind or even compassionate regarding my honesty, and yet that simple statement planted a seed of hope.
Maybe I was a fool who never learned. That was a real possibility. For as long as I could remember, I tried to see the good in people, even when it didn’t exist. I did that with Kristine at the mission and for years with Andros. I created an illusion that included mutual respect. Each time I began to believe, brick by brick, statement or deed at a time, my sense of security behind the wall grew. That was until he’d orchestrate the obliteration of my illusion to dust.
I tried to do with my memories of Andros what I’d failed to do with those of Patrick—compartmentalize them away. When I’d done that with Patrick, it was because life had taken me down a different path. Now, it was a matter of choice. I didn’t want the recollections that included Andros.
I wanted to move forward.
With my hand within my husband’s grasp, his broad shoulders next to mine, and his cologne filling my senses, we traveled the streets of Chicago on our way to our daughter. It wasn’t that I wanted to save my memories of the time I’d spent with Andros as I had those memories of Patrick when we were young. It was that I refused to allow recollections of Andros to tarnish what was literally at my fingertips.
Patrick squeezed my hand as we entered a tunnel. The car moved slowly, descending beneath street level. The tunnel angled downward, yet I hadn’t noticed exactly where we had been on the street or in the city, not that I would know. Other than the tournament, I hadn’t been in Chicago since I was moved to Detroit.
“Soon, you will meet with not only Ruby, but the wives of my friends,” Patrick said.
“They’re all married?”
“We all are. I just never mentioned my status to them before.”
I leaned against his warmth.
“Anyway, the ladies all know that we married young and that Ruby is our daughter. They don’t, however, know about you and Sparrow.” His head shook. “I believe we should leave that to him to explain.”
Lights lined the underground two-lane tunnel above and to the sides.
“Are we almost there?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“You all live together?”
“Not really and yes.”
I smirked. “That explains it.”
“Sparrow and his wife, Araneae, have the penthouse. It’s the top two floors. However, the first floor of their penthouse is considered a common area. We gather in their kitchen almost every morning. Lorna, Reid’s wife, self-appointed herself as our caretaker. For a long time, she was the only female, and I believe she wanted to do what she could to help four helpless schmucks. She’s an excellent cook and takes care of the apartments too. The floor below the penthouse contains three equally large apartments. Reid and Lorna live in one and Mason and Laurel in another.”
“And you in the third?” I asked.
“And us in the third,” Patrick corrected.
“Is Ruby there? In your apartment?”
“Araneae asked if she could stay in the penthouse.”
“And you agreed?”
“I thought it would be easier. Ruby knows I’m her father, but she doesn’t know me. Our goal was for her to be as comfortable as possible. And she and Araneae hit it off. Letting her stay up there made sense.”
And comfortable was with Mr. Sparrow?
I had trouble believing that.
The tunnel opened to a wide garage filled with many different cars, makes, models, and sizes. Garrett brought the car to a stop in front of an elevator. The next thing I knew, Patrick, Mason, and I were on our way up to what was labeled A on the keypad. Strangely there were few options: G, 2, A, and P.
Near the options available was a scanner. Instead of his hand, Mason leaned forward, allowing a beam to scan his eye. Once he did, the doors closed and we moved upward.
“I’ll get you settled in our apartment and then go get Ruby and bring her to you.”
I nodded, remembering the conversation on the plane. I hadn’t been granted access to other floors of this tight-knit dwelling. The elevator opened to what appeared as a lobby with sofas and chairs. There were three doors. Patrick and I stepped out, but Mason stayed within.
“I’m going to 2 to check on Reid,” he said as the doors closed.
Near the button to call the elevator was another sensor.