“There are lots of single mothers out there who would disagree with me, I’m sure. But you don’t have to do this alone. Besides, I have financial resources you couldn’t hope to match.”
“Money?” she asked incredulously, jerking away from his touch. Why had she brought this up now? Why couldn’t she have just enjoyed lying in his arms? Instead, she’d brought up the one subject guaranteed to drive a wedge between them. “You’re making this about money?”
“I’m just being honest.”
“By pointing out that if it came down to a court battle, you would win by the sheer size of your wallet?”
“That’s not what I meant. You know as well as I do that raising a child is expensive.”
“Ah.” She held up her palm to silence him. He didn’t need to go on, she could do that for him. “I suppose you’re going to point out that if you raise Isabella, she’ll have the best of everything. The best schools, the best clothes, the best education.”
“And you’re…” he interrupted her, “…undoubtedly going to point out that there’s more to life than material wealth.”
Of course, that was what she was going to say. But in truth she couldn’t deny that money made things easier. Instead, she sank to the edge of the sofa and rested her elbows on her knees, as resignation settled over her.
Growing up, her own family had been lower-middle class, not poor by any means, but well out of the league of most of the families in their upper-middle-class school district.
Her father had done what he could to provide for them—he’d made sure they got an excellent education—but she remembered all too well the yearning for nicer things, for the clothes and baubles other girls wore. Clothes were the least of it, of course. She would have been thrilled with the occasional warm word of encouragement from her father. But in lieu of that, there had been material things that would have made her feel less like an outsider. Less pitiable, perhaps.
“You’re right, of course. Money isn’t everything, but it does help.”
Since she’d had the love of neither a mother nor a father, she’d simply held her head high, worn her shabby clothes with all the dignity she could muster and made sure that no one had had the chance to feel sorry for her. Not for anything she had control over, at least. She hadn’t asked for handouts. She hadn’t complained. And she had never, ever let anyone know that she knew she was second-class.
She wanted better than that for Isabella. How could she not?
Standing, she wrapped her arms around her waist and crossed to the massive fireplace at the far end of the room. On this warm spring night, it was empty, of course, except for an artfully arranged triad of pillar candles. “I was accepted to Brown and Princeton, but my dad didn’t have the money to send me to either.”
“Financial aid,” he pointed out, ignoring the apparent non sequitur.
“Naturally I qualified, but I still would have been left with a mountain of debt.” She chuckled, making light of the decision that had broken her heart at eighteen. “And I was far too practical to take that on. Not when I had a perfectly good scholarship from the University of Texas.” She turned back to him. “So you see I know all too well that money does matter. I’m not saying it doesn’t. Just that it’s not everything.”
“I couldn’t agree more. And I would never dream of trying to raise Izzie all on my own. You’re her mother. She needs you. She’s going to continue to need you her whole life. I won’t give you sole custody, but I’d never dream of taking her away from you altogether.”
Oh, but he would.
Just as soon as he found out she wasn’t really Isabella’s mother, he’d do everything in his power to make sure she never saw Isabella again.
And now, she was beginning to realize, that wasn’t the only heartbreak in her future. Never seeing Isabella again would be bad enough. But of course she’d lose Dex as well. Even if she could survive the one, could she survive the other?
Ten
D ex spent the following day hounding Quinn about Lucy. Unfortunately, Quinn had found out nothing Dex didn’t already know. By all appearances, Lucy Alwin was a model citizen. She paid her taxes, earned a comfortable income and returned her library books on time. She’d never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. Nothing in her past or present raised a single red flag.
It was beginning to look as if she’d made only two mistakes in her whole life. Sleeping with him and abandoning Isabella on his doorstep. He’d been complicit in the first, so he could hardly blame her for that. As for why she’d abandoned Isabella, that was still a mystery.But one thing was obvious. Since he and Derek had never reported that incident to the authorities, and since Lucy’s record was otherwise squeaky-clean, he would have a hell of a time convincing a judge Lucy was an unfit mother.
If he wanted to go that route, that was.
But dragging Lucy and Isabella through a nasty court battle was no longer something he could imagine doing. Which left him with only one option. If he wanted custody of Isabella, he was going to have to marry Lucy.
Dex’s neighborhood was not the kind of place where salesman traveled door to door hawking their goods. So the chime of the doorbell ringing at two o’clock in the afternoon, mere moments after she’d put Isabella down for her nap, definitely took Lucy by surprise.As she walked to the front door she made a mental list of who could possibly be on the other side. Girl Scouts selling Thin Mints? Ed McMahon with a giant check? That skinny chick from What Not to Wear, there to overhaul Lucy’s wardrobe?
She swung open the heavy mahogany door to reveal a tall woman, not quite as thin as the What Not to Wear woman, but darn close. The similarity was accented by the bulky, black garment bag she held in her hand. The woman’s dishwater-blond hair was pulled back in a tight cinch, which either caused or exaggerated her pinched expression, Lucy wasn’t sure which. Either way, Lucy got the distinct impression that this woman did not want to be there.
“May I help you?” Lucy hesitated to ask the question, in case it pissed off the ice queen even more.
“Raina Huffman.” She held out her hand, but the handshake was anything but warm. Then she breezed through the door without waiting to be invited in. “I’m Mr. Messina’s assistant. Mr. Derek Messina’s assistant, that is. Dex sent me to bring you these.”
Raina held out the garment bag, at which Lucy stared blankly.
“His dry cleaning?” she asked flatly.
“No.” There was an exasperated eye roll in Raina’s tone that she somehow managed to convey while keeping her expression carefully blank. “This is a collection of outfits Dex thought might be appropriate for you to wear to tonight’s gala event.”
“Oh…”
When Lucy didn’t rush to take the bag from Raina, she draped it over the back of the sofa. “I’ve included—”
“What gala event?”
“Tonight Messina Diamonds Dallas is hosting a black-tie reception to celebrate the opening of their Antwerp office. Dex thought you should attend. He told me to make sure you had an appropriate gown and suggested you might like to have your hair and makeup done for the event.”
“Ah. That gala event,” she snapped peevishly. Dex had mentioned a couple of days ago that he had a business function to attend that night. And now he was ordering her to attend, too. Typical Messina autocracy. “Well, you can just tell him that you tried, but that I can’t attend any event, gala or otherwise, appropriate clothes or no appropriate clothes. I have Isabella to look after. I can’t leave her here alone.”
“That has been arranged as well. I’ve hired a very reputable babysitting service. They’ll be sending someone over shortly.” Raina glanced at her watch. “A driver will be here to take you to your hair appointment in an hour. Also, I would suggest a slightly more—” her gaze lingered unpleasantly on Lucy’s Jewel-inspired bright red hair “—conservative hairstyle.”
Irritation spiked through Lucy, despite the fact that she didn’t like the garish red of her hair any more than Raina appeared to. She didn’t know who she was more annoyed with: Raina for judging her with such disdain after an acquaintance of less than ten minutes, or Dex for siccing this woman on her.
Okay, Lucy told herself. Don’t take this out on her. Maybe she’s just doing her job. Or has an enormous stick shoved up her butt.
All but biting her tongue, she ignored Raina’s “suggestion” and crossed the room to the garment bag, curious what the ice princess would deem appropriate cocktail wear. A starchy Victorian gown, perhaps?
The corner of the bag bore the embossed logo of an exclusive retail shop. The kind of place Lucy could barely afford to drive past, let alone shop at. Just her luck. The only time in her life she’d ever even touch a dress from that shop and it had been picked out by Ms. Congeniality.
However, when she unzipped the bag, a soft gasp of surprise slipped out unbidden. The first dress inside was a deep teal silk with a ruched bodice and a long, flowing skirt.
“You don’t like it.”
“No, I—” She reached out a tentative hand to touch the dress, only to pull back, all too aware of the baby drool that likely lingered on her fingers. “It’s gorgeous. You picked it out?”
She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice and Raina frowned in response to it.
“There are three dresses. One of the other ones may be more to your liking.”
“No. This is beautiful. But is the reception really this formal?”
Raina stiffened. “This isn’t my first reception at Messina Diamonds. I picked out what I thought would be appropriate and—”
Great. She’d offended her again. Lucy held up a hand to halt Raina’s sputtering. “Oh, I trust you. It’s just the last time I wore a dress this fancy, Jake, my prom date, drank too much and puked all over it at three in the morning.”