The Beaumont Children: His Son, Her Secret

Sherry blinked and said, “It’s $1.3 million, but it’s been on the market for a few months so I think there’s negotiating room.”

“No.”

Sherry’s megawatt smile faltered. “I’m sorry?”

“No,” Leona said, ignoring the Realtor and turning back to Byron, who had the nerve to look innocent. “This was supposed to be a temporary thing, a three-bedroom apartment—not a—” She turned back to Sherry. “How many square feet?”

“Nine thousand, if you account for the maid’s room over the garage.”

Nine thousand square feet of luxury. Not a cozy little apartment. This place had a maid’s room, for God’s sake. This felt wrong. Everything about it was off. She’d spent the past year scrimping and scraping. She didn’t want this situation to even suggest that she could be bought—that her affection was for sale. That’s what her father would do if he admitted he’d screwed up. He’d throw an insanely expensive gift at her and expect that to make everything okay.

Well, this was not okay. Her affection could not be bought and that was final. Yes, she wanted stability for Percy but this was so far beyond stable that it wasn’t funny. “No, Byron. This isn’t what we agreed on.”

She started to get back in the car, but Percy began to fuss and before she could do anything, Byron had the back door open and was unbuckling the baby. “You want out? This place has a swing set in the back,” he told the boy. “And a big lawn where you can run around and we could even get a puppy! Would you like a puppy, Percy?”

Percy squealed in delight, although Leona was sure he didn’t really grasp what puppy meant. She glared at Byron. What the hell was he trying to do here—bribe a six-month-old?

“Come on, little man,” Byron said. He shut the back door and walked to the front of the car. “Let’s wait for Mommy.”

Leona had several choice things she wanted to say, but Percy squealed and clapped his hands and he looked...happy. She was stuck in a very real way. She couldn’t drive off without her son—but she didn’t like this bait and switch. It felt as though Byron was steamrollering her and she didn’t like it. If she wanted to be steamrollered, she’d go home and her father would be happy to run roughshod all over her.

“We’re only looking,” Byron said. He turned to Sherry, who was not wearing any kind of smile at all. “We have other places to look at that are at other price points, correct?”

“Yes!” Sherry replied enthusiastically.

Byron leaned down and kissed the top of Percy’s head while he kept his eyes fastened on hers.

“Fine. But I don’t have to like it,” Leona snapped as she got out of the car.

“Duly noted. I want to see the kitchen.”

Sherry unlocked the house and led them inside. The place had a grand feeling to it, but it wasn’t the same sort of cold, sterile feeling Leona’s parents’ mansion had given her—or, for that matter, that the Beaumont Mansion had given her, kitchen notwithstanding. Instead of severe colors and harsh lighting designed to make everything look as expensive as possible, this entryway was filled with the warmth of the early-morning sun.

“Oh,” she couldn’t help but whisper.

“Beautiful,” Byron agreed. “Which way’s the kitchen?”

Sherry 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.

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Eleven (#ulink_f460f835-d986-54f9-8701-cccc4b6a1881)