A Proper Young Lady (11 page)

Dani’s makeup, Dani’s clothes, Dani’s baby—what happens when she doesn’t need me around anymore? 

The girl pokes her head into my bedroom. “Our ride’s here.”

Footsteps cross the kitchen—my mother by the sound of them. “Ready to go, honey?” 

“Yeah, Mom.” I grab my suitcase and jacket, but stop in the doorway and gaze back at the lonely remains of my old life. Bed, dresser, nightstand, curtains—my father’s death erased all the pleasant memories of childhood and left the room barren. Even my old teddy bear succumbed to melancholy. Hollow eyes beg me not to leave him behind. 

The Cooper guy waits in the kitchen. By the door. Guarding the place. When I drag my suitcase into the room, he hoists the thing like it weighs nothing at all, and steps outside.

A minute later, my mother strolls into the kitchen. “You have everything?”

“Yeah.”
Nothing’s left for me here, Mom.
 

Desolation overtakes the living room and seeps into the kitchen. I flee outside. My gaze wanders in the dusk—from the house to the BMW and back again—but I keep them far from the black emptiness of my old memories. 

Cooper holds the door for me long after Dani has already slipped into the back seat. A precious memory of Dad beckons to me then—a bright image of our final motorcycle ride before he deployed. Too late, I reach a hand toward the fading image.
I’ll never see you again.
 

The BMW pulls out of the driveway, and I lose sight of the house as we turn north on Alhambra Circle. In the dark silence my vision blurs.

Chapter 12

Danièle

The Biltmore Hotel stands less than three miles from the Fairbairn home. Melanie’s eyes glow with the wonder such a place generates in those not yet jaded by their wealth or computer-generated special effects. Mrs. Fairbairn takes her daughter’s hand and strolls into the lobby.

My vision climbs the marble columns up to a sapphire-inlaid ceiling. I bump into Melanie, stop, and gape at my surroundings. We’ve been transported to a Mediterranean palace.

Cooper never gets distracted by the beauty around him, at least not while at work. He escorts Melanie and me up to our room. We drop off our luggage and join my parents in their suite.

Melanie’s mother breaks into a sunny grin. “Hello, Keela.”

“Laura!” Mum rushes to embrace Mrs. Fairbairn.

Melanie’s eyes burn with impatience, but she fidgets in silence while our mothers chat.

Don’t make her wait long, Mum. She’s not your daughter.

A minute passes. After five, Mum gazes in our direction, flashes her blue eyes, and nods my cue.

“You remember Mrs. Fairbairn’s daughter, Melanie.”

“Why of course. What a lovely young woman you’ve become.”

Melanie looks as refined as any of my preparatory school classmates. “Thank you, Mrs. Welles,” she says.

Mum gives Melanie a cordial smile. Melanie’s left a satisfactory first impression.

My mother fixes her searching gaze on me next. I refuse to echo the doubt she transmits.

A knock at the door provides a welcome interruption. “Room service.”

Cooper signals us to leave. Mum rolls impatient eyes, but takes Mrs. Fairbairn’s hand and walks down the hallway.

I nudge Melanie toward the second bedroom. “Let’s go wash up.” No need to explain my father’s security rules.

In the bathroom, she eyes me in the mirror. “Are you in the witness protection program or something?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Well, yeah. Everybody around you is paranoid.”

“My father and Uncle Randolph worked for British Military Intelligence during the Troubles in Northern Ireland.”

“But you were born in Virginia.”

“My parents came back to the States just after the ceasefire in 1994. Mum was already six months pregnant.”

“And people are still out to get your family?”

Are they?
“I have no idea. No one ever talks about specific threats.” 

“But you have a bodyguard.”

“Cooper? He does a lot more than security.”

A few minutes later, my father strolls into the room. “Would you two young ladies do me the honor of joining us for dinner?” He snaps a wink at me. “I believe the coast is clear now.”

We follow him to the dining area. When he pulls a chair away from the table, I slip a hand behind Melanie’s back and encourage her forward. Part of being a lady is being treated like one by gentlemen. Manners and bodyguards—an odd mix, that. 

A servant lifts the cover from our appetizer and passes the dish around. Tiny fish, dusted and deep fried—I’ve only had whitebait on one previous occasion. Key Lime tartare proves an exquisite dipping sauce for them. 

A hand squeezes mine under the table—Melanie sniffs at a fish covered in sauce and pops it into her mouth. Seconds later, a smile overpowers her skepticism. 

The servant removes the covers from the side dishes—roasted asparagus and mashed potatoes—and starts them around the table. When he lifts the dome lid from a large serving tray, my saliva runs. He slices the pastry, exposing rare beef tenderloin, pâté, mushroom duxelles, and prosciutto. Mum talked the chef into Beef Wellington.
Brilliant.
 

Mum and Daddy remain oddly quiet through the main course, even after most everyone has finished. As soon as Melanie sets her fork down, my father slides his chair back. “If you two young ladies are interested, Cooper has offered to give you a tour of the hotel.”

In other words, the parents want to chat without the children present. I ease my chair back and stand. “Save us some dessert.”

Melanie pats her mouth with her napkin and rises from her seat. “Can we see where Al Capone stayed?”

Cooper offers a polite but firm head shake. “Sorry, but the Everglades Suite is occupied.”

Melanie waves it away with a yawn. “I should get to bed early, anyhow.”

Concern furrows Mum’s brow. “I’d forgotten you were pregnant, sweetheart. Perhaps in the morning, then.” She uncovers the dessert tray and fills a dinner plate with truffles. “Take these with you.”

Melanie gawks at the sweets. “Chocolate.”

Mum picks up another from the tray, sniffs at it like one might a fine wine, and relishes a small bite. “Yes. Dark chocolate, not overly sweet, and made with clotted cream—all good for your pregnancy.” 

Cooper escorts us—and our plate of truffles—down the hallway to our room. “Please let me know if you need anything.” He shoots a glance at Melanie and waits in the doorway. 

Yes, I understand the drill. Don’t leave the room on my own. Don’t answer the door.
My father sets the rules, and I have no doubt of his love for me. Cooper acts as his right hand at times to ensure my safety. 

“Thank you. We’re in for the night.” I push the door closed and slide the bolt into place.

Melanie saunters out of the bathroom, already in her nightgown. After she hangs her dress in the closet, she finishes unpacking.

I give her a quick hug. “You were marvelous. I most appreciated you reminding Mum that you’re pregnant.” I open my luggage and set out the clothes I’ll need for the morning.

Melanie’s emerald eyes grow wide. Without makeup, her grin and freckled cheeks lend her face a child-like innocence. “I feel like some poor orphan girl sent to stay with rich relatives.” She waltzes over to the desk and snatches a truffle. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me till the chocolate’s all gone.”

After Melanie finishes off her third truffle, she pulls back the covers on her bed. She sits on the mattress, leans into a mountain of pillows, and hugs the duvet to her chest. The cheerfulness she expressed all evening melts away. “Is Mom dying? That’s the only reason I can figure for her sending me away.”

I pull off my heels and sit on the edge of her bed. “She wants you to get an education. The money you would have spent on a preparatory school can go toward college now.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Not a whisper of belief inhabits her eyes as they sink. Her lower lip quivers.

“I’m sorry, love. I hope she’s all right.” I pull her head against my shoulder.
What will I do if your mum really does die?
Melanie’s soft whimpers become diaphragm spasms, but after a few minutes, her irregular breathing slows. Tremors fade. Muscles relax. 

A crick in my back forces me to shift position. With Melanie asleep, I slip away from her and change into pajamas. The mother of my child sleeps on, both arms wrapped around a pillow. An occasional muffled cry breaches her lips—as in a dream. 

What have I gotten you into?
I pull the duvet up to her shoulders, kiss her on the forehead, and retreat to my own bed again. There I burrow into the covers and fade into dreams. 

Melanie

The last few minutes of sleep are always the best, and with the bed caressing me, I have no desire to be up and about. Voices whisper somewhere in the room, but only for a moment. I snuggle further into my pillows, stretch out my arms, and embrace the covers.

Sometime later, fingers brush my cheek. My eyes open to Dani’s bright smile. “Breakfast is served, Miss Fairbairn.” She holds out a white chenille robe, almost as comfy looking as my pillow.

A stretch, a yawn, and I push myself upright. So much beauty and elegance fills the room. I commit it all to memory. Something to treasure later. After a wistful glance at my pillows, I stretch again, stand, and let Dani help me with my robe.

Breakfast turns out to be poached salmon, scrambled eggs, roasted tomatoes, and biscuits that Dani calls scones. “Wait until you taste Jake’s,” she says. “They’re brilliant.”

My nose wrinkles at the capers spread over my salmon. I pick them off and take a bite of the fish.
Yummy? Well, yeah, but who eats this kinda stuff for breakfast?
I eye one of the smaller roasted tomatoes before picking up a scone and holding it up to my nose.
Oh, yeah.
Cinnamon and sugar. 

Salmon, eggs, scones, orange juice—I’d stuff my face, but nausea forces me to stop. I haven’t puked in nearly a week, and that’s fine with me. I shove my plate away and gaze at the bed again. 

Dani grabs my sleeve. “We’re late already. Get dressed, and I’ll fix your makeup.”

Chiffon and lace, soft and feminine—I slip the new dress over my head and pull the belt tight.
So this is your world, huh? Am I gonna live the rest of my life in a skirt and lipstick? Guess that goes with fancy hotels and corporate jets. What about blue jeans and motorcycles?
 

The girl makes my face all pretty again. I brush out my hair and clip it back on both sides. One last gawk at the stranger in the mirror, and I follow Dani out the door.
Yeah. Sweet. But don’t think I’m gonna waste my entire life bein’ Miss Prissy.
 

Danièle

Cooper leads us through the lobby and stands guard while a valet brings the car. For a moment, I suspect he’s going to search the BMW for explosives, but then he opens the door and motions me inside. Melanie climbs into the rear seat after me, and we drive off.

Emerald eyes study me from across the car. Embers of doubt flicker there. I slide over to her and snake an arm around her shoulder. “If you’d rather not stay with my parents...”

With one hand she straightens her flouncy skirt. “Your folks are okay. I’m just not sure I wanna spend the rest of my life in a dress.”

I brush her ginger curls back behind one ear, press my face close, and whisper, “Neither am I, but Mum would hand me over to a shrink if she found out.”

Melanie bites her lip until the muffled snickering fades. “No. They got to you somehow. Even on a motorcycle, you’re all elegance. You sweat French perfume.”

Have I changed so much in five years? I was a tomboy, more the mischief-maker than ever Melanie was. With psychologists ahead and surgeons behind, I fled to the only available refuge. Under Mum’s wing I took on manners and grace as protective coloration against the predators. “I suppose you’re right.”

Melanie closes her eyes, leans her head against my shoulder, and remains silent for the rest of the drive down to Kendall-Tamiami Airport.

My parents and Mrs. Fairbairn have already boarded by the time we arrive. Cooper sees to our bags before shepherding us through security and out to the plane.

As soon as we settle into our seats, one of the crew shuts the cabin door, and the aircraft taxis out to the runway. Melanie presses hard against me and rests her chin on my shoulder. “Is there a barf bag?”

Perfect.
“As soon as we take off, I’ll find you something. Can you hold out that long?” 

“Yeah.”

Ten minutes later, the tower clears us for departure. Another twenty pass before we level off. By then Melanie’s breathing has slowed. “You all right?”

She mumbles something and snuggles closer, so I put an arm around her and dream of what could have been.

Before too long, the turbine whine sings of our descent into DeKalb-Peachtree Airport north of Atlanta. We touch down with a soft chirp of tires on concrete and taxi to one of the general aviation support hangars.

Humid air and bright sunshine flood the cabin when one of the crew opens the door. Cooper ducks outside first—no doubt to rid the area of threats. Daddy offers a hand to Mum then, and they deplane. 

Mrs. Fairbairn pauses in the doorway. Her eyes scan Melanie and me, as though she’s committing the scene to memory. A wisp of concern disturbs her perfect contentment. Her chest rises and falls in a deep breath, and she steps outside.

Not long afterward, the pilots finish their checklist and step out of the cockpit.

They can’t leave with us here.
I brush a fingertip down Melanie’s brow to the tip of her nose. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Time to wish your mother farewell.
 

Chapter 13

Melanie

Oh, man. I hate flying.
My stomach grumbles discontent. One last glance over my shoulder, and I’m out of the cabin and down the steps to solid ground. 

Learjet—gotta admit the coolness factor there. Nice comfy seats. Lots of legroom. Way bigger than a car.
So why should I feel trapped inside the stupid thing?