A Proper Young Lady (13 page)

“No! This is perfect.” I run across the floor and hug her.

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to unpack. If you need anything, my room’s around the corner.”

With the door closed, my imagination blossoms—my own cottage in the woods. A place away from the rest of the world. Just me. And my baby. And
him.
 

I retrieve Mom’s envelope from my backpack and worry it open. A check for one hundred and twenty thousand dollars falls from my trembling hands.
It’s all right to have your own dreams, honey.
 

God, please let Mom be okay.

Chapter 14

Danièle

Flowers ambush me just inside the bedroom doorway. A bevy of balloons jostles the ceiling above my bed. Chocolates wait on the dresser, along with a kilo tin of Darjeeling and a quart of Irish cream.

The aroma of latkes and aged Asiago draw my senses across the room. A magnum of vintage French Champagne relaxes in a cool bath on my desk. Two wine glasses provide formal escorts.

Leaning against the bottle stands a card. I slide a fingernail under the flap and open the envelope.
Joy of my heart and mother of my child—I love you more than life itself.
 

A scene from an old Alfred Hitchcock movie flashes through my mind. Adrenaline floods my veins, but the terror soon fades. It has to be him. “Ethan? Are you here?”

He pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Yeah, babe. Hope I didn’t scare you.”

I fling myself into his arms and kiss his sweet lips. When we break for air, I glance over my shoulder. The decorations speak more eloquently than my fiancé usually does.
Mum.
“This is all very lovely. Were the flowers your idea?” 

“Your mother suggested them. The Champagne was mine.”

So she knows you’re in my bedroom. Which means she approves.

The psychologists consider vaginal intercourse the fundamental measure of a person’s sexual health. Without that, one simply isn’t complete. Hence the importance of surgery. Or dilation. They measure the success of their treatment, however, not in width and depth, but by my willingness to have Ethan penetrate me.

If I hesitate—if I don’t jump into bed with him— Unthinkable. Such would mean utter failure. To everyone. Excepting perhaps me. And Melanie. 

Mum can’t hold my hand on my wedding night. But she hesitates not to push me into the deep end of the pool.
Enjoy the water, sweetheart.
 

Are my psychologists in on this as well?

I capitulate, Mum.
“Open the bottle, will you? I think I’d like a drink.” I slip off my heels and toss them aside. 

Ethan sits on my bed and pats the bedspread next to him. “Relax, babe. I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not like the other women you’ve known.”

“But you had your surgeries.”

“Vaginoplasty and orchiopexies. Nothing more.”
Not now. Not ever.
 

“So you’ve got a super-sized clit. I don’t care.”

I’ve fathered a child.
“My testes—” 

He silences me with a fingertip. “Get it through your pretty little head, Danièle—I love you. I’ll adjust to your body being different. I’m a patient man.” 

“Dr. Pierson said there was a problem with your—” 

A firm shake of his head stops me. “I read her letter. We’ll sort out the details after I see a urologist in October. What counts is Melanie’s pregnant with my baby.”

“Ethan—” I meet his stubborn eyes before sighing my frustration. “All right.” 

With a practiced hand, Ethan unfastens the top button of my blouse. Heat rises in my chest. The two of us have never ventured beyond kisses and a bit of heavy petting, but the memories of childhood games rise like sweet magnolia blossoms.

A gentle kiss. A brush of his hands down my sides.

Champagne—spiced apple and fresh-baked bread tickling my nose—a hint of nuts and yeast on my palate. I savor the delay. 

Another kiss. Two more buttons. One step closer to the threshold.

I can do this.

Melanie

Puffy white clouds drag their sorry reflections across the garden pond. Once in a while, some fish gobbles a bug stupid enough to fall into the water. On an old tree trunk that stretches out from the bank, a family of painted turtles enjoys the last of the evening’s rays.

From the bay window I watch the sun set. When blue sky turns red and purple, I punch in my sister’s number. If my mother’s sick, I don’t wanna know. But I gotta find out.

Beatrice picks up. “Melanie?”

“Yeah. Mom there?”

“Sure.”

A minute passes as a couple of chipmunks gather some of the fallen acorns in the fading light. My imagination keeps wandering out into the garden, expecting to see the father of my child come walking up the path.
Ethan—the dude had better be some kinda special.
 

“Are you settled in?” My mother’s voice sounds chipper, like maybe she’s okay after all.

“Hi, Mom. Yeah, I’m unpacked. You sure about this check?”

“Would I have given you your inheritance if I didn’t trust you?”

“No. Guess not.”

“Well then. Ask Danièle to help you invest the money. All right?”

“Yeah. Sure. You okay, Mom?”

“I’m fine, honey.” One of my sister’s kids squalls in the background. “I’d better go. I promised Beatrice I’d entertain the boys.”

“I love you, Mom.”

I toss the phone on the bed and lean back against the window frame.
My life’s here now. With Dani.
The image of us standing in front of my mother’s grave sends a creepy chill down my back.
Yeah. Maybe forever. Might as well be married.
 

I brush a hand across my abdomen. Not much there yet. Did I really go through IVF and get myself pregnant for the girl?

Well, yeah. I promised to have a baby when we were old enough.

Not for Dani, though. Not her.

As a kid, I wanted my own little one so bad that my best forever friend pretended to be a boy so she could be the father. When the doctors told Dani she couldn’t bear children, I promised to have one.

For Daniel. His baby.

Well, it made sense at the time.

I shake my head and force my gaze back out the window. Moonlight has turned the garden into a wonderland of silver and midnight blue. A breeze sends ripples across the pond’s reflected stars. Jet black trees sway to some silent beat, waving their arms above it all.

Sometime later, a fat drop of water spatters against the window and down the pane. Others join in, till a steady chorus patters syncopation on the metal roof, till my eyelids succumb to the reassuring music.

Would you stay if Ethan left?

Yeah, Mom.

Movement in the garden snags my attention. The breath catches in my throat. A wraith drifts along the path beside the lake, white hair floating in the breeze, her body wrapped in stars and silver moonlight.
That you, Dani? What’re you up to?
 

The ghostly vision passes under the trees and comes to rest, a pale blue glow beneath sheltering arms of black. Spellbound, I perch above the garden and wait while the moon drifts across the night sky.

The wind picks up again. Lightning flickers in the distance. The trees whisper to each other above our heads.

A curious longing tightens my throat. Is this what I want—me and Dani alone in the garden of my imagination? 

Raindrops start their chorus again—a warm summer lullaby tapped out on the window and roof above. A branch scrapes the wall outside. Mist rises from the ground. 

Yet the apparition moves not.

Are you nuts, girl? It’s raining.

Lightning flashes a portrait of her seated form. Then darkness. Her after-image floats across my vision. The garden remains shades of midnight blue and dark grey
.
 

After a moment of indecision, I step into the hallway and ease my bedroom door shut. In the dim light I rush to the stairs and pad in silence down to the grand ballroom.

Across the dance floor, past the support columns, beyond the kitchen, a glass wall stands between me and the outside world. Rivulets of water distort my vision of the garden.
Where was the stupid door?
In the darkness, I don’t remember. So I run along the wall, one hand on the glass. On the left, the barrier ends in the quiet darkness of a hallway. 

I find the garden-side entrance past the kitchen in the other direction. The security panel beside it blinks red.
Wonderful. Cooper’s probably gonna shoot me when I set off the alarm.
 

Eyes closed, every muscle tense, I push the door open and stumble outside into warm rain, a stiff breeze, and darkness thicker than I imagined.

“Dani!”

Moon and clouds above send their ghostly children dancing in blue and silver shadows across the garden. I draw in a deep breath of the moist air and shuffle my way closer to the water. With the stone pathway under my feet, I turn back toward the manor and scan the darkness for my bedroom window.

Yeah. This way. As long as I stay on the flagstones, things should be okay.
I take a step into darkness. Then two. Ankle-deep mud greets my third and steals away my balance. I teeter over a black abyss. 

In a flurry of motion, something white grabs my arm, pulls me to a stop, and holds me in its relentless grip.

When the echoes of my scream die away, Dani nudges me toward the manor. Once inside, the girl punches a code that makes the security system happy.

The wall sconces seem bright as daylight after the darkness outside. Dani stands there like a statue, dripping on the tile floor. The redness in her eyes says she’d been crying—something I’ve never seen her do before. Ever. “Are you okay?” 

“Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

“Let’s get out of here then.”
Before Cooper shows up.
I tug her a step toward the ballroom, but she shakes her head and leads me down the hallway to an elevator. 

When we get to my room, she pauses in the doorway. “Can I borrow a nightgown?”

Her robe is soaking wet. I get that part right away. But her room’s just around the corner. She must have a dozen clean ones there.

Then I notice the blood. “Yeah. Sure.”

Well, okay. It’s only a few drops. Like what I used to get between my periods.

I pull out one of my old nightshirts—an oversized baseball uniform top made from a soft cotton flannel. “The stains might come out if I soak your nightgown in cold water...” 

After a glance down, Dani nods. Tears fill her eyes.

I draw her into a tight hug. “What happened?”

“Ethan and I—we had sex.” 

You just got home.
“Here?” 

Her head bobs in slow motion, like one of those little dolls. “He’s asleep now. In my bed. His snoring kept me awake, so I took a stroll in the garden.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Does it matter? I’m a normal woman now. Maybe they’ll leave me the bloody hell alone.”

“Huh?”

“Vaginal intercourse—that was always their measure of success. I did it. Now screw them.” 

Not knowing what else to do, I help Dani take off her robe. While the girl is drying her hair, I put her soiled nightgown into cold water. I strip and throw my damp clothes into the corner, then put on my own pajamas.

Dani hugs me again. “I should go.”

But she doesn’t. She perches on the window ledge and peers out into the night. I settle in beside her and wait till the girl turns to look at me. Guess it’s my time to be the strong one. “Dani, if I’m gonna spend the rest of my life being a nanny for you and Ethan, you need to come to me when something’s wrong.”

Dani lets out a soft bark of laughter. “Mum thought I might need to lend
you
emotional support.” Tenderness floods her violet eyes, but she says nothing more. 

The girl pauses in the doorway on her way out. Her lower lip trembles, but she doesn’t speak a word. I roll my eyes and move to the far side of the bed. “Come on. You’ve held me often enough.”

She strides across the room and crawls into bed beside me. I snake my arms around her waist and draw our bodies close. The tension begins to melt away. Hers. And mine. Finally.

Chapter 15

Danièle

The ancient grandfather clock in the den below Melanie’s room chimes five. Darkness still cloaks the world outside the bedroom window. Only Jake would be up and about this early.

Cashmere soft, Melanie’s hair gives off the gentle aromas of coconut oil and raspberries. I ease away from her and sit on the edge of the bed.

The mother of my child murmurs something in her sleep and reaches a hand across the sheets. After all these years, her heart still belongs to the boy I can never be.

If only it were possible, love.
I lie down again—just long enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. “I have to go. Sleep well.” 

Back in my own room, I stuff Melanie’s nightshirt into the hamper, don a fresh nightgown like the one I wore outside, and slide into bed next to Ethan.

One of the benefits of Partial Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome is my relative lack of underarm hair. Personal body odor has never been a concern. Ethan’s musky scent may be normal for a man, but mixed with wilted flowers, stale Champagne, and the remnants of Asiago and latkes, it leaves me wishing for coconut and raspberries.

I roll away from him, bury my face in the bed linens, and try to sleep.

Sometime later, he slides an arm around my waist. “You awake yet, babe?”

“Yes, love.” I sit up and stretch.

With an overwhelming strength that sends a shock of panic through my bones, Ethan draws me into his arms. Beard stubble scrapes across my chin. His lips close over mine, but last night’s food and drink spoil his romantic overture.

He hitches a leg up and rolls us over as though he’s practiced the maneuver a thousand times. One hand meanders up my thigh, taking my nightgown along with it. The other seeks out my breast.

I force my muscles to yield and open my mouth to ease my breathing. Being a woman means letting a man be the center of my life—haven’t they all but chiseled that into stone?
Am I any less a woman if I never learn to enjoy this?