Accidental Father (6 page)

T
hey were leaving tonight. They wouldn't wait to travel with the group tomorrow. It was a snap decision that came to Julianne as soon as she and Liam left the Opéra Garnier and were in a cab on their way back to the hotel.

It was only a matter of time before Alex found out that the orchestra had folded and would be able to use it against her. Her sudden unemployment fueled an urgency to get Liam out of Paris and home where he belonged.

Over the years, she'd learned to always trust her gut, and right now it was screaming for her to take Liam and leave.

By no means was she planning on cutting Alex out of Liam's life. She wanted him to have a relationship with his father. But it had become distressingly obvious today that she better be sure of her legal rights before Alex whisked Liam away to a foreign country, where she might not have any legal standing.

She couldn't risk never seeing her baby again.

The first thing she'd do once she got home was hire an attorney. She'd find a way to afford it—even if she had to take a job flipping burgers. It would be honest work. Honest money. And if that's what it took to support her child, that's what she'd do until the orchestra reorganized and got back on solid footing. There was
always
a way.

She just had to remember that when hope started slipping.

By the time the cab reached the hotel, Julianne had called the airlines and rebooked Liam and herself on a 3:00 a.m. flight out of Charles de Gaulle. The flight-change fees were hefty, but she couldn't afford
not
to do it.

It was close to 11:00 p.m. by the time they got back to the hotel. She'd have just enough time to get up to the room, pack their things and get to the airport in time for the international fight. The timing
would work nicely because Liam was sound asleep. More importantly, Alex would still be waiting at the restaurant for her while she and Liam were en route to de Gaulle. By the time he realized what had happened, she and Liam would be somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Safe. Probably closer to home than here.

As Julianne packed, she went over her mental checklist. She had to let the others know. She couldn't just not show up at the airport tomorrow when the orchestra members would be expecting her. She decided she'd leave a note at the front desk to be given to Anita upon checkout. In the note, she'd ask Anita to explain to the group that she and Liam had gone on ahead and—

A knock on the door startled her from her planning, sending volts of fear searing through her. She glanced at Liam, who was sleeping soundly in his port-a-crib, then back at the door.

Oh, God.

The walk to the door seemed to take forever. Her limbs were heavy, like the sluggishness in dreams where you're running from something horrible and your legs can't carry you away fast enough. She took a deep breath before she looked out the peephole.

It was worse than she feared. Not only was Alex standing there, he'd brought several men with him.

Sheer black fear knotted inside her and her heart slammed against her breastbone.

Dear God, there was no way out.

 

Julianne was trying to run.

Although Alex didn't want to believe she'd do such a thing, another part of him chastised himself for not anticipating it.

He wasn't angry with her. Even though they were on different sides of this battle. He understood. He'd learned from the Secret Service agents stationed at the theater that the orchestra members had received word that the group was officially disbanded.

She'd panicked, he imagined. Fight or flight. If he'd been in her shoes, he might have fled, too. He was glad they'd gotten here before she'd left.

As he stood in the dimly lit hotel hall, surrounded by St. Michel Secret Service agents and hotel security, he knocked lightly once again.

“Julianne, it's Alex. Please open the door.”

His request was met with silence.

Secret Service had flagged her name with the airlines. When she tried to switch flights, officials
had been alerted immediately. The agents had been doing their jobs—and damned well.

“Julianne, hotel security and the Secret Service are here with me. If you won't open the door, they will unlock it.”

He shook his head regretfully. This wasn't the way he wanted things to go. He made sure he kept the knocking to a low rap—loud enough for her to hear it, but civilized enough so that it didn't scare Liam or cause a scene that attracted onlookers. Luckily, the hotel hallway was empty except for them. For now, at least. There were only twelve rooms on the floor—six across from each other, situated in a wide hallway. He needed this to be resolved as quickly and quietly as possible.

It had to be frightening enough for her to be in there alone with a small child, let alone knowing there was a bunch of men outside, demanding she open the door. Frankly, he didn't blame her if she didn't obey.

Of course, that would mean that security would unlock it with a master key. “Julianne, please.”

Alex stared at the deep red carpet, straining his ears, hoping to hear her say something in response, anything to indicate that she was willing to comply.

The lead hotel security guard, a tall, wiry man, put his hand up to the Bluetooth radio set on his left ear. “Apparently, she called the front desk to ask for security to be sent to her room,” he told them. “They told her that security was already there and asked her to open the door.”

As if the security guard had uttered the magic words, the hotel room door creaked opened a crack.

“Alex,” she said, “why are you doing this? You must have some idea of how much it will upset Liam.”

Julianne still had the security latch on the door so that it couldn't be opened from the outside without considerable force, although there were ways around that contraption, ways that weren't cordial or quiet, but ways in, nonetheless.

Alex had made it clear to the hotel's security team that this was a nonviolent intervention. It would remain so, unless he instructed otherwise.

“I'm very sorry,” he said to Julianne, looking her straight in the eye she used to peep out the door crack. And truly he was. These certainly weren't the conditions under which he'd hoped and imagined he'd find himself in a hotel with this woman. “Why did you decide to leave Paris early? And without telling me?”

“Because I wanted to avoid exactly this situation.” She said. “How did you find out I was leaving?”

Even through the slit in the door, he could see the stress in her eyes. “The Secret Service was alerted when you changed your flight. I can only assume that you weren't aware that Paris authorities recognize St. Michel law. They won't let you take Liam out of the country.”

“I want to talk to someone at the U.S. Embassy,” she hissed.

“Julianne, it won't matter. My name is on Liam's birth certificate. I am his father. I want him to stay. I am inviting you to stay with him. I'm not trying to take him away from you. But for this to work out, you have to open the door.”

She hesitated, and he could see the tears flowing down her cheeks. He had such an urge to reach out and wipe them away, to gather her in his arms and let her cry on his shoulder. It killed him to think that he was the cause of those tears. But this stubborn woman had given him no alternative.

He stepped closer to the door, leaned his head against the jamb so that the only thing separating them was the door's small opening. Surprisingly, she didn't move away.

“I'm sorry.” His voice was as quiet. “I know
it must look ominous with all these men outside your door, but I won't let anything bad happen to you. They're not going to arrest you or harm you or even separate you from Liam. You are welcome to go anywhere he goes. I want you to come with us. I just need you to let me in.”

He didn't know where the words came from—some untapped place in his heart he never knew existed. And why? Because she was good for Liam? Because maybe in some way he'd never expected or experienced, she might be good for him, too?

She was sobbing now, her head against the door frame. He could feel the warmth of her sweet breath on his lips. He let her cry for a moment, until her sobs had subsided. Then he reached through the crack in the door and wiped away a meandering tear.

“Ask them to leave and I'll let you in, Alex. Only you.”

Without hesitation, he turned to his colleagues. “Could you give us a moment?”

There was some hesitancy, some murmured discussion about whether this was a prudent move. But finally security dispersed, covering all viable exits. After all, she was on the sixth floor. There were no balconies and no fire escapes in the room. The only way she was getting out was through
a hotel door. Even though she was stubborn and determined and fiercely protective of Liam, Alex knew Julianne wasn't stupid.

When the others had gone and it was just Alex standing by himself, the door clicked shut. He heard the rasp of metal on metal as she released the security latch and opened the door to let him in.

T
rapped.

That's how Julianne had felt as Alex and his band of secret service agents had shepherded Liam and her aboard a St. Michel state jet.

Trapped and transported to the small principality at Alex's command.

Like a fox that had been outsmarted, cornered and caught, she'd had no choice but to surrender after Alex had allowed her to contact the U.S. Embassy in Paris.

After some confusion, a legal representative from the Embassy had confirmed the truth of Alex's assertions. Since Alex was named Liam's
father on the child's birth certificate, Alex's parental rights outranked hers as appointed guardian.

Alex was the one who had the definitive say as to where Liam would live, and Alex had decreed that he and the boy were going to St. Michel.

“You're invited to join us,” he'd assured her.

For the past twenty-four hours she'd hated him for it. For essentially ripping the child from her life and making her nothing more than an invited guest who had no choice but to accept the precarious invitation.

She detested Alex Lejardin for forcing her to come to St. Michel. She was prepared to detest everything about the godforsaken…and purportedly unbelievably beautiful place he was taking her to.

But the conscientious objector in her was short-lived.

Once they boarded the plane bound for Alex's home and family, she'd managed to put a cap on her anger. She certainly wasn't going to cause a scene that would upset Liam. He was a smart little guy. He sensed when she was upset. They were so close that often his moods mirrored hers.

Having a baby in her life had been a never-ending lesson in humility. For Liam's sake, as well as her own, she'd learned to defuse stress and anger,
keeping him away from negative emotions as much as possible.

This unexpected sojourn was proving to be one of the toughest tests of her mettle she'd ever experienced.

She had no choice—even if she didn't like the situation, she was going to make the best of it and regroup once she had a chance to seek legal counsel.

Sometime during the flight to St. Michel, somewhere over the ocean, her anger faded away. She realized that once her feet were firmly planted on St. Michel soil.

It wasn't the luxury of the private jet that couriered her there that appeased her—if anything, that would've added to her displeasure. There were few things she disliked more than someone with money riding roughshod over those who couldn't fight on the same battlefield. As an artist, she'd witnessed it plenty of times with patrons whose philosophy was
my way or the highway.

Nor was it the first-class treatment she received during the short flight from Paris.

The tipping point came in the tender way Alex had treated not only Liam, but also her.

She'd expected him to be angry.

He wasn't.

She'd expected him to at least act sullen or superior.

He'd been the opposite: open and willing to talk; forthright about explaining why he'd had to do what he'd done; willing to hear Julianne out and let her have a say in certain options involving Liam.

He'd even taken care to inform her colleagues of her “change of plans” and ensured that they had been given her contact information.

No wonder her sister had fallen in love with him. Julianne was beginning to understand the effect he could have on women. Maybe her change of heart was caused by something he'd slipped into the sparkling water she'd sipped aboard the jet.

No, she'd experienced the pull of Alex Lejardin before he'd leveled her with the news that he was taking Liam to St. Michel.

If she thought too hard about the effect he seemed to have on her, or even the fact that she still found him attractive in the midst of this friendly kidnapping, she felt simply ridiculous.

So she decided not to think about it, not to think about him that way.

When they exited the plane in St. Michel, a black stretch limousine waited on the airfield. Julianne hugged Liam a little tighter and Alex carried the
boy's car seat as they crossed the tarmac toward the limo.

“My brother and sister-in-law sent a car.”

Very thoughtful of the queen and prince consort.

The uniformed driver greeted them, opened the door and set to work installing Liam's seat on the rear-facing seat of the limo.

The sun shone in the sky but while it was warmer here than in Paris, there was still a chill in the air.

“It's beautiful here,” Julianne said. “I could see that as we flew in, but I thought it would be more tropical.”

“No, actually, St. Michel is located roughly the same latitude as Boston. But it's warmer here because the Alps shield it from icy winter winds. It's relative. Compared to Boston, fifty-five degrees might seem tropical this time of year.”

“Well, I won't expect to spend a lot of time on the beach, then.”

“You can spend as much time as you'd like at the beach. But I must warn you, this is the wet season. It rains several times a week.”

They stood in silence for a few moments waiting for the driver to finish.

“Here's a bit of trivia for you,” Alex said. “St.
Michel used to be a winter retreat for Britain's rich and famous. Now, the big season is in the summer. Even if the weather is a little cooler now, at least you can enjoy it without the traffic jams and other hassles of summer tourism.”

“Are you always Mr. Brightside?” Julianne asked.

“Are you always the cynic?” A mischievous glint danced in his eyes.

She smiled at him. “Touché.”

“After you,” Alex took Liam from her and with his free hand he took hold of Julianne's arm to steady her as she climbed into the car. She settled herself on the seat across from where the driver had installed Liam's infant seat. Alex handed the boy to her and she strapped him in. By the time she'd finished, Alex was sitting beside her and the driver had closed the door.

Chauffeured limos and private planes.

It was all a little surreal. She certainly wasn't used to being on this side of luxury. She was starting to realize that here, she would probably see a completely different side of Alex.

A side that Marissa had never spoken of. All her sister had said was that Alex was a good-looking lawyer.

Julianne's gaze drifted to the center of the
car's bar area where an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne sat chilling. Alex extracted it from the bucket, picked up the cloth napkin that was laid out beside it and wiped the water from the bottle.

“Ah, look, Krug Clos du Mesnil.” As the words rolled off Alex's tongue, his French accent was more pronounced. Even so, he said the name of the champagne—one she'd never heard of—as if it were as common as Korbel.

“Very nice,” he said. “It's my brother's favorite nectar.”

Alex dislodged the cork and poured two glasses, handing one to Julianne.

“Welcome to St. Michel.”

In somewhat of a daze, she found herself clinking glasses with Alex. “Thank you.”

They sipped their drinks as Liam cooed softly in his seat. He'd slept most of the way, after having a breakfast of cereal and a banana on the plane. He seemed perfectly content riding in his little seat. A good traveler, Julianne thought as she contemplated him over the top of her glass. Along for the ride.

So was she, apparently. At least for the time being. Until she could get settled and figure out what she was doing next.

She sat back in her seat and turned her attention
out the window, catching her first glimpse of this place that might very well be Liam's new home.

The enormity of the thought made her shudder.

“So, where are we going?” she asked.

“We're staying at the Palais de St. Michel. Luc and Sophie have invited us to stay as long as we like.”

“In other words, if Liam and I want to leave in two or three days, we're free to go?”

He smiled ruefully. “Not exactly.”

What he wasn't saying was that
she
was free to go anytime she wanted to leave. But Liam was not.

“I just don't want to impose on your family's hospitality.”

“That's hardly possible. The Palais has 210 bedrooms and 75 bathrooms. Not to mention the 95 offices and staterooms. The place is like a small city. We could go weeks without running into each other.”

“So, you could hold us prisoner here and no one would be the wiser?”

“No one except for the hundreds of employees who work at the palace, but they're paid well enough that they'll keep my secret.” Julianne could hear the laughter under his statement.

He touched her arm and his shoulder pressed into her as he leaned forward and gestured out the window toward a harbor brimming with yachts. “That's the St. Michel Marina. I keep my boat docked there. I don't own property in St. Michel, but I have a boat. Maybe tomorrow we can take it out for a sail?”

“Those are some pretty big boats,” Julianne said, completely and utterly aware of the heat of Alex's arm. Even after he settled back into his seat, he was still sitting so close that his arm was pressed against hers.

“Mine is modest compared to some of the boats kept there. Are you familiar with Stavros Andros, the Greek shipping magnate?”

Julianne nodded.

“His old yacht
Poseidon V
is still housed there. After Stavros died, the son of St. Michel's former minister of finance purchased it, but both he and his father are in jail for treason, murder and various other charges.”

“Is that a warning?”

The way he was looking at her ignited a flush that started at the base of her neck and crept upward.

“Yes, that is the fate of troublesome guests.”

“Nice.”

“Ah, we're here.” Alex pushed the button that lowered the privacy panel between them and the driver. “Excuse me, please circle around to the front of the castle so that the
mademoiselle
can have a good view of it before you pass through the security gates.”

“Certainly,” the driver said in accented English.

Alex settled back, his arm, once again resting against hers. “So here's your history lesson for the day. Are you ready?”

She nodded looking in wonder as they rounded a corner and a grand palace appeared in full view, as stately and splendid as a picture that might appear in a book called
Magnificent Castles of the World
.

“The Palais de St. Michel was built in the thirteenth century. The exterior of the castle still resembles the original thirteenth-century fortress, but the inside has been renovated and updated with the most modern of security and conveniences.”

“Which is the reason we're here,” she quipped. “For the modern security and conveniences.”

“You catch on fast.”

There was that smile that always made her stomach do a triple gainer. She sat forward in her seat ignoring the way her body betrayed her. Instead,
she let the thought that
this
was where they were going to stay steal her breath away. In the five years she'd lived in Washington, D.C., she'd never been inside the White House. She'd walked past it many times, but she'd always been too busy to plan ahead and make a reservation for a tour. Each time she passed by, she'd look at it wistfully and promise herself that someday she'd go inside.
Someday…

The Palais de St. Michel had the same effect.

Only this time she didn't have to stand outside the gates dreaming of what it would be like inside.

In a matter of minutes she'd be in.

“Is the castle open for public tours?” she asked.

“The staterooms are open during summer, and tours are almost always booked to capacity.”

“That's a lot of people visiting each year,” she said.

As they continued to drive, Alex pointed at an expanse of manicured lawn. “See that?” She nodded.

“Here's a fact that I think you'll find interesting: For the past one hundred years, the palace courtyard has been the setting for concerts given by the St. Michel National Orchestra. I'll check when the season begins.”

Season? He was talking in seasons, and she wasn't sure how long she'd be there. The thought threatened to rob a little bit of the magic from the moment.

“But the Palais de St. Michel isn't simply a tourist attraction and museum,” he continued. “It's also a fully working palace and the government headquarters. My brother and sister-in-law are involved with the day-to-day running of St. Michel. Basically, running the country is my sister-in-law's family business.”

He smiled, which made his eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that caused Julianne's gaze to linger and her belly to flutter again.

The car continued its circle around the palace, causing them to list to the left and his shoulder to press into hers a bit more. For a moment, Julianne gave in to the gravity that made his body lean into hers and she lost herself in the masculine feel of him.

When the car straightened, neither of them reclaimed their personal space. And for just a moment, she wondered what the rest of his body would feel like pressed against hers.

She trained her gaze out the window because her cheeks were flaming and she couldn't look at him.

As they completed the circle around the palace, she watched, captivated, as the majestic building passed outside the window, a stately scene of white stone set against the azure sky.

Wow, was she ever out of her league.

Suddenly she felt very small and a travel-weary exhaustion seeped into her bones. The initial adrenaline rush that had first presented itself as excitement faded into a strange sort of homesickness that manifested in the very center of her soul.

When they reached the palace's unassuming back security entrance, armed sentries saluted as the limo proceeded through a series of gates.

There was no pretense of fairy-tale castles back here. This was serious business.