It was just a whisper, but immediately he was jolted back to his senses. He broke the fusion of their mouths, that sacred connection, and looked down into her eyes, trying to decipher what they were saying to him. Was she scared? Angry? Or was she flailing, sinking, falling, lost in memories as he was. “Naisha?”
She wriggled from under him, struggling to pull that ugly, lumpy terry-cloth robe back around her body as if it was made of sheet metal. Or soaked in William-repellent.
He got up and held out a hand to help her up. She looked at it, considering, then took it and let him haul her to her feet. His erection was painful, and he angled his body away discreetly, disconcerted by the effect that she had had on him, especially when she was making it clear that this was not what she wanted.
“I apologize,” he said raggedly.
She wasn’t looking at him. She was grabbing the tea things haphazardly and dumping everything into the sink, snatching up empty tea packets, bowls of sugar.
“Leave it.”
She tossed cutlery into the sink with a clatter.
“Leave it, Naisha,” he said, more harshly than he intended. “I’ll clean it up.”
She nodded, wiping her hands down the front of her robe. Still not looking at him. “Don’t ever kiss me again, William. I won’t let you hurt me.”
Before he could say anything, make her a promise, even, she was hurrying out of the kitchen. He knew better than to chase after her.
He noticed a teaspoon lying on the floor, where it had fallen. As he picked it up and took it to the sink, he caught his reflection in its bowl. His face was distorted, unrecognizable. Who was he, he wondered? And was the William he thought he was different from the William Naisha saw when she looked at him?
9
The weeks flew by with comfortable ease, especially when Naisha became adept at avoiding William. She developed a sixth sense for when he would be in the family quarters, and when he would be in his office. Even her late-night trips to the kitchen for tea and a cookie before bed were carefully timed to coincide with his goodnight snuggle-time with Willa, when, she’d learned to her surprise, the two cozied up side by side and read a story. Willa liked to joke that for the first ten years of her life, her father read to her almost every night when he wasn’t traveling, but after that,shewas the one to read tohim.
It was amusing to think of William patiently listening to his daughter read to him about babysitter’s clubs and wimpy kids, and to her it was proof that this man was a devoted and loving father, determined to make the best of the tragedy that had befallen his little family. Even though he didn’t seem to include baby Christien into the fold. Even though she still had no inkling of exactly what tragedy had caused Sofia to be taken from her children… and husband.
He seemed to be avoiding her, too. Instead of turning up in their classroom at lunchtime as he often did, he sent Yvette over to ask Willa to join him for lunch. This invitation implicitly excluded Naisha, and although she was relieved at that, she had to admit that she was also a tiny bit peeved. What? She wasn’t good enough to have lunch with anymore?
But when Willa announced that her father was on a ten-day trip to Paris and London, she struggled to hide her delight. It meant she could swim freely down at the pool without wondering if he would turn up and see her in her teeny-weeny bikini, or share a laughter-filled lunch with Willa on school days, or make her damn tea in the damn kitchen without wondering if this man was going to turn up and kiss her again.
‘Cause he’d better not.
Classes were suspended for a few days when Jacyn, who had returned from her prolonged stay in the United States seeing to Napturally Beautyfull business, announced she was headed to London to do some layette shopping, and that Naisha was coming with her.
Naisha had been surprised, because she had become accustomed to thinking of herself as just the hired help at the château. “Me?” she’d gasped.
Jacyn had popped her a friendly bop on the shoulder. “Yeah, you. It’s a girls’ trip. Call it a baby shower, if you like. We’re chartering a flight and staying in this fabulous Victorian hotel. It’s got a butterfly garden in the courtyard, and one of the best views of the Thames. You’ll love it.”
Still, Naisha protested. “But I—”
“Shut up.”
So she grinned and accepted. She’d been to London many times as a model, doing shoots for some of Europe’s best brands, but her schedule had always been so packed that she barely had any time fortouristing. A quick hour at the Tate, maybe a browse through the market stalls at Covent Garden, had been all she’d ever been able to manage.
So a long weekend with like-minded girls had been just the ticket. Madeline and Willa had also accompanied them, but as soon as they’d landed Willa had announced that shopping for baby clothes was boring, and she and her grandmother were off to see the sights. They took long, leisurely strolls through Hyde Park, with boating and high tea on the Serpentine, and had a twirl on the London Eye (Madeline almost threw up but Willa took it like a champ) and visits to Madame Tussaud’s and Ripley’s Believe it or Not. Jacyn’s crew, on the other hand, undertook their mission with single-minded dedication.
The last thing Willa whispered to Naisha before they left on their shopping trip was a request to buy something for her to take home to her baby brother, Christien. As the girl sweetly slipped her a credit card and the passcode, Naisha smiled and faithfully promised to do so. “Maybe a Paddington bear? A big one!” Willa suggested.
“Paddington it is,” Naisha assured her. But deep inside, she couldn’t shake the queasy feeling she got whenever that poor little baby was mentioned. Really, what the hell was wrong with William? Why wasn’t he doing more for his child?
It rankled for a long while, and it was only the excitement of shopping with the sisterhood that pushed her resentment to the back of her mind.
Their first two days had been focused on baby clothes and accessories. Jacyn placed an order for a crib and nursing table combination that looked so adorable in the drawing that Naisha announced that it would be an honor to diaper a baby’s little bottom on it.
Jacyn laughed. “I hear the novelty wears off after the first 200 times wiping up poop!”
“Not if it’s your kid, I’m sure,” Naisha countered. “We women are probably hard-wired to think that our kids’ poop is just a step below vanilla ice cream!”