Snow Falling by Jane Gloriana Villanueva (12)

Chapter Eleven

As the water dragged her down, Josephine snatched at her skirts with one hand, trying to free her legs of the tangle of wet fabric, while clutching Martin’s quickly disintegrating letter with the other. A second later, strong arms surrounded her and hauled her to the surface. Josephine inhaled, sputtering as she coughed up pool water.

“Next time you might inquire about obtaining bathing attire from the hotel gymnasium,” Rake teased with a devilish smile. Drops of water, tinged gold from the setting sun, glistened in his dark hair and thick lashes.

The hand holding Martin’s letter was trapped against his chest, and she looked at it and said, “I didn’t see where I was going. I was reading a letter from Martin.”

His smile evaporated, and Rake shot a glance at the now sodden piece of paper but said nothing. With powerful strides, he carried her out of the pool and up onto the surrounding deck. When he released her, she began to shiver, as the early evening air had cooled a bit. She wrapped her arms around herself and, teeth chattering, said, “T-t-t-hank y-y-ou.”

Rake grimaced, ripped off his suit jacket, and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes—”

“And into something dry,” she warned, too aware of what had happened the last time she’d been immodest with him.

“Yes, of course. Something dry and warm before you catch a cold,” he said, although she sensed he might have been wishing for another outcome.

He led her back into the hotel and to the elevator so they could go up to his suite. Once they were inside, he guided her in the direction of the bathroom. “Get out of those wet things, and I’ll order up some tea.”

“I’d prefer some warm milk,” she said.

“Bossy, aren’t you? Warm milk it is. Now please, go get dry,” he said, then gently urged her into the bathroom and shut the door.

The powder room was one of opulent luxury and nearly as large as the cottage Josephine shared with her family. Marble gleamed everywhere along with gilded fixtures that she realized might be actual solid gold. Against one wall sat an immense claw-foot tub big enough for two. She wondered if Rake had ever shared it with anyone, and her angel appeared on her shoulder to chastise her about such thoughts.

Not to be outdone, her little devil urged, “Why not at least warm up with a nice bath?”

“Alone,” her angel reminded sternly.

A warm bath would be nice, she thought, but first, she carefully peeled apart what remained of Martin’s letter and tenderly blotted the pages with a towel as thick as her mattress. Then she set them to dry on the immense marble vanity and walked to the tub. She turned on the water, letting it run over her hand until the temperature was just right, and slipped inside. Josephine let herself soak blissfully, the warm liquid chasing away the lingering chill from the pool water. Nearly half an hour of bliss passed before a knock came on the door.

“Do I have to rescue you again?” Rake asked through the thick wood.

“Just taking a bath,” she called out.

“Do you need some help?”

“No!” she said adamantly and gazed at Martin’s letter, reminding herself that what she had with him was far, far more important than any physical attraction to Rake. She hurried out and dried herself, marveling when the incredibly soft towels didn’t scratch her skin like the ones at home.

Glancing at her still-wet clothes, she grabbed the large robe that hung on a towel rack instead. It was warm inside and she wrapped the lush fabric around herself tightly. She’d have to find something else to wear for the walk home and hang her clothes to dry once she got there.

Reentering the suite, she realized Rake had ordered more than just the hot milk. Even though the kitchen was normally closed at this hour, he’d somehow managed to procure thick roast beef sandwiches and fried potatoes. At her questioning glance, he said, “I sent someone to Mr. Seybold’s lunch counter, and they managed to catch him before he closed for the evening.”

He gestured to a women’s hotel uniform draped across a nearby chair. “Fresh clothes for you, but first: dinner.”

“Rake, this really isn’t necessary,” she said, but her stomach betrayed her by loudly growling.

“Dinner,” he insisted, “and then you can go, if that’s what you want to do.” Rake offered up a little-boy pout that was far more endearing and dangerous than his sexy dimpled grin.

“Just dinner, and then I have to go.” She was heading toward the small bistro table on one side of his suite when he gently grasped her hand and led her to the settee.

“It’s too formal,” he explained, urging her to sit, and then wheeled over the serving cart with the food. In no time he had laid out dinner on the Louis Philippe marble-topped coffee table and they ate, mostly in silence as hunger took over. He devoured the food, finishing his meal well before she did.

When she was done, she leaned back on the settee next to Rake. “Thank you. That was very tasty.”

Smiling, he said, “But not nearly as tasty as your signature grilled cheese sandwich.”

Josephine grinned and wrinkled her nose. “The three cheeses are the secret. One-third white Cheddar, one-third yellow Cheddar, and one-third grated American. It’s my mother’s recipe.”

He reached out and twined a long strand of her hair around one finger. “The two of you are close.”

She nodded emphatically. “My abuela also. The Valencia women stick together. What about your mother?”

His smile dimmed, and sadness slipped into his gaze. “She left when I was four.”

Josephine couldn’t imagine not having Zara in her life. She shifted on the couch to face him, trying to understand how he might have felt. “Why did she leave?”

He shook his head and looked away. “I don’t know. I woke up the morning after my birthday, and she was gone.”

So sad! But don’t let that open a crack in your heart, Josephine. Think Martin. Think Martin.

“That’s all?” She cupped his jaw and applied gentle pressure to urge him to face her once again. “What did your father say?”

With a shrug, he admitted, “He said she was gone, she was selfish, and that we had to move on.”

Just like that. Move on to a four-year-old who had just lost his mother. The pain of it was clearly reflected in Rake’s dark-chocolate eyes, lending him a solemnity and depth she hadn’t previously seen in the glib charmer. It made her wonder what else she didn’t know about the man who was the father of her baby.

Wanting to move the conversation away from such sadness, she said, “Let’s play a game. What’s your least favorite food?”

“Caviar. I can’t stand it,” he replied without hesitation and with some obvious relief. “What’s your favorite food—besides grilled cheese?”

“Gumdrops, but not the spicy ones,” she answered, which launched a question and answer game that went on late into the night until things started getting a little more serious.

“What do you want to name the baby?” he asked.

In truth, she hadn’t given that a thought with everything else going on in her life. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s pick some boys’ names.”

She quickly shot back, “No, no need. We are having a girl. The Valencia family only has girls. My grandmother, she had six sisters. All of them had daughters.”

He paled, maybe because he was thinking of what it would take to keep so many young ladies away from men like him. “Six girls?” he echoed, swallowing hard.

“Six, so no need to pick a boy’s name.”

“Duly noted,” he said and revived their earlier game, asking her question after question until she grew drowsy and yawned.

“I should go…” she said, but her eyes were drifting closed already, as were Rake’s. Her little angel popped up once more on her shoulder, her tone urgent. “Wake up, Josephine! You cannot stay the night with this man again!”

Just then, Rake wrapped an arm around her and urged her close, pillowing her head on his shoulder.

As her angel did a panicked dance, the devil emerged and with a satisfied smile said, “But his shoulder is so strong and warm and just too comfortable to resist, isn’t it, Josephine?”

It is just too comfortable to resist, she thought, and her angel grabbed the pitchfork from the devil and jabbed her, but it was too late.

Josephine had drifted off to sleep, Rake beside her.

Oh dear. So, if you’re keeping score at home, that’s two nights with Rake, and none with Martin. Something tells me that he’s not going to be too happy about this when he gets back to Miami.

It was late the next morning before Josephine awoke. She was tucked against Rake’s chest on the settee, their legs intertwined. Awareness dawning slowly, she shifted uncomfortably, trying to extricate herself gently, but Rake tightened his arm around her waist and drew her even closer. It was impossible to miss that he was all too ready for them to share another inappropriate moment.

Slightly panicked, Josephine jumped off the settee and when Rake stirred, offered a babbling excuse for not having breakfast with him and hurried off, carefully trying to make her way home without attracting too much notice. While she was grateful for all that he’d done the night before, Josephine worried there might be even more talk around the hotel should she be spotted leaving his room in yesterday’s clothing.

Still, she had to resign herself to the idea that wagging tongues were inevitable; she would soon be showing. Besides, the extra sleep had been sorely needed. With the dance troupe arriving later that afternoon, it was going to be a busy day.

Josephine spent most of her shift reserving seats for hotel guests for the premiere show. Her abuela popped in before going home, and with a slightly disapproving glance, she said, “We missed you for dinner, mi’ja.”

Leaning close, she whispered, “Nothing happened, Abuela. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Her grandmother narrowed her gaze, and Josephine must have passed her test. “Are you working late tonight now that Ronaldo is arriving?”

Excitement had crept into her grandmother’s usual no-nonsense tones. Josephine wanted to tell her abuela just how difficult and self-centered Ronaldo was, but she didn’t want to shatter her illusions. “I will have to get them settled and…” She reached into her desk and pulled out two tickets. “For you and Mami.”

Elation beamed from her grandmother’s features. “Oh, how exciting! Thank you, Josephine.”

“I have to be backstage in case anyone needs anything, but I’ll look for you and Mami after the show. Maybe we can arrange for you to meet Ronaldo.”

A totally girlish giggle and titter escaped her abuela before the older woman rushed off, clutching the tickets to her chest like a schoolgirl with a note from a beau.

Like the cherished letter tucked into her own skirt pocket. It was crinkled now that it had dried and a bit mangled around the edges. There were some ink smudges here and there, but to her, it was the most perfect thing she could possess. Besides the snow globe, of course.

If she could, she’d pull out the letter and read it and reread it, but the rush of people wanting tickets began again. Then, with only a couple of hours left before the troupe’s arrival, a stack of notes from Ronaldo were delivered by a messenger.

Josephine gritted her teeth but made arrangements for all the entertainer’s demands. Rake had put her in charge of making sure everything went well for the troupe’s stay and gave her some time away from the concierge desk. That would be welcome since she worried about what some hotel patrons might think when she started to show, as well her fellow employees. No matter what, she intended to fulfill all her duties, especially since so far Sister Elizabeth had not been able to find anyone willing to hire her as a tutor. Josephine had been deemed too inexperienced with children. Ironically, in a few months she’d be showing, and once that happened, there was no way the sisters would help her find a job or that families would want a compromised young woman in their home.

But maybe once Martin was home and they could be married, that would change. A proper married woman was employable as a tutor, but maybe her short story would be published by then. If that happened, she might be able to sell more stories and not have to take on another job.

She had just returned from the rotunda and was doing a last check of the stage and the temporary backstage area when the entry doors banged open and loud voices spilled into the hotel’s lobby. The troupe had arrived.

Ronaldo was in the lead, head held high. Dressed in an elegant charcoal frock coat, double-breasted black vest, and black pants with a faint gray pinstripe, he cut quite a figure. If Abuela had been there, they might have needed to get her some smelling salts. A silver-headed cane rested over his arm, and as she approached him, he swept his silk top hat off his head and bowed gracefully.

“Miss Valencia, I presume.”

“Mr. de la Sera,” she said and held out her hand.

He surprised her by grasping it and dropping a kiss on the back of her hand. “You are the angel who has been so kind to deal with my many needs. Is all in order?”

Despite her annoyance at his demanding requests, Josephine found herself softening at his sweet words. As he smiled and met her gaze, there was genuine warmth there, creating an immediate connection with the entertainer. She extracted her hand, returned the smile, and nodded. “It is, sir. Let me show you to your rooms.”

As they walked, he kept up a steady stream of chatter about the trip to the Regal Sol, and Josephine found there was something charming about his exuberance and enthusiasm, even with his enlarged ego and dramatic affectations. She managed to get Ronaldo and the rest of the troupe members settled and take a slight break before she had to return for the big opening night.

Which gave her time to read Martin’s letter again and revive herself with the promise that they would soon be together once more.

Later that night, as she stood just off stage, it was easy to see why Ronaldo was so popular. He had a strong voice, and while the act itself could only be described in one word—flamboyant—it was appealing and had the audience laughing and clapping at the various skits. Judging from the sold-out performance and those standing along the back walls, the show was a huge success for the Regal Sol.

The fact that it went on without any problems was a success for her.

As the final skit came to an end, her mother rushed up to her as Josephine stood in the wings. She looked around for her abuela, thinking that her mother might have thought to sneak her backstage to meet Ronaldo, but her grandmother was nowhere to be seen. In fact, rather than excited, her mother seemed quite flustered and almost nervous.

“Mami, is something wrong?” she asked, growing worried.

Her mother shook her head and glanced over Josephine’s shoulder at the players on the stage. “No, I just thought we’d get out of here before the rush at the end of the show.”

Puzzled, she said, “But I thought Abuela wanted to meet Ronaldo.”

Zara waved her off. “No, not at all. She’s fine and we thought you might be tired after such a long day at work.”

She was, but then again, the success of the show and the promise of Martin’s return had given her the energy she needed to last through the day.

“I’m fine,” she said, but to her surprise, her mother took hold of her shirtsleeve and tugged her in the direction of the exit.

“We should go so you can get some rest,” she explained.

“Zara? Zara, is that you?” Ronaldo called out exuberantly as he flounced off the stage and rushed over to them. “It is you! I cannot believe it after all this time,” he said and wrapped Zara up in a tight and enthusiastic hug. He dropped a number of kisses on her cheeks.

Josephine watched in amazement. Although her mother looked stricken and rather much like she wanted to die, Ronaldo kept up his high-spirited greeting. “I never thought to see you again, and now here you are! How wonderful!”

The beaming smile on Ronaldo’s face was a stark contrast to her mother’s anxious features.

“What? Do you two know each other?” Josephine asked, incredulous. All the times Abuela had waxed poetic about Ronaldo, her mother had never given a hint that she actually knew the man.

Zara shot Ronaldo a nervous glance and slid from beneath the arm he had tossed over her shoulders. “It was a long time ago. We should really go—”

“Go? But we have just found each other again, my dear Zara!” Ronaldo grasped her mother’s hand again and drew her close. “You cannot leave. Please, you must stay and tell me what has happened to you since we shared that impossibly perfect night together under the stars!”

Josephine’s eyebrows rose dramatically. An impossibly perfect night under the stars?

Zara was trying to unsuccessfully extricate her hand when Josephine turned to Ronaldo and asked, “So, Mr. de la Sera, the two of you were…close?”

“Very close, Miss Josephine. When I was a younger man, only slightly younger of course, I was very much in love with Zara.”

Her mother screwed her eyes shut, just as Josephine’s own popped ever wider in surprise. Before she could ask another question, Abuela hurried over, a beaming smile on her face, and took hold of Josephine’s arm. “Mi’ja, wasn’t that just the most wonderful show? Ronaldo is even more handsome in person than I expected.”

Ronaldo preened with the compliment. “Thank you, kind lady! You have very good taste, I must say.”

Her abuela turned in surprise, and her jaw dropped as she realized Ronaldo was standing there. Her face went pale, then flushed with color. She covered the blush with her hands and stammered, “Mr. de la Sera. You were very—I-I really enjoyed the—Is it—Is it warm in here?” She waved a hand to fan the heat of her blush from her face.

Josephine bit her lip in amusement. She had never seen her grandmother so tongue-tied in all her life.

“Abuela, Mr. de la Sera was just telling me how he knows Mami.”

Her abuela whirled to face Zara in shock. “They do? You do?”

Josephine’s mother covered her face with her hands, but as Alberta started to ask another question, she was cut off by Ronaldo’s bewildered voice.

“Mami? Excuse me, Miss Josephine, but did you just say that Zara is your…moooo-ther?” He stretched the word out as if it were foreign and unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Yes, I did. Zara is my mother, and I’d love for you to finish the story of how you know each other.”

Silence stretched for a few long seconds as a funny look came over Ronaldo’s face, but he didn’t answer her. Instead he tenderly urged Zara’s hands from her face. He held them in his own, his thumbs rubbing gently across her mother’s knuckles. “Zara?” he asked, his usually booming voice now a hesitant whisper.

Her mother raised her gaze to Ronaldo’s and nodded, tentatively. Then, she heaved a shuddering sigh and, without turning back to Josephine, said the next words very calmly, very quietly, as they continued to stare into each other’s eyes.

“He’s your father.”

Oh my, Ronaldo is Zara’s long-lost traveling “soldier”? And Josephine’s long-lost father? Who could have foreseen this? Well, yes, of course, I could have, but I think everyone else is pretty surprised about now. Just wait until Ronaldo finds out he’s about to be a grandfather!