Chapter 2: Arianna
Morning comes more quickly than I’d like after our middle-of-the-night cleanup. Dell sleeps soundly, one arm thrown across his forehead.
I slide my phone from beneath my pillow, where it quietly buzzes an alarm. I shut it off and pause, listening to the baby monitor. Silence there too.
Good. I pad to the shower to begin my day. I have two new hires for the fall, and I need to watch them closely. Del Gato Child Spa is all about nurturing the children in its care, and I must carefully assess anyone coming on board. It takes a certain type of person to hold her ground both firmly and kindly in the face of a roomful of two-year-olds.
As I shampoo my crazy curls, still wishing for something that would take the frizz away without time-consuming blowouts, I try to remember a time my own mother had to handle misbehavior.
Our days together were rare. I can recall some breakfasts, me at a table with the cook while my parents raced around. And a few bedtimes, when one or the other would pop in to kiss me, usually bedecked in a glittery dress or crisp tux.
They always left the room smelling of jasmine or woodsy cologne. I still associate those smells with adventure and excitement. The life my parents led without me.
I’m not making that same mistake. And my Child Spa helps lessen the blow to other children whose parents are as busy as mine were.
When I step out of the bathroom in my robe, Dell has vacated the bed. I lean over to the baby monitor to see if he’s in the nursery.
He is. He’s talking to Grace in his usual way, all “Good morning” and “Should we review today’s financial news?”
He makes me laugh. We’re careful to find a balance between our careers and our daughter. We’re there for breakfast and bedtime, both of us whenever possible. We have routines and lullabies, and lots and lots of love.
I’m glad at least one of us was raised normally. Dell had a mother and father who lived with him all the time, not between international meetings.
I head into the closet, revamped so that both Dell and I can share the space. It’s more cramped than it was before, and more chaotic than Bernard likes. But it works.
As if to remind myself that Dell is a normal guy with regular parents, I open his Alabama drawer. Everything is how I remember it. The Auburn sweatshirt. The Birmingham Bulls hat.
Nestled inside is the clock that helped me put together the clues to his hidden past. That crazy man decided his background mucking the kennels at a greyhound racetrack was unbecoming of the man he wanted to be. At age twenty-three, he changed his name and purged anything he could from the Internet.
But I know who he is.
Just not really who he was.
I hold up my hand, shifting the engagement ring in the light. Dell talks to his mother occasionally, this I do know. I assume he’s told her about me.
But I’m not really sure.
Last week I decided to press the issue and ask to meet them. We’ve been together four months now. The holidays are approaching and I need to be able to tell my parents if I’ll see them or if I’ll be in Alabama.
Of course, I haven’t told my parents about our engagement either.
We’ve kept things a secret. I don’t wear my ring at work.
The public is more or less ignorant. Dell was a favorite in the society press as a bachelor, but as a settled man, not so much. So nobody’s spying.
Even if they were, Dell and I haven’t really had time for charity balls or big public events. Grace is a handful and we like being there for her, not surrounded by socialites and hounded by photographers.
Early on, there was a big rush to figure out who the baby was. We told a few key gossips that I was a single mom, and that settled it. I was too boring to pursue for long, plain-Jane me with my frizzy hair, small business, and lackluster history.
Until yesterday, when I visited the DOMs at a bar and spilled the beans, nobody knew Dell had proposed.
God, the DOMs. The Dirty Old Mistresses. They’d kicked me right out, as their group was only for Dell’s exes. But I got a definite undercurrent of displeasure, as if frumpy ol’ me landing one of their eligible bachelor billionaires was an affront to their sensibilities.
I like our story being a secret. It keeps things easy. The adoption is well underway. It should be complete as soon as the French side of things is taken care of. Even Dell’s influence hasn’t been able to speed up the paperwork on that side.
But Grace’s mother is the ultimate secret. The Duchess has given Grace to us to raise. The DNA test bore out that Dell was indeed the father. All that has been left is for me to become her mother. We’ve already decided to elope if needed to hurry things along.
I don’t need a big society wedding.
Do I?
Dang, now I’m late. I shove Dell’s drawer closed and snatch the closest dress, a lovely wraparound green number that makes my boobs look smashing. Dell’s eyes never fail to get mesmerized by them when I wear it.
I toss a pair of chocolate wedge heels on the floor and slide my feet inside. Then I snatch a pair of emerald earrings as I pass the jewelry tray. Within minutes, I’ve hurried down the hall to eat a quick bite before I have to rush downstairs to the Child Spa.
Dell is in the breakfast nook, spooning oatmeal into Grace in her high chair. She’s wearing one of the samples from the baby wear line he bought. It’s a red velour jumper dress that reads “Got Math?”
As expected, his gaze gravitates to my cleavage and lingers on the swells. I lean over to kiss Grace on her fuzzy pale head, knowing I’ve just added more boob fuel to the fire.
He clears his throat. “So, she takes a nap at eleven if you can get away.”
This makes me smile. It’s true that on my work days, I do sometimes take a break and visit him. It’s just a forty-floor ride that separates us, since my Child Spa is in the same building.
A glance at his workout shorts tells me he’s more than a little anxious for my return.
“I’ll try to slip away,” I say.
Bernard enters with a plate of fluffy egg whites and sizzling bacon. I sit down to eat them, watching Dell’s attempts to spoon oatmeal into Grace. Most of it ends up on her bib and face.
He has an empty cereal bowl. I tilt my head toward it. “You didn’t eat the last of the Cap’n Crunch, now, did you?” I ask.
Bernard reappears with a box. “I would not allow that to happen.”
“Uggh, that’s the one without berries,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
He looks at it. “My apologies. Would you like a bowl with berries?” His sneer on the word berries suggests that it’s an affront to call the dyed puffs of sugar the same name as a healthy fruit.
It’s an old joke around here already.
“Not today,” I say. “I’m late.” I swallow another bite of eggs, pick up the last piece of bacon, and lean in for a kiss from Dell. “Can’t miss the morning drop-offs!”
Grace waves her arms and gurgles happily. I kiss her again too. “Work on that army crawl, darling,” I say to her. She’s just started to figure out how to scoot across the floor with her elbows. She’ll be big-time on the move soon.
“I’ll text you when she’s asleep,” Dell says, eyebrow lifted.
I shoot him a knowing smile.
Life is good to us.