Layers Peeled (8 page)

“So maybe it’s
too much stress to choose the baby’s name?” Tristan interrupted
her.

“Oh no, you
don’t! I made the deal fair and square. I will be naming your first
baby, and the next two after that.”

Tristan gave
me a puzzled look.

I shrugged.
“She drives a hard bargain.” But inside, I trusted Emma. As
frivolous as she appeared, I knew she’d choose the most amazing
name in the world and I’d love it.

“And if you
even think of breaking our deal, I will have you know I can find
another favorite brother.” Emma lifted her head high and resumed
the clicking on the iPhone. Her fingers on the touch screen seemed
to be moving at lightning speed.

Tristan
wrapped his arm around me.

“I’d show you
all around the home, but I don’t really know where to start.” I
looked up to him.

“Why don’t we
start with some appetizers, and then I’ll give the grand tour to
everyone.” Tristan motioned the family inside.

I followed the
curious glances at our new home, excited to learn about the
property myself, and then leaned into my mother. “And I guess this
is my new home as well. Are you all right at your place?”

“I’m down to
three locks and the rifle’s tucked in a closet.”

That was
definitely a statement coming from my mother. Before Tristan
assured her Wright was nowhere near, she lived locked up under ten
bolts and chains, with the rifle always within arms reach.

“I’m so happy
you can finally live the way you should have,” she said.

“You don’t
think it’s too much? I mean, I’d be fine in an apartment.” Getting
used to the Cross luxuries would take a while. Knowing Tristan was
well endowed had never come between us. His fortune was never an
item of discussion or worry for me, simply because it wasn’t
important. He was the one who mattered, and I hoped he knew it.

“It would be
if that’s what you were striving for. But you’re not like that,
dear. You love Tristan for who he is.”

There was that
word again. I bit my lip.

“What’s
wrong?” she asked.

My mother’s
instinct never ceased to surprise me. How in the world could I tell
her I was still waiting for Tristan to say the “L” word? How could
I explain that neither of us had said it just yet?

“Nothing, Mom.
It’s not a big deal.”

“I know we
haven’t talked about relationships much. But I want you to know I’m
here for you, always.”

“I know.” I
kissed her on the cheek and followed our curious Emma who was
leading the entourage.

The main hall
narrowed as the ceiling dropped to accommodate the upstairs
library. When we passed, it opened up into two sections. On the
left a man dressed in white wearing a toque sprinkled something
green on top of a set of colorful hors d’oeuvres displayed on white
platters on the marble counter like pieces of art. Were they even
real? The bright colors and appetizing smells made my mouth water,
yet they looked like they belonged on a display. My stomach
grumbled. Would anyone notice if I snuck one in? Perhaps two?

“Hello,
Olivier. Everything looks delicious.” Tristan greeted the chef with
a firm handshake.

“Thank you,
sir.” He held his head higher.

Somehow I’d
expected him to have a French accent, but he didn’t.

“Why don’t you
try some?” Tristan passed me a plate from the neat stack of
porcelain. The tiny thing fit in the palm of his hand. I, on the
other hand, was ready to grab a dinner plate of a more appropriate
size for woman eating for two.

Instead, I
said “Thank you.” And reached for the biggest piece I could find.
I’d had my eye on the delicious bruschetta since the moment I
stepped into the kitchen. Then something else caught my gaze. On
another plate, melted cheese dripped off sautéed mushrooms. I
licked my lips.

“It’s your
home. You can have them all, Allie,” Tristan whispered.

“You don’t
know what you’re offering,” I laughed, patting my stomach. “Puss’s
appetite has been increasing.”

I sank my
teeth into the crunchy bread. The tomato juices fused with a touch
of parsley and garlic melted in my mouth. A hint of butter
completed the tasty platter. I think I moaned, and my soul left my
body for a moment to reach heaven.

“If I were
you, I’d save some room for dinner and dessert. You don’t want to
miss that.”

“Trust me,
there’s always room for dessert.” I patted my belly. “These are
delicious, Olivier.”

“Thank you,
ma’am.”

Why did that
make me feel old? Shouldn’t it be another decade or so before
people called me that? Once I went over the three-oh mark? Perhaps
it was Tristan’s company and his overwhelming demeanor that made
others respect him more than they would have if they knew just how
young he was—only four years older than me.

“Please, it’s
Allie. I’m looking forward to dinner.”

“Of course. In
addition to the stuffed turkey with gravy and cranberries, I’ll be
serving duck in a honey glaze with twice-baked sweet potatoes,
spinach with goat cheese, and pomegranate salad.”

That sounded
so homey. I think I drooled. The smell of something delicious
baking in the oven filled me. My head whipped past the chef as I
tried to sneak a peek inside the oven, but Tristan guided me toward
the family room where the rest of the clan was marveling at the
home I would now live in. Part of me wished I could go and discover
the bedrooms and bathrooms and cozy nooks I could read books in at
night. But the other part couldn’t resist munching up another piece
of garlic bread. Luckily I was able to grab one before Tristan
snuck me away, and I mouthed a “thank you” to Olivier who bowed his
head just a fraction.

The gratitude
in his eyes made me smile, and I hoped he didn’t know I was
pregnant. I wouldn’t want him to think it was my hormones doing all
the eating. I truly enjoyed the food.

My mother sat
in a leather chair near a crackling fireplace. I’d never been in a
home with a real fireplace; you know, the kind you actually add
wood to instead of flicking on a switch that miraculously turned
the gas on. The warmth seeped through the home and the smell of
smoldering wood brought back so many memories. I saw my mother
getting lost in her thoughts too, the
before
memories: the
happy ones when Dad was alive.

Olivier
brought in the platters from the kitchen and placed them on the
coffee table, for which Puss and I were extremely thankful.

Tristan opened
a bottle of wine and poured it for everyone.

“Non-alcoholic.” He tilted a different bottle toward my glass.

“Of course,” I
smiled. It warmed my heart to know he was always looking out for me
and the baby.

“So, when is
the wedding?” Mr. Cross asked.

I think my
face resembled a ghost’s. Wedding? I had barely gotten used to the
fact we were having a baby and finding out I owned a new house with
Tristan.

“Dad, this is
the twenty-first century. You don’t have to be married to have
children.”

“No grandchild
of mine is going to be born out of wedlock.”

“John!” Mrs.
Cross scolded.

“What? Is it
too much to put a ring on it?”

I wondered
whether Mr. Cross knew he’d quoted a song. It made me chuckle on
the inside.

“Yeah,
Tristan, put a ring on it.” Emma scrolled through her iPhone and
played the song, giggling, then turned toward me, “Can I be your
maid of honor?”

“Uhm...” I
looked to Tristan for help but he appeared as dumbstruck as me.

“Well, aren’t
you going to raise this baby together?” Mr. Cross asked.

“We are,”
Tristan replied, “but why don’t we settle in with the idea of
having a baby before you have a priest over, dad?”

“Good idea. We
can discuss the wedding date over dinner,” Mr. Cross said as if he
weren’t leaving the house today until we gave him a wedding
date.

“How about we
enjoy dinner and not put too much stress on the kids?” Mrs. Cross
asked, gently squeezing her husband’s hand.

“Whatever you
choose, we’ll support you,” my mom added. “But let me be the first
to tell you both, I think you’ve found a soul mate in each
other.”

Everyone
hushed. Tristan looked at me with dumbfounded puppy eyes. Did he
think we were meant to be? Did I? At that moment I was sure we had
plenty to discuss. My heart ached at the thought that Tristan might
not think of us as forever, the way I did. Was it too much for him,
too soon? Pushing him away or scaring him was the last thing I
wanted.

My head cocked
to the side as I tried to see what lay beneath his hazel eyes. Like
he’d hid something inside him, layers deep, and I’d need to peel
each layer off before I got to the truth. And if there was anyone
who was good at solving a crime, it was me and Laura. Somehow, I
needed to involve my friend more in my life so we could figure out
what ached Tristan Cross. And how come I was so calm about it all?
I wasn’t one of those girls who had a scrap book full of wedding
dresses, color-coordinated accessories, and sample flower bouquets.
I’d never thought about my wedding because I’d never considered
sharing my life with anyone. I’d been preoccupied with school,
work, and our safety, and marriage sort of fell on my list of
priorities at the rank of “non-existent.”

“Why don’t you
get married?” I overheard Emma ask her brother. “I want to be a
real aunt.”

“It’s
complicated,” Tristan said.

Was it? Again
I questioned where our relationship was going. We’d never defined
it. Was it necessary to define? Or should we just keep following
our hearts, the way we had so far? I wasn’t sure myself if I was
ready to get married. So much had happened in the past month;
things were moving too fast. I needed time to think. I needed a
vacation. And it was a good thing I was about to get one.

Well, sort
of.

The doorbell
rang and Tristan jumped up as if he’d been burnt by fire.

Saved by
the bell,
I thought.

When he
returned, his brother Julian came in to embrace me.

“I’m going to
be an aunt!” Emma screamed out.

“Seriously?”
he asked, looking at me, his expression so similar to Tristan’s I
wondered whether Julian’s past was connected to Tristan’s more than
the brothers cared to share. Julian had explained his feelings for
Kendra to me, but did Tristan know just how deep they were? And why
did it seem like they’d shared a secret no one else was privy
of?

Julian
embraced me in his bear arms as I explained, “Yeah, it sort of
happened.” It was the first time I felt heat rush to my cheeks.

“I bet it did.
I’m very happy for you.” He turned around, waving a cream envelope.
“But I have a surprise as well.”

Tristan’s nose
flared, and I wondered why.

“We’re all
invited to a wedding,” Julian announced, and then turned to Tristan
with pride. “And you’re the best man!”

“Whose?” I
asked as Tristan took the envelope.

“Gabe and
Sam,” Julian said. “They’re getting married in two weeks. It’ll be
a small ceremony. Family only.”

“See, Gabe did
it,” Mr. Cross mumbled under his breath, but before anyone could
answer, Olivier walked into the room.

“Dinner is
ready, sir,” he said to Tristan.

The dining
room had been set. White plates, silver utensils, and crystal
glasses reflected the dimmed light from above. The olive green
tablecloth and a center piece made of leaves, squash, mini
pumpkins, apples, and nuts set a perfect mood for the Thanksgiving
dinner. I had to admit it felt weird being served food I hadn’t
cooked (not that I cooked often or even knew how to), by someone
I’d just met in a home I’d just moved into. But I couldn’t deny
Olivier had prepared a meal worthy for the president, and
definitely worthy of a pregnant woman. If I ever got married,
Olivier would be my number one pick for a caterer. Even Emma stayed
quiet for most of her meal.

“Where did you
find him?” I asked Tristan. “The food is delicious.”

I was glad my
stomach and Puss decided to agree with me. I couldn’t stand wasting
this food by throwing it all up in the bathroom.

“Olivier
worked as a sous-chef in the restaurant I told you my mother staked
out once. She helped him when the head chef wanted to frame him for
spoiled cooking – which pretty much is like murder for a chef – and
they’ve stayed friends ever since.”

“I want him
catering my wedding,” I blurted, thankful it was only loud enough
for Tristan to hear.

Tristan’s face
contorted for a fraction of a second before he replied, “You’re
getting married?”

I chuckled.
“One day, maybe.”

“To whom?”

“I don’t know
yet. But he needs to be smart and loving and caring. And I have to
want him all the time, every minute of every day. If you play your
cards right, it could be you,” I winked. Would this scare him
off?

“Now that’s a
proposal a man dreams of.”

“It’s not a
proposal,” I said.

“But you just
listed all my charming qualities.”

“Really? Did I
mention I’m attracted to powerful men who trust me, give me space
and make me feel safe and secure? Oh, and who rock my world better
than Alphaville!”

“Really,
Alphaville?”

“It’s a fact.
“Forever Young” is The. Best. Song. Ever.”

“I learn
something new about you every day. And as strong a woman as you
are, please note that I’m still more of a traditional kind of guy,
and if anyone would be doing any proposing, it would be me.”

“That’s good
to know.” I felt my face drain because suddenly what Tristan was
saying seemed so real. He wasn’t joking around anymore. The fear
I’d seen on his face earlier completely disappeared. Was it because
he thought I’d propose?