Her Little Secret, His Hidden Heir(11)
As much as Vanessa would have liked to argue with Marc about his heavy-handedness, in the end, she didn't bother. He had a nasty habit of getting his way in almost every situation, anyway, so what was the point?
She'd also reluctantly decided that, for as long as Marc was determined to stay in her and Danny's lives, it was probably better to simply make nice with him. There was no sense antagonizing him or fighting him at every turn when he potentially held so much of her future in his hands.
At the moment, the only thing he seemed to want was time with and information about his son. He wasn't trying to take Danny away from her or making threats about trying to take him later, even though they both knew he was probably within his rights to do so.
The threatening part, not the actual taking. But if she were in his shoes, anger and a sense of betrayal alone would have had her yelling all manner of hostile, menacing things.
So this afternoon when Marc asked her to show him where she lived with Aunt Helen, she took him to the small, two-story house on Evergreen Lane. It wasn't much compared to the sprawling estate where he'd grown up with servants and tennis courts and a half mile, tree-lined drive just to reach the front gate, but in the last year, it had become home to her.
Helen had given up her guest room to Vanessa and helped turn her sewing room into a nursery for Danny. She'd volunteered her kitchen to thousands of hours of trial and error with her family recipes before they'd felt brave enough to move forward with the idea of actually opening a bakery of their very own.
In return, Vanessa helped with the general upkeep of the house, had planted rows of brand-new pink and red begonias in the flower beds lining the front porch and walk, and had even taught Helen enough about computers to have her emailing with friends from grade school she'd never thought to be in contact with again.
Though Vanessa still believed there was no way she could ever truly repay her aunt's kindness in her time of need, Helen insisted she enjoyed the company and was happy to have so much youth and activity in the house again. Which, in Vanessa's book, made the tiny white house on less than an acre of mottled green and yellow grass more of a home than Keller Manor, with all its bells and whistles, could ever be.
Taking a deep breath, she checked herself over in the bathroom mirror one last time-though she wasn't sure why she bothered. Yes, it had been a while since she'd had a reason to get so dressed up, let alone get so dressed up twice in one day.
But even though jeans and tennies were more her style these days, Marc had seen her in everything from ratty shorts and T-shirts to full-length ball gowns and priceless jewels. Besides, she wasn't attempting to impress him this evening, was she? No, she was pacifying him.
After showing him to the Harbor Inn and then letting him drop her off at The Sugar Shack once again, Vanessa had finished off her day at the bakery, closed up shop, and headed home with Danny and her aunt. While Helen had fixed dinner for herself and kept Danny entertained, Vanessa had run upstairs to change clothes and retouch her makeup.
She wasn't fixing herself up for Marc, she told her reflection. She wasn't. It was simply that she was taking advantage of a dinner invitation that included the chance to look like a woman for a change instead of a frazzled working mother struggling to be a successful entrepreneur.
That's the only reason she was wearing her favorite strapless red dress, strappy red heels and dangling imitation ruby earrings. It was over-the-top for even the priciest restaurant in Summerville, but she didn't care. She might never get the opportunity to wear this outfit again … or to remind Marc of just what he'd given up when he let her go.
The doorbell rang before she was ready for it and her heart lurched in her chest. She quickly swiped on another layer of lipstick, then made sure she had everything she needed in the tiny red clutch she'd dug out of the back of her closet.
Halfway down the stairs, she heard voices and knew Aunt Helen had answered the door in her absence. She didn't know whether to be grateful or nervous about that; it depended, she supposed, on Aunt Helen's current disposition.
At the bottom of the landing, she found Aunt Helen standing inside the open door, one hand on the knob. No shotgun or frying pan in sight, which was a good sign.
Marc stood on the other side of the door, still on the porch. He was dressed in the same charcoal suit as earlier, forest-green tie arrow straight and jacket buttoned back in place. His hands were linked behind his back and he was smiling down at Aunt Helen with all the charm of a used car salesman. When he spotted her, Marc transferred that dimpled grin to her.
"Hi," he said. "You look great."
Vanessa resisted the urge to smooth a hand down the front of her dress or recheck the knot of her upswept hair. "Thank you."
"I was just telling your aunt what a lovely home she has. At least from the outside," he added with a wink, likely because Aunt Helen had obviously failed to invite him inside.
"Would you like to come in?" Vanessa asked, ignoring her aunt's sidelong scowl.
"Yes, thank you." Marc ignored the scowl, too, brushing past Aunt Helen and into the entranceway.
He gave the house a cursory once-over and Vanessa wondered if he was comparing it to his own lavish residence, possibly finding it lacking as an appropriate place for his child to be raised. But when he turned back, his expression held no censure, only mild curiosity.
"Where's Danny?" he asked.
"The kitchen," Helen supplied, closing the front door, then moving past them in that direction. "I was just giving him his dinner."
Marc shot Vanessa a glance before waving her ahead of him as they followed Helen through the living area to the back of the house. "I thought you were still breast-feeding."
She flushed, feeling heat climb over her cheeks toward her hairline. "I am, but not exclusively. He also gets juice, cereal and a selection of baby food."
"Good," he murmured with a short nod, watching as Aunt Helen rounded the kitchen table and took a seat. "The longer a child breast-feeds, the better. It increases immunity, builds the child's sense of security and helps with mother/child bonding."
"And how do you know that?" she asked, genuinely surprised.
Danny was strapped into his Winnie the Pooh swing, face and bib spattered with a mixture of strained peas, strained carrots and applesauce. He looked like a Jackson Pollock painting as he kicked his feet and slapped his hands against the plastic sides of the seat that held him.
Without waiting for an invitation, Marc sat down opposite Aunt Helen, leaning in to rub Danny's head. The baby giggled and Marc grinned in return.
"Contrary to popular belief," he murmured, not bothering to turn in her direction, "I didn't become CEO of Keller Corp by nepotism alone. I actually happen to be quite resourceful when I need to be."
"Let me guess-you dug out your laptop and hit the internet."
"I'm not telling," he answered, tossing her a teasing half smile. Then to Aunt Helen, he said, "May I?" indicating the array of baby food jars spread out in front of her.
The older woman gave him a look that clearly said she didn't think he was capable, but she waved him on all the same. "Be my guest."
He picked up the miniature plastic spoon with a cartoon character on the handle and began feeding Danny in tiny bites, waiting long enough in between them for the baby to gum and smack and swallow.
Vanessa stood back, watching … and wishing. Wishing she hadn't agreed to go out to dinner with Marc this evening, after all. Wishing she hadn't invited him in and that he hadn't wanted to see Danny before they left. Wishing this whole scene wasn't so domestic, so bittersweet, so much of a reminder of what could have been.
Marc looked entirely too comfortable feeding his son, even dressed as he was in a full business suit. He was also oddly good at it, which she wouldn't have expected from a man who hadn't spent much time around babies before.