LITMIR.BIZ

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happened to her. He was her first, and she loved him so much it hurt. But she was careful to protect herself. She had a degree to finish, grades to keep up. A woman had to stand on her own two feet. Depending on a man led to heartbreak.

       Luc reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a small turquoise box. He handed it to her without speaking.

       If she had been able to think of a polite refusal, she would have handed it back unopened. But he looked at her with such naked anticipation that she swallowed her misgivings and removed the lid. Nestled inside the leather box was a necklace, an exquisite, expensive necklace.

       Hattie knew about Tiffany’s, of course. In fact, back in the fall she’d been in the store at Phipps Plaza with one of her girlfriends who was in search of a wedding gift. But even on that day, Hattie had felt the sting of being out of place. She couldn’t afford a key chain in those swanky glass cases, much less anything else.

       And now this.

       Luc ignored her silence. He took the necklace from the box and fastened it around her neck. She was wearing a pink tank top, and the pearl nestled in her modest cleavage. He kissed her forehead. “It suits you.”

       But it didn’t. She was not that woman he wanted her to be. Luc would take his place one day with the glitterati. And Hattie, with or without the necklace, would wish him well. But she wasn’t “the one”… and she never would be.

      A car backfired out on the street, the loud sound dragging Hattie back to the present. With a mutinous scowl at her own reflection, she closed the jewelry box with a defiant click. Luc probably didn’t even remember the silly necklace. He’d no doubt bought pricey bling for a dozen women in the intervening years.

      The afternoon dragged by, the baby fussy with teething…Hattie nervous and uncertain. It was almost a relief when a nicely dressed chauffeur knocked at the door promptly at six-thirty.

      The pleasant older man took Hattie’s purse and the diaper bag while she tucked Deedee into the top-of-the-line car seat. It was brand-new and not smeared with crusty Cheerios and spit-up. The baby was charmed by the novelty of having Hattie sit across from her. A game of peekaboo helped distract them both as the car wound its way from the slightly run-down neighborhood where Hattie lived to an upscale part of town.

      Though it had been ten years since Hattie and Luc’s college breakup, they had never crossed paths after graduation. It was a big city, and they moved in far different spheres.

      West Paces Ferry was one of the premier addresses in Atlanta. Decades-old homes sat side by side with new construction created to resemble historic architecture. Even the governor’s mansion called the narrow, winding avenue home. Luc had recently purchased an entire estate complete with acreage. Hattie had seen the renovation written up in a local magazine.

      The article, accompanied by photos of Luc, had no doubt been responsible for this crazy decision to throw herself on Luc’s mercy. Seeing his smiling face after so many years had resurrected feelings she believed to be long dead.

      Perhaps it was a sign.…

      The old home was amazing. Azaleas and forsythia bloomed in profusion on the grounds. A lengthy driveway culminated in a cobblestone apron leading to the imposing double front doors. Luc stepped out to meet them almost before the engine noise had died. His dark hair and eyes betrayed his Mediterranean heritage.

      He held out a hand. “Welcome, Hattie.”

      She felt him squeeze her fingers, and her skin heated. “Your home is beautiful.”

      He stepped back as she extracted Deedee. “It’s a work in progress. I’ll be glad when the last of it is finished.”

      Despite his disclaimer, and despite the small area of scaffolding at the side of the house where workmen had been repairing stonework, the interior of the house was breathtaking. A sweeping staircase led up and to the right. The foyer floor was Italian marble, and above a walnut chair rail, the walls were papered in what appeared to be the original silk fabric, a muted shade of celadon. A priceless chandelier showered them in shards of warm light, and on a console beneath an antique mirror on the left wall, a massive bouquet of flowers scented the air.

      Hattie turned around in a circle, the baby in her arms quiet for once, as if she, too, was awed. “It’s stunning, Luc.”

      His smile reflected quiet satisfaction. “It’s starting to feel like home. The couple who lived here bought it in the 1920s. They’re both gone now, but I inherited Ana and Sherman. He wears many hats… driver is only one of them.”

      “He was very sweet. I felt pampered. And Ana?”

      “His wife. You’ll meet her in a moment. She’s the housekeeper, chef, gardener…you name it. I tried to get them both to retire with a pension, but I think they love this house more than I do. I get the distinct feeling that I’m on probation as the new owner.”

      As promised, Ana entertained Deedee during dinner while Luc and Hattie enjoyed the fruits of the housekeeper’s labors—lightly breaded rainbow trout, baby asparagus and fruit salad accompanied by rolls so fluffy they seemed to melt in the mouth.

      Luc served Hattie and himself, with nothing to disturb the intimacy of their meal. Surprisingly, Hattie forgot to be self-conscious. Luc was a fascinating man, highly intelligent, well-read, and he possessed of a sneaky sense of humor. As the evening progressed, sharp regret stabbed her heart. She was overwhelmed with a painful recognition of what she had lost because of her own immaturity and cowardice.

      He refilled her wineglass one more time. “I suppose you’re not nursing the baby.”

      She choked on a sip of chardonnay. An image of Luc in her bed, watching her feed a baby at her breast, flashed through her brain with the force of a runaway train. Her face was so hot she hoped he would blame it on the wine. She set the glass down gently, her hand trembling. Unwittingly, he had given her the perfect opening.

      “The baby’s not mine,” she said softly. “My sister Angela was her mother.”

      “Was?”

      Hattie swallowed, the grief still fresh and raw. “She was killed in a car crash six weeks ago. My brother-in-law, Eddie, was driving…drunk and drugged out of his mind. He got out and left the scene when he hit a car head-on. Both people in the other vehicle died. Angela lingered for a few hours…long enough to tell me that she wanted me to take Deedee. I was babysitting that night, and I’ve had the baby ever since.”

      “What happened to the baby’s father?”

      “Eddie spent a few days behind bars. He’s out on bail awaiting trial. But I guarantee you he won’t do any time. His family has connections everywhere. I don’t know if we have the Mob in Georgia, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Eddie’s family is full of cold, mean-spirited people. Frankly, they scare me.”

      “I can tell.”

      “At first, none of them showed any sign of acknowledging Deedee’s existence. But about two weeks ago, I was summoned to the family compound in Conyers.”

      “Eddie wanted to see his child?”

      She laughed bitterly. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no. He was there when I arrived with her. A lot of them were there. But not one single person in that entire twisted family even looked at her, much less asked to hold her. They kept referring to her as ‘the kid’ and talked about how she was one of theirs and so should be raised by them.”

      “That doesn’t make any sense given their lack of enthusiasm for the baby.”

      “It does when you realize that Eddie thinks Deedee will be his ace in the hole with the judge. He wants to portray the grieving husband and penitent dad. Having Deedee in the courtroom will soften him, make him more sympathetic to the jury.”

      “Ah. I take it you didn’t go along with their plan?”

      “Of

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