Sun-Kissed Secret Baby by Leigh Jenkins
Chapter 10
Sam stood in the doorway, watching as Allie made her way up the inclined path towards his cabin. It was set farthest from all the activity, behind a tall hedge of greenery, a little higher than the other units on his property. Many of the cabins faced the sea, but this one was high enough that on a good, clear day, you could see the faintest shape of the closest Caribbean island in the distance.
He watched her doggedly take step after step, head down, as if walking to her own execution, and felt almost sorry for her. He knew he’d behaved badly. It had taken him a whole two days to calm down enough to admit that to himself. First thing this morning, he’d dispatched an assistant to Allie’s cabin to deliver a handwritten note asking her to meet him for lunch while the kids were at camp. He was both mildly surprised and hugely relieved when she’d said yes.
She was only slightly winded when she arrived at his doorstep, and hesitated there, eyes searching his face. Trying to read whether he was still out of control.
He desperately wanted to calm her. He held out his hand, and when she took it, he clasped the other over it. It was soft and warm to his touch, and he didn’t want to let her go. “Thank you for coming.”
She nodded mutely.
“I want to start by apologizing for my behavior. I frightened you, and that was inexcusable.”
She gnawed on her cheek, and her pretty mouth moved silently before she nodded again.
Sam wondered in mild frustration whether he was going to get a word out of her. So he released her hand and let her inside. Once past the threshold, she looked around frankly, curiously. His cabin was designed pretty much along the same lines as the most luxurious of his guest units, except on a larger scale. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a small kitchen and patio. The furniture was a higher grade, much of it hand-made from premium hardwood imported from Trinidadian and Guyanese rainforests. His appliances, especially his sound system, were top quality. Still, from her curious glances, he could tell she was trying to figure out why a man of his wealth and status would choose to live in such underwhelming circumstances.
She stood at the entrance to his living room and clasped her hands before her, clearly ill at ease despite his apology.
“If you’re not comfortable being alone here with me,” he proposed gently, “we can go have lunch in the main dining room.”
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of you!”
Her asperity made him smile a little. “Good.”
“At least, as long as you aren’t behind a wheel.”
His smile grew broader. He touched her lightly in the small of her back, urging her to enter the room. “Let’s have a drink, shall we?”
She shrugged, and he took that as a ‘yes’. He took down a cut crystal decanter from his liquor cabinet, along with two small matching glasses, and carefully poured a full measure of deep amber liquid into each. “This is local; eighteen years old and aged in bourbon barrels. It’s one of the best blends from the largest rum distillery on the island: Vallée D’or.”
She took it and sipped it without question, which made him relax a little. At least, she trusted him that much.
“Good?” he asked encouragingly.
“Good.”
He slipped into the role of tour guide without even realizing it, a habit he had when he was nervous. “The distillery has been running for more than 80 years… owned by the Ramtahali family… very influential, very powerful—”
She gasped, pressing her fingers to her lips. “Saira!” she exclaimed.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you remember Saira? The Indian girl who came with us that time when….”
“Of course.”
“Her mom’s a Ramtahali. It was only on the flight back that she finally admitted to who her family was.”
He lifted his brow, taking in the information. “Well, would you look at that.” Pause. “How is she?”
Allie shrugged. “I don’t know. Things slowly fell apart when we got back. Everyone knuckled back down to classes, and then I realized I was—” She bit off her last word.
He didn’t need to confirm that she’d been about to say ‘pregnant’.
Awkwardness leapt back into the room like an imp, prancing, taunting, wagging its bare buttocks at them.
Allie took another deep sip and began pacing, searching for something else, anything else, to talk about. With palpable relief, she pounced upon the new sculpted bust he’d acquired. “This is gorgeous!”
He came to stand next to her, suddenly aware of her scent. Twice he’d seen her, and her hair had been pulled carelessly back. Today it was loose over her shoulders. With an ache, he remembered what those strands had felt like between his fingers.
He sent that errant thought packing, dragging his focus back to the statue. “It’s a piece by Anja Bauer, a German expat who made her home here on the island. Now that she’s gone, her pieces are hard to come by, but my dad was a huge fan, so… I guess I did what I could to get my hands on her.”
Her face sobered a little. “I heard about your dad… well, I saw online that he’d died. I’m sorry.”
And just like that, they were stepping on unstable ground.
She asked, with carefully phrased curiosity, “He was a young man. He wasn’t ill, was he?”
“No. He was fine.”
“Well, then….”
Sam reached out a finger and stroked it down the statue’s face, from the center of her brow, down her nose, to her lips. She’d cost an obscene amount of money, and expensive things… well… there was a reason he didn’t want or need them in his life.
“He was murdered,” Sam informed her finally.
She gasped.
“Home invasion. A couple of thugs came to rob him and didn’t expect him to be home. He must have walked in on them and….” He couldn’t go on.
Her brown eyes were full of concern. “At your old place? Batali Beach Resort?”
His lips twisted bitterly. “Nope. I can assure you there wasn’t much at the resort to rob or kill for.”
“Where, then?”
He backed away from the statue, as if a part of him was half afraid she would hear what he had to say and judge him for it. “It was a new house, several miles away from the resort. One I’d bought him….”
Her lips curved in admiration. “You bought your dad a house?”
He snorted in self-derision. “Against his will. Without his knowledge or approval. I’d just cut my second album and it had taken off. My soca singing career was soaring, and I was rolling in what I thought was big money back then. So naturally, the first thing I wanted to do was make a grand gesture. Get him something.”
She was searching his face, frowning at him. Cradling the rest of the rum between her hands. “Why do you sound so bitter? So mad at yourself?”
He rubbed his face with his hand. “Because I was just a kid showing off. I bought a monster of a house, five bedrooms, a pool, a three-car garage, and servant’s quarters. Filled it with a vulgar amount of electronics, furniture, and appliances. And all the while, my dad kept telling me he loved living at Batali Beach and didn’t see himself living anywhere else. I insisted. I’d made it big in life, and I wanted him to see that I had. I wanted him to know his son was successful. So I badgered him until he moved in….”
Understanding dawned on her face. “And they came after him.”
He snorted. “Of course. Why wouldn’t they? He didn’t last six weeks in that obscenity.”
He couldn’t believe it when her hand lit on his arm, lightly, like a bird seeking a place to rest.
“Not your fault, Sam.”
“Whose fault is it, then?”
She seemed to be seeking a response, but finding none, fell silent again.
“I put the house on the market a week later. Decided I never wanted to live like that, never again, no matter how much I earned. It just isn’t worth it.”
“And you stopped singing,” she intuited.
“Wasn’t worth it,” he repeated. “There were fans screaming, girls throwing themselves at me, media hounding me, critics lauding me… but what was the point if the person who most stood by me was gone? Why sing if he couldn’t hear my voice?”
She frowned. “I don’t remember reading about that.”
“That’s because I never talked about it.” She was, in fact, one of the only people who understood how he felt, why he’d stopped singing and instead turned to supporting others as they sang.
“Better this way,” he assured her, trying to inject positivity into his voice. “Now I have the chance to support other new artists, help them find their feet, the way someone else did for me.”
She was immediately curious. “I remember you were looking for a sponsor. You found one?”
“Right after you left.”
“I’m glad.” There was enough sincerity in her voice to make it clear that she meant it. “Who was it? Where’d you find them?”
He felt himself shutting down again, felt the doors inside his mind slamming shut. He was tired, didn’t want to talk about the past anymore. He waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Look, Allie, you ready to eat?”
“Uh… sure.”
“Porch, then,” he suggested, and led her there.