And Mistress Makes Three Read online

  Gabrielle absently rubbed her hand over the upper forearm where her mother had held her. “It was boring.”

  “The world does not revolve around you, Gabrielle Evette Rawlings. This was business, and you knew it.”

  “If Daddy—”

  Gina held up her hand. “No. Do not go there. I’ve tried being patient with you, but today is it. When we get home, there’ll be no phone for a week and you’re grounded.”

  “But I’m supposed to go with the gang for pizza Friday night!” Gabrielle wailed.

  “You should have thought of that before you embarrassed all of us by your thoughtlessness.”

  Flouncing around, Gabrielle opened the car door and got into the backseat. Gina glanced at her son slowly making his way toward her. He had his head down as if he knew he was next to be reprimanded. Ashton was a loving, giving child. He wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings intentionally. Besides, he’d only been repeating what he’d heard her say, so Gina shared the blame.

  “You mad at me, too?” he asked as he reached her, his head still down.

  Her hand on his shoulder, Gina squatted down to eye level with him and lifted his head. “No, but I wish you hadn’t repeated what I’d said in confidence to Celeste. It made Mr. Broussard sad. How would you feel if no one liked one of your drawings you worked so hard to complete?”

  Next to soccer, Ashton loved drawing with crayons best. Her refrigerator was covered with his “masterpieces.”

  Ashton momentarily tucked his head again, then glanced up and said, “It would make me sad, too. I’m sorry.”

  She smiled at him. “I know. Now, let’s go to lunch.”

  Ashton looked back at the house. “Maybe I should go tell Mr. Broussard I’m sorry.”

  “Your mother apologized to him, Ashton.” Celeste opened the driver’s door. “Now, what do you say we go get some food, with apple cobbler and ice cream for dessert? My treat.”

  As she knew it would, that got Ashton moving. Happily he climbed into the backseat next to a sulking Gabrielle, who had her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her gaze fixed pointedly out of the window.

  Shaking her head, Gina slid inside and buckled her seat belt. Not only had she failed in her marriage; she also had failed one of her children. Gabrielle was too big to turn over her knee, as Celeste advised. Gina just wished she knew what to do.

  Closing the back door after the caterers left, Max looked around the kitchen. Had he missed the mark?

  “Everything went well, so why do you have that worried look on your face?” Aunt Sophia asked in her usual straightforward way.

  Max walked over to the island, leaned his hip against it, and folded his arms. “Probably half the people here came for the free food and had absolutely no intention of staying here; the other half were supportive friends.”

  “The newspaper sent a reporter and that travel agent came,” Aunt Sophia pointed out.

  “She thought the place needed work.” His arms came to his sides. “At least that’s what her little boy blurted out when I asked her what she thought of the place.”

  “Some children,” Sophia said, and the way she said it wasn’t a compliment. “Most of them are a joy to teach. Seeing students blossom when they suddenly get it is one of the greatest joys of teaching. However, the day they took prayer out of the school system was a sad day for the country and the schools.”

  Max had heard the sentiment before. “I thought the place looked pretty good.”

  Lines radiated across Sophia’s broad forehead. “I don’t guess she said what concerned her?”

  “Nope, she didn’t,” Max told his aunt. “She had barely turned to her son before the daughter said she was bored. She apologized and hustled her children out of the room. You could tell she was embarrassed.”

  “As well she should have been,” Sophia said. “Children need a strong hand.”

  Max smiled. His aunt might love all of her nieces and nephews, but they had never been able to get over on her as they had with their parents. But she was fair and loving, as she’d proven by hunting him down in Chicago and getting him to turn his life around. “Everyone should be blessed to have someone like you in their lives.”

  A pleased smile crossed her plain face. “The same goes for you. You rescued me from a monotonous life in Memphis. With helping you, there is something new each day.” Her smile faded. “Although, if the travel agent was right, I wasn’t that much help.”

  He went to her. “Nonsense. You helped me bring Sharon’s dream to fruition. Kept me strong when I wanted to give up. Without you, there would be no Journey’s End.”

  “Sharon loved you so much and would be so proud that you didn’t forget the dream you shared together,” Sophia said.

  “I loved her, too,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this place a success.”

  “I haven’t a doubt in the world.”

  His aunt always believed in him, just as Sharon had. “That means a lot.” He turned toward the back stairs leading up to the second floor, where the guest quarters were located. His and Sophia’s bedrooms and two other bedrooms were on the third floor. “I’m going upstairs to see if I can visualize what’s missing.”

  “You do that. I’m going to call your mother and the rest of the family to tell them how it went.”

  Nodding, Max took the stairs two at a time. He’d worried about his aunt climbing the stairs, but they’d actually been good for both her and Max to keep in shape. He recalled the first time. They’d both been out of breath when they reached the top. They had looked at each other and laughed. It had been good to laugh again, to share it with someone you cared about.

  A few minutes later, Max stood in the middle of the fourth and last bedroom. He couldn’t see anything missing. All the furniture pieces made the room a little tight to maneuver in, but it couldn’t be helped. The antique store wouldn’t break up the sets.

  Sharon had wanted the B and B to have period pieces and to be as comfortable and as charming as possible. But was it?

  Frowning, he pulled the travel agent’s card from his pants pocket. He’d failed Sharon in life; he didn’t want to fail her in this as well. If Gina Rawlings could help him, he’d find a way to convince her to do so. Perhaps when they met again, her two rude children would be nowhere around.

  Celeste was barely through the door of her home Sunday evening when the phone rang. Her head fell. She didn’t need the caller ID to identify who was on the other end of the line. Tossing her handbag onto the slate gray counter in the kitchen, she continued to the built-in refrigerator for a Pepsi to fortify herself. After taking a long swallow, she eyed the ringing blue phone. Another ring and it would go into voice mail, but the caller would call back every thirty minutes.

  Celeste picked up the phone. Ramona de la Vega might be only five feet—two inches shorter than Celeste—but she was tenacious when she wanted something. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Hello, Celeste. How are you doing?” her mother asked.

  Translation: Are you getting any closer to picking out a husband? “Just fine, Mother. I just came home.”

  “Oh.”

  Celeste heard the speculative excitement in her mother’s voice and finished off the soda. Sorry, Mother, no man was involved. “I was with Gina and her children.”

  “Such a tragedy,” Celeste’s mother murmured. “A woman and children need a man.”

  Celeste rolled her eyes as she rinsed out the can and put it in the recycle bin. Her mother might be second-generation Puerto Rican, but she still believed in the old tradition that a woman wasn’t complete unless she had a husband and children.

  Celeste’s three aunts thought the same way. They considered her abnormal for still being single at thirty. All of her cousins were married and had children.

  “Women don’t need men to validate them these days, Mother.” Especially cheating bastards like Robert, she thought to herself as she went to the counter to retrieve her purse before
heading down the hall.

  “Nonsense,” her mother scoffed. “No matter the time, a woman always needs a man. What would I do without your father?”

  They both knew the answer: She’d be lost. Celeste’s father pampered her mother, catered to her, despite his busy schedule as a cardiologist. She had never written a check, but she had no equal when it came to shopping with her platinum credit cards.

  “Father is an exception,” Celeste said, meaning it, and stepped out of her stiletto heels in her bedroom.

  As in the living and dining room, her passion for intense colors was shown here in the coral walls trimmed in white. She’d designed the gray-silk scalloped headboard and draped yards of lush gray silk damask behind the headboard and on the side of the bed in a short canopy. The reupholstered bench at the foot of the bed in striped coral, white, and gray fabric once belonged to her great-grandmother. Although some thought it a sign of status never to buy new furniture, just update with textiles, to the de la Vega family it meant a sign of love.

  “By the way, where is he?” Jorge de la Vega was a wonderful father who spoiled his two daughters as much as he did his wife.

  “On his way back from the hospital,” Celeste’s mother said. “One of his patients was having some problems, and he wanted to go in to check for himself.”

  Celeste stuck the phone between her shoulder and her ear and wiggled out of her dress. “Dad is a dying breed and a heck of a doctor.”

  “I wish— Never mind.”

  On the way to her walk-in closet, Celeste paused. She knew what her mother had been about to say and it triggered a wave of pain that after nine years remained as fresh as ever.

  “How is the business coming?” Celeste’s mother asked in the thick silence.

  “Fine,” Celeste managed, and continued undressing. Her mother might stay on Celeste’s case to get married, but Ramona would never hurt her intentionally. “In fact, I start a new job tomorrow. I’m redoing the master suite of a longtime client while she is on her honeymoon in Europe.”

  “Honeymooning in Europe. How romantic. Are you seeing anyone?” Celeste’s mother asked, apparently tired of hinting.

  “No, Mother. I don’t have time.” Celeste reached for a padded hanger and hung up her dress. No one ever called her mother subtle. “This job will require the full three weeks the couple will be away to complete. I’m even papering the walls and retiling the bathroom floor.”

  “Why don’t you hire more help?” her mother asked. She’d grown up with servants who catered to her, just as everyone still did.

  “Because, as I keep telling you, I like seeing projects unfold.” Celeste slipped out of her demi lace bra and thong, then pulled on a short aqua silk robe. “This way takes longer, but it makes my clients and me happy.”

  “People still rave about our house,” her mother said with unmistakable pride. “The spread in Southern Accents magazine practically made us celebrities.”

  “And you enjoyed every second,” Celeste teased. Her mother wasn’t above showing off, but she never did it maliciously. Many of her friends had been green with envy.

  “Why shouldn’t I be proud of the home my husband has provided for me, and that my youngest daughter decorated for us?”

  “Point taken. How is my big sister?” In the bathroom, the blue walls trimmed in gray offered a cool counterpoint to the warm-toned coral in the bedroom. Celeste placed her undergarments in the hamper, turned on the faucet of the sunken Jacuzzi tub, then poured Rouge Hermès bubble bath into the swirling water.

  “You know Yolanda; she’s always happy. School hasn’t been in session a month and she’s already planning activities for the students to keep them and their parents involved,” her mother told Celeste, and there was love and pride in her voice.

  “That’s my sis, happiest when she’s the busiest.” Celeste shut off the water when the bubbles almost reached the top. “Tell Father I love him and give him a kiss for me. I’ll call him tomorrow afternoon when I get in from the job.”

  “All right, Celeste. But try to get out a bit more, or you could come home for the weekend,” her mother suggested.

  And be met with a constant barrage of men. No thanks. “I won’t be able to come down for a while. I have other projects lined up as soon as I finish the job I mentioned.”

  Her mother’s sigh of defeat drifted through the receiver. “I guess I understand, but try to take time out to meet other young people.”

  “I have lots of friends.” Untying the robe, she hung it on a garment rack and stepped into the tub.

  “Isn’t there one who is special?” her mother asked hopefully.

  “Yes.” Celeste waited a beat. “Gina. I couldn’t ask for a better friend and now she’s hurting and there’s not a thing I can do to help her.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant, but since I like Gina, I’ll let you sidestep the issue this time,” her mother admonished. “And don’t think you aren’t doing anything. You’re there if she needs you. You’re a good girl.”

  “Thanks, Mother. You’re pretty terrific yourself.” When you’re not trying to marry me off.

  “Then make me happy and find some nice religious young man with good potential from a good family to settle down with.”

  Celeste stared up at the mural of angels in the clouds on the ceiling. “In time, Mother, I will, but no one interests me now.”

  “Perhaps if you didn’t work so much, hired someone to help you, you’d have more time to find a man who does,” her mother told her.

  “Yes, Mother. I’m in the tub and the water is getting cold. We’ll talk later, all right?”

  Her mother emitted another long-suffering sigh. “All of my friends’ daughters your age are married.”

  “And many of them are not happy,” Celeste said, her voice carrying a hint of irritation. “When I do marry, I want it to be forever. I want what you and Father have.”

  “I want that, too,” her mother said.

  “I know. Good night, Mother.”

  “Good night, Celeste.”

  Pushing “end” on the phone, Celeste placed it on the lip of the tub and tried to relax. Her mother’s phone calls usually left Celeste’s shoulders tense and her head pounding with a raging headache. Picking up the sponge, she rubbed it down her arm.

  She wasn’t getting engaged again for all the wrong reasons. The three men she’d been engaged to were all wonderful, successful, and seemingly crazy about her. But there had been no spark, no craving to be in any of their arms. Her eyes didn’t light up when she saw them. More important, her body didn’t, either.

  Celeste moaned and closed her eyes. Pastor Carter would admonish her if he knew she was thinking such wicked thoughts. Or perhaps he’d understand, since he had done a series on sex. She giggled. Some of the older members of her church had been outraged by his first topic, “Sex Is Good.” But, with his usual boyish charm, he’d brought them around.

  Her sponge paused on her stomach. That was what she wanted, the hot, sizzling attraction that made you want to be a little, all right, a whole lot wicked. She wanted her body to burn with desire. She’d decided when she’d attempted to return the two-karat diamond ring back to her last fiancé that she wasn’t settling for anything less.

  Standing, she reached for her oversized bath towel and wrapped it around her body. Sliding her feet into her bath slippers, she picked up the phone to return it to the kitchen. It rang. “Hello.”

  “Hello yourself,” Yolanda chirped.

  Celeste smiled. Yolanda was the sweetest person in the world.

  “How do you always know when Mother has called and I’m fighting a headache?”

  “She loves you,” came her sister’s bright answer.

  “So perhaps she should love me less.” Unwrapping the towel, Celeste anchored the phone again and slipped a white silk gown over her head that stopped at her ankles.

  “Impossible, and you know it.”

  Tossing back the imported duvet in
grays and blues, Celeste sat on the bed. “I don’t suppose some guy has caught your eye.”

  Mischievous laughter twinkled through the receiver. “I think love is beautiful and wonderful, but my heart and mind aren’t thinking that way.”

  “Thought so.” After two years of prayers and contemplation, Yolanda had renounced her vows. She felt she could help more people by working in the urban school district than by writing grants. She had friends around the world, she could talk openly about sex and relationships, but for her, the desire to have a man in her life wasn’t there.

  “If there was another way to help you, you know I would,” Yolanda told her.

  “I know.” Celeste pulled her legs under her. Yolanda had helped her through one of the roughest times in her life. “I’m glad you’re my sister.”

  “You know I feel the same about you. So when are you coming for a visit? I’ll do my best to help you steer clear of the men Mother will line up,” Yolanda told her with soft laughter.

  “Not for a while. I have a big project that I start tomorrow,” Celeste explained. “Mrs. Gilmore’s husband died four years ago. She recently celebrated her sixtieth birthday, but she looks fifteen years younger. Her new younger husband adores her.”

  “There is nothing like love to lift the spirit and gladden the heart,” Yolanda said with feeling.

  “So I’m told.”

  “You’ll know it one day. The man is waiting for you.”

  “Now you’re beginning to sound like Mother,” Celeste admonished.

  “You’re beautiful, intelligent, successful, and full of life and good humor. It would be a travesty not to share that with a husband and children,” her sister said.

  “Don’t you start,” Celeste said. “I thought you were on my side.”

  “I’m on the side of you being happy.”

  Celeste wrinkled her nose. “Cryptic as usual.”

  Yolanda laughed. “I’d better let you get some sleep. We both have to go to work in the morning.”

  “Mother told me you already have programs lined up for your students.” Celeste pulled the duvet up to her shoulders. “They’re lucky to have you.”