Page 20 of Forbidden Bastard
Charles sat in the backseat of the taxi and gave the driver Clara's address. They left the touristy part of the city, and turned down a narrow side street with houses that had been converted to apartments inside.
The cab stopped in front of a tall, four-story white house with three apartments on each floor; the tiny yard had just enough room for a thin green tree.
He glanced up at the second floor where Clara lived and his hair stood on end when Sandi stood beside him. Like she fit there.
This was it. He was bringing Sandi home.
No one other than Clara knew the truth about the real him--and bringing anyone to this apartment he'd bought for the closest woman he had to a mother hadn’t been on his radar as a possibility until last night.
Somehow he’d told Sandi the truth. Now he would suffer the consequences.
He took a deep breath as she stepped forward and he reached out to touch her back. She stilled as he said, “Sandi, I should warn you that Clara isn’t always mentally there.”
“Alzheimer’s?” She looked at him like she cared.
Impossible. They hardly knew each other. And love was a stupid emotion with no basis in reality. “No. It’s not that bad, but sometimes she’s not focused. The stroke affected her, and I don’t push.”
She nodded and offered her hand for him to hold. “Okay. I’ll pay attention and not get upset if she doesn’t answer me.”
His heart thumped like he needed reminding that he'd made a bigger deal about nothing.
Clara would shake her head in that way she had to make him feel like she didn't want him to worry.
He guided Sandi up the steps to Clara's second floor landing and squared his shoulders as they neared her door. He gave his usual three-knuckle fast knock and stepped back. He hadn’t wanted to tell Clara who he'd brought over so she wouldn't ask him a million questions.
His adoptive mother unlocked the door and a moment later came out to join him. He nudged Sandi forward and said, “Clara.”
She'd covered her wild gray curls with a hat like she was a Victorian-era noblewoman--which was at odds with her usual "dance in the streets if you’re happy" mentality she’d tried to instill in him. What was she thinking?
Clara didn’t say a word about the hat at all. “Charles, can you get the mail for me?”
He nodded and rushed down the two flights of stairs, grabbed the grocery advertisements, and ran back up all while Clara was still inviting Sandi inside. He walked in behind them and reached out to touch Sandi’s lower back. “Clara, this is Sandi.”
He let her go and put the mail in the usual place on the counter between the kitchen and the dining room.
Clara still hadn’t explained the Victorian hat, but he saw a velvet dress and instantly figured out she was doing something for choir rehearsal.
He didn’t ask as she always marched to her own drummer which led to her prodding him to loosen up. Clara led Sandi to the living room, past the piano, to the sofa. “Charles hasn’t brought a girl home since… well, when did you bring me to meet Sheena? That was at a restaurant.”
He perched on the edge of the accent seat opposite the women on the couch. “Her father’s restaurant.”
Sandi’s lips pressed together like she paid apt attention as she said, “My parents don’t live in Paris.”
Clara pointed toward her teapot that she always had filled and he got up to pour three cups. She grabbed Sandi’s hand and declared, “You’re American.”
“Yes. I’m from Denver,” Sandi said while he returned with a silver tray and three steaming cups.
Clara normally drank hers black with nothing in it as did he, but he added the sugar bowl for Sandi.
Clara said, “Nice to meet you, Sandi…”
“Smith. Sandi Smith.” Sandi also took hers plain he noticed and returned to his chair. He sipped the black tea.
He’d now had tea with the Queen of England and still Clara’s cup was tastier. He was almost calm again when she asked, “Well, how do you two know each other?”
Sandi straightened. “Charles negotiated with my parents to have me as his bride.”
Clara’s gaze narrowed and suddenly it was like coming home from school with his report card. “He what?”
