Page 93 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
“I know who you are,” she snapped. “My daughter doesn’t want to see you. Ever again.”
She started to close the door, but I grabbed the edge of it, stopping its motion. “If I could just speak to Angelina for a minute. You see, there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”
“The only one who doesn’t understand isyou, Mr. Reece. Angelina has seen the error of her ways and repented. She’s pledged her life to God and will stay on the straight and narrow path from now on.”
With effort, I gentled my voice. “I would never try to interfere with her relationship with God, Mrs., uhMissRappaport. My intentions are completely honorable. I want to marry her. I want to take care of her and treat her with the utmost respect. I love your daughter.”
She laughed, a dry, unpleasant sound. It reminded me of a fairytale witch’s cackle. “You men and your promises oflove. I fell for it once, but Angelina has been taught better. And thanks toyoushe’s learned the most convincing lesson of all. Go home, Mr. Reece, and leave my daughter in peace. You’re not welcome here.”
Understanding I’d get nowhere with this woman, I stepped back and let her close the door, but I was far from defeated.
I highly doubted Angelina was feeling any peace—not if she loved me even half as much as I loved her. I’d have bet just about anything she was in the same kind of turmoil I was.
Because shedidlove me. And when you loved someone as much as I lovedher, you didn’t fold the tent at the first sign of difficulty. I was no stranger to prolonged battles. If I had to climb that stone tower with one hand tied behind my back, I’d find a way to speak with Angelina tonight.
I walked to the sidewalk, but instead of following it back to my house, I stood watching the Rappaport mansion until the first-floor light blinked out. Then I navigated the overgrown grass and shrubbery to get to the rear of the mansion and the tower where Angelina had told me her room was located.
The structure had to be at least forty-five feet tall. Ancient and covered in ivy vines, it looked like something out of a medieval tale. There was a single square window near the top, larger than the small round stained glass one in the front. The light was still on, casting a square of golden color on the dark lawn far below.
Apart from that one high window, there were no openings—no door, no outer staircase, no windows lower down. It was a veritable fortress against lovesick suitors.
I had to laugh at myself. I was definitely no Prince Charming. But I’d read the stories to my daughters over and over again at bedtime. Who knew they’d serve as an instruction manual one day?
Picking up a handful of pea gravel from an untended flower bed, I tossed one of the tiny pebbles at the window. It plinked against the windowpane.
Nice. First try.
I waited expectantly, but there was no response. So I tossed another couple of stones at the glass, hoping I’d gauged the speed correctly and didn’t break it.
Finally, a figure appeared in the window. It was Angelina. She looked ethereal in a white nightgown, her hair braided to one side and hanging in a thick rope over her shoulder.
She pushed the casement windows open and peered into the darkness.
“Angelina,” I whisper-shouted. “Down here.”
She leaned out and looked down, and a long spill of golden hair fell through the opening. My heart swelled with love and determination. There was no doubt this was the one and only woman for me—I just had to convinceherof that.
If I could have reached it, I would have grabbed onto that golden rope and climbed up to her then and there.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Far From Okay
Angelina
My heart pounded, vibrating the front of my floaty, high-necked gown.
Far below my bedroom window, a shadowy form stood on the lawn looking up at me. There was only one person it could be—the last person I wanted to see.
“Sully? Is that you?” I called into the night.
“It’s me. Are you okay?”
What was hedoinghere? From what I’d seen of Anouk, I doubted the woman would take kindly to her husband tossing pebbles at another woman’s window like some kind of romantic novel hero.
And this was no fable—it was real life. Whatever Sully and I had shared, it was over. Now I just wanted to be left alone to lick my wounds and resume the safe, predictable life I’d left behind three months ago.
Mother was all too happy to help in that regard. She’d been positively gleeful to see her prodigal daughter return, administering theI told you so’sin a surprisingly mild dose and offering the commiseration that only another member of the Broken Hearts Club could give.
