The Baby Bet: The Royal MacAllister Part 12

Dinner was a noisy, festive event with everyone sitting around a long, gleaming mahogany table in an enormous room that King Chester had referred to as "the small dining room." Roast pheasant was served with tiny new potatoes, broccoli with hollandaise sauce and a crisp, crunchy salad.

The wine was, of course, the newly marketed and highly successful Renault-Bardow, and a mult.i.tude of toasts were given after gla.s.ses etched with the royal crest had been filled.

Dessert, which Emily and Charlane politely refused, then congratulated each other on their willpower, was creamy caramel dribbled over egg custard.

The meal was concluded with brandy in wafer-thin snifters and coffee in delicate china.

None of the MacAllister children had made the trip to the Island of Wils.h.i.+re. The older ones were in school and were staying with friends, the babies had been, as one of the daddies put it, "farmed out" to close friends who had young children of their own.

Alice smiled as she swept her gaze down the long table, seeing loving glances being exchanged between the various couples.

They were all treating this journey like a second honeymoon, she mused, with no thoughts of responsibilities surrounding their children or even what to cook for dinner. Therefore, the smoldering desire evident in Brent's eyes every time he looked at her was going, thank goodness, unnoticed.

"Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?" King Chester said finally.

"My dear brother," Charlane said, laughing, "you sound so pompous and stuffy, like something out of a Victorian novel."

King Chester roared with laughter. "I've always wanted to say that. It's awful, isn't it? Although it's a rather kingly thing. I usually say, 'Let's find some more comfortable chairs.' Royal antiques are all very well and good, but they're murder on the backside."

With a great deal of laughter, the group followed the king out of the dining room, down the hallway and into a large but welcoming room where a stack of presents had been placed by a love seat. The other sofas and easy chairs were soon filled, and the remainder of the family, including Alice and Brent, settled on the floor where they were cus.h.i.+oned by deep, plush carpeting. Maggie and Devon sat on the love seat next to the gifts.

"Open the one from Tr...Alice first," Forrest said, pointing to the pile of presents. "It's the one in the blue paper with the white doves. I'll pop a seam if I have to keep silent any longer. Go ahead, Maggie, Devon...blue paper, white doves."

"My goodness, Uncle Forrest," Maggie said, "you're making this gift sound so mysterious." She leaned over to retrieve the present. "Mmm. Should I make some guesses first as to what it is?"

"No," Forrest said, laughing. "I won't survive that. Just open it, Maggie."

Alice reached for Brent's hand and gripped it tightly as she felt a bevy of b.u.t.terflies swoosh suddenly into her very full stomach.

"What's the mystery about your gift?" Brent whispered in her ear, then paused. "I don't mean to be picky, but you're breaking my hand."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Alice released Brent's hand and drew a steadying breath. "I'm just so nervous because my gift is-"

"Oh, it's beautiful. Look at those colors," Maggie said, holding the painting at arm's length. "Isn't it an exquisite seascape, Devon?"

"It certainly is," he said, nodding. "It will have a place of honor in our home when we get it built. Do you know the artist personally, Alice? Whoever signed it at the bottom with that distinctive A?"

"Go over there, sweetheart," Forrest said to Alice. "Tell them who painted it and let Maggie give you a hug, which she'll definitely want to do."

"But..." Alice started, then looked quickly at Brent, who had a puzzled expression on his face. "I...oh, dear, now the spotlight is on me and..." She got to her feet. "All right, Dad, I'm going, but only for a minute."

"Mark that down somewhere, Jillian," Forrest said, chuckling. "Trip actually did as she was told by her creaky old father."

"Alice," Jillian said. "Honey, do remember that our daughter's name is Alice."

Alice stood in front of the presents stacked by the love seat so she wouldn't have her back to the others in the room. Everyone was looking at her intently.

"Maggie, Devon," Alice said, her voice not quite steady as the b.u.t.terflies continued to flutter, "I'm so pleased you like the picture because I... What I mean is, the signature that consists of that flowing A is... I realize, Maggie, that you had no idea that I..."

"Father races to the rescue," Forrest said. "You're a tad rattled, baby girl." He paused. "Maggie, Devon, you are holding a painting produced by none other than the next artist of fame and fortune who is, I am extremely proud to add, going to have an invitation-only showing of her work at the most prestigious of Ventura's galleries in the very near future, and who-"

"Cut to the chase, dear," Jillian said, patting her husband on the knee.

"Oh." Forrest got to his feet. "May I present my daughter, the artist, who painted that fantastic picture... Ms. Alice MacAllister."

Maggie jumped to her feet, still holding the painting. "Oh, my gosh. Oh, Trip...excuse me...Alice, you did this? Oh. Oh! This is unbelievable. You're going to have a private showing of your work at... Oh, my gracious, this is so exciting."

"Well, now, let's have a closer look at this," King Chester said, getting up and crossing the room. He was followed by Charlane, Byron and Maggie's parents. "That is a truly marvelous piece of work. You are a very talented young woman, Alice."

"Thank you," she said.

"I hope you have an agent," Charlane said, staring at the painting. "You are obviously on your way to having a brilliant, highly successful career, Alice, and you must be certain that no one takes advantage of you."

"Yes, I do have an excellent agent," Alice said.

The others in the room began to converge on the area by the love seat, everyone seeming to be talking at once about Alice's work, how none of them had known her amazing secret, how proud they all were of her, and on and on. Alice attempted to get a glimpse of Brent, but couldn't see him through the crush of the chattering families.

"What are you going to wear to your showing, Alice?" Jessica said. "It has to be an absolutely stunning dress, befitting someone of your talent. Plus, there will be reporters and photographers there, I'm sure, and the dress has to be just perfect."

"Oh, well, my agent came to my loft," Alice said, "and selected what she thought would be best and... Please, enough of this. I sincerely thank you all for your enthusiasm and support. It means more to me that I can ever begin to tell you, but we're supposed to be watching Maggie and Devon open their gifts."

Alice s.n.a.t.c.hed up a present from the floor and extended it to Maggie, who had no choice but to lean the painting against the side of the love seat and accept the gift. Everyone returned to their seats, still exclaiming over Alice's marvelous surprise.

Alice started back to where she had been sitting on the floor with Brent, only to discover that he was no longer there. A chill swept through her, then disappeared in the next instant as she saw him leaning one shoulder against the far wall, his arms folded over his chest.

As a chorus of oohs and aahs filled the air when Maggie revealed the gift she had unwrapped, Alice hurried to where Brent was standing, her step slowing slightly as she saw the deep frown on his face.

"Did you get tired of sitting on the floor?" Alice said when she reached Brent.

"No," he said, no hint of a smile on his face. "That was quite a bombsh.e.l.l you just laid on everyone, Alice. You're a very talented artist. But you know that, don't you? After all you have an agent, you're going to have a private showing of your work. Oh, yes, ma'am, that is a heavy-duty secret agenda you've been keeping under wraps. From everyone. From me."

"I was going to tell you about it when we were alone earlier today," Alice said, "but...well...we had other things on our minds... But now you know and I thought you would be pleased, Brent, but obviously you're not."

"Pleased?" he said, pus.h.i.+ng himself off the wall and planting his hands on his hips. He glanced quickly at the group of people in the room. "This isn't the place. Come outside into the garden."

Brent spun around and strode away. Alice stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing with confusion and a cold sense of dread, then hurried after him.

Brent was very angry, she thought frantically. She had seen the fury in the depths of his eyes and...and a flicker of hurt, raw pain. Oh, dear heaven, why was he reacting this way?

Outside on a path that led through a magnificent rose garden, Brent turned to face Alice, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

"I've been such a fool, it's a crime," he said, none too quietly. "It was all there right in front of me and I was such a besotted idiot I didn't see it. The loft with the light an artist would need to work, the smell of paint, the fact that you were living beyond the means of a waitress." He shook his head. "My G.o.d, I'm stupid."

"Brent, please, listen to me," Alice said, placing one hand on his forearm.

Brent jerked his arm and Alice pulled back her hand, realizing with horror that he didn't even want her to touch him.

"Here was a woman," he said, his voice gritty, "that I didn't even think existed in this world. An honest woman, one who was exactly what she presented herself to be. A woman with no secret agenda to blindside me with when it was too late to protect my heart. What...a...joke.

"You used me, Alice MacAllister, to fill your idle hours until you could launch your big-time career in the artistic community. You used me."

"No!" she said. "That's not true. I..."

"Why did you have to take it so far?" he continued, pain and anger ringing in his voice. "Did it give you a rush, a real kick, to accept my proposal of marriage, to tell me how much you love me, when you knew d.a.m.n well you were just playing games?"

"I do love you, Brent," Alice said, struggling against threatening tears. "I do."

"Yeah, right," he said with a bitter bark of laughter. "You're going back to Ventura after Devon and Maggie's wedding to count down the days until the private showing of your work. You have an agent to take care of details even down to picking out the dress you're to wear at the gallery on the big night. Your focus is on your career, not on me, on us, on what we supposedly were going to have together. Here. On the Island of Wils.h.i.+re."

"I'm going to paint here, on your island and..."

"Ah, give it a rest. I've come out of the ether, Alice. You'll have to find another toy to play with until you become one of the rich and famous. After your showing there will be interviews, talk shows, photographers wanting to take pictures of where you live and work. Between your painting and the publicity circuit, you'll be a busy little bee, won't you?"

"I..." Alice started, then stopped speaking. She hadn't given a moment's thought to what might transpire after the showing. She'd been concentrating on the hope that her work would sell that night, hadn't considered what would follow if the show was a success. "I..."

"Gotcha, lady. Your silence speaks volumes. You can't deny a word of what I'm saying. You're guilty as charged," Brent said, a rough edge to his voice. "What are you thinking right now? That maybe you should go on a big shopping spree so you'll be dressed to the nines for the cameras?"

"Brent, no, stop this," Alice said, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "You're wrong. You're drawing conclusions that aren't true. You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand perfectly. You're a master at keeping secrets. h.e.l.l, you wouldn't even tell me what your grandfather gave you as your special present. Did he know about your dandy agenda? What was the gift? A really expensive set of paints?"

"No, it was a pewter picture frame, and he requested that I... That's not important now. Oh, Brent, please, will you just hear me out? Listen to me. Please."

"No," he said, taking a step backward, his voice suddenly very low and very weary-sounding. "I don't want to hear any more lies. But you'd better listen up to everything I'm about to say. This is Maggie and Devon's special time. Nothing, nor no one, is going to put a damper on it.

"In front of the families, we'll fake it, act like the romantic lovebirds they believe us to be. Privately? Stay away from me, Alice. Just stay the h.e.l.l away from me.

"I had been counting the hours and minutes until you would arrive here. Now I'm doing the same thing in reverse, ticking them off until you're on that plane and off my island, out of my life, my world. My heart? That will take some time, a long time, but I'll do it. I'll forget you even exist."

"Oh, dear G.o.d," Alice said, pressing her trembling fingertips to her lips as a sob caught in her throat. "Brent, no."

"Tell the families I wasn't feeling well," he said. "I can't handle putting on a false front tonight. But starting tomorrow we do award-winning performances. Got that? Sure you do. You've had a lot of experience pretending to be something you're not. Just look at it as another game you're playing."

"Brent, please," Alice said, das.h.i.+ng the tears from her cheeks. "You're wrong. About everything. I didn't tell you or my family sooner about my dream, my painting, because I was terribly frightened, so afraid of baring my soul, being vulnerable, after so many years of hiding behind my walls. I was terrified of being Alice, instead of Trip.

"Oh, don't you see? As Trip I knew how to protect myself, keep everyone at arm's length, and I needed time to gather the courage to be...to be Alice. You helped give me the strength to do that, Brent. I was Alice in Wonderland to you. I became Alice, the woman, for me.

"I do love you with all my heart," she added, tears now streaming unnoticed down her face and along her neck. "I want to marry you, create the miracle of our babies with you, live with you here, on the Island of Wils.h.i.+re, until death parts us. You've got to believe me, Brent. Please. I'll paint endless pictures here, be so content on your beautiful island and-"

"Until the telephone rings," Brent said, his voice flat, "and your agent tells you about the next talk show you're scheduled to be on, or the tour she's arranged for you to promote your work. Then off you'll fly without a backward glance. I don't call that loving me, Alice. Not even close.

"And our babies? h.e.l.l. You'll find a hundred excuses to postpone starting our family because, after all, your career, your d.a.m.nable secret agenda, comes first.

"No, your idea of love doesn't match up with mine. We're not soul mates as I believed us to be."

"Brent..." Alice said, then stopped and shook her head, tears choking off her words.

"The game is over," he said. "You had a good laugh at my expense and now you're on your way to the spotlight of fame and all the perks that go with it.

"You don't need me to say you should enjoy yourself, do you? That's been your plan all along. In fact, you don't need me for a d.a.m.n thing."

"Brent?" Charlane called in the distance. "Are you out there? I realize that you and Alice want some time to be together, but we do have guests, dear."

"I'm sorry, Mother," Brent yelled. "But I'm not feeling very well. Please extend my apologies to everyone."

"I can't go back in there," Alice whispered. "They'll all know I've been crying and...I just can't."

"Fine," Brent said tersely, "I'll bail you out tonight, but remember that starting tomorrow we put on the show they expect to see."

Alice nodded jerkily, then another sob escaped from her lips.

"Mother?" Brent called. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here. Do you need a doctor, Brent?"

"No, no, I'm just going to hit the sack. Listen, Alice is exhausted. Jet leg and all that. She's going on to her room now. I'm sure everyone will understand that it's been a long day for her. They're all probably as tired as she is, come to think of it."

"All right," Charlane said. "Sleep well. Both of you. I'll suggest we make an early evening of it in here for the sake of the travelers. See you both tomorrow."

"Good night, Mother," Brent called, then looked at Alice. "Goodbye, Alice in Wonderland. Hey, that was a perfect name for you all along, and I didn't know it at the time. Alice in Wonderland doesn't exist. She's a fantasy from a fairy tale. In the real world, there is no Alice in Wonderland. There never was."

Brent turned and strode way, disappearing in moments into the darkness. Alice reached out one trembling hand toward him, then dropped it back to her side. She stumbled forward and sank onto a cement bench with intricate scrollwork on the top.

Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she rocked back and forth, sobbing openly, as she was consumed by the greatest pain and heartache she had ever known.

This wasn't happening, she thought frantically. She was in the midst of a devastating nightmare. She would wake up and find herself snuggled close to Brent in his bed in the cottage where they'd shared exquisitely beautiful lovemaking. He would tell her they had to hurry or they'd be late for the first-night-on-the-island welcoming dinner in the castle and...

Alice drew a shuddering breath, then a chill swept through her, touching her heart, mind and soul.

No, this wasn't a nightmare formed by images while sleeping. This was the nightmare of reality. She had demolished her protective walls, had emerged as Alice, had fallen in love and given her heart to Brent to have and to hold, to love and to cherish.

And he'd crushed it.

He viewed her as a scheming, devious, game-playing woman, who had used him to fill idle hours as she waited for the launching of her artistic career.

He despised her.

Brent didn't believe in her, or in her love for him. Not anymore. He'd flung hateful accusations at her that had felt like physical blows, shattering her into a million pieces. Like Humpty-Dumpty, Alice in Wonderland could never be put back together again.

Alice got to her feet, swayed for a moment, then steadied.

But Alice, the woman? she thought. She'd have to survive, move forward. Somehow. The alternative was to rebuild the walls and become Trip again, and she didn't want to do that. No, not that.

She was Alice.

She would remain Alice.