Because of You (23 page)

Raising his head, he looked at Aziza. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't ask her to marry him again until she admitted to loving him. Had he imagined she'd said it, or had she really said she loved him?

“Say it again.”

Aziza half opened her eyes to look up at Jordan. A smile had softened her mouth. His face was flush, his eyes a deep moss green, and his chest rose and fell as if he'd run a grueling race. “You picked the wrong time to make love to me without a condom, darling.”

“Does that bother you, darling?”

“Not so much.”

“Why not, baby?”

Her eyes opened. “I think it would be nice having a child in my life.”

“A child?”

Her smile grew wider. “Okay. Your child, Jordan. And I know I would love our baby as much as I love you.”

“Do you love me?”

Her smile faded. “Of course I love you. You did hear me say it, didn't you?”

“And you did hear me ask you to marry me.”

“Ask me again, Jordan.”

“Aziza, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and the mother of our children?”

A beat passed. The tears Aziza had wanted to shed the night of Wyatt Wainwright's birthday celebration flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks like fat raindrops. When she'd walked into Brandt Wainwright's penthouse, she never would've imagined the man who would change her and her life would be there waiting for her. It was because of Jordan she was given a second chance at love and had learned to trust a man again.

“Yes, Jordan. I will marry you, become your wife and the mother of our children.”

They lay joined until Jordan finally rolled off Aziza. He undressed her completely, pulled her close and they slept the sleep of sated lovers. When they woke again, the sun was high in the sky and the outline of the island of Puerto Rico had come into view.

J
ordan and Aziza, along with the two other couples, checked into the Hotel Casablanca after disembarking and piling into cars that took them from the pier to the sizzling new boutique hotel in the heart of Old San Juan.

Signature Bridals' wedding planner had arranged to take over the thirty-five guest rooms in the Moroccan-inspired hotel for the Warrick-Chatham nuptials. The hotel was erected on one of the hottest streets in Old San Juan with a string of trendy restaurants and a thumping, pumping, blue-light club called Basiliko. Kyle and Ava were expected to arrive later that afternoon, and a rehearsal dinner was scheduled on the hotel's rooftop where guests could soak in the five stone hot tubs that took the place of a pool.

Immediately after Aziza and Jordan checked into their room—that had pottery vessel sinks, an antique armoire, gilt mirrors and ornate bedding—they went shopping, looking for an engagement ring.

She felt as if she'd stepped back in time when walking the cobblestone streets of a part of the island that had its fifteenth-century flavor. They managed to find a small shop without hordes of tourists, and an hour after walking in, she left the shop wearing a platinum-and-yellow diamond engagement ring on her left hand. The price of the ring was mind-boggling, but Jordan hadn't hesitated when he handed the man his Black Card. They'd left the shop, stopping at a restaurant for a light repast, then returned to their room to make love for the second time that day without using protection.

Jordan rolled off Aziza and reached for her hand. He knew he had to reveal the circumstances surrounding his birth because he didn't want to begin their lives together keeping secrets.

A ceiling fan stirring the warm air swept over their naked bodies. “Baby, I have something to tell you.”

Aziza smiled but didn't open her eyes. “Are you going to tell me you're married with a bunch of babies hidden away somewhere?”

“It's not that simple.”

Her eyes opened, and she turned to stare at his profile. He could have been made out of stone. “What is it, Jordan?”

He took a deep breath. “Did you ever read Philip Roth's
Human Stain?
”

A slight frown furrowed her forehead. “Wasn't that a movie with Anthony Hopkins and Nicole Kidman?”

“Yes. Did you see it?”

“No. What does it have to do with you?”

“If you saw the film, then you'd know what I'm about to say. The protagonist of the book is Coleman Silk and he's passing.”

“Passing? Are you saying you're passing for white?”

Jordan tightened his hold on Aziza's fingers when she attempted to pull away. “Please, baby, let me explain.”

“Okay. I won't interrupt.”

“Thank you. In the book Coleman Silk didn't dispute he wasn't white when a military recruiter put him down as white. Coleman knew the truth. I didn't know my birth mother was black, though, until I overheard my father arguing with my grandfather.

“I had to wait thirty years to find out that the woman I thought was my mother hadn't given birth to me. My father was still a college student when he met and fell in love with a young black woman who was an editorial assistant for a literary magazine. Neither of their parents knew they were seeing each other, but when she discovered herself pregnant, the shit hit the fan. My dad was engaged to Christiane and was expected to marry her within weeks of his graduation.

“Meanwhile, my grandfathers got together and concocted a scheme. Edward Wainwright would marry Christiane Johnston and she would take to her bed with the excuse that she was at risk of losing her baby. I have to assume they used movie props to make her appear pregnant, and when my mother, who was living with an aunt in Connecticut, went into labor, she was taken to a private hospital where she delivered me. My father, Christiane and Wyatt were on hand when the birth records were filled out. They walked out of the hospital with a baby boy they'd named Jordan Wyatt Wainwright, and my birth mother returned home to pick up the pieces of her life.”

“What if you had been born looking like your birth mother?”

Jordan smiled. “They had a story for that, too. They would've said I was the adopted son of Edward's friend
who'd died in an accident. Somehow Wyatt would've finagled some legal document with a bogus guardianship clause. Although I was born with blond hair, it darkened as I grew older. But then Wyatt had black hair, so we're only a few dark-haired Wainwrights in a family where most are blond. And looking like Wyatt sealed my fate that I was a Wainwright through and through.”

“Didn't they think of the possibility that if you'd fathered a child it could've come out looking more black than white?”

Jordan grunted. “I suppose they would've had an answer for that, too.”

“How did you react when you found out that you were biracial?”

“Being biracial didn't bother me because I've never let a woman's race factor into why I wanted to see her. It was the subterfuge that bothered me. What if I'd met and fallen in love with my half sister? Can you imagine how that would've messed with my head?”

“Do you have a half sister?”

He nodded. “I have two of them. They're in their mid-twenties.”

“Do they know about you?” Aziza asked.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Have you ever met your birth mother?”

“No, and I don't want to. She's married and I don't know whether her husband knows about the child she was forced to give up within minutes of his birth. I was told she never saw me, because they'd given her drugs where she'd drifted in and out of consciousness. She knows who I am, although I doubt she knows that I know who she is.”

“Do your brothers and sister know you don't have the same biological mother?”

“I had to tell them, Zee. Ironically, it didn't make a difference to any of them. We have the same father, so they still viewed me as the older brother. Noah told Dad he'd been irresponsible, not that he'd slept with a black girl, but because he hadn't protected her from an unplanned pregnancy. Rhett got on him for cheating on Mother, but that ended. Chanel said she thought it was cool to have a mixed-race brother.

“The only victim in all of this was Christiane. She was forced to raise another woman's child, and she punished her husband by not sleeping with him nine years. Once she got pregnant with Noah, she and my dad lived together as husband and wife for the first time in a decade. I love her, Zee, because she's the only mother I've ever known. I love her as much as she loves me. I never understood when she used to say I was a child of her heart and not her body. Next to you, she is the most important person in my life. Without her I don't think I would've become who I am.”

Turning on her side, Aziza snuggled closer to her fiancé. “Who else knows the Wainwright family secret?”

“Kyle Chatham. I told him two weeks ago. He knows everything except the name of my birth mother. That's something I swore never to reveal. I had to tell you because, after all, you're going to become a Wainwright and you should be privy to all the sordid family secrets. Speaking of weddings, when do you want to get married? And, I'm going to tell you now that my mother is going to want some big Hollywood red-carpet business.”

“I'll be certain to include her in the plans.”

“What if we get married at the house? There's certainly enough room for a large gathering.”

“That's something to consider. It would alleviate
trying to find a catering hall—wait, when do you want to marry?”

“If we don't stop having unprotected sex, then next month. Duncan and Tamara are getting married in June, so let's shoot for July.”

“A summer wedding is always nice. And if the weather holds, we could always take photographs in the park.”

Letting go of her hand, Jordan turned to face Aziza. He kissed the end of her nose. “Now, you see why I fell in love with you. You're so smart.”

Aziza looked at Jordan through a fringe of lashes. “We can't make love anymore without protection. I don't want to walk down the aisle sporting a belly.”

“When do you want to start trying for a baby?”

Her smile was dazzling. “Our wedding night.”

Throwing back his head, Jordan laughed loudly. “That's the same thing Kyle said when I asked him if he and Ava were planning a family.”

“What about a honeymoon, Jordan?”

“How about Fiji?”

Screaming, she jumped on him, planting kisses over his face until the teasing stopped when they found themselves aroused again. Somehow they managed to temper their passions long enough to shower and dress for the evening's festivities.

They had time to make love again. In fact, they had the rest of their lives.

 

The hotel rooftop had become a tropical oasis as exotic flowers, planters with palms and dozens of flickering candles competed with the brightness of stars in the nighttime sky. Ava, wearing a simple silk slip-dress gown that floated around her sandaled feet, held hands with Kyle as she repeated her vows. The groom wore a pair of linen
slacks and matching Asian-inspired shirt. He had foregone shoes in lieu of a pair of woven sandals. Everyone in the wedding party wore white: sundresses, shirts, slacks and the requisite sandals. Ava had insisted on comfort and simplicity.

Aziza hadn't worn her ring, leaving it in the hotel room safe. She didn't want the news of her engagement to Jordan to take any attention away from the bride and groom. Tonight she planned to eat and dance until she dropped from exhaustion.

She stared at Jordan, who'd stood in for Micah, wondering if he was role-playing for what would become his own wedding within another six months. After the exchange of rings there was thunderous applause, and then it was over. Ava and Kyle were husband and wife.

Hip-hop and jazz fusion blared as the newlyweds greeted each guest personally. Waiters came around with mojitos, margaritas, piña coladas and daiquiris to offset spicy hors d'oeuvres of empanadas, shrimp and avocado salad with a cocktail sauce, guacamole, spiced olives, miniature slices of sausage, flat bread,
bacalaitos
—salt cod fritters—and
alcapurria
—yucca fritters stuffed with beef, pork or seafood.

Aziza didn't believe she could ingest another morsel until they sat down to a dinner of rice with pigeon peas, fried sweet and green bananas, paella, black beans, white rice, potato salad, roast chicken, shrimp in a garlic sauce and
pernil
—roast pork shoulder.

Everyone ate, drank and danced, while a DJ played nonstop music. And for the second time in a month Aziza found her hips moving to the infectious African-Latin rhythms. The skirt of her colorful halter dress flared out around her long legs when Jordan spun her around and around until she begged him to stop. When the selection
ended, she collapsed into his arms, and Duncan offered her a glass of water.

“Thanks,” she gasped, accepting the glass from the man with the almost too beautiful face. Breathing heavily and leaning against Jordan, she took furtive sips of water until her heart resumed a normal rhythm.

“How are you holding up, baby?” Jordan whispered in her ear.

“I'm good. I love dancing, but I'm not used to being up on my feet nonstop for half an hour.”

“Let me know when you want to turn in.”

Aziza glanced at the timepiece on Jordan's wrist. It was after two in the morning. Kyle and Ava had retreated to their suite hours ago. “Let's go.”

 

Instead of returning to the mainland by boat, Jordan made arrangements to fly into New York. His driver was waiting for them when they left the terminal at JFK. Tanned, at least five pounds heavier and wearing a ring that hadn't been on her finger when she'd left the States, Aziza settled back against her fiancé and closed her eyes. She hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until Jordan shook her.

“Wake up, baby. We're here.”

She sat up straighter, looking around her. “Where are we?”

“We're at my parents' house.”

“I thought you were taking me home.”

Cradling the back of her head, Jordan pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I'll take you home after we tell my folks the good news.”

“Okay.”

Aziza wanted to tell Jordan she was exhausted and all she wanted was to go home and fall into bed and sleep.

She needed to be completely rested and alert when she met with the executors of the estate of the man who owned the properties Raymond Humphries wanted. She'd convinced the four siblings to come to New York to talk to Raymond about his plans for the parcels.

Sergio opened the rear door, and Aziza placed her gloved hand on his as he assisted her from the car. The temperatures were hovering around freezing, but it felt much colder after spending five nights and four days in the Caribbean.

Jordan got out, his arm going around Aziza's waist when he led her up the stairs to the gray stone building. He unlocked the front door, pushed it opened and walked into the entrance hall. The chandeliers were dimmed and a fire crackled in the fireplace, adding comforting warmth to the cavernous space. It was late Sunday afternoon and he knew his family would still be in the dining room.

He slipped out of his jacket, then helped Aziza out of her coat, leaving them both on a chair. “Come with me.”

Jordan punched the button for the elevator, pulling his fiancée into the car when the doors opened. He barely had time to brush a kiss over her lips when the car stopped at the second floor.

“Master Jordan. I didn't expect to see you.”

He smiled at the butler. “How are you, Walter?”

“I'm well, sir.” He nodded to Aziza. “Miss Aziza.”

She returned his nod, smiling. “Mr…. I'm sorry. How have you been, Walter?”

“Wonderful, Miss. Truly wonderful.”