To Love a Stranger (14 page)

New York Fashion week

T
he House of Madeline's first fashion show was minutes away from curtain call and they were opening to a packed house. Photographers, critics, celebrities and the just plain curious had turned out and packed the place.

Despite being irritable, cranky and wishing her due-at-any-moment child would get off her bladder, Madeline painted on a smile and raced around models, makeup artists and stagehands like a madwoman.

“Shouldn't you be taking it easy?” Lysandra asked, trying her best to direct Madeline to a chair. “We agreed that I would take care of everything back here.”

Cecelia rounded a stage corner with Ariel and Russ at her side, dressed to the nines in their own House of Madeline clothing.

“Oh, look at my little angels,” Madeline cooed, and planted kisses against each of their dimpled cheeks. “You guys want to watch the show backstage with Mommy?”

“Cecelia said we get to be models,” Ariel said, keeping to the rule not to call Cecelia
grandma
in public.

“That's right. At the end of the show, we will all walk out and wave to the audience with that little bow we practiced at home to thank everyone for coming.”

Russ sighed and fingered his collar like it was choking him.

“You okay, baby?” Madeline asked, though she sensed he'd rather do anything other than stroll down a catwalk.

However, Russ nodded and chose not to complain.

“How about we all go out for some pizza or ice cream after this?” It was clearly a bribe.

“Can we have both?” Russ tested.

“Sure, why not?”

“Thirty seconds to curtain!” Their stage director announced.

“I better go take my seat,” Cecelia said, and then met Madeline's gaze. “If I haven't said it before, I'm very proud of you.”

Surprised, Madeline smiled. “Thanks, Mom. I can't tell you how much that means to me.”

They hugged briefly and Cecelia rushed off just as the house lights dimmed and the music grew louder.

Marcellus had hoped to blend with the crowd at the House of Madeline fashion premiere. He still wasn't certain whether it was actually a good idea to attend, but he had promised Madeline he would be here in support. Of course, that was when he was her husband.

His suit wasn't Armani, but he still cleaned up well. He'd gotten rid of the beard and hid his eyes behind a large pair of fashionable sunglasses. He was almost through the door, too, but then one photographer recognized him and began snapping pictures. Next came a barrage of questions.

“Aren't you the man who pretended to be Russell Stone?”

“What are you doing here tonight?”

“Do you feel that Christopher Stone took advantage of your illness?”

“What's your real name?”

On and on it went until he made it inside the building. But even then the photographer's lights continued to flash until he found his seat.

In the next second, the lights dimmed and the house music pumped as loud as a rock-and-roll concert and the models hit the catwalk.

Marcellus didn't know much about fashion; he just liked what he liked. However, he had to admit after an hour of watching long-legged models strut like their lives depended on it, he liked a great deal of the clothing House of Madeline created.

He recognized a few outfits from when they were just sketches on Madeline or Lysandra's desk. He swelled with pride at seeing Madeline's dream come to fruition and he hated, now more than ever, that he wasn't there for the entire process…like he said he would be.

Sensing that the event was drawing to an end, he stood, ready to slip out of the building and back into obscurity, when Lysandra, Madeline, Ariel and Russ hit the stage. Suddenly he was rooted to his seat.

Russ looked as if he'd grown two inches since he'd last seen him and Ariel was even more adorable in her dark green dress…but what had absolutely captured his attention was Madeline's extremely pregnant belly.

The audience stood with thunderous applause. Madeline and the family waved merrily to the crowd and then gave a slight bow.

Marcellus stared hard and long, willing Madeline to glance in his direction. Just as she and children pivoted to head backstage, it happened. Their gazes met and she nearly took a tumble. Lysandra helped her recover and then continued their journey.

The houselights came up and Marcellus finally blinked out of his trance. “Oh, my God.”

“Are you all right?” Lysandra asked once they were safely backstage.

Madeline couldn't catch her breath. “He's here.”

A crowd tried to form around Madeline to congratulate her, but Lysandra had to fend them off by asking for some privacy.

“He's here,” Madeline kept repeating.

Lysandra led her to one of the makeup artist's empty chairs. “Who's here? You're not making any sense.”

“Mommy, are you all right?” Ariel asked.

Realizing she was alarming everyone, Madeline elected to take a few deep calming breaths and paint on another smile. “Yes, baby. Mommy's fine.”

Lysandra looked dubious. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes.” She considered the likelihood that she'd truly seen Marcellus in the audience and shook her head. “It's just probably these raging hormones.”

Her cousin's worry lines deepened.

“Really.” She patted Lysandra's hand and stood from the chair. “I'm okay. Time to do a little meet and greet.” She turned to the children. “And then it's pizza and ice cream.”

The moment she left the makeup chair, Madeline joined the press and the congratulating critics. Though they smiled in her face now, it was too soon to know what would actually be printed about the new fashion line.

“Congratulations, dear,” Cecelia gave dramatic smooches for the camera, her current boyfriend and future husband stood beaming behind her. “Absolutely stunning. You're a hit.”

“I hope so.”

“Ms. Stone. Ms. Stone. How do you feel about your late husband's impersonator being here tonight?”

The question knocked the wind out of her. “What?”

“Did you know that he would be attending?”

It was her mother's turn to speak. “What?”

“You didn't know he was here?” the reporter asked.

Madeline ignored the question and turned to scan the room. The place was filling up with caterers, waiters and fashion groupies.

Then she saw him.

He stood all the way in the back, watching.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she said absently to the reporter.

Cecelia grabbed her hand.

She looked over at her mother.

“Baby, are you sure?”

Tears glistened in Madeline's eyes as she nodded.

Slowly, Cecelia released her hand; fear for her daughter's fragile heart clearly in her eyes.

Madeline turned and began navigating her way through the crowd, her heart pounding.
Why was he here? What did it mean? Did he bring his family with him?

She was just a few feet from him when she remembered her very pregnant belly. Surely the man could do math and put two and two together. She stopped, suddenly uncertain.

Marcellus moved against the flow of celebrating bodies and reached Madeline before she had a chance to retreat. Once he was standing in front of her, he had one hell of a time squeezing out one word. “Hello.”

Madeline blinked, drew a deep breath and replied, “Hi.”

And that was it for a few long, heart-pounding seconds. Both were overwhelmed by the other's presence that they didn't know what the next move should be. Then Madeline began with the obvious.

“You look good. I mean, well. You look well.”

“You look beautiful,” he said simply. “You're practically glowing.”

Fresh tears stung the back of Madeline's eyes, but this time she managed to keep them from falling. “Thank you.”

Marcellus nodded and slid his hands into his pockets in an effort to look more casual than he felt. “It was a wonderful show. You should be proud.” He paused. “I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks…Did, uh, your family enjoy it?”

Marcellus cocked his head.

“I mean, I understand if you didn't bring them with you. I guess it would be a little awkward for me to meet your real wife.”

“My wife?” he questioned. “I'm not married.”

Madeline's head snapped up. “What? Of course you are. It said so in your file.”

“What file?”

“Champagne?” A passing waiter inquired.

“No,” Madeline and Marcellus answered in unison.

“What file?” Marcellus questioned again.

Madeline felt off-centered as she tried to understand what he was saying. “Christopher had, um, a private investigator run your fingerprints to find out who you were.”

“Oh,” was all he could think to say.

“The report, uh, said that you were married and had been in the military.”

Marcellus nodded. “I was in the military and I was married—once.”

“Once? Meaning…”

“Meaning that she passed away years ago…at the World Trade Center.”

Madeline gasped. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“Yeah.” Marcellus nodded. “Well, it was a long time ago. Another lifetime.”

“Then why did you…?” The tears were storming their barrier again and then a few rebels escaped and slid down her face. “Why did you leave?”

“Because I didn't…because I don't belong in your world. I'm not a rich man. I can't buy you the finest things and—”

“I don't care about that.” Madeline inched closer to him, as close as her belly would allow, and stared into his eyes. “I care about you. I fell in love with you.”

Marcellus searched her eyes, looking for the truth before finally admitting, “I love you, too.” He smiled and placed his hand against her belly. “Just as I'm going to love our new child.”

She cried in earnest as he swept her into his arms and kissed her senseless. Hot tingles shot through her every nerve and yet she wanted to get even closer. Vaguely, she heard ripples of “oohs” and “ahs” and the steady shuttering of cameras.

However, Marcellus abruptly ended the kiss. “I think we better get you to a hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I think your water just broke.”

“The baby is breeched,” Dr. Roberts announced to his small crew in the obstetrical ward. “Let's get her prepped for emergency C-section.”

An elevated Madeline Stone lay huffing and puffing on the delivery table wondering where in the hell was the epidural.

“Okay, Mrs. Stone. I need you to
stop
pushing for me.”

Why did they always say that? She didn't have any control of her lower extremities. It was all she could do to ride out the waves of muscle spasms, sharp stabs of back pain and the streams of sweat burning her eyes.

Marcellus burst into the delivery room in blue scrubs. “I'm here. I'm here. How are you doing, baby?” He rushed to her side and took her hand.

Madeline's response was a high pitch scream followed by a low rabid growl. There was no doubt about it; she was having another baby that was determined to split her in half.

“It's okay, baby. You're doing a good job. I'm proud of you.” With his free hand, he quickly mopped the sweat from her brow. “You look so beautiful, sweetheart. We're going to get through this together. Okay?”

Madeline nodded weakly, thrilled beyond measure to have Marcellus by her side while delivering their child.

“I must warn you,” he whispered secretly. “I've never been to a Lamaze class.”

“It's okay. I'm a veteran at this.”

They shared a short laugh before another contraction hit. She squeezed his hand and he absorbed the pain without complaint and when the spasm subsided, he again mopped the sweat from her brow.

“There's just one thing I need to ask you before the baby arrives,” he said.

“W-what's that?”

“Will you marry me? Marcellus Cougar ex-Army Major?”

“Yes,” she panted. “I'd marry you no matter what your name was. I love you, Marcellus.”

“And I love you.” He leaned down and kissed her moist brow. “Now, let's deliver this kid so we can get started planning our wedding.”

“You got it.” She crushed his hand again just as the next contraction hit.

Twenty minutes later, an eight pounds and four ounces Marcellus Joshua Cougar, Jr. made his grand entrance into the world.