Page 47 of Stolen Bride for the Don

“Did you just sneak him a treat?” I ask incredulously as I watch Maximus chew on whatever was in her hand.

“Yeah, whatever.” She rolls her eyes and walks past me. The nerve of this girl.

“You know, I’ve never met someone who defies me at every turn and tries her hardest not to impress me like you do. I’ve definitely never been called Daddy by a woman who was complaining about a diamond being too big.” I tell her as I catch up to her at the base of the stairs. She gives me a glance that I interpret as, okay and?

I shake my head and lead her to the gardens, where the men are now setting up. She stops walking and gives me a weary glance. “You already proposed.” She lifts her ring finger. “What’s this?”

“Is your heart pounding?” I ask, leading her to a table for two set up under a thick oak tree. A tall vase of the purple flowers I had flown in this morning is in the middle of the table, next to a thick white candle that’s thankfully not lit.

“Um, what?” She gives me a startled look as I pull her chair out. As soon as she’s seated, I nod, and we’re immediately surrounded by soft piano music, accompanying the rustling leaves above us. “What is this, Hudson?”

I ignore her question, pointing to the flowers instead. “Do they look familiar?”

She gives me a quizzical look for a moment then turns her attention to the bouquet. She studies them for a moment before answering, “No, they don’t. Should they?”

“I guess you might not have seen them before since they rarely grow in the New England area.” I pause. “I actually had them flown in from New York. They’re your flowers.”

“My flowers?” Her confusion seems to deepen.

“They’re called Andrea roses,” I explain. “I thought you’d get a kick out of finding out that there are flowers named after you. Or rather flowers with the same name as yours.” I correct. Her lips part as she stares at me, and her gaze drops to the vase.

Her hands wrap around the container, and she lifts it to her face, inhaling the sweet, floral scent. When she glances up at me, she has a playful smile, “Hudson?”

“Hmm?” I ask, captivated by how that smile brightens up the day.

“It’s a secret, but my heart is pounding now,” she whispers playfully. I’m electrified by the laughter dancing in her eyes, my own heart drumming like it wants to burst out of my chest.

“Haha,” I mock, trying to cover up my reaction.

“That’s what you get for asking me if my heart is pounding. Seriously, cheeseball?” She returns the vase to the middle of the table. “Thank you for the flowers. I love them. Wait until Mom finds out there’s actually a flower with my name. She’ll love it!” she chuckles.

I nod at one of my men to bring out the food and turn to face her. “Really?”

“Yeah. Mom and Dad had this bet when she was pregnant. Mom was positive I was yet another boy because her symptoms were similar to what she felt with my brothers. She had been told by several well-meaning people that girl pregnancies are different from boys.”

“I take it your father didn’t agree?”

“Nope.” She pauses when Walker and Diane walk to us. Walker is carrying a tray of canapes, while Diane has chilled champagne in her hands.

“You said you just ate so I had the menu altered, I explain as the food and drink is placed in front of us. Walker takes the champagne from Diane who scurries off and pops it. He pours the golden drink into our glasses before leaving us alone.

“These all look so good,” she grins, and I soak it up, but it’s not nearly enough. I want more. When it comes to her, I always want more.

“Continue your story,” I demand, curious to know how it ends as I fork up some food and lift it to her. She pauses, and I toss a pointed glance at the men standing not far away. She acquiesce, parting her lips so I can feed her.

Her cheeks turn red but she nods as she chews and continues the story. “Dad was positive that I was a girl. He had a feeling, and he trusted his feelings over everything else. Still does.”

“As he should. Follow your gut and you’ll never be led astray.”

“That’s exactly what he said!” She giggles and takes a sip of her drink. “Hmm. This is really good.” She takes another sip. “Anyway, they had an argument about it and finally decided that if Mom was right, she got to name the baby, me, and if Dad was right, he’d win the honors.”

“Hold on, so your father chose Andrea?”

She nods with a huge grin. “Yup, Mom didn’t have any problem with it because she liked that Andrea means strong and brave. But when I was five, she found out that Dad had named me after his favorite Italian painter. Andrea Mantegna. Oh, she was so mad.”

Her laugh is so infectious that I find myself laughing with her. “Is the artist a bad one? I can’t say I’ve heard of her.” But then, I’ve had no real interest in art.

“Him. He was really good actually. One of the best. She just hated that he tricked her because she would never have accepted the name if she knew from where he picked it.”

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