Page 45 of Forbidden Bastard
Charles waited near the front door of his home, alerted that the limo he'd sent to the airport was on its way back.
Sandi’s father would soon be here, and her mother had already been dropped off at the palace.
Clara was settling into the dower home and wanted a few minutes alone.
This morning had gone unusually easy--once Sandi had left him for the castle, and Queen Anna Camilla.
Maybe that was a wrong thought. The wedding was tomorrow, but her negotiating for more time sent his adrenaline into overdrive.
He’d managed to call every possible person on his wedding to-do list twice to ensure things were on track.
He’d triple-checked his business deals to ensure nothing was amiss, but he couldn’t quite get his stomach to settle or his body to stop being so tense.
No amount of meditating or gym work had helped.
The marathon in his mind and body kept sprinting toward a goal where he saw the sign overhead that read "Sandi doesn’t love you."
In fact, he’d said that he loved her and she’d questioned him rather than say anything back.
So, she must not love him.
And he needed to face that important truth. Fast.
Part of him didn’t blame her for being smart.
He’d hesitated away from her because she had that ability to really see parts of him no one else did.
He wasn’t loveable.
If he was loveable, he’d have never been tossed out as a baby, and then again at the train station.
But then Sandi’s words this morning about Francesca played in his mind. She’d have been worse than the nun who'd ditched him to save herself.
The limo driver stopped and opened the door.
A super skinny man with salt and pepper hair stepped out, blinding in his bright yellow golf shirt and orange and brown plaid shorts.
The way Sandi had spoken about her father… he’d imagined… well, maybe he was comparing him to the king, and that wasn’t quite fair.
He held out his hand to shake and the man’s bony grip was surprisingly strong. “This is your home, Mr. Esposito?”
Formal. Sandi was sweet and the opposite of formal, in her typical American fashion. He smiled a little brighter and clapped him on the back to bring him inside. “Call me Charles. We’re going to be family, Fred.”
Her father glanced at the chandelier and then down to the marble floor with a whistle. “It’s hard to imagine how I’ll explain all this to my golf friends.”
Just then he saw Clara making her way toward them from across the back patio. She'd scraped her gray curls into a tight bun, and her makeup made her appear flawless--and was that a new purple dress? He walked Fred to the door just as she entered. “Come. This is my mother, or the closest thing I have to one.”
Sandi's father’s face turned red as if suddenly shy. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Esposito?”
Clara shook her head and offered her hand. “No. Clara Belrose… Charles was never formally adopted as we couldn't get all the right paperwork in order. Some of the legal documents were sealed.”
The last thing he needed was for Sandi’s family to think less of him for not being from a normal family. Charles stood beside Clara and explained, “Clara raised me since I was a baby really. She’s the only mother I ever knew.”
Tears formed in her eyes and she cupped his cheek. “Yes, and Charles is all the family I have left. Come. I ordered coffee served for us.”
He followed but his insides twisted as he knew Clara had thought about her daughter and grandson in that moment. He’d never been able to replace what she lost.
Fred joined them as Charles asked Clara, “How is the dower house for you?”
