The Duchess Diaries

She popped a salute. “Yes, sir.”

“Christ! You got enough energy left for that?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just shooed her away. “Get out of here.”

* * *

The Oz the Great and Powerful bat mitzvah set the stage for the dozens of events that followed during the busy, busy month of May. Almost before she knew it Gina was caught up in a whirl of wedding and engagement and anniversary and graduation and coming-of-age parties. She gained both experience and confidence with each event.

So much so that Samuel soon delegated full responsibility for computing and placing orders with the subs for everything from decorations to bar stock. He also tapped her for fresh ideas for themes and settings. In rapid succession she helped plan a white-on-white wedding, a red-and-black “Puttin’ on the Ritz” debutante ball and a barefoot-on-the-beach engagement party at a private Hamptons estate. And then there was her grand coup—snaring Justin Bieber for a brief appearance at the national Girl Scout banquet to be held in the fall. He was in town for another event and Gina played shamelessly on his agent’s heartstrings until every teen’s favorite heartthrob agreed.

Not all events went smoothly. Frantically working her cell phone and walkie-talkie, Gina learned to cope with minor crises like a forgotten kosher meal for the rabbi, a groom caught frolicking in the fourth-floor bridal suite shower with the maid of honor and a drunken guest held hostage by an irate limo driver demanding payment for damage done to the vehicle’s leather seats.

In the midst of all the craziness she unpacked the boxes Dev’s assistant had shipped back from L.A. and welcomed her sister and her new brother-in-law home from their honeymoon. Gina and Sarah and the duchess were all teary-eyed when the newlyweds departed again, this time to look at homes for sale close to Dev’s corporate headquarters in California.

Miracle of miracles, Gina also managed to snag an appointment with the top OB doc on the short list of three Jack had emailed. She suspected he’d used his influence or family clout to make sure she got in to see one of them. She didn’t object to outside help in this instance. The health of her baby took precedence over pride.

As promised, she called Jack’s office to let him know about the appointment. A secretary routed her to his chief of staff.

“This is Dale Vickers, Ms. St. Sebastian. The ambassador is in conference. May I help you?”

“Jack asked me to let him know the date and time of my prenatal appointment. It’s Thursday of next week, at three-fifteen, with Dr. Sondra Martinson.”

“I’m looking at his calendar now. The ambassador is unavailable next Thursday. Please reschedule the appointment and call me back.”

The reply was as curt as it was officious. Gina held out the phone and looked at it in surprise for a moment before putting it to her ear again.

“Tell you what,” she said, oozing sweetness and light, “just tell Jack to call me. We’ll take it from there.”

The man must have realized his mistake. Softening his tone, he tried to regain lost ground.

“I’m sorry if I sounded abrupt, Ms. St. Sebastian. It’s just that the ambassador is participating all next week in a conference with senior State Department officials. They’re assessing U.S. embassy security in light of recent terrorist attacks. I can’t overstate the importance of this conference to the safety and security of our consular personnel abroad.”

Properly put in her place, Gina was about to concede the point when he made a suggestion.

“Why don’t I call Dr. Martinson’s office and arrange an appointment that fits with the ambassador’s schedule?”

“That won’t work. We need to work around my schedule, too.”

“I’m sure you can squeeze something in between parties for twelve-year-olds.”

The barely disguised put-down dropped Gina’s jaw. What was with this character? Sheer obstinacy had her oozing even more saccharine.

“I’m sure I can. After all, the tab for our last twelve-year-old’s party only ran to sixty-five thousand dollars and change. Just have Jack call me. We’ll work something out.”

“Really, Ms. St. Sebastian, we don’t have to trouble the ambassador with such a trivial matter.”

Heat shot to every one of Gina’s extremities. Given her normally sunny and fun-loving disposition, she’d never believed that old cliché about seeing red. She did now.

“Listen, asshole, you may consider the ambassador’s baby a trivial matter. I’m pretty sure he won’t agree. The appointment is for three-fifteen next Thursday. End of discussion.”

* * *

As instructed, she arrived at Dr. Martinson’s office a half hour prior to her scheduled appointment. The time was required for a final review and signature on the forms she’d downloaded from the office website. She hadn’t heard from Jack or from his stick-up-the-butt chief of staff. So when she walked into the reception area and didn’t spot a familiar face, she wasn’t surprised.

What did surprise her was how deep the disappointment went. She’d been so busy she hadn’t had time to dwell on the confused feelings Jack Mason stirred in her. Except at night, when she dropped into bed exhausted and exhilarated and wishing she had someone to share the moments of her day with. Or when her body reminded her that she wasn’t its sole inhabitant anymore. Or when she happened to spot a tall, tanned male across the room or on the street or in the subway.

“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered as she signed form after form. “He’s making the world safer for our embassy people. That has to take precedence.”

She was concentrating so fiercely on the clipboard in her hand that she didn’t hear the door to the reception area open.

“Good, I’m not late.”

The relieved exclamation brought her head up with a jerk.

“Jack! I thought... Vickers said...”

Of all the idiotic times to get teary-eyed! How could she handle every crisis at work with a cheerful smile and turn into such a weepy wimp around this man? She had to jump off this emotional roller coaster.

“Vickers told me what he said.” Grinning, he dropped into the chair beside hers. “He also told me what you said.”

“Yes, well, you shouldn’t piss off a preggo. The results aren’t pretty.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Guilt wormed through the simple, hedonistic pleasure of looking at his handsome face. She let the clipboard drop to her lap and made a wry face.

“You shouldn’t have come. Vickers said you had a top-level conference going on all week.”

“We wrapped up the last of the key issues this morning. All that’s left is to approve the report once it gets drafted. I can do that by secure email. Which means,” he said as he took the clipboard and flipped through the forms, “I don’t have to fly back to D.C. right away. Here, you forgot to sign this one.”

She scribbled her signature and tried not to read too much into his casual comment about extending his trip up from D.C. Didn’t work. When he tacked on an equally casual invitation, her heart gave a little bump.

“If you don’t have plans, I thought I might take you and the duchess to dinner tonight.”

“Oh, I can’t. I’m working a fiftieth anniversary party. I had to sneak out for this appointment.”

“How about tomorrow?”

The bump was bigger this time. “Are you staying over that long?”

“Actually, I told Dale to clear the entire weekend.”

“Ha! Bet he loved that.”

“He’s not so bad, Gina. You two just got off on the wrong foot.”

“Wrong foot, wrong knee, wrong hip and elbow. How long has he worked for you, anyway?”

“Five years.”

“And no one’s ever told you he’s officious or condescending?”

“No.”

“It has to be me, then.” Grimacing, she rolled out the reason she suspected might be behind his aide’s less-than-enthusiastic response to her call. “Or the fact that the paparazzi will have a field day when they hear you knocked me up.”

“They probably will,” he replied, not quite suppressing a wince. “But when they do, you might want to use a different phrase to describe the circumstances.”

“Really? What phrase do you suggest I use, Mr. Ambassador?”

He must have seen the chasm yawning at his feet. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as such a pompous jerk.”

The apology soothed Gina’s ruffled feathers enough for her to acknowledge his point. “I’m sorry, too. I know the pregnancy will cause you some embarrassment. I’ll try not to add to it.”

“The only embarrassing aspect to this whole situation is that I can’t convince the beautiful and very stubborn mother of my child to marry me.”

She wanted to believe him, but she wasn’t that naive. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment before voicing the worry that had nagged her since Switzerland.

“Tell me the truth, Jack. Is this going to impact your career?”

“No.”

“Maybe not at the State Department, but what about afterward? I read somewhere that certain powerful PACs think you have a good shot at the presidency in the not-too-distant future.”

“Gina, listen to me.” He curled a knuckle under her chin and tipped her face to make sure he had her complete attention. “We met, we were attracted to each other, we spent some time together. Since neither of us were then, or are now, otherwise committed, the only ones impacted by the result of that meeting are you, me and our baby.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “That was some speech, Mr. Ambassador. Those PACs may be right. You should make a bid for the Oval Office. You’d get my vote.”

He feathered the side of her jaw with his thumb. “I’d rather get your signature on a marriage license.”

Maybe...maybe she was being blind and pigheaded and all wrong about this marriage thing. So he didn’t love her? He wanted her, and God knew she wanted him. Couldn’t their child be the bridge to something more?

The thought made her cringe inside. What kind of mother would pile her hopes and dreams on a baby’s tiny shoulders?

“We’ve had this discussion.” Shrugging, she pulled away from his touch. “Let’s not get into it again.”

Surprise darkened his brown eyes, followed by a touch of what could have been either disappointment or irritation. Before Gina could decide which, a nurse in pink-and-blue scrubs decorated with storks delivering bundles of joy popped into the waiting room.

“Ms. St. Sebastian?”

“Right here.”

“If you’ll come with me, I’ll get your height and weight and show you to an exam room.”

Gina pushed out her chair. Jack rose with her. The nurse stopped him with a friendly smile. “Please wait here, Mr. St. Sebastian. I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”

The look on his face was more than enough to disperse Gina’s glum thoughts. Choking back a laugh, she floated after the nurse. When Jack joined her in the exam room five minutes later, she was wearing a blue paper gown tied loosely in the front and a fat grin.

“I set her straight on the names.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on,” she teased. “You have to admit it was funny.”

The only thing in Jack’s mind at the moment was not something he could admit. How could he have forgotten how full and lush and ripe her breasts were? Or had her pregnancy enhanced the creamy slopes he glimpsed through the front opening of her gown?

Whatever! That one glimpse was more than enough to put him in a sweat. Thoroughly disgusted, he was calling himself all kinds of a pig when the doctor walked in.

“Hello, Ms. St. Sebastian. I’m Dr. Martinson.”

Petite and gray-haired, she shook hands with her patient before turning to Jack. “And you’re Ambassador Mason, the baby’s father?”

“That’s right.”

“I read through your medical and family histories. I’m so pleased neither of you smoke, use drugs, or drink to excess. That makes my job so much easier.”

She included Jack in her approving smile before addressing Gina.

“I’m going to order lab tests to confirm your blood type and Rh status. We’ll also check for anemia, syphilis, hepatitis B and the HIV virus, as well as your immunity to rubella and chicken pox. I want you to give a urine sample, as well.”

Her down-to-earth manner put her patient instantly at ease...right up until the moment she extracted a pair of rubber gloves from a dispenser mounted on the wall.

“Let’s get the pelvic exam out of the way, then we’ll talk about what to expect in the next few weeks and months.”

She must have caught the consternation that flooded into Gina’s china blue eyes. Without missing a beat, the doc snapped on the gloves and issued a casual order.

“Why don’t you wait outside, Ambassador Mason? This will only take a few moments.”

Five

When Jack accompanied Gina out of the medical plaza complex and into the early throes of the Thursday evening rush hour, he was feeling a little shell-shocked.

The news that he would be a father had surprised the hell out of him initially. Once he’d recovered, he’d progressed in quick order from consternation to excitement to focusing his formidable energy on hustling the mother of his child to the altar. Now, with a copy of A Father’s Guide to Pregnancy tucked in the pocket of his suit coat and the first prenatal behind him, he was beginning to appreciate both the reality and the enormity of the road ahead.

Gina, amazingly, seemed to be taking her pregnancy in stride. Like a gloriously painted butterfly, she’d gone through an almost complete metamorphosis. Not that she’d had much choice. With motherhood staring her in the face, she appeared to have shed her fun-loving, party-girl persona. The hysterical female who’d called Jack from Switzerland had also disappeared. Or maybe those personas had combined to produce this new Gina. Still bubbling with life, still gorgeous beyond words, but surprisingly responsible.

She’d listened attentively to everything the doctor said, asked obviously well-thought-out questions and made careful notes of the answers. She also worked the calendar on her iPhone with flying fingers to fit a visit to the lab for the required blood tests and future appointments with Dr. Martinson into her schedule.

In between, she fielded a series of what had sounded like frantic calls from work with assurances that yes, she’d confirmed delivery of the ice sculpture; no, their clients hadn’t requested special permission from the New York City Department of Corrections for their grandson currently serving time at Rikers to attend their fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration; and yes, she’d just left the doctor’s office and was about to jump in a cab.

Jack waited on the sidewalk beside her while she finished that last call. The sky was gray and overcast but the lack of sunshine didn’t dim the luster of her hair. The tumble of shining curls and the buttercup-yellow tunic she wore over patterned yellow-and-turquoise tights made her a beacon of bright cheer in the dismal day.

Jack stood beside her, feeling a kick to the gut as he remembered exploring the lush curves under that bright tunic. Remembering, too, the kiss they’d shared the last time he put her in a cab. He’d spent more time trying to analyze his reaction to that kiss than he wanted to admit. It was hot and heavy on his mind when Gina finished her call.

“I have to run,” she told him. “If you still want to take Grandmama and me to dinner, I could do tomorrow evening.”

“That works.”

“I’ll check with her to make sure tomorrow’s okay and give you a call.”

He stepped to the curb and flagged a cab. She started to duck inside and hesitated.

Was she remembering the last time he’d put her in a cab, too? Jack’s stomach went tight with the anticipation of taking her in his arms again. He’d actually taken a step forward when she issued a tentative invitation.

“Would you like to see where I work?”

The intensity of his disappointment surprised him, but he disguised it behind an easy smile. “Yeah, I would.”

“It’ll have to be a brief tour,” she warned when they got in the cab. “We’re in the final throes of an anniversary celebration with two hundred invited guests.”

“Not including the grandson at Rikers.”

She made a face. “Keep your fingers crossed he doesn’t break out! I have visions of NYPD crashing through the doors just when we parade the cake.”

“You parade cakes?”

“Sometimes. And in this instance, we’ll do it very carefully! We’re talking fifteen layers replicating the Cape Hatteras lighthouse that stands on the spot where our honorees got engaged.”

She thumbed her iPhone and showed Jack an image of the iconic black-and-white striped lighthouse still guarding the shores of North Carolina’s Outer Banks.

“We’re doing an actual working model. The caterer and I had several sticky sessions before we figured out how to bury the battery pack in the cake base and power up the strobe light at the top without melting all his pretty sugar frosting into a black-and-white blob.”

“I’m impressed.”

And not just with the ingenuity and creativity she obviously brought to her new job. Enthusiasm sparkled in her blue eyes, and the vibrancy that had first snared his interest bubbled to the surface again.

“Hopefully, our clients will be impressed, too. We’re decorating the entire venue in an Outer Banks theme. All sand, seashells and old boats, with enough fishnet and colorful buoys to supply the Atlantic fleet.”

Unbidden and unwanted, a comparison surfaced between the woman beside him and the woman he’d loved with every atom of his being. The vivid images of Catherine were starting to fade, though, despite Jack’s every effort to hang on to them. He had to dig deep to remember the sound of her laughter. Strain to hear an echo of her chuckle. She’d been so socially and politically involved. So serious about the issues that mattered to her. She had fun, certainly, but she hadn’t regarded life as a frothy adventure the way Gina seemed to. Nor would she have rebounded so quickly from the emotional wringer of Switzerland.

As his companion continued her lighthearted description of tonight’s event, Jack’s memories of his wife retreated to the shadows once again. Even the shadows got blasted away when he and Gina exited the elevators onto the third floor of the Tremayne Group’s midtown venue.

They could be on the Outer Banks, right at the edge of the Atlantic. Bemused, Jack took in the rolling sand dunes, the upended rowboat, the electronic waves splashing across a wall studded with LED lights.

“Wow. Is this all your doing?” he asked Gina.

“Not hardly. Mostly my boss, Samuel, and...uh-oh! There’s Samuel now. He’s with our big boss. ’Scuse me a minute. I’d better find out what’s up.”

Jack recognized the diminutive woman with the salt-and-pepper corkscrew curls at first look. Nicole Tremayne hadn’t changed much in the past eight years. One of the underlings in her Boston operation had handled most of the planning for Jack’s wedding to Catherine, but Nicole had approved the final plans herself and flown up from New York to personally oversee the lavish affair.

He saw the moment she recognized him, too. The casual glance she threw his way suddenly sharpened into a narrow-eyed stare. Frowning, she exchanged a few words with Gina, then crossed the floor.

“John Harris Mason.” She thrust out a hand. “I should have made the connection when Gina demanded to know if Jack Mason had contacted me.”

“I hope you told her no. She almost bit off my head when I offered to call and put in a word for her.”

“She did? Interesting.”

Chin cocked, Tremayne studied him through bird-bright eyes. She wasn’t so crass as to come out and ask if he were the father of Gina’s baby but Jack could see the speculation rife in her face.

“I was sorry to hear about your wife,” she said after a moment.

“Thank you.”

God, what a useless response. But Jack had uttered it so many times now that the words didn’t taste quite as bitter in his mouth.

“Are you still in Boston?” she asked.

“No, I’m with the State Department now. Right now I’m assigned to D.C.”

“Hmm.” She tapped a bloodred nail against her chin. “Good to know.”

With that enigmatic comment she excused herself and returned to her underlings. Gina rushed over a few moments later.

“I’m so sorry, Jack. We’ll have to postpone the tour. I’ve got to take care of an ice-sculpture crisis.”

“No problem. Just let me know if tomorrow evening’s a go for the duchess.”

“I will.”

* * *

The following evening was not only a go, but the duchess’s acceptance also came with an invitation for drinks at the Dakota prior to dinner.

Jack spent all that day at the NYPD Counterterrorism Bureau established after 9/11. While coordination between federal, state and local agencies had increased exponentially since that horrific day, there was always room for improvement. The NYPD agents were particularly interested in Jack’s recent up-close-and-personal encounter with a rabidly anti-U.S. terrorist cell in Mali. They soaked up every detail of the terrorists’ weaponry and tactics and poured over the backgrounds of two Americans recently ID’d as part of the group. Since the parents of one of the expatriates lived in Brooklyn, NYPD was justifiably worried that the son might try to slip back into the country.

Jack in turn received in-depth briefings on the Counterterrorism Bureau’s Lower Manhattan Security Initiative. Designed to protect the nation’s financial capital, the LMSI combined increased police presence and the latest surveillance technology with a public-private partnership. Individuals from both government and the business world manned LMSI’s operations center to detect and neutralize potential threats. Jack left grimly hopeful that this unique public-private cooperative effort would prove a model for other high-risk targets.

He rushed back to his hotel and had his driver wait while he hurried upstairs to change his shirt and eliminate his five-o’clock shadow. A half hour later he identified himself to a uniformed doorman at the castlelike Dakota. The security at the famed apartment complex had stepped up considerably after one of its most famous tenants, John Lennon, was gunned down just steps away from the entrance years ago. Jack had no problem providing identification, being closely scrutinized and waiting patiently while the doorman called upstairs.

“The duchess is expecting you, sir. You know the apartment number?”

“I do.”

“Very good.” He keyed a remote to unlock the inner door. “The elevators are to your left.”

A dark-haired, generously endowed woman Jack remembered from the wedding reception answered the doorbell. She wore a polite expression but he sensed disapproval lurking just below the surface.

“Hola. I am Maria, housekeeper to la duquesa and auntie to Sarah and Gina.”

Auntie, huh? That explained the disapproval. She obviously considered him solely responsible for the failure of the box of condoms he and Gina had gone through during their sexual extravaganza.

“Good evening, Maria. I saw you at Sarah’s wedding but didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Jack Mason.”

“Sí, I know. Please come with me. La duquesa waits for you in the salon.”

He followed her down a hall tiled in pale pink Carrara marble. The delicate scent of orange blossoms wafted from a Waterford crystal bowl set on a rococo side table. The elegant accessories gave no hint of how close the duchess had come to financial disaster. Jack picked up faint traces of it, however, when Maria showed him into the high-ceilinged salon.

The room’s inlaid parquet floor was a work of art but cried for a hand-knotted Turkish carpet to soften its hard surface. Likewise, the watered silk wallpaper showed several barely discernible lighter rectangles where paintings must have once hung. The furniture was a skillful blend of fine antiques and modern comfort, though, and the floor-to-ceiling windows curtained in pale blue velvet gave glorious views of Central Park. Those swift impressions faded into insignificance when Jack spotted the woman sitting ramrod-straight in a leather-backed armchair, her cane within easy reach. Thin and frail though she was, Charlotte St. Sebastian nevertheless dominated the salon with her regal air.