Valentine's Secret Child

“I’m not asking about ‘people.’ I want to know why you changed your name.”

“I wanted to be…someone else. And now I am.”

“But you are still Michael. Deep down. No matter how much you change.”

He reached out. And so did she. Her fingers met his in the middle of the table, by the white magnolia blossom, in the candle’s golden glow. Met. And held.

He said, “I’m not Michael. Not anymore. I’m someone different. Someone named Mitch. And believe me, I like myself as Mitch a whole lot better than I ever liked Michael.”

“When did you change it?”

“When I was nineteen.”

“A year after…”

“We broke up. Yes. By then I’d created my first video game and I was working on the second one. I had a little money, at last. I’d rented an apartment. It seemed like total luxury to me. To sleep in a bed, to finally stop wondering where the next meal was coming from.”

“That must have been a great feeling.”

“Clean sheets and food in my stomach. Oh, yeah.”

She laughed again. “Actually, I meant how you came from nothing, and within a year you found success.”

“Well, I still had a long way to go. But things were definitely looking up.”

He’d still missed her like hell back then. It was an ache that never completely left him. But time had been kind and dulled the pain more year by year. He’d thought himself over her the past couple of years….

And then, last night, there she was, standing off to the side, her smile nervous and hopeful.

Since then, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Again, she pulled her hand back. She picked up her fork and went to work on her asparagus salad. He ate some of his stuffed portobello mushroom appetizer. They were quiet for a few minutes. The food was good and the silence held promise it seemed to him.

Eventually, she asked, “Why Mitch Valentine?”

“Well, it starts with the same letters as my given name, so it was a change, which I wanted, but at the same time, it felt comfortable, you know? It felt… right. Familiar.”

“But why Valentine?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s not a name I can picture you choosing, I guess. It’s a little too…” She couldn’t find the right word.

He gave her some help. “Soft? Girly? Romantic? Imaginative? Kelly. I’m hurt. You don’t think I’m imaginative…?”

She groaned. “Excuse me while I remove my foot from my mouth—and actually, I like it. It just surprises me you chose it, that’s all.”

“I actually did have a few reasons for making the choice. I’d already chosen Mitch some time before. As I said, I wanted a last name that started with a V, like Vakulic. And it was Valentine’s Day when I went to see the lawyer about making the change. I thought, hell. Valentine. Vakulic. Same first two letters, just like Mitch and Michael. And I thought Valentine sounded like the name of somebody famous. I liked that. A lot.”

She sat back in her chair. “So. That was nine years ago today….”

“That’s right, now you mention it.”

They shared a look. She broke the eye contact first. “Mitch,” she said softly. Her mouth kept tempting him.

He wanted to kiss it. “I like it when you say my name.”

There was urgency in those blue eyes. And something else. Something…what? Worried? Afraid? “Mitch, I…”

“What? Say it. Tell me.”

She shook her head—and then she slid her napkin in beside her plate. “Be right back.” And she got up and headed toward the arch that led to the ladies’ room.

He watched her go, admiring the slim, softly curving shape of her, thinking that he was probably pushing too fast, promising himself he’d slow it down a little when she returned, smiling wryly as he realized there was no way he would keep that promise.

The ladies’ room was blessedly empty. An orchid in a black pot graced the white marble sink counter. Beside the elegant flower a stack of neatly folded linen towels waited. So much nicer than ordinary paper ones.

Kelly braced her hands on the rim of the sink and leaned in toward the mirror. “You will tell him,” she commanded in a whisper, glaring at her own image. “You will go back out there and you will tell him that he has a daughter and you will do it the minute your butt hits that chair.”

She straightened. With slow deliberation, she smoothed her hair and then her skirt. She washed her hands and dried them on one of those beautiful cloth towels.

And then she drew her shoulders back and turned for the door.

At their table, the waiter was just setting down the main course. He slid over behind her and held her chair. She thanked him, he nodded and left them.

She spread her napkin on her lap again. Tell him, tell him, tell him. “This looks good…” She glanced up, into those amazing dark hazel eyes.

And she was lost. Finished. She just couldn’t do it.

He was there, across from her, after all these years. And somehow the boy she had loved had become the kind of man she dreamed about.

It was…a fantasy, this evening. Her fantasy. Just the two of them, by candlelight, sharing a lovely meal and good conversation.

Each glance was electric. And when he reached out and touched her hand…

Just a few more minutes. Just a little while longer.

She would tell him before they left the restaurant, before the night was over. But as soon as she did it, everything would change.

The fantasy would end. He would probably be angry. He would definitely be stunned. The hazy, soft magic between them would be blasted away.

Yes, she knew that every minute she kept the truth from him made her all the more culpable. Until last night, when she found him again, she was innocent of wrongdoing.

She’d tried to find him and failed, but she had tried. She’d had no thought, ever, of hiding the truth from him.

Now, though, this evening, as she sat here across from him, exchanged warm glances with him, told him of her life and urged him to tell her of his…

Now she was a cheater. A liar. Ultimately culpable.

She knew it.

And still, she took her fantasy—stole it, really. She had her sweet, tender, romantic lie of an evening.

Because he drew her. Powerfully.

Because she wanted him.

Because she’d never felt like this with anyone, except Michael. And now, here he was, the Michael she’d lost all those years ago, reincarnated into an amazing man named Mitch Valentine.

They had coffee, after the entrée. And they shared a crème brûlée. The vanilla bean custard was warm, sweet silk in her mouth, and she looked across the table and thought of kissing him.

A long kiss. Slow and deep and lazy—and wet. A kiss that would be crème brûlée-sweet.

The look in those eyes of his told her he was thinking along similar lines.

By then, her evilness knew no bounds. She found herself imagining what it might be like to spend a whole night with him. They could go to his hotel, make love for hours on the white, white sheets of a huge hotel bed. She just knew it would be incredible.

And, of course, it was also impossible. First, she’d have to sneak off somewhere so Mitch wouldn’t know what she was up to when she called Tanner.

She’d head for the restroom again, probably. By the marble sink with its linen towels and graceful orchid, she would auto-dial her brother. She would tell him that she’d decided to spend the rest of the night behaving inappropriately with the new, improved version of her high-school sweetheart. Would Tanner mind staying over ’til morning?

Tanner would ask the million-dollar question: Had she told Mitch yet that he was a dad?

She would have to say no, she hadn’t. Not yet.

Oh, that would go over excellently. But just say, for argument’s sake, that after Tanner finished telling her how badly she was handling this, he agreed to stay over and watch DeDe for the night….

Then what?

She’d have a whole night with Mitch. She’d have her fantasy come true.

Too bad about the next morning. By then, she would have run out of chances to put off the moment of truth. She would end up telling him about DeDe in the harsh light of the morning after, before he headed for the airport to board a plane.

How could he see that as anything but a gross and hideous betrayal?

Uh-uh. The evening was drawing to a close. They would not be going to his hotel together. The beautiful, sexy, romantic time was ending here. The fantasy was over before it ever had a chance to really begin. She did accept that.

And she needed to tell him about DeDe now, before they left the restaurant. She knew that. She did.

But still, she said nothing.

He paid the check. She thanked him. They rose. He helped her with her coat and shrugged into his own. She felt his hand at the small of her back, a tiny gesture of care and consideration, one that echoed temptingly of possessiveness.

She wished he would keep his hand right there forever….

He guided her toward the door. She looked up at him and he smiled into her eyes and every atom in her body heated and bounced. A happy dance of the most elemental variety. She yearned for his kiss, for his hands on her bare flesh.

The host beamed and wished them a good evening. They nodded and thanked him. Mitch pushed the door open and they were out on the sidewalk in the cold night air.

It was quiet on the street, a weeknight in midtown. Another couple strolled by, arms wrapped around each other.

Mitch turned her to face him, at the same time as he pulled her a little closer to the building, into the shadows, out of the way of any more strolling pedestrians. He had both arms wrapped lightly around her and he gazed down at her and…

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said. His mouth descended.

She needed to tell him, before he kissed her.

But no. Once again, she surrendered to temptation. She lifted her mouth to welcome his kiss.

His kiss…

It was…everything she’d hoped for. It was her forbidden, lying fantasy fulfilled.

First, the touch—his mouth, her mouth. Nothing like it. She took his breath into her. It was as sweet as vanilla, rich as good coffee….

He deepened the contact. She sighed. Opened. Tasted him as he tasted her.

The same, she thought. The thrill, the wonder, the delicious yearning that rode the fine edge between pleasure and pain. Still the same…

His tongue swept in, teasing, caressing. He was the boy she had lived for and loved with all her yearning, hungry, lonely heart.

He was that boy. And more….

He framed her face, lifted his mouth from hers. She stifled a cry, to be losing such a kiss.

Oh, she didn’t want this lovely intimacy to be over. She didn’t want this magic to end.

His palms were warm against her cheeks, his fingers so gentle at her temples. “I used to think I would go after you,” he told her. “That I would find you, that we could try again. But then, as time went by, I decided it was better, wiser, to let the past go….”

“Oh, Mitch. I know. I understand.”

“But tonight…seeing you again, being with you again…”

“Yes. Exactly. Oh, I do know.”

He took her shoulders. “Okay, this is crazy. But I don’t want tonight to end. Do you think…is it possible that you could go with me, tomorrow?”

The question stunned her. She echoed, stupidly, “Go with you?”

“It’s wild, I know. But wild doesn’t have to equal impossible. All night, I’ve been thinking about how I might talk you into coming with me. I was thinking, what if I endowed that shelter of yours, gave them a big grant? Lots of money. You think it would be enough that they could do without you for a few weeks?”

“Oh, God.”

He rubbed her shoulders, soothing her—and, oh, this was terrible. Why hadn’t she told him an hour ago, two hours ago?

“Hey,” he said. “Okay, maybe it’s not possible. But well, I thought I’d at least give it a shot.” His wry smile broke her heart.

Oh, to be able to simply say yes. To go with him, just pack a bag and take off, to follow this sudden, rekindled magic wherever it took them…

But who was she kidding? That couldn’t happen. Even if she could somehow manage to take a few weeks off from the center with zero notice beforehand, there was DeDe to consider.

DeDe. His daughter.

The child she had yet to tell him about, though telling him had been the whole point of the evening.

Time was up. She knew it, accepted it. She’d stolen her little impossible fantasy, though she had no right to do it, though it only made this moment when the truth was upon her all the more painful.

He scanned her face, a frown forming between his brows. Something was very wrong and he was seeing that now. Still, he tried to play it light. “Okay, okay. I said it was a wild idea. Too wild, I guess. But a guy needs a fantasy, now and then.”

“A…fantasy… Oh, Mitch.” She took his big hands between her own. “I don’t know how to do this. I’ve been trying all night, and failing miserably. I’m just so…attracted to you.”

He looked at her sideways, with a teasing half grin. “And that’s bad?”

“No. It’s not. It’s wonderful. Too wonderful. I didn’t want it to end. I wish I could go with you, I swear, I do. I’m flattered and thrilled that you would ask me and I…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God.”

“What? What’s gone wrong? I’m glad you still feel it for me. I feel it, too. I thought I’d made that clear. I thought we had something going here. Something good. Damn it, Kelly. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I…”

“What?”

“When we broke up ten years ago?”

He nodded. “Yeah? What about it?”

“I was, um, pregnant.”

He went absolutely still for a second or two—and then he moved, but only to pull his hands free of her hold. “What did you say?”

She prayed for the sidewalk to open under her feet, to just swallow her whole. “Oh, please, Mitch. Don’t look at me like that.”

He shook his head. “Pregnant? But you never said—”

“No, I didn’t. Because I didn’t know then. I didn’t miss a period for two weeks after I left for Fresno with Tanner. And then it took me another few weeks to face the possibility, to admit what might be happening to me. When I finally took the home test, six weeks had gone by since we split up.”

“All right.” Now his voice was flat, devoid of expression. His eyes were shuttered—against her. “So. What happened then?”

“I tried to find you….”

“And you didn’t. Got that. And then?”

“I…” She bumbled on, making a complete hash of it. “Seven months later, I had a baby.”

He flinched as if she’d struck him. “No.”

“Yes. I had a baby. Your baby. I had a little girl.”

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