Rags To Riches: His Wish, Her Command: The Last Summer of Being Single / An Enticing Debt to Pay / A Navy SEAL's Surprise Baby. Annie West
Ask him? Ask him what? Ask him why he had lied about the fact that Seb’s parents were not his real parents? Or perhaps ask him why he had married the first Frenchwoman he met in Sydney and expected Seb to make Nicole his new mother? And now this.
No, thanks. He had stopped asking and started making his own choices a long time ago.
‘Maybe another time. Right now I’m far more interested in collecting together as much of my family history as I can before I leave today.’
‘Well, in that case, you had better start with these photos of your parents’ wedding.’
Ella pressed a leather photo album into his hands. ‘Your mother looked so beautiful. She obviously loved being pregnant.’
TWO hours later Seb was pacing the length of his bedroom and in danger of wearing a track on the surface of the fine wool rug.
He had not left the Mas Tournesol. He couldn’t. He was far too agitated to drive anywhere except into the nearest solid brick wall or large tree.
The only good news was that he now had the answers to two of his questions.
He had not been adopted after all.
There was no doubt now that his mother had been pregnant when she married his dad. The wedding photographs Ella had found in the attic were wonderful—it was a delight to see his mother laughing and happy, surrounded by family and friends she loved. And without the huge bouquet of flowers to hide her baby bump, she was very definitely pregnant.
Ella had recognised the fact instantly when she had seen those photographs.
While he had been kept in the dark all of these years!
Okay. He could deal with that and stomping around his old bedroom was not going to help. It had always been a possibility that his mother had been in a previous relationship and it certainly did not change his deep connection to her.
Which left the missing piece of the puzzle. Who was his father?
And now he had a possible answer.
Because he had a name. André Sebastien Morel. Only this André was not a friend or some relative. André Morel had been his mother’s fiancé.
Clutched in his left hand was a crinkled and faded clipping from a Montpellier newspaper he had unearthed from the second box of Castellano family records he had hauled down from the attic.
The edges of the clipping were torn because whoever had cut the announcement had used pinking shears from a young woman’s sewing box.
The photograph in the living room had been taken at his mother’s engagement party to celebrate her engagement to André Sebastien Morel some fourteen months before she married Luc Castellano.
There was no doubt. Both the date and the year on the newspaper clipping matched those on the photograph from the living room.
His mother had been engaged to André Sebastien Morel.
It did not mean that André was his father, of course, but it was a start.
Screwing up the ragged scrap of faded newsprint, he pushed it deep into his pocket, marched over to the window and clenched his hand over the narrow ledge, his fingers and knuckles white with the effort, desperate to breathe in some cool air.
He felt totally bewildered at the fury of questions and implications that showered out of this discovery.
There were two more boxes to sort through and the weight of what he might find there was starting to bear down heavily. He would do it. He had to.
But suddenly he felt constricted, trapped in this tiny room. He needed to walk some of this tension out of his body. And fast.
Perhaps a change of scene would help him to come up with a plan?
He needed to find out everything he could about André Morel. At the very least André had known his mother at a crucial time and could help track down his father. And at worst? His mother would not be the first girl to find herself pregnant and engaged to the man she loved—only to find herself a single mother. Either way, he needed to know.
Seb snatched up his carryon bag and started stuffing it with paperwork and photographs—but it was far too small.
The knock on the door startled him and he jogged the few steps to yank it open in frustration, only to find Ella peeking in towards him, carrying a small wooden tray complete with a white lacework napkin and a steaming beaker of the most delicious smelling coffee.
‘Sorry to disturb you, but delving back into the past can be hard work. Do you need milk or sugar? I noticed you took your coffee straight at breakfast but I can always dive down and get you some. And how about a pastry? You look like you need a pastry. Oh. You’re packing.’
The look on her face of simple interest and calm concern hit him like a bucket of cool fresh water, dousing out the flames of his anger and discontent.
She was gabbling. Nervous… for him.
The gesture was so genuine and caring that it grabbed him and shook him hard out of his grave state of mind.
He gently laid one hand on her arm and she stopped gushing and gabbling and looked at him. Really looked at him. As though she could see into his mind and untangle the turmoil of questions and answers that lay within. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, the concern in her soft voice making it tremble.
The coffee was starting to slosh and the whole tray threatened to shake out of her hands so he carefully took it from her hands and lowered it onto a stack of old magazines. Almost instinctively his hands reached out to take hold of hers, but he caught them in time to push them firmly down into his trouser pockets.
‘No. I’m not okay, and, yes, I am packing. Except that I am going to need several more bags,’ he replied, his gaze on the assorted documents that were spread out all over the bedroom floor, close to Ella’s feet.
Ella was wearing blue lace-up deck shoes and a green ribbon tied around her left ankle.
A small sigh escaped from her mouth and there was something about it that touched him. He barely knew her, but she was as transparent as glass. Which was probably why he startled both of them by looking into her blue eyes and asking, ‘How about you? Are you okay?’
She breathed in through her nose and her chin tilted back a little as she rocked back on her heels.
‘Been better,’ she whispered, ‘since you ask.’
Then her lips came together and for one, horrible moment that filled him with dread Seb thought that she was going to start crying on him.
Instead, she blinked several times as though clearing her mind, smiled and gestured with her head towards the corridor.
‘It seems to me that you need a job to keep your mind busy. I need someone who is taller than I am and not frightened of heights. Yvette has gone home for the day and, to be perfectly honest, you look like you could use some fresh air. Interested?’
‘You have a job for me?’ He snorted in disbelief. ‘I’m sorry, Ella, but I have more than enough on my mind right now.’
He flung his arm out over the jumble of papers and boxes. ‘I need to get to the city and find myself a large conference table and a fast computer. Databases. Old newspapers. Anything that can give me the background data I need. Starting with my birth certificate. How do I get hold of a copy in a hurry? I’ve never seen an original.’
Ella peered around him at the crates. ‘How do you know that you don’t have one buried in those boxes that you have not opened yet?’
His eyes narrowed and he glared at her. ‘I don’t want to be rude but I need to get back