The Pregnancy Proposal, page 3
Sean leaned over to pick up his phone from the nightstand. He felt the urge to call Montgomery.
And say what?
That he just wanted to hear her voice and check on her, knowing she was worried.
With a wry chuckle, Sean used his free hand to fling back the woven coverlet that matched the decor of all shades of gray from light to charcoal. He sat up nude on the side of the bed, thankful for the silk woven rug on the floor under the massive bed to shield his feet from the cold hardwood floors. Leaving his phone atop the crisp white cotton sheets before rising, he made his way over to his en suite to retrieve his black terry-cloth robe embroidered with his initials in white letters. Barefoot, he left his suite. He stopped halfway across the dimly lit den that centered the entire floor with the suites on one side, and the pantry, wrought iron staircase and elevator on the other. He slid his hands into the pockets of his robe and looked out the glass wall running along the entire rear of the house at the magnificent sight it offered.
Growing up only Gabriel and Phillip Junior had the rear suites with the glass wall. They were older and got first choice. Sometimes Sean would sleep on one of three sofas in the den, turning the costly furniture into his impromptu bed so that he could look at the view in the moments just before he fell asleep. He had always been fascinated by its beauty. When he eventually moved out one day, he would miss the focal point most of all.
With one last look, Sean continued across the dimly lit den and descended the stately stairs until he reached the first floor into the living room. Even with just lighting offered by the sconces on the walls, there was no denying the beauty of the modern decor of light gray and steel blue found throughout the entire home. It blended with the features common to its Victorian-era architecture with modern upgrades that were undoubtedly beautiful, luxurious and filled with amenities like its own movie theater with a deluxe snack bar, wine cellar, library, safe room with a secret entry and fully stocked pantries on each level.
And of course, the chef’s kitchen.
Sean made his way past the door to the half bath on his right and down the brief hall to the kitchen with its pale walls and dark cabinetry, complete with an island near the high-end range and refrigerator. The spacious area opened up to the dining room straight ahead and a den to its left, but it was clear which of them was the showcase. Instantly, he felt some of his concerns ease. Cooking was always his safe place and his peace.
Sean checked the pantry and the fridge before deciding to try something he was considering putting in his new cookbook focused on sandwiches from around the world, including sections on bread making and homemade condiments. His team at Cress, INC. had been suggesting various recipes for him to put his own spin on, and he was curious to see just what he could do with their latest recommendation.
He turned on some jazz music very low and got lost in the art of cooking. He lost track of time as he created every aspect of the sandwich from scratch, including the demi baguettes. No detail or extra step was considered unnecessary. Every element was lightly seasoned before being brought together. For the fried meat, instead of standard sausage or beef, Sean used a Cress, INC. cast-iron pan to sear a fine cut of Wagyu beef with a marbling score of twelve that meant the meat would be spectacularly tender by default. For the frites, or fries, he chose sweet potatoes instead of white. All of the vegetables were chopped from skills learned during the early days of all of the brothers working in their parents’ various kitchens over the years before leaving to attend culinary school. For the traditional sauces he chose to make a robust garlic sauce and then a gentle béarnaise sauce of butter, egg yolks, vinegar, shallots, peppercorns and tarragon.
“Oh. It’s you, Mr. Cress.”
Sean looked up from thinly slicing red cabbage to find the family’s housekeeper, Felice, standing at the top of the polished wood stairs leading down to the finished basement. The middle-aged woman was still in her robe and obviously freshly awakened from her sleep. He gave her a smile begging for forgiveness. “Sorry, Felice. Felt like cooking,” he explained before tossing a hand towel over his shoulder and swiftly turning to remove the baguettes he sliced and then pan grilled in garlic butter.
“Of course,” she said, covering a yawn with the back of her hand. “I’ll stay up and clean up once you’re done.”
Sean frowned. “No, you won’t. I’ll clean up, but you will try this for me,” he said, taking a baguette and filling it with thin slices of the steak that he let rest so that its juices drawn to the center of the meat during cooking would be redistributed and increase its flavor profile. He topped it with the tossed smoked gouda, arugula, red onion, thin slices of carrots and red cabbage, a drizzle of the garlic sauce and then the sweet potato frites, which he topped generously with the béarnaise.
“That does look good, Mr. Cress,” Felice said, having watched him intently.
He placed the sandwich on a plate and then the plate onto a tray with a bottle of flavored seltzer from the fridge before handing it to the woman with a nod of thanks. “Let me know what you think. In the morning,” he stressed before turning to assemble two more of the sandwiches.
“Good night, Mr. Cress,” she said before turning to make her way back up the stairs.
He was alone again. The cooking was complete and his focus instantly shifted back to Montgomery and the baby. Needing a new diversion, he focused on washing the pans he used and then cleaning the stove and countertops.
I’m pregnant, Montgomery had revealed.
He paused in wiping down the large island.
“Sean?”
He smiled as he looked up at his youngest brother, Lucas, walking into the kitchen in his own monogrammed robe—gifts from their mother. Of all his brothers, he and Lucas were the closest even though they were six years apart.
With the addition of Lincoln as the new eldest brother, it was Phillip Junior, himself, Gabriel, Coleman and then Lucas. As kids he had been as close to Phillip Junior as Gabriel and Coleman were—not just brothers but best friends. As the baby, and the last child his mother knew she would bear, Lucas had become “The Favorite,” undeniably. Coleman was “The Rebel.” Gabriel reigned as “The Good One” and Sean was “The Star.” Lincoln was “The New One” and Phillip Junior, once “The Eldest,” was now—in his mind anyway—“The Heir to the Throne.”
And he’d felt that way long before Lincoln’s addition to their lives, making Phillip Junior more arrogant and unbearable as the brothers got older—especially with their father stepping down from the business one day. It was then Sean began to spend more time with their little brother as adults. Their shared sense of humor made them friends. With Lucas, he could and would discuss anything.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Sean asked as his brother came over to look down at the sandwiches.
Lucas gave him a sheepish smile as his stomach grumbled loudly. “I came down for a snack,” he said as he rubbed his flat belly.
“Perfect timing,” Sean said, motioning with his chin toward the two sandwiches on the now-spotless island.
Lucas gave it a long look and wiped his mouth with his hand as if it watered, but he shook his head. “If I eat like this at two in the morning, I will gain back all the weight I lost,” he said. “And that’s not happening.”
Sean understood.
As a part of their mother’s devotion to her youngest son, Nicolette had given him plenty of affection and even more delectable treats as he stuck to her side like a shadow. Until a few years ago, Lucas had carried sixty extra pounds on his tall frame. And being a skilled pastry chef who loved his own treats, he found it had been no easy feat to lose the weight.
“It’s not always what you eat but the portion size and the frequency,” Sean reminded him, taking a knife to cut one of the eight-inch sandwiches in half. “Plus, I want your take on it.”
“For the cookbook?” Lucas asked, giving it another long look before finally shifting his eyes up to his older brother.
“Possibly,” Sean said, turning to pull two bottles of beer from the fridge to open both before setting them on the island.
Lucas frowned as he eyed the frosty bottles. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
He knows me too well.
Sean attended parties and led a fast-paced lifestyle, but he was typically a light drinker. Thus, reaching for a beer was a tell he was unable to bluff. Besides, he didn’t want to. He needed to unload. He walked over to close the door leading to the cellar. “I may have a baby on the way,” he admitted.
Lucas stared at him before his eyes widened as if he needed a moment to process the news. He reached for one of the bottles of beer to take a long drink of it. “Details,” he ordered before reaching for the sandwich to take a healthy bite.
“What you have, Chef, is a Belgium sandwich—a mitraillette or submachine gun,” Sean said.
“Seriously, Sean,” Lucas drawled.
He smiled at his brother. “I know,” he said with a half smile.
“It’s delicious, by the way,” Lucas added. “But tell me, who’s the mother?”
“Montgomery,” Sean admitted, as her words seemed to haunt him.
I’m pregnant.
Lucas’s eyes widened in surprise. “Beautiful woman,” he said.
“Very,” Sean agreed, thinking of her.
“But do you want her to be the mother of your child?” Lucas asked as he turned and crossed the kitchen to the cabinets lining the wall to open a drawer and remove linen napkins.
“I’m not ready for any woman to have my child,” Sean said with a heavy breath before pushing his half of the sandwich away.
Over the past week his appetite had faded.
Lucas picked up the last piece of his sandwich and dragged it through the sauces that had dripped onto the plate. “But if Montgomery is pregnant?” he asked before easing the food into his open mouth.
“Then nothing will ever be the same for either one of us,” Sean admitted.
“True,” Lucas agreed, dropping the napkin atop the plate. “Anyone else know?”
Sean shook his head. “Not yet. She’s waiting to hear back from her doctor to confirm the at-home pregnancy test,” he explained.
Lucas took a sip of his beer. “Soon?” he asked.
“The sooner, the better,” Sean said.
“Whatever you need from me, I’m here,” Lucas promised him. “Including a lifetime subscription to condoms.”
“Noted.”
“At least the drama concerning the sex tape is dying down,” Lucas offered.
A small reprieve.
Sean shrugged one shoulder. “And provides evidence that I do in fact wear condoms,” he said, feeling slightly devilish.
Lucas picked up the napkin to throw it onto his brother’s face. “That was way more of you than anyone needed to see,” he said with a wince.
Sean chuckled.
The elevator in the corner of the kitchen slid to a stop. The brothers both looked toward it to see their mother opening the wrought iron gate.
Great.
It was very possible that Nicolette Lavoie-Cress, chef extraordinaire, philanthropist, devoted wife and their mother, might have heard at least a part of their conversation.
God forbid.
She was as beautiful as she was overly protective of her sons—even Lincoln, as her stepson, had been accepted and was doted upon as well. She looked beautiful and elegant in an azure silk robe with lace trim that could almost be an evening gown. Her silver hair only had hints of her once-blond strands, and her favorite color was blue to match her eyes. She was aging well and looked younger than her years. And her love for their tall and broad father born in a small town in England with skin the color of chocolate was unwavering.
“Impossible de dormir?” Lucas asked her in her native French, wanting to know if she was unable to sleep.
“I called the hospital to check on your father and decided I needed something more than the snacks in the pantry for le casse-croûte,” Nicolette said, her French accent still prominent.
“Try this for a snack,” Sean said, offering her the remaining sandwich with a wave of his hand.
Nicolette arched a silver eyebrow as she came to stand beside Lucas, his height nearly two feet above her own. She pulled the platinum-rimmed plate closer before opening the sandwich to inspect it. “A mitraillette?” she guessed, eyeing each of her sons with a twinkle in her eyes.
Sean chuckled. “Oui, Chef,” he said.
“This shall do very nicely,” she said with a smile before pressing the sandwich flatter with her palm and then lifting it to take a bite.
Their parents were two of the top chefs in the world, and to watch her take a bite of his food took Sean back to the days of culinary school awaiting the opinion of his teacher. When their maman released a soft grunt of pleasure and did a little shimmy, Sean knew she approved. She took another bite and he knew she loved it.
For him that made it a definite addition to the cookbook.
Nicolette looked at him as she used the linen napkin to pat the corners of her mouth. “My wild son,” she said. “Charming, handsome, funny, talented and a star. But also, since you were a child, a dimpled rascal who loved chasing pretty little girls and giving them kisses. Women have always been your weakness.”
“True,” Sean agreed, unable to deny that he had enjoyed seeing just how many ladies he could woo with his dimples.
A lot of times they tried to woo him.
He gave his mother that winning smile.
“Charmer,” she muttered, reaching up to lightly pat his face.
When her hand lingered, he knew she fought the urge to put a little more weight into her pat because of the sex tape scandal.
“Tu es le seul à ne pas t’installer. Allez-vous?” she asked him softly with her eyes filled with regret.
“You are the only one who will not settle down. Will you?” she had asked in French.
He smiled but it was fake because it hid the guilt and concern he had because settling down or having a child was indeed not what he wanted.
Bzzzzzzzzz.
He and Lucas shared a look as Nicolette reached into the pocket of her robe to remove her cell phone. “It’s Gabe!” she gasped, looking up with excited eyes. “The baby is coming. I’m heading to the hospital.”
Collette, Phillip Junior and Raquel’s daughter who was named after Nicolette, was the heart of the family, but also the lone grandchild. She would enjoy another kid to play with.
Like mine.
“Another Cress grand. What a blessing,” Nicolette said, picking up the mitraillette before quickly moving to the elevator, presumably to get dressed.
“A blessing indeed, Maman,” Lucas said with a long look at Sean that was heavy with meaning.
If Montgomery is pregnant with my child, will she be as happy for me as she is for Gabe?
Considering the circumstances, Sean found that hard to believe.
* * *
The next morning, dressed in red flannel pajama bottoms, a pink fitted thermal top and woven socks adorned with snowflakes, Montgomery sat on the bottom step of the stairwell of the two-story colonial home she inherited from her grandparents upon their deaths nearly five years ago. She looked around at the brightly lit home. She wished she had the time to strip the paint from the wood to expose the beams and trim. To her, the massive brightly colored area rug that anchored the modern fuchsia sofa would work better with wood than the stark white walls.
Although the home was a classic beauty, it was forever in need of repairs and modernization with closed-concept smaller rooms. Just two months ago Montgomery paid out five figures to replace the roof. A year ago the clay sewer pipes that were commonplace during the era of the home’s creation were cracked by tree roots and had to be replaced and their layout shifted to meet current city standards. The memory of its cost still made her flinch. Each and every time.
Her to-do list lengthened. Time, effort and money were constantly being poured into the home.
“You’re all set, Go-Go.”
Montgomery looked back over her shoulder at her father closing the door to the basement before walking over to her as he cleaned his hands on an old piece of torn cloth. She smiled at his nickname for her. As a baby she was always so active. Constantly moving and on the go.
Go-Go.
“I already feel the heat coming back on, Daddy. Thank you,” she said, rising to press a kiss to his bearded cheek.
Reverend Alton “Rev” Morgan was a tall and thin man who was as strict with what he ate as he was with the actions he took in the world. Excess was not his forte.
He shifted his wire-framed glasses on his broad nose but looked over the rim at her. “It’s the boiler. You’re going to need a new one soon,” he said with a booming voice that seemed to shake the rafters of his church every Sunday.
Another bill.
She could almost hear it ring up.
Cha-ching.
She hated it but she would pay it. The five-bedroom, four-thousand-square-foot structure was her home and she loved living in Passion Grove, New Jersey. The town offered a slower-paced, small-town feel but was close enough to midtown Manhattan to allow a daily commute into the city to work. Although her home was on the lower end of some of the estates in the town worth millions, she enjoyed the luxury lifestyle set by her wealthier neighbors. The townspeople enjoyed the holidays with events meant to draw them together. For her, after a long day in the busy and congested streets of Manhattan, coming home to Passion Grove, with its heart-shaped lake and streets named after flowers, was ideal.
