to Isabella or Adrian. Cole might not be a part of her life anymore, but he would never stand by and let a woman or innocent child be hurt. Especially not these two. Cole brushed that thought away. Any honorable man would do the same.
Adrian started to flap his hand in impatience.
“Adrian, the doctor is busy. He doesn’t have time for a break with us.” A breeze blew through, plastering Bella’s dress against her, outlining her petite figure.
He couldn’t stop himself from wanting Bella now just as strongly as he had wanted her on their last night together. Though now he understood that desire was purely a sexual response. Then, he’d wanted her enough to consider giving up his lifelong dream of becoming a doctor.
But dreams hadn’t been enough for Isabella Allante. Not his dreams, anyway. Her own dreams of marrying sugarcane plantation heir David Beautemps and taking her privileged place in society had superseded his foolish plans for the two of them together, carving out their own unique niche in the world.
“I can take a break.” Now he wanted to prove to her, and—he had to admit—to himself that she had absolutely no sway over him. “Lead on, Adrian. I’m with you all the way.”
Maybe sitting across the table from her as if they were two old acquaintances with nothing more between them but a couple of sodas—and another man’s son—would close a chapter of his life that should have ended a long time ago.
After this quick encounter, he would throw the book of his youth against the wall and get on with his life—as he’d thought he already had until their chance meeting today.
Isabella forced her shaky knees to carry her. She let her steps lag as she watched father and son walk in front of her. She needed time to think—time to breathe.
How could this happen? She had spent so many nights, so many years trying to resign herself to the loss of the only man she had ever loved. And here he showed up, made an immediate connection with his son and stepped back into her heart as if he’d never been gone from it. She had thought she’d locked him out of that sacred place for ever.
Pain radiated from her chest throughout her whole circulatory system. She felt as dizzy as if she had been whirled in a fast circle for the last fifteen years.
Stop it, Isabella. You don’t have time for childish theatrics, she told herself. She used all her training as a cognitive behavior therapist to pull herself together. Taking note of her mental state and subsequent physical reactions, she exerted mind over matter to bring her heart rate under control.
Only through sheer willpower did she force her world to stop spinning. Now to evaluate the situation. She looked at the pair in front of her.
They both had that same easy, long-legged stride. Adrian’s hair was a shade lighter but in time it would darken to that deep cocoa brown like Cole’s.
Side by side, there could be no denying that Adrian was Cole’s son. Adrian had that same olive complexion and would soon have the same heavy beard that Cole had at such an early age.
Bella had taken full advantage of Adrian’s fascination with Cole in so many ways. Photos of him had convinced her son to swim, to eat his vegetables and, most recently, to shave.
She had always had a worry in the back of her mind. What would Adrian do on the off chance he ever met his father? Now that worry was a reality. But there were no fireworks, no meltdowns, no drama of any kind.
The only volatile reactions going on were inside her own heart.
Unpredictably, her son took meeting his father in his stride, accepting Cole as someone he’d known for years. And, in a way, he had.
Why was he here—and why now, fifteen years too late?
Why the cat-and-mouse game, as if he didn’t know who Adrian was to him?
Was he assessing the extent of Adrian’s autism before deciding on whether to claim him as his son or not? That seemed far too cold for the Cole she had once known. But, then, so had his abandonment of her all those years ago.
She had to face facts. A decade and a half ago she hadn’t known Cole as well as she’d thought. And she certainly didn’t know him now.
For the first time since Adrian’s birth Isabella was glad he rarely talked. She felt bad about it, but she didn’t wish it only for her own selfish purposes. She needed to find out what Cole’s intentions were.
Maybe Cole would satisfy his curiosity and simply go away, and she could get back to the steady, stable routine that served Adrian so well. What would she do if he wanted to become involved in Adrian’s life?
She might not be able to predict Cole’s behavior, but she knew what she intended to do—what she had always done. She would protect her son at all costs.
Resolution made, she glared at the back of the man who had left her and never looked back all those years ago.
She’d tracked his meteoric rise in the medical community as a leading hand and wrist surgeon. How could she help it, being the daughter of a renowned surgeon herself? He now had institutes in major cities all over the U.S. to care for his high-profile clients.
His latest patient had been a promising child gymnast with a wrist injury. Under his care she’d made a miraculous recovery. Rumors said the girl’s mother had received Cole’s personal attention as well—for a little while.
And there was her answer. Cole would be in and out of their lives so fast they would barely notice the blip. She just had to keep everything as smooth as possible for Adrian—and for herself.
Isabella caught up to them as Cole and Adrian stood before the counter. Quietly, she observed them, still not sure what she should do, what she should say in front of her son.
“Want a drink?” Cole asked, intently watching Adrian’s face.
As Adrian looked down and to the right, Cole tried again. “Ice cream?”
Seeing a positive response, Cole narrowed the choices. “Vanilla? Chocolate? Whipped cream?”
While it took Adrian’s new aides days to learn his subtle form of communication, it had taken Cole only minutes.
Of course he could communicate with his son. They were so much alike in so many ways. Cole had always been a man of few words—the ultimate strong, silent type.
And Adrian had spoken to him. Isabella waited weeks, sometimes months, for a single sound from her son. Cole had known him for only a few minutes and had already been gifted with one of Adrian’s few words. Daddy.
Without turning around, Cole asked, “Bella, what would you like?”
You, Isabella thought before she could stop herself. “A diet drink, please.”
Cole ordered for her while Isabella deliberately amended her thoughts. What did she want?
You, fifteen years ago.
Answers.
This day never to have happened.
But Isabella had learned a long time ago about wanting something, wanting someone. She couldn’t always have her heart’s desire just because she asked nicely. Cole had taught her that lesson well.
Isabella warred within herself. Her ingrained etiquette insisted she make small talk, but her protectiveness cautioned that an effort to communicate could be misconstrued as an effort to forge a bond.
They ate in silence. In the past, Isabella had been comfortable with Cole’s contemplative moods. But today she knew he wasn’t thinking. He was seething. Fire was in his eyes as he stole glances at her between bites. But why?
She was the one with the right to be angry. He had left her, accepting the scholarship for pre-med and, eventually, the residency at New York’s Hospital for Special Surgery when she’d thought he would come back to New Orleans for her.
She’d been