BABY DADDY (24 page)

Everyday I fought the urge to hop on the jet and fly to America.

Only my mother stopped me.

“Give her space,” she’d said.

“But why…I don’t understand why she needs space from me, Mother. I’ll never hurt her.”

“Not all good intentions have good effects on people. Sometimes, they even harm. Let her open the door for you when she’s ready. Don’t force your way in.”

“But—“

“Raiden, trust me, I’m a woman. I know these things. And Ella is not an ordinary woman. Be patient.”

That was before I received her cryptic message.

This is a crucial point.

I can feel from her simple words that she’s very upset.

She wanted that baby so much.

If I don’t go to her now, I just know she’ll no longer contact me. She’ll try to forget me. She has too much pride. It’s in her character and she needs to change that.

It hurts that she can just let me go after everything we’ve shared, but I know her past demons are still very strong. She’s still wrapped tightly by a festering wound that hasn’t been healed for years.

She needs to heal completely. Our two weeks together were not enough. Not nearly enough. We need more than that.

We need forever.

I’ll not let her forget what we had. What we still have.

No way.

She needs to be reminded.

“Do you know what you’re getting into?”

Seldom does my mother question my plans and intentions. She’s the calmest person I know, never a slave of her temper. The fact that she’s doing so now gives away her real feelings. She’s worried.

“I thought you wanted me to venture out of the island.”

“Yes…but New York?”

“I don’t have a choice. Ella lives there.”

She inhales deeply and puts down her paint brush and her palette on her working table. She wipes her hands on her apron and faces me.

“This thing with Ella…”

“I love her.”

“How do you know you truly love her?”

I smile. “You’re the last person I’d expect to be asking me that question, Mother.”

She nods in understanding. “Her life is very different from yours, what you’re used to. She’s quite famous. And she moves in that society. They know her. She knows them.”

“I know. I’ll take the risk.”

“Antoinette will not like this.”

“Must our lives always depend on their whims, Mother?”

She sighs and I see the ghosts of the past haunt her eyes. “Remember your father. His legacy.”

“I’ll go there in peace. If they give me trouble, then I’d finally be in the mood to be a royal bastard after all these years.

Her eyes harden. “Don’t talk like that. I didn’t raise you to be like that. Your father would be disappointed in you.”

I feel contrite. That was uncalled for. I’m making her more anxious. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Have you told her?”

I shake my head.

“You should tell her. This is not something you just dump on someone’s head.”

“I will. When I see her, I will.”

“Do you need Sandro?”

“No. I want to do this alone. He’s needed here.”

“Alright. But bring someone else. Be prepared for anything. We don’t know how they will react to your presence there.”

“I know, Mother. Pissed. But they don’t own America.”

“Ella is no ordinary woman. She’s unlike anybody you’ve gotten involved with before.”

“That’s why she got me,” I put my palm over my heart. “Here.”

She finally smiles. “I like her, too. You chose well.”

I smile back. “I took after you.”

She opens her arms. I go to her, into her loving embrace.

“You take care of yourself.”

“I will. Thank you, Mother.”

“What the hell is this monstrosity,
Rowann?!”

My head senior designer swallows nervously and clears his throat. “Uhh, y-y-you designed it, Stella…”

“I certainly did not draw it like this! Who did this?! The cut is atrocious!” I circle the model and pick on the prototype she’s wearing like it’s the biggest insult to my three CFDA Designer of the Year trophies.

The moment I got back in New York, I threw myself into the thick of workload waiting for me. Before I left for Louÿs Island, I already had the sketches done for my new RTW collection and some of my
haute couture
but there have been a lot of revisions since I came back. I had new ideas I wanted to incorporate.

I check the other models, all thirty of them wearing some of the clothes intended for New York Fashion Week happening in less than two months.

I got a bit sidetracked by my depression after my visit to the clinic. I didn’t work for almost a week. I was a fucking basket case and I was afraid I couldn’t hold it together in front of my people. I’ve always had this tough cookie reputation. God forbid I’d suddenly break down and start acting like a drama queen.

I was confident Rowann could handle the prototypes even without my supervision for a few days. We’ve been doing this for years. But I’m so disappointed.

I can’t believe my designs turned out this way. What happened to me? My master sewers couldn’t even interpret them correctly.

“Page Six will have a field day over this! Cathy Varys is going to tear me apart in her review, with good reason! I’m not bringing this wack load of mediocrity to the show! Back to the drawing board! All of you!”

“B-b-but, Stella…”

“What?!”

“We don’t have enough time left to make new prototypes.”

I give Rowann a glare that could freeze the whole of Manhattan. “Are you about to say it’s impossible, Rowann?”

He shakes his head vehemently. “No…no, Stella. We’ll get back to the drawing board.” He nods repeatedly. “Okay, okay.” He faces the models. “Guys…!” He shoos them away from my sight. They walk out of my studio like catatonic zombies.

Nobody among my eight senior designers speaks as I pace the expanse of my minimalist studio. They know they’re inches from getting the boot if they piss me off further in this black mood.

I walk over to the tall glass windows that line the front of my work place on the fourth floor of the Stella Rhodes International (SRI) Headquarters on 6th Avenue. This 7-story building houses my company’s flagship store at the first and second floors, my showroom and event hall on the third, my studio on the fourth, my administrative offices on the fifth, my guest apartments on the sixth and my penthouse apartment on the seventh.

I’m home. Back in my turf.

I’m Stella Rhodes once more, the Style Empress of Sixth Avenue. They gave me that moniker five years ago. I’ve been ruling New York’s fashion scene for almost a decade now, a stature that I think I deserve.

I head three subsidiary companies under SRI that deals with the distribution of my products, licensing of my trademarks and franchising of my StellaR shops. I have over 280 stores worldwide bearing my label.

I’m a tireless, workaholic bitch who drives everyone crazy with my uncompromising standards. The only thing that probably prevents my employees from leaving my company is the pay— they have high compensation packages, fat year-end bonuses and quarterly dividends. My employees are all stockholders of SRI since it went public six years ago.

But it doesn’t feel the same.

You miss him.

Oh please!

Admit it.

I’m extremely busy everyday. I don’t have time to think of other matters than taking care of my business.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

“Uhm…Stella…”

“Yes, Rowann?” I reply in a calmer tone.

“Can we go back to work now?”

I turn around and scan my design team. Their heads are all downcast. I turn my back on them again. Shit, I’m punishing my hardworking people for my screw-up. “Brainstorm over lunch at Masa.”

I hear a collective hiss of ‘yes’ and polite murmurs of thank yous.

“Aren’t you joining us?” Rowan asks.

“No. Not hungry. You go ahead.”

“Okay. Later.”

I’m seldom in New York.
It’s not one of my favorite places. I’m not particularly excited about living in this very crowded city but I might call it home soon.

I’m done hiding in that island.

Yes, no matter how I justify it, I’ve been hiding.

That’s the truth.

I’ve been visiting other places around the globe but always with a nagging trepidation at the back of my mind that someone will recognize me and expose me. The exposure will taint my beloved father’s memory irreparably and hurt a lot of people, too.

I felt I owed my father this, for his love and devotion to me and my mother all those years. He gave up a lot for us, even his own family which I knew he dearly loved.

I chose the states that I’ve visited in this country. I went to places where royalty is the last thing on people’s minds, always careful not to make too much noise or do anything that will make people connect me to Monte Franco.

It had been more than two decades since the scandal in Europe. Perhaps they’ve forgotten about it already. Maybe the Americans these days don’t even give a shit that my mother is Akiko Hara and she has a love child with the late King of Monte Franco.

But then again, who will recognize me or connect me to my dead father, anyway? I’ve never mentioned his name, not even once in the presence of other people aside from my mother and Sandro. To the world, I’m Raiden Azzaro, Sandro Azzaro’s son.

Maybe the fear was all in my mind.

Truthfully, I’m weary hiding.

It’s time I step out of the shadow of my dead father and live my life as a normal human being.

I need to do this if I want to have a future with Ella.

My Ella.

It would have been easier for me if she was not a highly accomplished woman. Then I wouldn’t have to move here. I could probably have enticed her to live with me in the island and continue as before, part recluse, only venturing out when necessary.

But Ella is not a regular woman. It wouldn’t be fair to her. She’s the epitome of self-made success emulated by a lot of young people around the world. Her life story is inspirational. The world needs her presence.

It’s me who has to compromise. She’s well established here in New York, so I must learn to exist here in this place, too. It’s the price I’ll have to pay for choosing her as my life partner and I know it will be worth it in the end.

God, I can’t wait to hold her in my arms again.

My heart beats in excitement as I gaze at the imposing facade of the building that bears her famous name. She’s in there somewhere.

I cross the street and enter the tall, glass doors of her boutique.

Inside, it’s spacious, elegant and starkly modern.

My chest swells with pride. She’s really done well for herself.

I can see my mother’s great influence on Stella’s style. I can also imagine my sculptures blending well in here.

I smile. I feel good in this place.

A pretty store personnel approaches me.

“Hello. May I help you?”

“Hi. I’m looking for Stella Rhodes.”

Her eyes travel appreciatively all over me before she asks, “Are you here for the go-see?”

“Uhh…no. ” She thinks I’m a model.

“She’s busy with a go-see right now. If you’re willing to wait for an hour or two—”

“I mean, yeah, I’m here for the go-see.”

“From what agency are you?”

“Uhh, I’m a freelancer.”

“I haven’t seen you model for StellaR before.”

“This is my first time.”

“I see. Come with me.”

I follow her and we traverse the expanse of the boutique. We enter a frosted glass door of what looks like a receiving room.

“Misha, we have a late-comer.”

The one named Misha rises from behind her desk, another pretty lady who’s probably in her forties. She’s smartly dressed in black and white. She gives me the same assessing look the other woman gave me a while back but her eyes seem more astute.

“A late-comer,” Misha repeats and the two women giggle. “Rowann’s gonna flip over this one. Perfect, I think. Eurasian look is so in this year.”

“I heard Stella’s being an extra pain lately. There are over a hundred models in there and she hasn’t chosen even a quarter and she needs eighty. Maybe she’ll dig this one.”

I clear my throat. They’re talking about me like I’m not even there.

“Excuse me, ladies. Can I go see Ms. Rhodes now?”

“I’m Carrie,” says the shop personnel. What’s your name?”

“Raiden.”

“Okay, Raiden. There’s a long line outside the event hall right now. You’re applicant number 105.”

“Alright. No problem.”