House Of Payne: Scout (27 page)

“What?” Hardly able to believe what her ears insisted he’d just said, she forgot all about the picture and turned to stare up at him. And in the back of her mind she heard Tonya’s words—
when love is real, it’s forever
. “You love me?”

At last he looked away from the photo to lift a brow at her. “You know I love you. I told you that when I came clean about how we met.”

“No, you said you respected me and cared about me.” Both of which were great. Awesome, even. But they weren’t love.

You know I love you…

Oh. Wait.

Ivar loved her. He
loved
her.

Lord, what a difference that one word made. Because it wasn’t just a word.

It was everything.

“As I recall, I said I cared about you
too much
to go on another second with any pretense. You are too important to me.” He shook his head as if the way her mind worked was unfathomable. “If this is not love, I have no idea what is.”

“You love me.” At last, the numbness cocooning her heart vanished as if it had never been, allowing it to soar free on brand new wings that were lighter than air. “Okay. Ivar?”

“Yes,
ma fleur
?”

“Just to help you out on your education when it comes to women,
we need words
. If you’re assuming I understand something about you,
don’t
. Assumptions are always wrong, and they always suck. Spell everything out for me in great detail, preferably with accompanying graphs and charts.”

“I have no graphs or charts, but will pictures do?” His grin was maddening as he led her to the next framed photo that he unveiled. “When you were talking with Leo and making sure he knew how much you enjoyed the food his kitchen had come up with, I wanted to capture that kindness. It glowed out of your eyes and filled me with so much warmth, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. You had not begun to trust me yet, so you had never looked at me the way you looked at Leo. This is why I took a picture of it. I wanted it for myself.”

To Scout’s eyes, all she saw was a less-than-flattering action shot of her as she shoved a hearty helping of blueberry muffin into her mouth. But before she could point out that she could see her back molars, he guided her to the next wall, heading deeper into the House’s gallery.

“This one,” he said, dragging the cloth off the framed photo, “might be my favorite. Though, I admit, every photo of you is my favorite in some way. When you looked up at the sky with one eye squinted shut, it was as though you were trying to make the rain stop with your strength of will alone. That ferocity, and the confidence you have that you can make things happen if you just try hard enough, is one of the sexiest things about you. When I took his shot, I believed that I could never want you more than I did at that moment, but I was wrong. I was wrong, because you then did… this.”

Moving to the next wall, he unveiled the moment when a bedraggled-looking Red had slunk out from under a sandwich-board sign to sniff hopefully at the food Scout had offered. Ivar nodded at the image, his eyes never leaving the photo.

“Look at your face, Scout. Do you see how breathtaking you are? Simply to look at, you are a beautiful woman—anyone can see that. But this was the moment when you knocked the breath out of me. This was when I understood how overwhelmingly beautiful a woman is capable of being.”

She felt a little winded herself at that admission. “I hate to remind you of what your profession is at this juncture, but you do photograph the most beautiful women in the world. I’m nothing like them.”

“They are the ones who are nothing like
you
. Their unattractiveness in comparison to you makes me cringe. There is so much richness in your heart, so much compassion and strength and love—I can see it glowing in your eyes, and this is something I almost never see through my lens. And the patient way you held out that food to Red… look at your expression. Do you see it?”

“No.” But that wasn’t surprising, since she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. “What do you see?”

“An incredible, almost painful understanding of this stray’s suffering. I see you know what it is to be so alone in the world that it is impossible to believe anyone could ever care about you. I suspect that when Mama Coco and Papa Bolo insisted you were going home with them, you must have been like Red was at that moment. Scared, wary to believe someone gave a shit about you, but wanting to believe it so much it hurt. This picture alone shows your worth,
ma
trésor
, and it is a worth that is beyond measure.”

A lump grew in her throat so hard and fast she didn’t have time to say a word. Luckily, he didn’t seem to need a response as he guided her to the next frame to unveil it.

Her gasp tore the silence in half, and she automatically looked around, frantic. “Oh my God, are you
crazy
? You can’t show a naked picture of me! For God’s sake, I
work
here.”

“No one else is here, just you and me,” came the calm reply while her body threatened to spontaneously combust in a blush that started from her knees and worked its way up. “As it happens, I agree with you—I do not want anyone else to see this photo, either. Though this is some of the best work I have ever done, I would never allow it to be shown. No one gets to see your perfection but me.”

“I’m not perfect,” she hissed, fighting the urge to tear down the framed print through sheer force of will. “Ivar…” Oh God, if someone walked in here now, she’d absolutely
die
.

“Do you see what I see? Look at this shot and tell me how you see yourself.”

“Um.” She hesitated, wondering if his artist’s ego would be offended if she admitted she’d rather set it on fire than look at it. Probably. “Uh… I see me asleep on my side, the sheet bunched up on my hip, and I think I may have been snoring because my mouth is hanging open. I obviously need some sun and it’s definitely time I went back to the gym.”

“I see you at your most unguarded, and your vulnerability staggers me. If you are awake, that means you are in charge and making things happen. It is who you are and I get a rush out of seeing you in your element. But when you sleep, another you comes out, and I love that one just as much. Soft and trusting. At peace with the prospect of me watching over you.” A gentle touch of his fingers over her cheek turned her attention back to him, and she nearly melted at the heat in his pale eyes. “Having you like that is like watching a goddess at rest. This,” he tilted his head toward the photo without looking away from her, “will live forever in my memory as one of the most perfect moments of my life.”

The words moved through her like a miracle, touching her so profoundly her eyes swam with warmth. “Don’t say anything else, please.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m starting to think I must be dreaming. And if I am, I’m going to be so disappointed when I wake up, especially if this moment gets any better.”

“Just one more.” Smiling as if he found her reasoning worthy of a laugh track, she allowed him to bring her around to the other side of the wall and one last draped frame. Without fanfare, he pulled the cover away to reveal a candid shot of Mama Coco and Papa Bolo dancing their final dance at their anniversary party. Papa Bolo was giving his wife a suggestive leer while Mama Coco laughed up at him. Together they made an adorable, cohesive whole.

As beautiful as the picture was, Scout was stumped. When she looked to Ivar questioningly he pulled her to him, one arm wrapping around her while his other hand caught hers in a pose that mirrored the dancing couple in the photo.

“I want this.” Still holding her hand in his, he touched the edge of the frame, and her eyes widened in understanding. “I want to be with you for so long neither one of us knows how many years we have been together. I want to look at you decades later, and be thankful the woman I hold still gets me hot. I want you to laugh with me and dance with me, and look at me like I am the only man in the world for you. I want what they have. I want forever with you.”

“I really am dreaming,” she whispered, and the liquid warmth in her eyes brimmed over as she smiled up at him, this man who could either be her perfect fantasy or devastating nightmare. At that thought, her smile dimmed. “But… wait a second. What about Canada?”

His smile also did a quick fade. “What about Canada?”

“You said you were going back with your mother.”

“Yes, I leave with her tomorrow to give her as much support as I can as she cuts her last ties with Albertine. I am coming back,” he added with sudden understanding, and the tension that had been tying her in knots vanished as if by magic. “Scout, I know your life is here. The Panuzzis and your extended foster family, the House, Payne…I could never ask you to leave all that behind. The nature of my work is such that I can be based anywhere. Since my only wish is to be wherever you are, I have decided to move permanently to Chicago.”

Scout wouldn’t have been at all surprised if fireworks of pure joy suddenly burst out of her to light up the room, but still she hesitated. “Are you sure? You’re a good man, and I know you’re grateful that I reunited you with your mom, so—”

“I took these photos long before you helped me find out who I am, yes?”

She blinked. “I… yes. So?”

“The reason I took these photos of you was because I was falling in love with you. When I saw how strong and compassionate and sexy you are, how open and loving and real… each of these photos represent a moment when a part of my heart became yours. This is not gratitude. This is my way of showing you why
you
are the most important person in my life. You are perfect. You are
my
perfect. I cannot breathe without you.”

“Ivar.” She couldn’t find the words to tell him how much he meant to her, or how she was almost too afraid, even now, to believe she finally had someplace where she belonged. They would come. For now, all she could do was beam up at him, and the action pushed more wetness from the corners of her eyes. “I love you so much.”

The sudden brilliance in his smile was extraordinary. He danced her away from the spotlights and into the shadows of the gallery floor. As he did, his mouth came down on hers, and he didn’t let her up for air until they bumped gently against something. Dazed, she looked over at one of the round, cylindrical display podiums the House often used during exhibits. The breath gushed out of her when she saw what was on it.

“What the—”

“There is an Ella Wheeler Wilcox quote that reminds me of you and your love of dandelions—‘a weed is but an unloved flower’.” Releasing her hand, he reached for the bright yellow dandelion sitting in a gilt-edged, multi-faceted crystal flower pot and handed it to her. “You have always been so bright and beautiful, no matter where you were planted. Against all odds you found a way to thrive and shine, despite being uprooted again and again. You give so much to the world, and to me, by simply being
you
. You are
my
dandelion—
my
perfect flower. And I swear,
ma fleur
, you are no longer unloved. I love you, and this will
never
change.”

Her heart swelled so much it was a miracle her chest didn’t explode. No, she thought as her mouth captured his. The true miracle in her life was holding onto her just as tightly as she held onto him. “Thank you. Oh God, thank you so much.”

His brows shot up. “For what?”

“For at last giving me a place to belong.”

A look of near-agony crossed his face a scant second before he crushed her to him, and it was a hold that promised a lifetime of never letting go. “It is no less than you have done for me,
ma
trésor,”
he whispered against her ear. “When I am in your arms, at last I know where I belong.”

Epilogue

Several years later

“That banner is crooked.”

Scout glanced toward the stage where the sixteen-piece swing band was currently playing “As Time Goes By.” Above them, the large banner that wished Mama Coco and Papa Bolo a happy forty-ninth—or fiftieth—wedding anniversary had been hung by the hotel workers hours before. At the main entrance, an intricate archway greeted the guests, welcoming them t
o
Rick's Café Américain, the Moroccan cantina that Humphrey Bogart’s character ran in the movie
Casablanca
. The party’s theme was inspired by Mama Coco’s and Papa Bolo’s love of that movie, and as it took place in the early 1940’s, it suited Scout right down to her victory curls, scarlet lipstick and swing skirts.  “The banner’s fine, sweetheart.”

“
Ma fleur
, how can you call it fine? It is clearly higher on the left by at least a degree. I have an eye for such things.”

After making sure all was peaceful in the children’s “Kid’s Club” Moroccan-style tent that had been set up off to one side of the ballroom, she turned a smile Ivar’s way. He looked more gorgeous than ever in black tie, white dinner jacket and slicked-back hair. She tried talking him into having a candy cigarette hanging out of his mouth, but he did what he always did whenever she sprang a crazy idea on him—just shook his head and looked heavenward for divine delivery. “You say the same thing about the Christmas tree every year, and it’s always straight.”

“Yes, just so. Because I make it straight.”

Good grief. “If I promise to not force you to try the Chicken Dance this year, will you try to forget how crooked the banner is?”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“You have a deal.”

“Awesome.” She cupped his cheek in her hand, eyes soft as she leaned over her big belly to capture his mouth with hers. It took a lot of leaning. Any day now the latest Fournier would be making his or her debut into the world, and she felt like a stuffed turkey whose timer had already popped. It was time to get her little bun out of the oven, as far as she was concerned, and if she had to take up jumping jacks to shake things loose, she didn’t have a problem with it.

“Now that we have gotten that squared away,” Ivar said after they broke apart, his hands coming up to rub along her back, “I need to remind you of another deal we struck before we left the house.”

Oops. “Now, Trouble—”

“You promised you would take it easy tonight and let Tonya and Sass take over, remember?”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was going along smoothly over here in the tent with the kids.”

“It is. Now go sit with Mama Coco and Papa Bolo for a while. You have been doing nothing but running around ever since we got here, and that was definitely not part of our deal.”

“I haven’t been able to run for at least three months,” she muttered, but she knew he was right. And if his triumphant grin at her weak defense was any indication, he knew it too. “Okay, you win.”

“That was easy.”

“Sitting down actually sounds pretty good. I’m fine,” she said quickly when his smile did a disappearing act and a big hand went protectively to her stomach. “
We’re
fine, I swear. I barely slept last night thanks to my brain refusing to shut down, so I’ve been dragging a bit today, that’s all.”

“
Ma
trésor.
” His smile remained MIA as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his forehead against hers. She loved it when he did that. It was as though he needed to be close to her in order to keep going, and she was happy to provide that any hour of the day. “We are not staying for the final dance. Coco and Bolo will understand.”

“Ivar—”

“I refuse to debate this, my wife.”

His wife
. That was some serious talk right there. It was right up there was being addressed by both first and middle name. The one time she’d asked him about it, Ivar had said that whenever it slipped out, it was as though whatever he was saying was coming directly from his heart and soul. It alerted her to the fact that he meant business, so she linked her arms around his neck and nodded, rolling her brow against his.

“Okay, sweetheart. We’ll go after the group of swing dancers do their big performance later. I might not be able to get up and jitterbug in my current condition, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

At that, the grin came back. “Am I going to have to tie you to your seat?”

“Only if you tell me the safety word beforehand. Then you can do anything you like, baby.”

Heat poured into those eyes that had once been shuttered, but were now as easy to read as any large-print book. “I like the way you think.”

“Ah, there is
Maman et Papa
.” The melodic voice of Eliane dropped in, and they both turned to watch her approach with eighteen-month Gunnar bouncing on her hip. At the beginning of the party, he’d looked like a little replica of his father, complete with slicked back black hair, tiny white jacket and black tie, but that had lasted just long enough for family pictures. Then the jacket and tie were off, along with his shoes and one of his socks, and he would have squirmed out of the rest if Scout hadn’t had several more comfortable changes of clothes at the ready.

Gunnar wasn’t a fan of clothes. He’d come out of the womb naked, and it seemed to be his mission in life to stay that way. Scout had confided to Ivar that she genuinely feared he might be the world’s first nudist kindergartener, but Ivar didn’t seem worried. He did, however, have about a ton of hilarious pics of Gunnar winning the never-ending war Scout waged in keeping their son’s little baby butt covered. The only consolation she had was that one day—probably around high school and he was
really
impossible to control—those pictures would make great blackmail material.

“A sailor suit?” Heart melting at the sight of her little man decked out like the original Cracker Jack kid, complete with teeny sailor hat and red kerchief under the white collar, Scout did a fangirl squeal. “Oh, my
God
, he’s
gorgeous
! Do you see how gorgeous he is? Ivar, quick, get your camera, he’s still fully clothed.”

“No way I can make it in time.” Well aware at how fast his kid could shuck clothes, Ivar frantically dug through his pockets for this phone. “
Maman
, hold him still for as long as you can. This is a great shot.”

Absolutely in love, Scout captured Gunnar’s little dimpled hand and kissed it. “Eliane, where did you get that outfit? I’m dying of the cute.”

“I have remained friends with several designers from the old days. When I shared Gunnar’s birthday pictures online with you and Ivar, they all went so crazy, wanting to make him little outfits to match your Rockabilly style.” Eliane laughed delightedly and intercepted the move Gunnar made toward his hat. “This boy, who cannot stand clothes, will never be without a closet full of haute couture from all his adopted aunts and uncles around the world.”

Scout rolled her eyes. “Thanks, irony, for the joke.”

“I hope you do not mind that I brought a few extra changes for Gunnar as well,” Eliane added, her laughter fading as she shot her an anxious glance. “I would never want to overstep my bounds—”

“Please tell me you didn’t just say that.” With her heart melting all over again, Scout hugged both her mother-in-law and son, vaguely hearing the shutter sound effect of Ivar’s phone. “You’re the way a grandmother should be—absolutely wonderful.”

It was true. Eliane had slowly blossomed since Scout had brought her and her lost son together. In a strange way, that blossoming had intensified with the death of Albertine, whose funeral had been attended by no one other than a distant cousin from overseas. The old baroness’s narcissistic influence was finally gone from the earth, leaving Eliane free to grow into the happy woman she was meant to be.

And she was happy. When Scout had found out she was pregnant with Gunnar, she honestly didn’t know who was more excited—her and Ivar, or Eliane. Her mother-in-law had never had the chance to raise her own child, and that was an anguish that Scout knew had never fully faded. This was the reason why she would never begrudge anything Eliane did when it came to Gunnar. The privilege of raising her own child could never be given back to Ivar’s mother, but she could share in the experience of watching her grandson grow up. It wouldn’t fix all that went wrong, but Scout hoped that it could at least ease the ache.

A dragging pain low in her belly caught her attention just as Eliane backed up to bestow a brilliant smile on her. “Perhaps we should be grateful he likes to shed his clothing. This means we get to dress him up all the more.”

“Remind me how grateful we should feel the next time Gunnar chooses to be a public exhibitionist,” Ivar offered, taking a few more shots before grinning at his mother. “We will never be able to go back to The Mark after he streaked through the main dining area.”

“Yeah, and to this day I still don’t know what happened to his onesie and diaper. It’s a mystery that ranks right up there with Jimmy Hoffa’s whereabouts.” And the origins of like that mysterious pain. Maybe she needed to take it easy, after all.

Eliane laughed and handed her grandson over to Ivar, then bent to pick up the sailor hat so she could drop it back on Gunnar’s dark head. “At the very least, this little one will keep you on your toes.”

The pain hit again, stronger this time, and it was enough to spark a reaction. Oh, boy. She knew this pain.

About damn time.

“Sweetheart, I’ll be right back.” With a smile that encompassed the three Fournier generations, she headed straight for the stage, all the while trying to breathe evenly. When the song came to an end, she applauded and stepped up to the mic, her insides quaking with a crazy mixture of excitement and anxiety, but above all, joy.

“I hope everyone’s having a great time tonight here at Rick’s Place,” she began, and looked out at the faces that, over the years, had become her world. From Tonya and Sass and all the other strays, to the Panuzzi children and their children, to Mama Coco and Papa Bolo—they all meant so much to her. But one face stood out above all others, and as her eyes found Ivar’s, she knew why. He was the center of her world and the family they’d built together.

He was her home.

“Usually the person who throws the anniversary party stays to the very end, but I’m afraid that Ivar and I will be making it an early night tonight, for, uh, obvious reasons.” She indicated her stomach, which looked like she’d swallowed a pumpkin whole. “But before we leave, we’ve got some great dancers lined up to entertain you, and they know how to put the swing in swing dance. We’ve got the buffet and dessert tables open, as well as a fully stocked bar, and as always, we’re busy building the Panuzzi family tree on the far end of the ballroom. Last but not least, I wanted to thank all of you for coming together tonight to celebrate the life and love that has lasted for forty-nine years—or, possibly fifty,” she added with a grin. “Please raise a glass to the inspiring marriage of Coco and Bolo Panuzzi.”

Applause broke out and glasses were raised in the direction of the head table. Grinning wide and surrounded by kids and grandkids, Mama Coco and Papa Bolo raised their own glasses and clinked them together before sharing a kiss. It was a sweet moment, one that always made Scout smile, and one that she fully understood why Ivar wanted to have with her decades down the road. But this time around, it would be memorable for another reason entirely.

In front of nearly two hundred friends and family, her water broke.

Oh, great.

The suite’s door whispered shut behind Ivar. A pull-out bed was neatly made and waiting for him to stretch out, but as much as that welcoming surface beckoned, he knew he wouldn’t touch it.

That was not where he belonged.

Beside the bed, a crib decked out in blues and whites had been set up. Dropping the extra diaper bag next to a matching changing table, he moved to peek inside the crib. Gunnar slept peacefully on his stomach, his diaper in one corner of the bed and his soft footie pajamas in another. He laughed under his breath at his little naked jaybird and carefully laid a hand on the tiny back.

In the quiet of the room, the reassuring rise and fall of his child’s breathing settled a beautiful peace over his soul, and he closed his eyes to drink it in. Before Gunnar had been born, Ivar had never known this depth of serenity. Not even in the arms of his treasure, his Scout, had he known this kind of peace. It came from attaining a dream he hadn’t even known he’d had, he realized now. A dream to build a family of his own. To build a place where he and his family belonged, and where the love of that family was unconditional.

That was what his life was now.

And it was all because of Scout.

Soft murmurs from the other room dragged his attention away from the sleeping toddler. As silently as possible he removed his son’s discarded garments from the crib and settled a soft blanket over him. He then moved to the next room in the birthing suite, awash in the shadows of early morning. Mama Coco stood on one side of Scout’s inclined bed, holding his wife’s hand while the doula who had taken care of Scout throughout the delivery puttered around a cart-like bassinet. As he stood in the doorway, his heart paused as he took in the scene—the gentle, maternal love shining in Coco’s smile, the tired but glowing face of his Scout, and the little swaddled bundle in the bassinet. A pink placard at the foot of it announced its occupant’s name.