“You heard me. You're fired.” He smiled happily.

“Why?” She was near tears. She loved working for him, especially now, and she was due to go back that week. This wasn't fair. What was he doing?

“I don't sleep with my secretaries,” he explained, and then he grinned as he lay there. “Don't look so worried. I have a new job in mind for you. It's a step up, or it could be, depending on how you see it. How would you like to be my wife?” He was wide-awake now, and she looked stunned. She was shaking when she answered.

“Are you serious?”

“No. I'm just kidding. What do you think? Of course I'm serious. Will you?”

“Really?” She still couldn't believe it as she sat looking at him in disbelief and he laughed at her.

“Of course really!”

“Wow!”

“Well?”

“I'd love to.” And with that, she leaned down and kissed him, and he grabbed her.





Chapter 13

Grace never went back to work, and they were married six weeks later, in judge's chambers, in September. They flew to Saint Bart's for two weeks for a honeymoon, and she moved her few belongings to his apartment. He lived on East Sixty-ninth Street in a small, but extremely elegant little town house. They'd been home for exactly a week when they had their first real fight, and it was a lulu. She wanted to go back to do volunteer work at St. Andrew's, and she was horrified that he wanted to stop her.

“Are you crazy? Do you remember what happened the last time you went there? Absolutely not!” He was adamant. She could do anything she wanted, but not that. And he wasn't budging.

“That was a fluke,” she kept insisting, but Charles was even more stubborn than she was.

“That was no fluke. Every one of those women has a dangerous husband. And you're down there advising them to bail out, and the guys are just as liable to come after you as Sam Jones was.” He had plea-bargained himself into a lighter sentence with parole by then, for his attack on Grace, and the murders of his wife and children. And as far as they knew he was already in Sing Sing. “You're not going. I'll talk to Father Tim if I have to, Grace, I forbid it.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do with myself?” she said, near tears. She was twenty-three years old and she had absolutely nothing to do until he came home at six o'clock. He wouldn't let her work at the law firm either. She could have lunch with Winnie once in a while, but that was hardly enough to keep her busy. And Winnie was talking about moving to Philadelphia to be close to her mother.

“Go shopping. Go to school. Find a charity you like and sit on a committee. Go to the movies. Eat banana splits,” Charles said firmly. He was trying to come home to her every day for lunch, but sometimes he couldn't and when Grace turned to Father Tim for support he turned her down too. In spite of himself, and how good she was at the work, Father Tim supported Charles in that decision. She had already paid too high a price for working there, and it was time for her to stop paying for other people's sins. She had her own life to live now.

“Enjoy your husband, be good to yourself, Grace. You've earned it,” the priest said wisely, but Grace still fumed and was looking for a project. She was thinking of applying to school, but in November it became a moot point, six weeks to the day after they were married.

“What are you looking so smug about? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.” Charles had just dashed home to have lunch with her. He was becoming famous in the office for his long lunches, and his partners were teasing him about how much work it was to have a young wife. But he knew that they were all jealous, and would have given anything to be in his shoes … or his boxers. “What have you been up to?” he questioned, wondering if she had found something to do with herself. She'd been unhappy for weeks over his edict about St. Andrew's. “Where'd you go today?”

“The doctor.” She grinned.

“How's the pelvis?”

“Fine. It's healed beautifully.” She was grinning from ear to ear by then, and he was laughing at her. She looked so cute when she had a secret. “There's something else though.”

Charles's face grew serious. “Something wrong?”

“No.” She grinned and kissed him on the lips as she unzipped his trousers. Considering how cautiously they had begun, they had certainly made up for it since their engagement. “We're having a baby,” she whispered as he grew passionate and was about to lay her down on their bed, and he looked at her with complete amazement.

“We are? Now?”

“Not now, silly. In June. I think I got pregnant in Saint Bart's.”

“Wow!” He was going to be a father for the first time, at forty-three, and it completely bowled him over. He had never been as happy in his life, and he could hardly wait to tell the entire world. “Is it still all right if we make love?”

“Are you kidding?” she laughed at him. “We can make love till June.”

“Are you sure we won't hurt anything?”

“Promise.” They made love, as they always did, instead of lunch, and then he grabbed a hot dog from a stand on the street, and dashed back to his office. It was the best life had ever been for him, far better than being married to a movie star, far better than any romance he'd had as a kid. She was perfect for him, and he adored her.

They spent Christmas in St. Moritz, and at Easter he wanted to take her to Hawaii, but took her to Palm Beach instead because it was closer, and she was almost seven months pregnant.

She had an easy pregnancy, and everything had gone smoothly. The doctor was only mildly concerned about what would happen to her pelvis when she delivered. And if there was any sign of strain at all, he had warned her that he would do a cesarean section. But failing that, Charles had promised to be there, and in May they went to their Lamaze class at Lenox Hill. She had already decorated the nursery by then, and they went for long walks at night, up Madison Avenue, or down Park, and talked about their life, their good fortune, and their baby. It still startled them both, and they were both still amazed that, in bed at least, her past had never come back to haunt them.

He had asked her once how she would feel if the story ever came out, about her father, and going to prison, and she had said honestly that she would hate it.

“Why?” She wondered why he had even asked her.

“Because those things come out some times,” he said philosophically. He had learned that with his last wife, and her constant exposure in the tabloids. Their divorce had made a huge stink and they had said everything from the rumor that she was on drugs, to the one that she was gay, to the one that he was. And finally, they had just left them alone, and they had gone their separate ways. But Grace's would undoubtedly be a much bigger story if it ever came out. But fortunately, for both of them, they were not in the public eye, and not important. He was just an ordinary citizen now, since he was no longer married to a star, and Grace was just his wife. It was perfect.

She went into labor one night as they walked home. They had been window shopping on Madison Avenue, and she scarcely noticed the first pains. It was only after a while that she realized what had happened. They called the doctor and he told them to take their time, first babies were usually in no hurry.

“Are you okay?” he asked her a thousand times, and she lay on their bed, watching TV, and eating Jell-O. “Are you sure that's what you're supposed to do?” he asked nervously. He felt a thousand years old as he watched her, fearing that she might have a hard time, or have the baby before they left the house. Lately, her belly had looked enormous. But she seemed unconcerned as she watched her favorite shows, drank ginger ale and ate ice cream. It was almost midnight when she finally started to look seriously uncomfortable and could no longer talk through the pains, which he knew was his sign to take her to the hospital and call the doctor.

He called him again, and the doctor told them to come in. And as Charles helped her down the stairs, she snapped at him several times, and he smiled at her. This was the real thing. Pretty soon, they'd have a baby. It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him, and to her. And by the time they settled her in a labor room, she had calmed down again, but Grace was surprised by how much the contractions hurt, and how strong they were. Finally, by two a.m. she was panting and said she couldn't stand them any longer.

Charles was doing everything he'd been taught to do, but none of it was helping, and he was starting to worry that they'd have to do a cesarean section. But as the pains got worse, she started to scream, and clutch at him, and he would have done anything to make it end. He kept asking the nurses to give her some medication.

“Everything is fine, Mr. Mackenzie. Your wife is doing beautifully.” His wife looked like she was ready to die as she screamed again, and then finally they took her to the delivery room, and she started pushing. Charles thought he had never seen anything so painful, and he was sorry they'd ever done it. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms again, and make the pain stop for her. But nothing helped her now, and the doctor didn't want to give her medication. He said he really preferred natural childbirth, for mother and child. Charles wanted to kill him, as he watched what Grace was going through.

She pushed for an hour, and it was five in the morning by then, Grace was beside herself with pain, and incoherent with the agony of each contraction. And as he watched her, he vowed they'd never do this again. He wanted to apologize to Grace for putting her through it. And he swore to himself that if she and the baby both came out of it alive, he'd never let this happen again. And just as he was about to promise never to lay a hand on her again, there was a terrifying scream from her, and a long, thin howl, and suddenly he found himself looking into the face of the son they had decided to call Andrew Charles Mackenzie. He had huge blue eyes like Grace, and dark red hair, but everything else about him was Charles, right down to his tiny fingers. For his father, it was exactly like looking into the mirror. He laughed and cried all at once as he looked at him.