A New Foundation Rochelle Alers (read aloud .txt) 📖

Sonja moaned, smiling. “I am addicted to anything red velvet.”

Taylor winked at her. “And I’m addicted to what I’m looking at.”

She waved at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery, muñeca. It is the truth.”

Sonja looped her arm through his free one. “Come and feed me. I’m starved.”

Hours later, Sonja reclined against Taylor on the sofa in the family room, her back resting against his chest. “I have a confession to make.”

He pressed a kiss on her hair. “And that is?”

“You were right about your chicken and waffles. They were the best I’ve ever eaten.” The chicken, drizzled with melted butter and honey, was the perfect complement to the fluffy red-hued Belgian waffles. They’d opted for freshly squeezed orange juice sans champagne as an accompanying beverage.

“Does this mean we can do this again?”

Tilting her chin, she smiled up at him staring down at her. “Yes. We can do this again and again for a long time to come.”

“How long, darling?”

“For a very long time, papi. I’ve spent the past three days thinking about what we talked about in the château’s library. You are so different from Hugh that it’s frightening, and that’s why I wouldn’t allow myself to get close to you. But, in spite of that, I couldn’t help falling in love with you.”

“Or I you, Sonja,” he whispered. “You just don’t know how easy it is to love you.”

Sonja closed her eyes, realizing that what she was about to tell Taylor would change her, change them forever. “I want to know what love is, Taylor. I need you to make love to me.”

Sonja remembered Taylor carrying her out of the family room and up the staircase to her bedroom. He took his time undressing her and then himself. She closed her eyes after he’d slipped on a condom and before she welcomed him into her embrace for their introductory dance of shared passion.

She bit her lower lip to stop the moans of pleasure rippling through her body like currents of electricity, shocking every nerve ending as she experienced la petite mort for the first time in her life. The orgasms kept coming, overlapping one another until Sonja feared fainting.

“I love you. I love you,” she repeated over and over until it’d become a litany. “I love you, Taylor Edward Williamson, and I will marry you and have your babies.”

Taylor thought he was hallucinating. Passion had clouded his mind to the point that he did not know where he began or ended.

“When, babe?”

Sonja rubbed her leg over the back of his. “Christmas. I want a Christmas wedding at Bainbridge House in the small ballroom with just friends and family in attendance.”

“My mother can’t be there because she’ll still be on her cruise.”

“Then it will have to be the following Christmas.”

Taylor supported his greater weight on his forearms as he loathed pulling out of her body. “Are you sure? We could marry before she leaves for her cruise in August.”

“No, Taylor. I want to wait. There’s no need for us to rush anything. Didn’t you say you’re not going anywhere?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m also not going anywhere. I’m going to be here today, tomorrow and all the days thereafter. And the day I marry you I want us to start baby making. Meanwhile I’m going to go on birth control because I don’t want to become a baby mama before we’re married.”

Taylor wanted to tell Sonja he had no intention of fathering a child and deserting her, married or not. He did not want to repeat the scenario of his biological parents’ fractured relationship.

“I will protect you until then.”

He pulled out, left the bed and went into the bathroom to discard the condom. Sonja wanted to marry the following Christmas, and that meant an eighteenth-month engagement. By that time, the extension to the château would be completed and they could hold the ceremony and reception there. Taylor returned to the bedroom and got into bed beside Sonja, who’d turned on her side. She moaned softly when he pressed his groin against her rounded hips. Resting his arm over her waist, Taylor pulled her even closer. His breathing slowed until he fell into a slumber reserved for sated lovers.

Sonja felt as if she was existing in an alternative universe as spring gave way to summer. She and Taylor were now living together. His mother had finally sold the house where she’d raised her children and moved into her condo. Days later, she flew out to the West Coast for a reunion of her college sorority sisters, and Taylor packed up his clothes and stored them in the closet in the smaller bedroom.

She went to Bainbridge House on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and worked from home on Tuesday and Thursdays. Cloistered behind the door in the château’s library she heard but rarely saw the workmen going about their tasks. Pickup trucks and vans lined the driveway, and several dumpsters were positioned around the house.

Her condo’s backyard had undergone a metamorphosis with all-weather furniture, umbrellas, portable lighting, a gas grill and fire pit, and Sonja found herself, weather permitting, eating breakfast and dinner outdoors. She and Taylor grilled chicken, steak, fish, veggies, and fruit, leaving little or no cleanup in the kitchen.

She was halfway through emptying one trunk when she found a batch of letters wrapped with a red ribbon and finally discovered who MS was. Melanie Shaw had been Charles Bainbridge’s mistress, and also a house servant and the mother of his love child. Why, she mused, were a mistress’s love letters stored with possessions where anyone might discover them?

“Oh, my word,” she gasped when realization dawned. The property’s caretaker was a Shaw, and Sonja wondered if there was connection between Melanie and Dominic. She did not want to invade his privacy, yet the historian in her wanted and needed to uncover the truth.

Reaching for her cell phone, she sent Dom a text asking if she could