Dance Away with Me(47)

“May I hold her?” the woman asked.

No, you may not! “She’s a little upset right now.” Tess clutched her tighter.

“Of course.”

Wren took in this new face and immediately stopped crying. You little traitor.

The woman’s eyes filled. “She looks just like Simon’s baby pictures.” A tear made a miniwaterfall over the bottom edge of her mascaraed lashes. “Same eyes. Same mouth.”

A man appeared. With his smooth-shaven jaw, curly salt-and-pepper hair, and preppy clothes, he looked as though he’d come straight from the golf course. “Jeff Denning,” he said to Tess with an obnoxiously friendly nod. “You’ve met my wife, Diane. And who do we have here?”

“Her name is Wren,” Tess said, although neither of them seemed to be listening.

Another tear slipped down the Stepford Grandmother’s cheek. “Look at her, Jeff. She looks like Simon. And her nose. That’s your nose.”

“Don’t wish my nose on her,” he said with a smile.

“You have a great nose.” His wife didn’t take her eyes off the baby.

Only the most despicable human being would refuse to hand Wren over to these two youthful, athletic, smitten grandparents. Tess clutched the baby more tightly.

A set of familiar arms swept in and scooped up the baby. “I’m sure you’d like to hold her.” Ian set Wren in Diane’s arms.

Tess hated them. Hated him. All he’d wanted to do from the beginning was get rid of Wren. These two could have been human traffickers, and he’d have handed her over. Okay, maybe not human traffickers, but the point was, he didn’t care. Not like Tess did. Not even close.

Wren nestled in her grandmother’s arms, her fussiness gone, totally content. Diane sniffed, the end of her nose beginning to turn red. “We never expected this. Simon’s our only child, and he’s been so adamant about never marrying or having children.”

“He got one out of two right,” Tess muttered.

Ian grabbed her by the arm and steered her toward the door. “Why don’t we go in the living room where we can be more comfortable?”

“I’m not turning her over to them,” Tess hissed so only he could hear.

Ian gave her arm a warning squeeze.

Behind them, Jeff was glued to his wife’s side. “Are you going to hog that baby all day?”

“Yes, I am. You know how long I’ve dreamed of having a grandchild. You’re not getting a turn until I say.”

It was the kind of fond exchange that long-married couples did best.

Diane walked toward the windows. Wren was mesmerized by the glittering silver in her grandmother’s chunky necklace. “Look at her arms,” Diane said. “I’ll bet she’s going to be a swimmer like Simon.”

Tess heard one of Wren’s baby coos, as if she couldn’t wait to jump in the pool. What a suck-up.

Jeff had gone to the windows with his wife but glanced over at them to explain. “Simon was on a very competitive swim team in high school.”

Bully for him.

Ian must be reading her thoughts because he pinched her. Fricking pinched her!

“We haven’t been able to reach Simon yet,” Diane said, “but now that we’ve seen her, there’s no doubt she’s ours.”

Tess bristled. “It’s going to be very complicated. Extremely complicated. Legally, Mr. North is Wren’s father. His name is on her birth certificate.”

Mister North frowned. “We’ll get it untangled.”

They hadn’t said a word about Bianca, and Tess was furious on her behalf. They seem to have forgotten that Wren had a mother who’d died giving birth to her. A mother who would have loved her. Cared for her . . . But the image of Bianca sitting for hours holding a sleeping baby wouldn’t take hold. It was easier to imagine Bianca running off to eat sushi and misplacing her daughter along the way.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that Wren was a month premature,” Tess said. “It’s vital for her to have the best of care.” She launched into an extended description of every complication preemies faced, none of which actually applied to Wren at this point. When she’d sufficiently terrified them, she began embroidering her professional credentials by emphasizing the postdelivery care she’d provided for newborns, as opposed to what she mainly did, which was usher them into the world. “I know we all agree that it’s best to leave things as they are for the foreseeable future.”

Ian was giving her the stink eye.

“As to that . . .” Jeff said. “We need to talk with Simon, but his career is itinerant, and we know he’s not in any position to care for her.”

Tess held her breath.

“As much as we love our son,” Diane said, “I doubt he’ll ever settle down, so naturally, we’ll take her.”

Of course they would. Tess quickly found her tongue. “Aren’t you a little old for that?” Even she knew when she’d gone too far. “Not that either of you looks old,” she said hastily. “You’re amazingly fit. But taking in a newborn . . . You’ll be—what? In your late eighties when she’s a teenager.”

“Mid-seventies,” Diane corrected.

“Yes, but surely this will interfere with your lifestyle. I can see that you’re very active. I imagine you love to travel. Take bike trips. Tennis matches. Shuffleboard tournaments. So many things I’m sure you love to do that you’ll be forced to give up.”