The Promise of Change - By Rebecca Heflin Page 0,109

put the eggs on to boil?”

“Yes, ma’m.” He managed to mimic a Southern accent quite well. He kissed her nose before going to do her bidding.

She turned back to the dishes in the sink. “Alex?”

“Yes.”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip. “I’ve been wondering . . .”

“What have you been wondering, Love?”

“Well, it takes a large sum of money to produce a film, right?

“Yes, but one can also find other backers, so that the entire financial burden doesn’t fall on one person. Of course, the producer is responsible for making sure the production doesn’t come in at a loss to the financial partners.”

“Is that what you did, had financial partners I mean?”

“Sarah, what are you dancing around?”

With a little more dancing on her part, she said, “Well, acting pays well I suppose, and the estate . . .” She didn’t know what else to say about that, since she had no idea how that worked. “But the movie, the apartment, the car . . . those things add up, and well, I don’t want you spending extravagantly on me. Those things aren’t important to me.” She shrugged, thinking of the topaz and diamond necklace he’d recently given her, and Christmas only a month away.

He chuckled, making her turn around to look at him. “Sarah, you’re asking about my finances?”

“Yes, I guess I am.” She flushed in embarrassment.

“That’s a fair question. I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner. Acting does pay well, even the small films that I’ve done. And although the portion I take from the estate is relatively modest, the apartment and the car are both paid for. I’ve lived a simple bachelor’s lifestyle, and haven’t required a large income.”

Wiping off the counter, he continued. “But you’re right, acting, or at least the acting I’ve done thus far, doesn’t pay well enough to cover the costs of producing a film. Costs I choose not to take from the estate’s coffers. But with hard work, and a little luck, preparation meets opportunity,” he reminded her. “Those investments will pay off.”

He put his arms around her waist, kissing her nose. “So, you see, Sarah, I am quite capable of maintaining you in the lifestyle to which you’ve been accustomed,” he said, with a teasing smile.

“‘Money can only give happiness where there is nothing else to give it.’ I have you to give me happiness, and thus lack for nothing else.”

Chapter 17

The kitchen was crowded with Ann, Becca, Sarah’s nieces, Eliza and Kate, and Sarah putting together the final preparations for Thanksgiving Dinner. Ann’s kids, Michael and Lily, were out in the garden competing to see who could name the most bird species that visited the feeders.

“If ya’ll don’t pipe down, you won’t be identifying any birds, because you’ll scare ‘em all off,” Ann scolded from the open window.

The men lounged on the sofas, watching an NFL game, trying to explain the rules to Alex. “Aw, come on. What kind of call was that? He stepped out of bounds,” Rob grumbled at the television.

“College football is much more exciting,” Mark said. “Next year we’ll take you to a Gator game. Now that’s football.”

Sarah caught ‘next year’ and looked up at Alex, a little worried about Mark’s assumption. Alex looked up at the same time, with a mysterious smile.

“Sarah, where’s the cranberry chutney?” Becca interrupted their interaction.

“It’s in the blue bowl, top shelf.”

Sarah frowned as she watched Alex and the Admiral walk in the direction of her office, but the task of preparing the meal soon distracted her.

Alex and the Admiral sat in the relative quiet of Sarah’s office, sounds from the kitchen and the football game, accompanied by the occasional whoop from the other men, providing the background noise.

“Sir, thank you for interrupting your game to speak with me,” Alex said, licking his lips and wiping his palms against his slacks.

The Admiral stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles, arms behind his head, enjoying the Earl’s obvious discomfiture. He supposed that when it comes to asking a father for his daughter’s hand in marriage, every man puts his pants on the same way, titled gentleman or blue collar worker.

And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that was the purpose of this private meeting. A charming, out-dated ritual he’d never expected to participate in.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, son.”

“I love your daughter, sir.”

“Yes. I can see that.”

“And, well, I would like your permission to ask for her hand in marriage.”

The Admiral hesitated, letting Alex squirm. “I see. And do you have