The Promise - By Danielle Steel Page 0,1

family. Even his mother.

Michael had been born into a tradition, groomed since childhood to inherit a throne. It wasn't something he took lightly, or even joked about. Sometimes it actually frightened him. Would he live up to the legend? But Nancy knew he would. His grandfather, Richard Cotter, had been an architect, and his father as well. It was Michael's grandfather who had founded an empire. But it was the merging of the Cotter business with the Hillyard fortune, through the marriage of Michael's parents, that had created the Cotter-Hillyard of today. Richard Cotter had known how to make money, but it was the Hillyard money—old money— that had brought with it the rites and traditions of power. It was, at times, a heavy mantle to wear, but not one Michael disliked. And Nancy respected it too. She knew that one day Michael would be at the helm of Cotter-Hillyard. In the beginning they had talked about it incessantly, and then again later, when they realized how serious their affair really was. But Michael knew that he had found a woman who could handle it, the family responsibilities as well as the business duties. The orphanage had done nothing to prepare Nancy for the role Michael knew she would fill, but the groundwork seemed to be laid in her very soul.

He watched her now with almost unbearable pride as she sped ahead of him, so sure of herself, so strong, the lithe legs pedaling deftly, her chin tucked over her shoulder now and then to look at him and laugh. He wanted to speed ahead and take her off the bike … there … on the grass … the way they had the night before … the way … He swept the thought from his mind and raced after her.

“Hey, wait for me, you little twerp!” He was abreast of her in a few moments, and as they rode along, more quietly now, he held out a hand across the narrow gap between them. “You look beautiful today, Nancy.” His voice was a caress in the spring air, and around them the world was fresh and green. “Do you know how much I love you?”

“Oh, maybe half as much as I love you, Mr. Hillyard?”

“That shows what you know, Miss Nancy Fancypants.” She laughed, as always, at the nickname. Michael always made her happy. He did wonderful things. She had thought so from the first moment he walked into the gallery and threatened to take off all his clothes if she didn't sell him all her paintings. “I happen to love you at least seven times as much as you love me.”

“Nope.” She grinned at him again, put her nose in the air, and sped ahead again. “I love you more, Michael.”

“How do you know?” He was pressing to catch up.

“Santa Claus told me.” And with that she sped ahead again, and this time he let her move out on the narrow path. They were in a festive mood and he liked watching her. The slim shape of her hips in jeans, the narrow waist, the trim shoulders with the red sweater loosely tied about them, and that wonderful swing of dark hair. He could watch her for years. In fact, he was planning to do just that. Which reminded him … he had been meaning to talk to her about that all morning. He narrowed the gap between them again, and tapped her gently on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Hillyard.” She jumped a little at the words, and then smiled shyly at him as the sun shone across her face. He could see tiny freckles there, almost like gold dust left by elves on the creamy surface of her skin. “I said … Mrs. Hillyard…” He mouthed the words with infinite pleasure. He had waited for two years.

“Aren't you rushing things a little, Michael?” She sounded hesitant, almost afraid. He hadn't spoken to Marion yet. No matter what he and Nancy had agreed to between themselves.

“I don't think I'm rushing anything. And I was thinking about doing it two weeks from now. Right after graduation.” They had long since agreed on a small, intimate wedding. Nancy had no family, and Michael wanted to share the moment with Nancy, not a cast of thousands or an army of society photographers. “In fact, I was planning to go down to New York to talk to Marion about it tonight.”

“Tonight?” There was an echo of fear in the word, and she let