A bottle of champagne was opened and she sipped lightly to the toast to their health. Music from a violinist who also came from the kitchen and began to play, and Nigel rose to ask her to join him in their wedding dance. This was their wedding night and although it would not end in the traditional way, this moment was going to be very special.
The next two hours sped by quickly and the next day was going to be a fourteen hour marathon. Nigel yawned first and looked at her with that smile. She took him by the arm as he led her back to the bedroom.
“I must say,” Nigel started, “Your assistant, although a bit scary, is top notch; dinner was amazing.” Vanity was tired and fretting about the rest of the night. She could not help but be worried that he may feel that after the morning smooching session, he would want to exercise his husbandly rights. A light squeeze to his arm was her only response.
His only words to her upon entering the bedroom were, “Meet me in the middle,” as he pointed to the bed and released her before heading to his dressing area to disrobe. Brush, floss, wash the face, double check the teeth, and eyed himself in the mirror before returning the bed. He was about to head to bed with the most beautiful woman in the world. He was getting everything he asked for minus the sex, but that would come. He promised he would not rush her and he would keep his word.
Clad in boxers and a tee, he slid in between the covers and was happy to find that his side of the bed was firm. Curiosity made him roll to her side which was much softer. It was not possible to stay in the middle because of a dividing partition. She cleared her throat, startling him and he jumped, “I was trying to determine which side of the bed would be mine, I think the firmer side would be more my preference.” He said it in the form of a question and he saw the hesitation in her eyes. The buzzer sounded as Vanity opened the elevator doors to let in Clarke, who made quick work of putting her loose hair into a braid. He exited as quietly as he had arrived, leaving the two of them alone.
“I never sleep with it loose. It would be a nightmare. I did once and woke up with a mouthful of it that nearly suffocated me,” she told Nigel in an effort to lighten the tension in the room.
Tossing back her side of the covers, he used two fingers to beckon her forward. She was slow to move and he gave her another reassuring smile. “Wilhelmina, do try to keep your hands to yourself and stay on your side of the bed,” Nigel said as he pulled the covers up around his neck. Vanity’s heart was pounding in her chest, her breasts were tingling, and her girl parts were doing a dance in her pajama shorts. She imagined he was thinking she was afraid he would try something when the opposite was on her mind. Vanity wanted to roll on top of him and rub her body against his until the tingling stopped.
She inhaled, exhaled, and slid in between the covers. He was so warm. His legs were hairy and he smelled even better half-dressed than he did in the sexy suit he wore earlier tonight. Her body was rigid when he leaned over with his lips puckered. She kissed them and he rolled to his side, slipped his hand into hers and was ready to rest his mind after saying “See you in the morning, Mrs. Strathmore.”
“Good night, Nigel.”
The lights were turned off and he whispered her name.
“Yes, Nigel?”
“I got on a plane today...”
“You did great Mr. Strathmore,” were her soft words into the darkened chamber.
She felt his warm breath when he breathed deep and exhaled, and soon he was sleeping. Vanity lay next to him wide awake, feeling out of sorts and wanton for wanting him to touch her in the worst way and wanting him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.
The woman in Vanity Devons was coming awake.
{12] Say Cheese...
The sound of the television woke Nigel with a start and he was a bit confused trying to remember where he was. His wife was no longer in bed but the scent of her still remained on the pillow which gave him raging morning wood, and he headed towards the bathroom to splash cold water on his face to calm down. He looked at himself in the mirror, trying to remember the last time he was actually with a woman. He spent so much time working that he had little time for a social life.
Six months ago... the Italian sales rep? No... she had crazy eyes and was too overzealous. Nine months... the perky red head? No... she was a bloody nutter. Standing in the mirror it came to him that it had been nearly a year since he had been intimate with a woman. Wow! You work too much, old boy.
Calmer now, Nigel took soft steps as he headed toward the sitting area. The television was showing a woman doing yoga and in the middle of the floor was his wife. Nigel was awed to see her legs folded in a lotus position as she balanced herself on her elbows. The amount of discipline it took to master that move required years of training in Yoga. It took breath control and emotional control. Her muscles were well trained and did not strain as she maneuvered from a crow, to a limited half crow, and into a firefly pose. Wilhelmina was always in control of her emotions, her facial expressions, and by the look of this, she was also in control of her body.
An idea popped into his mind that he believed was brilliant. He went back to the bed and waited for his wife to come and wake him.
THE WAIT FOR HIS WIFE’S return to their sleeping area was short and she rounded his side of the bed and gently stroked his cheek, “Time for school.” It was an old trick her mother had taught her to keep from scaring the crap out of a sleeper, especially her brother. Nigel stretched, slowly turning and wishing her a good morning.
“We have a fourteen-hour day today, so you must hydrate and monitor your sodium intake. Let’s get ready for breakfast.” Her words were softly spoken which made him feel bad for what he was about to do, but he wanted...needed her...to need him. Nigel threw back the covers and stood up with a deep stretch. In one motion, he removed his tee while asking his wife, “Is there someone to handle my dirty bits, or do I wait to we get back to your place tomorrow?”
Vanity’s eyed his hairy chest, watching the trail of hair that disappeared into his boxers. A mumbled answer was all he received as he removed the boxers while he entered his bathroom, just showing her enough of his backside as he started the shower, washing longer than usual to give his wife time to complete her grooming. Still wet and draped only in a towel, he left his bathroom to find her. “Darling, what should I wear today, or is Clarke going to style me?”
Vanity turned to see her husband standing before her looking like a cold bottle of water on a hot day. “Nigel!” she exclaimed, “You are almost naked!”
He gave her a reassuring smile and removed the towel, handing it to her. “Darling, I am your husband. You will see me naked often.”
Her eyes grew wide as they followed the hair trail from his chest to his navel, watching it narrow at his belly button and expand to a triangle right around his.. “Ooh that’s nice!”
Her hand was extending to try to poke it with her finger, but Nigel grabbed the wayward digit, “Wilhelmina, my eyes are up here.”’
Prying her eyes away from what she imagined being a good time, she shook her head to regain her focus, “Yes, so sorry. Just put on some loungers with a tee for breakfast and everything else will be downstairs.”
Nigel was really rubbing the moment in and embraced her fully with a soft kiss on her mouth, “I’m excited to spend a day in your world.”
She watched his naked bum walk away.
“Dang it,” was all she could say.
Nigel had made a strategic move and had planted the seed. The only thing he needed was just needed a bit of miracle growth solution and their marriage would come to fruition.
THE MORNING WAS A WHIRLWIND after breakfast. Nigel was prodded, poked, twisted, and posed in several suits. Wilhelmina looked lovely in a white gown with soft blue trimming as they took pictures on the stair well and in the foyer and playful photos in the kitchen.
“Your Grace,” Clarke called to him. “There will be several photo opportunities this afternoon.”
Vanity stood next
to Clarke and hit her trademark pose.
Clarke told Nigel, pointing to his boss, “This is her trademark stance.”
Her right leg was extended with her ankle turned slightly outwards, her face at a 45-degree angle. Vanity shifted the position to her left side.
Clarke went on, “This is her second pose which is utilized if she has to be shot from her left side.” In two moves, the Duke was shown where to stand with his wife and hand placement for the shot.
“Our money shot for this evening will be a left side pose with the wedding rings on your shoulder,” Clarke told Nigel as he stepped in front of Vanity and struck the pose. “Every shot you take tonight will be in this framework.”
“Got it,” Nigel said.
Jessica entered the room with a cell phone in hand, “Vanity, I have Mr. Wynz on the line for you.”
She excused herself from the exercise as Clarke continued showing Nigel his best angles for taking photos. He snapped photos of Nigel. Immediately showing him the images, the angles in the frame. He practiced intense eyes and smiling eyes poses and Nigel could not wait to escape.
“Good morning Jeb. How are you?” Vanity said into the phone. Nigel tried to listen in, but was uncertain of what he was hearing. “If I crash the other two functions that will cost you more. I am willing to stay a half hour, have one drink, and do three photos for a hundred.”
The voice on the other line must not have been pleased. “Not a problem, but I wanted to give you first dibs. The guest I am bringing is a very special VIP and it will make world news for at least two weeks. Three photos in front of your logo will be front and center on every news outlet.”
Vanity looked at Nigel and winked before returning to the call, “A photo with you, me and the VIP will cost you an extra 25, but I look forward to seeing you tonight.” The phone was handed back to Jessica. “Will you please adjust the schedule by twenty minutes?”
The time flew by and before long it was time to get dressed and head out the door. Nigel was amazed at the transformation by his wife Wilhelmina into the larger-than-life Vanity Devons. Clarke was amazing as he styled her hair, but mid-way through the process, his wife took a look at herself in the mirror and stopped everything.
“This look is all wrong. The first image the Duchess of Strathmore will see of me will be this photo. I will not be introduced to the world as his wife looking like I just stepped out of Studio 54,” she said as she went through the rack of clothing that Clarke had brought in. Vanity also eyed the selection for Nigel for the evening.
“Wrong, wrong, and wrong,” she said as she checked the clothing options. “He should be photographed tonight wearing a British designer. Anything he wears in New York will be an American designer.” The clothes Nigel held in his hand, she took away and handed back to Clarke. “Get on the phone if you must, but dress us in something befitting his title, please Clarke.”
Forty-five minutes later, dressed, looking fantastic, and ready to head out for the night, Nigel watched Jessica strap on the ear piece and start clicking at the pad. He eyed his wife, who had transformed from the sweet woman in a car terrified of intimacy to a woman of the world who wielded her power.
Out of curiosity he asked, “What is our ETA, Jessica?”
“We are at T-15 seconds. Places please,” she called out. Vanity wore black palazzo pants with a soft white silk blouse and a bright red belt. Nigel was dressed in a Paul Smith black suit with a white waistcoat and a red tie. Inside the limo, she placed her hand upon his and told him, “The lights will be bright, but focus on me Nigel.” She was concerned because he seemed out of sorts.
“Are you okay?”
He looked down at his clothing. What he was wearing was not of his choosing, but to his liking. “I have only been married for a day or so and I am concerned if I will ever be able to dress myself again,” he said with a straight face.
“Don’t worry, you are in good hands,” she said as Jessica called out the two second warning.
“Here we go, husband,” she told him as the car came to a stop. When the door opened, Nigel swore his heart had as well. His wife, Vanity Devons was going to work.
The flash of the cameras nearly blinded Nigel as he stepped from the car. Vanity held his hand as they walked the gauntlet of people yelling out her name, “Vanity, over here!”
“Vanity! Vanity!”
She paused on the red carpet and posed. Nigel remembered his training from the morning. If she poses with the right leg, I step left. Left leg, I stand right. Behind her, hand on top of hers, don’t cover the rings.
“Vanity who is the mystery man?” someone yelled out. With grace and elegance, Vanity stopped in front of the Wynn Hotel logo, slowly raised her left hand against her right cheek with the wedding rings facing the camera as if she were whispering a secret.
“Mystery Man?” She said with feigned amusement, “he is my husband.”
Vanity held the pose for a few seconds allowing the photogs to snap the picture of the rings.
It took everything in Nigel not to jump when every camera went off at once. Bulbs were flashing, people were yelling her name, and someone even yelled his, but he remained poised as they went inside the new Jean Marc Salon. His composure did not last when a 6-foot burly black man with blonde bouffant hair and a pink ponytail sashayed over to them yelling, “Vanity, you delicious vixen! You didn’t tell me you got married. Is this him?”
“Yes, you overly dramatic queen. This is my husband Nigel Strathmore,” she told the over exuberant hair dresser.
“Dang girl, he is a fine-looking some- some. Can I touch him?” Jean Marc asked, and Vanity was surprised when Nigel responded.
“No, you may not. If you like the feel of what you are touching, you may try to keep me,” he stared at John Marc with eyes so blue that the hairdresser’s knees physically buckled.
“Dear Lawd, I think I just came,” John Marc said with a bit too much sass as he fanned himself with pink polished fingernails, but Nigel was having fun.
“If that is all it takes, then touching me would ruin you and that pink polish for the rest of the week,” he said, slipping his arm about Vanity’s waist. “Darling, I do believe I am in need of that drink.”
“And a sexy British accent, too. Lawd, let me touch him, just once!” Jean Marc yelled at the back of Nigel’s head. Nigel held up his finger wagging it at Jean Marc, “Behave yourself,” he told him and winked with a smile.
It set a lighthearted mood for the next fifteen minutes, which is what Jean Marc knew he was only going to get from his first and most famous customer. He had come a long way since her brother David had hired him fresh out of beauty school and he had her to thank for half of his success. The business was booming with her as a co-owner, and she never missed a milestone in his life or a ribbon-cutting ceremony. She even remembered to send him a personally signed birthday card and a present every year.
After cutting the ribbon and pouring champagne to celebrate the new opening, she and Nigel slipped out the side entrance down a back hall and exited a side door down the walkway from the nightclub Tryst. Jessica was already in place along with the media as they walked side by side down the corridor through the throng of reporters and lookee-loos.
Jessica, as part of the crowd, yelled out, “OMG, it’s Vanity Devons!”
This spurred a maelstrom of camera phones recording and snapping pics. Vanity stopped in front of the signage of the club to pose for candid photos of her and Nigel. This time she faced Nigel with the wedding rings prominently displayed on his shoulder.
The hotel owner made his appearance, ushered them into the club, and had a celebratory bottle of champagne sent over, but Vanity asked for it not to be opened. It did not take Jeb long to break the ice, “And who is the mystery man, Vanity?”
She was almost like a cat with a mouthful of a canary. “This is Nigel Strathmore, the fourth Duke of Glastonbury, the Earl of Strathmore and the owner of Strathmore Textiles.”
It was worth
the wait to see Jeb’s mouth drop, “But I heard he didn’t fly! How long has he been in America?” He turned to Nigel, suddenly remembering his manners. “How long are you staying Your Grace?”
It was Nigel’s turn to get in on the fun. “Until my wife tells me it is time to head home.”
He looked at Vanity and leaned forward. She took his cue and met him halfway, connecting her lips to his and bringing her left hand up to his face. Cameras flashed and clicked as reporters all ran to be the first to break the story.
In the morning the world would know the Duke of Glastonbury was in America and married to Vanity Devons.
{13] Welcome Home...
On the ride from the hotel to the airstrip, Nigel could see the mental transition his wife was making from her public persona back to the role of the woman who would share his life. He watched with an interest in the limo as Clarke removed the fake lashes and light makeup. As they arrived at the airfield, the same red cooler from a few days before was loaded into the plane.
What is in the cooler?
Somewhere between the times they had taken off in Phoenix and reloading in Vegas, the interior of his plane had been modified. A black privacy drape had been added between the front seats and the rear seats. “I thought we could use some privacy,” she told him and she dropped her pants and removed the white blouse and handed them both to Clarke. He was shocked that she was not wearing the frilly laced panties she designed and sold, but black cotton briefs. Finley was already in the cockpit of the plane firing up the engines.
Out of courtesy, Nigel averted his eyes as she dressed, but as soon as she was dressed and Jessica and Clarke were seated, she whispered in his ear, “You know you will see me naked often. I am your wife.” She wiggled her brows at him, “Come, hold me and tell me more about this grand romantic plan of yours.” As they taxied down the runway, she began to plant small kisses on his face, then his lips, allowing her tongue to mate with his as she distracted him from the take-off.
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