by Cat Grant
She tossed her coat and bag on the couch and strolled over to the huge picture window, stretching her neck and arms to work out the cricks. The clouds had dissolved a bit, a patch of sunny blue peeking out at the edge of the horizon.
A rapid-fire click-clicking drew her down the hallway. She found Nick in his office, pounding away on his laptop, so preoccupied that he jumped when he saw her standing in the doorway. “Geez, warn a guy, will you? You almost gave me a heart attack!"
Giggling, she circled the desk, planting a kiss on his cheek. “How's the book coming, Mr. Great Author?"
"Pretty well, I guess. I'm only a chapter behind schedule now."
Typical Nick, she thought with a chuckle. On the gridiron back in college he'd been one of the fastest quarterbacks around, yet he couldn't seem to beat a deadline or an alarm clock. “Could I tempt you into taking a lunch break?"
He gave her a look that said he knew what she really meant before giving her a grin and a gentle kiss on the lips. “I'd love to, but I really need to get this done."
That deflated her mood a bit, but she managed to force a smile. “Well, can I expect you at dinner, at least?"
"Yeah, I should be done with this part by then. We'll spend the evening together, I promise."
"Try not to break the keyboard.” She grinned, heading for the door.
She killed the better part of the next hour in her own office, checking email, sending off her column and surfing the net until her vision started to blur and she ended up staring numbly out the window. The weather had turned sunny and bright outside; she wanted to get out and enjoy it.
Grabbing the phone, she speed-dialed Holly's number. “It's me. Yeah, I'm home early—long story. Listen, you want to meet me at Montrio for lunch? Okay, see you in a few."
It took her fifteen minutes to wash off her makeup, shed her traveling clothes and throw on a pair of faded jeans, t-shirt and pair of sneakers, topped off with her favorite black corduroy blazer and one of Nick's old baseball caps. She was going to have one precious afternoon without a bodyguard stuck to her like liquid cement, even if it killed her.
Bypassing the elevator, she took the service stairs all the way down to the lower parking level and from there she simply walked up the driveway to the street. The restaurant lay three blocks down and two over, due north.
Elegant and exclusive, Montrio had fast become one of the hottest new restaurants in town. Ally's casual outfit would've earned her a raised eyebrow under normal circumstances, but luckily Eric had standing reservations, so it took only a few minutes before she and Holly found themselves whisked away to the best table in the house. “Thanks for meeting me, Hol,” she said, flipping idly through the menu. “I was dying to get some fresh air."
"Like I'd turn down a free meal at a place like this!” Holly crowed, practically rubbing her hands together. “An appetizer here'd set me back a week's pay. Mind if I get one of everything?"
They ended up ordering bruschetta, Caesar salads, sautéed scampi and a bottle of pinot grigio. To her credit, Holly waited for the waiter to scurry away before starting her interrogation. “So what happened this time?"
"Nothing different from any other time, I just ... I don't know what's wrong with me, Hol. Eric's always been a workaholic—hell, I used to be one too. But lately I've been feeling so damn bored and restless. Maybe what I need is a new challenge."
"The column's not doing it for you anymore?"
"Not really. I mean, at first it was exciting, chronicling the glitz and glamour of Manhattan's social scene, but after months of seeing the same smug, botoxed faces at every fucking event, well ... The novelty's long since worn off.” She sighed. “And let's face it—I could write the thing in crayon and I doubt anyone would notice. I've heard people at the office whispering. I know they all think of me as Eric Courtland's dilettante trophy wife, cashing in on my connections for a cushy job. It's humiliating."
"Please don't tell me you're quitting."
"I've thought about it, but then what? After the talk show being cancelled and Eric coming out last year, I was damn lucky to get this job. If I walk away from the Herald now, no reputable paper will touch me."
"Have you considered asking Alan for another assignment?"
"I'm not sure how much faith Alan has in my abilities these days. At our last meeting he pretty much came out and told me he didn't think my heart was in it anymore."
"Ouch."
Their waiter brought the wine and their appetizers; Ally gave the pinot a cursory taste before holding out her glass for more. She knew she shouldn't drink, but she didn't do it that often anymore, only when she needed a little something to help her unwind. She'd felt like a coiled spring ever since she woke up this morning.
"Well, the kicker is, he's right,” Ally admitted. “You know, it's ironic that after all that time you spent stringing for the Post, you end up reporting the hard news, and here I am stuck with the glorified gossip column."
"I could talk to Alan for you if you want. With Nick taking six months off to work on his book, I could use the extra help."
"What, so I'd be doing your legwork for you? Thanks, but no thanks."
"Hey, I do as much legwork as Nick!” Holly snorted. “C'mon, Al, it'll be a blast. We'll work stories together, just like the old days on that crappy supermarket rag."
"Minus the strippers and Batboy."
"As long as they're male strippers, I'm in!"
They giggled and gossiped their way through the salad course and were just about to attack their entrees when Holly peered over Ally's shoulder, her eyes going wide. “Don't look now, but here comes tall, blond and granite-jawed at twelve o'clock!"
Ally turned around, her heart plummeting—and there stood Dalton, right next to the maître d's podium. How did he even know she'd left the penthouse, when she'd taken such care not to let anyone see her? He must've tracked the GPS sensor in that new cell phone Eric had given her a few weeks ago. God, the man had the instincts of a fucking bird-dog! Still, she supposed she should be grateful he hadn't parked himself right next to their table.
"I'd better go take care of this,” she muttered, getting up and marching over to him. “I won't be needing your services this afternoon, Dalton."
"My apologies, ma'am, but Senator Courtland left instructions that I was to accompany you whenever you go out."
"I'm sure Ms. Martin won't mind walking me back to the penthouse once we've finished our lunch."
At least he had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “I'm afraid I will have to stay, ma'am."
Her annoyance level spiked into the red zone, but she bit her lip and counted to ten. “All right, but I'd appreciate it if you'd sit at one of the outside tables. I'll have some coffee sent over."
"That looked awkward,” Holly commented as Ally sat back down. She chased one of her scampi around her plate with her fork, finally managing to skewer it. “Although he is pretty cute, in a GI Joe kind of way."
"I'm so fucking tired of this, Hol,” Ally said, staring down at the cold remains of her lunch. She'd been hungry when they sat down, but now her stomach had twisted so full of knots she felt ready to vomit. “I don't go anywhere anymore, except to the Herald, or out to another bullshit social ‘do. I can't even browse in a bookstore or take a walk in the park without Dalton trailing me."
"So are you still getting death threats after all this time?"
"That's just it—they stopped months ago! But Eric's still so damn paranoid, I.... “Her eyes smarted; she had to blink hard to keep from embarrassing herself. “I want my life back. I want to go out and do all the things I used to. I want to be a normal person again."
"You're married to the first openly bisexual US senator. That's not something people forget overnight."
Ally nodded, taking a nibble of her scampi. It tasted like cold paste. “At least we've managed to keep Nick's identity under wraps."
"Thank God Eric had that private elevator installed. And Nick's still keeping
his apartment, just in case, right?"
"For all the good it'll do. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out he hardly spends any time there."
"The way the stalkerazzi follow you and Eric around, they're bound to find out eventually."
"Sometimes I wish everything would come out,” Ally confessed. “I wish they'd find out about us and Nick. I wish Eric would quit the Senate and go back to running Courtland Industries. Then the worst would be over, and in a few weeks they'd all move on to the next scandal, and we wouldn't have to be so fucking afraid anymore."
Holly reached across the table, giving Ally's hand a quick squeeze. “Well, until then you know I'm up for beard duty whenever you guys need to put in an appearance at another bullshit social ‘do."
Ally giggled, nearly spraying herself with wine. The mental image of Holly plastered to Nick's arm for an evening never failed to crack her up.
It still had her snickering a few hours later, sitting across the kitchen table from Nick watching him devour his usual two roast beef sandwiches and an entire bag of chips. They fixed their own meals whenever Eric wasn't home, and this was one of her favorite times—calm, quiet and as close to normal as they could get these days.
Nick glanced up from his plate, wiping a smudge of mustard from the corner of his mouth. “Something wrong?"
"No.” She grinned. “Not now."
They spent the evening sacked out on the couch watching a DVD, Ally's feet in Nick's lap while he massaged them. She slumped back against the arm of the couch, dissolving in a puddle of blissful goo. The world would be a much happier place, she mused, if every woman had two husbands.
Her eyelids drifted shut and the next thing she knew, Nick had lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom. She pretended to doze while he began undressing her, but his fingers brushed a ticklish spot on her tummy as he unbuttoned her blouse, and she burst out laughing.
"I knew you were awake,” Nick huffed.
"Sure you did.” Sitting up, she kissed him deeply, yanking her t-shirt over her head. “C'mon, get naked. I want you."
He had all his clothes off before she'd worked her jeans down to her knees, which left her stifling a disappointed sigh. Nick had never quite grasped the concept of the sexy striptease. Still, if it got him into bed with her that much quicker, she wasn't about to complain.
He rolled in beside her and pulled her up against him, his lips worrying at that sensitive spot under her ear that he knew drove her crazy. His fingers slipped between her legs, parting and opening her, getting her good and wet. She went instantly dizzy, her lungs tight and heavy, as if all the air in the room had been sucked out.
She eased onto her back and tugged him on top of her, spreading her thighs for him. He slid inside her with ease, groaning when she wrapped her legs around him, pushing him deeper. “I won't last long if you keep doing that,” he gasped.
"Who says I want you to?"
He shot her a mock-exasperated look and shut her up with a kiss, caressing her all over with his huge hands. She'd been riding an emotional tilt-a-whirl since getting up that morning, but Nick's sweet, gentle touch soothed her, quieting the storm inside her skull. She moaned in counterpoint with his thrusts, smiling at his own grunts, groans and gasps. God, she loved hearing how much he enjoyed fucking her.
It hurt a little as he sped up, in that deliciously achy way that told her she was close. Her skin tingled all over, shrinking to the point where it barely contained her. Tightening her legs around him, she hoped he'd take the hint to start pounding her in earnest—and sure enough he did, sliding his hands underneath to cup her ass, holding her in place while he fucked her hard and deep, hitting her g-spot with every stroke.
She came so hard she could hear the blood roaring between her ears, drowning out everything else. Next thing she knew, Nick had eased himself off her, leaving her feeling like a giant block of ice, shivering, shaking and gulping air as if she'd just been rescued from drowning.
Nick scooted up to lie next to her, giving her this strange, frightened look. When he reached over to brush something from her cheek, she realized she was sobbing. “God, Ally, I-I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't,” she whispered, grateful to feel him hauling the covers up over both of them. “You didn't do anything. It's been a long weekend. I guess it all finally caught up with me."
"Did you and Eric have another argument?"
Now she gave him a look. “He called while I was out with Holly, didn't he?"
He hesitated a second, then nodded.
"Well, thanks for telling me."
"He's worried about you. So am I."
"Look, I've had a rotten day. Let's leave it at that.” Rolling over, she curled up into a ball, hoping it would help her warm up more quickly. At first she stiffened when Nick spooned behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, but after a minute or so she let herself go limp, settling back against him.
Her eyes still burned, so she shut them tightly. She hated breaking down, acting like the stereotypical hysterical woman. She shouldn't have had that wine at lunch; alcohol always brought her emotions boiling to the surface, and today she certainly hadn't needed help in that department.
She started to whisper an apology, but a soft kiss pressed to her throat told her she was already forgiven. Lacing her fingers through Nick's, she breathed deeply and let herself drift.
* * * *
Eric arrived back in Manhattan around nine o'clock on Sunday night. Ally rode along in the limo to the airport; when he climbed in next to her, she was alarmed at how exhausted he looked. The skin around his eyes appeared purplish and paper-thin, and she could've sworn he'd lost five pounds since the previous weekend. Her alarm skyrocketed when he wrapped his arms around her, kissed her urgently and whispered, “I missed you.” He'd never been given to such passionate displays of affection, not even in private.
They found Nick waiting for them in the living room when they got back to the penthouse. When he saw Eric, his face lit up like sunrise on a summer morning. Eric grinned back, dropping his briefcase where he stood, stepping forward to cup Nick's face with both hands and kiss him full on the mouth. Ally watched, blinking back joyful tears, especially when Eric turned and held out his hand to her, drawing her into their circle.
"Glad to be home?” Nick murmured.
Eric chuckled ruefully. “You have no idea."
They went in to dinner, but Eric passed over his favorite hearts of romaine salad in favor of a glass of cabernet, sipping absently at it while he filled them in on the details of his week.
"We pushed like mad trying to clear the most pressing items off the agenda before the recess, but naturally we didn't get to everything.” He sighed. “That intelligence bill we slaved over last weekend didn't make it, unfortunately. Although by now I suppose I should be used to these kinds of setbacks."
"But you'll vote on it when you come back,” Nick pointed out.
"Providing it hasn't dropped off everyone's radar by then."
"Well, I can't imagine you'll let that happen,” Ally said.
"I doubt I'll have to shoulder all the responsibility. I've heard the White House isn't too happy that we adjourned without passing it. Something tells me the majority leader's in for an earful once we reconvene."
When the main course arrived—medium-rare chateaubriand, asparagus tips in butter with slivered almonds and garlic mashed potatoes—Ally was relieved to see Eric's appetite reassert itself, though she couldn't help noticing that he ate relatively small portions of each. He'd done the same thing at dinner with her in Washington last Saturday. Apparently he'd fallen into the habit of dining late, but that didn't mean it agreed with him.
They took their coffee and dessert in the living room, where Eric crumpled on the couch with a grateful groan. Ally sat beside him, while Nick curled up on the floor in between them, his head resting on Eric's knee. She felt Eric stroking her hair and caught hold of his fingers, squeezing tightly. Sh
e felt so incredibly silly for starting that stupid fight with him last weekend. So what if they only saw each other once a month? A day or two of this made all the other bullshit worth it.
Eric finished his coffee and reached for his briefcase, pulling out an envelope, which he handed to her. It contained a stack of 3x5 color prints of a gorgeous sun-bleached stone villa perched on a hill, surrounded by countryside, olive groves and vineyards bathed in golden summer sun. It looked like something out of a travel magazine. “It's breathtaking. Where is this?” she asked.
"Tuscany,” Eric replied. “It's near a little town called Grieve, thirty kilometers outside Florence. The villa belongs to the wife of one of my colleagues. I've rented it for the entire month of July."
She stared at him for several long moments before glancing down at Nick, who looked every bit as clueless as she felt. “Y-You're joking, right?"
"Not at all. The three of us have never gone away together. This villa's comfortable and private, and we'll be within driving distance of some of the finest museums and restaurants in Italy. It's perfect."
"Well, what about work?"
"What about it?"
God, she couldn't believe this! How could he go ahead and make plans without even asking her, then present it as a fait accompli? “Eric, I can't call Alan and tell him I'm taking off for a month without giving any advance notice!"
"Why not?” He had that annoyed look again, tiny lines tugging at his eyes and mouth, just like last Saturday morning. “You've been bored out of your skull with that column for months now. If the Herald can't find any better use for your talent, hand in your resignation. It's not like you need the money."
"Money's not the point. I've never quit a job in my life, and I don't intend to start now.” She glanced at Nick, hoping to enlist his support, but he refused to meet her gaze. “This is a very sweet idea, Eric, but there's no way I can go. If you'd bothered to discuss it with me first, I would've told you that."
