He readjusted his robe, though he knew she’d already spotted the evidence that she had it right. “What are you getting at?”
She canted marginally closer. The scent of her drifted to him, unbearably womanly, so damn sweet. “You want me.”
He gritted his teeth. “You keep saying that.”
“But only because you keep saying it. Because I can see it in your face every time you look at me.” She licked her lips again. Why did she keep doing that?
“What the hell?” He jumped to his feet and glared down at her. “What are you doing? What’s going on here?”
She stared up at him. Proud now. Defiant somehow. “I’m not sure I can have children, Dami. I’m not sure it would be safe. Pregnancy puts a big burden on the heart and the circulatory system. I would have to consult with my doctors, assess the risks.”
“Risks?” Now she was scaring him. “Children?” He backed away from her, from the bed. “What do children have to do with anything?”
“Nothing.” Her eyes filled again. She blinked those tears away. “I just, well, I wanted you to know. I want you to know everything. All the truths that are so hard to say.”
“Why?”
She closed her eyes, looked away. But then she straightened her shoulders and faced him again. “Because you are my hero, Dami. You’re the one who danced with me and treated me like a woman when no one else could. You’re the one who encouraged me to follow my dream. And then when Noah wouldn’t let me go, you’re the one who came and got me, the one who freed me, the one who brought me here to New York where I needed to be. You’re the one who sat with me all day Sunday in the hospital, making the fear and the worry bearable for me, because I had to be there for Viv. You’re the one who taught me the magic that can be between a woman and a man. You showed me...everything. And everything that you showed me has been so very beautiful. That’s why I want, why I need, to tell you the truth. That’s why I love you, am in love with you. How in the world could it be any other way for me?”
He felt shame then, a twisting, sour sensation deep in his gut. “I’m not. Not all that.”
“Oh, Dami. You are. And I hope, I pray, that someday you will see that you are.” She pushed back the covers. Naked, glorious, she swung her slim legs over the edge of the bed and stood.
He feared she would come to him, touch him, lift her mouth to him. If she did, he would take her, make love to her now. And that would be another wrong to add to all the rest of it. “What are you after?” He growled the words at her.
She faced him, so beautiful in the gray light of that December morning. Naked and self-contained, her eyes dry now. “I’m going to get my things together and go back to my place.”
“Right now. Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
He wanted to argue with her, to shout at her that they weren’t finished here. But why tell more lies? He might not be ready to let her go yet. But that didn’t mean it was any less over. He couldn’t give her what she needed, what a woman like her deserved.
The least he could do was to let her walk away now that she was ready to leave him.
“Suit yourself.” He went over and poured himself some coffee from the carafe on the tray. Then he dropped into the chair there and sipped slowly as she put on her clothes and gathered up the few things she’d left around the apartment.
In no time, she stood before him, her overnight bag and purse on her shoulder, the fat orange cat under one arm. “Can you just send Quentin down with the litter box and food and water bowls and anything else I’ve forgotten to take?”
He set down the empty coffee cup and considered maybe begging her not to go.
A hero, she’d called him. She had it all wrong.
He said, “Of course I’ll send Quentin down.”
“Merry Christmas, Dami.” And that was it. The end.
He watched her until she went through the door and disappeared from his sight down the hall.
Chapter Fourteen
Montedoro was beautiful at Christmas. This year, the beautification committee put up a forest of brightly lit trees in a rainbow of colors around the casino and the Triangle d’Or. As always, all the staterooms of the palace were decorated, each with its own Christmas tree, with swags and lights on every banister and mantel.
There were parades and special Christmas markets, and an endless round of gala celebrations. Damien went to the market as was expected. He attended the parties. At the Christmas Ball, he danced with his mother and sisters and sisters-in-law.
He went through the motions required of him. He smiled. He chatted. He held up his end. If anyone noticed his heart wasn’t in it, they had the good sense to keep their observations to themselves.
Noah surprised him with a call on Christmas Eve. “Merry Christmas, Dami. I saw the pictures of you and Lucy and that hot blonde. Didn’t like seeing those.”
What could he say? “It was embarrassing. I should have handled it better, seen Susie coming.”
“Her name is Susie, huh?”
“We all have regrets, Noah,” he answered flatly. “Things we should have done better. Things we probably shouldn’t have done at all.”
“Hey. I hear you there.” And then Noah actually laughed. “I talked to Lucy about those pictures. She told me—again—to stay out of her business. I’m trying to do that. She says I’m getting better. Alice says so, too. I’m telling myself that’s progress.” A pause, then, “Lucy says you’re not seeing each other anymore.”
He felt a definite twinge somewhere deep in his chest. “That’s right.”
“That’s too bad. I was kind of getting used to the idea of the two of you together.”
He really didn’t want to talk about it. He said nothing. Maybe Noah would take a hint.
No such luck. “Alice says...” Noah let his voice trail off, leading him on.
And Dami took the bait, demanding bleakly, “Alice says what?”
“That you’re in love with my sister and that Lucy loves you back. That the two of you have been in love almost since you met—it just took you both a couple of years to figure it out.”
Dami had no idea what to say to that.
Noah spoke again. “I make it a point to listen to Alice. She’s usually right.”
“Noah.” It came out loud and very aggressive. He lowered his voice with effort. “It’s over.” He was not, under any circumstances, going to ask about her. But then, of course, he did. “How’s she doing?”
“Okay, as far as I can tell. Celebrating Christmas with her new friends. That would be Tabby from Lucy’s favorite diner and Tabby’s new boyfriend, whose name is Henry, and the older woman on Lucy’s floor in your building, the one recovering from a heart attack.”
He’d been wondering about Mrs. Nichols even though he’d never actually met the woman face-to-face. “Viviana’s her name. She’s getting better, you said?”
“She’s doing well. And she’s at home now. One of her daughters is staying with her. After New Year’s she’s moving to Chicago, I think Lucy said. Lucy said her neighbor is very independent, but she also understands that the time has come when she needs to live near her family.”
“Luce will miss her.”
“I think she’s already making plans for a visit to Chicago.”
Damien made a low sound that could have meant anything and then kept his mouth shut. Better to leave it alone, stop talking about her.
When the silence stretched out, Noah said, “Well, I only called to wish you happy holidays. Alice sends her love.”
“Take good care of my sister.”
“I will— And, Dami?”
“What?”
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
He didn’t even bother to get angry. There was not
hing to be angry about. It was only the truth on a whole lot of levels. “Happy holidays, Noah.” And that was that.
Christmas morning he had breakfast in his parents’ private apartments. Five of his siblings were there, along with their spouses and children. It was a happy time. They ate and opened the gifts piled high under the fifteen-foot Christmas tree, set up as always in the curve of the stairway by the door.
Around noon, on his own, he took several small brightly wrapped packages and walked to the café in La Cacheron where he’d taken Lucy at Thanksgiving. The café was always open on Christmas Day from nine to two. Regular customers appreciated being able to get their croissants and beignets fresh even on the holiday. The walk was a pleasant one and he didn’t spot a single paparazzo. Apparently, even the tabloid vultures took a little time off for Christmas.
The café was quiet when he got there, with only two customers, one at the counter and another at a table by himself in the center of the room. Dami took a corner seat and put the presents on the table. Justine served him his usual coffee and pastry. She chose a gift and smiled a thank-you. One by one the others came by. Each took a gift and thanked him. They all knew what was inside. He gave them all the same Christmas tip every year, each one tucked in a small box and wrapped in bright paper tied with a shiny bow.
He was sipping the last of his coffee when the door opened and in strode Vesuvia. Before he had time to do anything but wish himself elsewhere, she spotted him and stalked over like a lioness on the hunt.
“There you are.” She posed with her nose in the air, one hand on the back of the bentwood chair across from him. “I knew you would be here.”
“Come on, V. Let’s not do this again. I’m through, you’re through. It’s over, long over. And we both know it.”
She yanked back the chair and flung herself into it. “This is ridiculous.” At least she was whispering. And the café remained nearly empty. It was just possible he could get rid of her without too much of a scene. She added, “I know that you and the tacky little wannabe fashion designer are through.”
Fury blasted through him. “Do not speak of her,” he said, very softly. And how did she know that he and Lucy were through? Better not to ask.
V sneered, “She doesn’t matter, anyway.”
He smacked his fist on the table. His cup, spoon and plate jumped.
Vesuvia’s sculpted nostrils flared. But when she spoke again, still whispering, she had the sense to leave Lucy out of it. “You must stop being so stubborn. I want to get moving on our wedding plans. It’s going to be the wedding of the decade, Dami. And as of now, we have only a year to put it together.”
“There isn’t going to be any wedding,” he said.
For all the good that did. “Have you forgotten that you’ll be thirty-two in exactly a month? Next year will fly by. And then what? You’ll be thirty-three. Have you suddenly forgotten the Marriage Law?”
“I don’t care about the Marriage Law.”
“Of course you do.” She swore softly in Italian. “If you don’t marry soon, you’ll lose your inheritance and your titles, too. You’ll no longer be a prince of Montedoro.”
“How many ways can I say it? I’m not marrying you, V. It’s long over with us. When are you going to accept that and move on?”
She rolled her eyes and asked in a smug whisper, “Why should I accept it? You need me. You need to marry and I want to marry you. It’s all going to work out. You only have to stop denying the inevitable.”
He shook his head. “No.”
She stuck out her chin at him. “Don’t tell me no. I understand you. I know how you are. Yes, I have a temper. Yes, I am sometimes unreasonable. But in the end, I’m willing to forgive you, whatever you do. I will forgive you and we can move on. We both know how you are, Dami—born to stray.” He felt more than a little insulted. All right, he was no model of virtue, but he’d been faithful to V. It had mattered to him to be true to the woman he intended to marry. Even when they’d been on the outs, she’d been the only one in his bed until after it was undeniably over. Until Thanksgiving. Until Lucy. V sneered, “With you, Dami, there will always be someone new, and you will require a forgiving wife.”
And by then he’d had enough. “You have no idea what I require.”
“Yes, I do, I—”
“No. No, you don’t. I require love,” he said, and it was true. “I want forever, with the right woman.”
Vesuvia sighed heavily and tossed her hair. “Oh, please.”
“I want forever with Lucy Cordell.”
There was a moment. Huge. Endless. Vesuvia gaped at him. He stared back at her. He hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t even known he would say it until the words were on their way out his mouth.
But now he’d done it, now he’d let himself say it, the stark, simple truth in it stunned him.
V whispered dazedly, “You can’t be serious.”
“I am completely serious,” he replied. “I’m in love with Lucy Cordell and I have been for a long time now. There’s no one else for me. Lucy’s the one.”
* * *
On Christmas night, Lucy gave a little party at her place. Tabby came with Henry after taking him to her parents’ house for an early dinner first.
“It could have been worse,” she told Lucy. “At least they didn’t yell. No heavy objects were thrown. I think we’re making progress.”
Shoshona and her husband, Tony, were staying with Viv until January, when they would take Viv back to Chicago to live. All three came to the party. Viv even brought frosted Christmas cookies that she and Shoshona had made together.
A couple who lived on the fifth floor, Bob and Andrew, came, too. Lucy also invited two new friends in their mid-twenties. Sandra and Jim were actors Lucy had met while making Christmas-show costumes for the Make-Believe and Magic Children’s Theatre Company.
It went well, Lucy thought. She served drinks and snacks and they played a game called Cranium that Bob and Andrew brought along. Everyone seemed to have a good time. They all stayed until well after midnight.
Sandra was the last to go. She offered to stay and help clean up. But Lucy hugged her and shooed her out the door. She would deal with the mess in the morning.
She took Boris and went to bed. As usual, since Dami had left her, sleep didn’t come easy. She missed making love with him, but she missed his big body wrapped around her in sleep even more.
That didn’t make a lot of sense, and she knew it. They’d been lovers for such a short time. Two nights in November, five in December. It was nothing. A blink of an eye, really.
And yet for her it didn’t seem to matter how few the nights had been. Her bed felt too big and too empty without him.
In the morning, the sun was shining, making the snow on the windowsills glitter like sequins on a white party dress. She plugged in her tree lights, made herself breakfast and counted her blessings. After a second cup of coffee, she started gathering up the dirty glassware and dishes from the night before.
When the doorbell rang, she assumed it had to be Bob or Andrew. They’d left the Cranium game behind last night. She grabbed the game from the coffee table and carried it to the door, disengaging the locks and pulling it open without even stopping to check the peephole.
Dami stood on the other side.
A strange, incoherent little sound escaped her at the sight of him. She gaped at him, not believing, certain she had to be seeing things, that she’d missed him so much she’d gone delusional.
Dear Lord, he looked good. It wasn’t fair that he looked so good. He wore a fabulous camel coat over one of those perfectly tailored designer suits of his. His dark eyes locked on hers and something inside of her went all wimpy and quivering. “Hello, Luce.”
She almost dropped the Cranium game. But then by some miracle, she managed to hol
d on to it. She backed up without speaking, clearing the doorway.
He came in, bringing with him the wonderful, subtle scent of his cologne and a bracing coolness in the air. He must have come up straight from outside.
She gulped as he shut the door. “Uh. Where’s your bodyguard?”
“I sent him on to the apartment.”
“Oh. Well.” Her mind seemed filled with cotton, her thoughts not connecting properly. At the same time, her whole body ached. She wanted to launch herself at him, grab on tight and never let go. But no way was she doing that.
Okay, he might really be standing in front of her after all. But his presence didn’t mean he’d come for her. He could be in New York for any number of reasons.
“Have a seat.” She set the game on a side table and gestured in the general direction of a chair.
He stayed where he was. “God. Luce.” He said it low. Soft and rough at the same time. As if he really had missed her. As if his arms ached to reach for her.
Or maybe that was only wishful thinking on her part. “What are you doing here?”
He stuck his hands in the pockets of his beautiful coat. He looked down at his Italian shoes, then lifted his head again and locked those amazing dark eyes on her. There was pain in those eyes. And hope, too. And longing. Wasn’t there?
She didn’t dare to believe.
But then he spoke. “I was wrong. So wrong. I didn’t know, not really. I didn’t let myself see. I’d convinced myself it wasn’t going to happen for me, that somewhere along the line, between one barely remembered liaison and the next, I’d lost whatever it takes, that willingness of the heart. I’d lost whatever chance I had of finding a woman to love, a woman I could love with everything in me, the way my father loves my mother. But then I met you.”
HOLIDAY ROYALE Page 18
