“Are you going to tell me where we’re staying now?” Bridget asked Paul. He had been saving the name of their hotel as a surprise.
“You’ll see when we get there,” he grinned, helping her into a taxicab, before quietly telling the driver the name of their destination.
Bridget poked her tongue out at Paul in frustration when he slid in beside her. He almost took advantage.
“So, what’s it like being back?” he asked, glancing out of the window at the passing English scenery.
Bridget looked thoughtful. “A little bit strange.”
“Strange good or strange bad?” Paul demanded. A small frown furrowed his brow, until Bridget turned to him with a warm smile.
“What do you think?”
Paul reached for her hand and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I think I want you to have the best time of your life,” he murmured earnestly.
Bridget beamed at him, and the rest of the journey took place in comfortable silence, which was occasionally broken by Bridget playing tour guide as she pointed things out to Paul. She even pointed out their hotel without realizing that they were stopping.
“Paul?” she gasped, as the taxi pulled up outside the London Ritz. “We’re staying here?” He smiled and nodded. “Did the studio arrange this?” she whispered, as she was helped out of the cab.
“Something like that,” Paul murmured, not giving Bridget a chance to respond before he swept her inside.
Bridget followed quickly in Paul’s wake as he strode through the opulent lobby. She was torn between feeling like a princess and feeling like a fraud. She couldn’t believe that they were actually going to stay here- for an entire week!- but she supposed this was a perk of fame. Perhaps her parents were right. Perhaps she should have done something better with her life than training to teach at primary school.
The thought of her parents dampened Bridget’s spirits quite a bit. She hadn’t phoned them yet. She wasn’t certain yet whether she was going to ring them, but she did feel incredibly guilty for the omission. She knew from her mother’s monthly e-mails that both of her parents were in town- as was her sister, Claudia.
Bridget couldn’t contain a weary sigh when she thought of her younger sibling. She did love the girl, she supposed, but the relationship was very strained. Claudia had been a sickly child. Born with a rare heart condition, she had demanded almost all of her parents’ attention- and never relinquished it when her condition was healed.
Claudia was…
Bridget tried to think of a good description, but she had only really thought of her sister relative to herself. Claudia was everything Bridget wasn’t: smart, popular, aggressive- and most importantly, thin. Bridget couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t covet the younger girl’s naturally petite physique. How she loathed being told she had a “pretty face” while everyone commented on Claudia’s figure. Rationally, Bridget knew that being skinny wasn’t the answer to all of life’s problems, but she had never been able to fully shake the suspicion that it was close to the answer or that she’d be happier and more successful and more loved if she could only lose fifty pounds.
“Baby? Is something the matter?”
Bridget blinked, jarred back to present by Paul’s question. She was embarrassed to discover how long she had been lost in thought. Paul was holding both of their room keys, and a porter was carrying up their bags.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” Bridget responded, forcing a smile that she didn’t feel. She was annoyed that thoughts of her family had cast a shadow over her formerly ecstatic mood. She vowed to recapture her earlier feelings and slipped her arm around her lover’s waist as they moved toward the elevators. “I’m just tired,” she told him.
“It’s only ten a.m.,” Paul answered, amused, but understanding. They had flown all night- although he had taken his own advice and caught some sleep on the plane.
“Are you saying you don’t want to go to bed with me?” Bridget asked with uncharacteristic boldness.
Paul grinned back, “I’m saying that I don’t want to sleep…” Mollified, Bridget smiled- until her lover continued: “You promised me some sightseeing today!”
“Big Ben will still be there this afternoon!” Bridget replied, grumpily. The elevator had arrived at their floor. She stepped off, waiting on Paul to fish out his key and to open the door.
The room, which was actually a small suite, was breathtaking. There was a separate sitting area and a pair of large windows that looked out over Hyde Park Corner. She caught her breath, still unable to believe that she was actually here.
Paul walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. “Good to be home?” he asked.
Bridget nodded.
“How long has it been?”
She paused for a second to consider- and then realized, “Well…I guess a little over four and a half years?”
Paul gaped. “Are you serious?”
She nodded, “Yes- I mean, I haven’t been home since Tad was born.”
“Phoebe didn’t let you take vacations?”
“What? Of course she did! It was just…well, Tad always came along with me; and like you said, it’s really too long of a flight to-!”
“She made you take Tad on vacation?” Too cognizant of his own neglect, Paul had never delved too deeply into how his ex had taken care of their child. The answer now seemed obvious: She hadn’t. She had dumped it all on Bridget instead.
“I wanted to bring him with me!” Bridget insisted, seeming to anticipate Paul’s thoughts. “I don’t trust him with anyone else!”
“Even his mother?”
Bridget hesitated, feeling as though she ought to be loyal, but unable to manage a lie: “Especially his mother…I can’t imagine what Phoebe would have done with him for an hour, much less a week! I only ever took my weekends off when her housekeeper was in for the afternoon!”
Paul blinked, still taking in this new information, “But surely you haven’t always been around?”
Bridget nodded, a smile teasing her lips as she remembered: “I was at the hospital on the night he was born…”
It was one of her most cherished memories. Just thinking about it made her heart start to glow. She didn’t believe in love at first sight until that night.
Caught up in her pleasant musings, Bridget hadn’t noticed the frown on her lover’s face.
“I missed it,” Paul said glumly.
“What?” Bridget asked. She had lost the thread of their conversation.
“The night that Tad was born. I wasn’t there.”
“No,” Bridget answered quietly, as she remembered that as well.
Since she was so new to her position- and to her employer- Paul’s absence had been inconceivable to her at the time. She had never met the baby’s father, and knew him only from Phoebe’s less than flattering reports. As far as she knew, Paul Devoe was a low-life commitment-phobe who heard about the baby and balked. Bridget had thought that “Mr. Devoe” must be a monster not to visit his own child on the night of his birth!
Of course, other Devoes logged their appearances. None of them were at the hospital, but they all paid their calls to New York. Bridget thought that Paul’s parents were sweet, his older sister Molly and her husband Brian were intimidating, his brother Jack and his wife Catherine were very nice- and she absolutely adored Dixie from the start (even more so when Phoebe insisted on counting her silverware after her former sister-in-law left!). Paul’s adorable family softened her to him a bit, and she had managed to remain polite in his presence during the few awkward occasions that they met, but it still seemed impossible to reconcile the warm, tender man that she knew now with what she’d thought of him not so long ago.
“Things were different then,” Bridget consoled him gently. She stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. “You’d go back in time and change it if you could- but don’t forget how great you’re doing now. Now is what Tad will remember.”
“I hope you’re right.�
��
“I’m always right!” Bridget insisted playfully- and then squealed and tried to twist away when Paul attempted to reward the remark with a swat on her bottom.
Paul caught her easily, and pulled him to her chest. Unfortunately, that was the precise moment when the bellman chose to call. He delivered their bags (and accepted his tip) before leaving them in peace again. By the time that he had managed it, Bridget’s jet lag had taken over again and she was about to fall asleep.
Paul took mercy on his girlfriend and let her have a nap.
He lay down on the bed beside her, and the two of them slept peacefully all the way until early evening.
“Food,” Paul announced with a yawn, once they had both woken up again.
Bridget was pleased that he had raised the issue of food instead of leaving it to her. She was feeling absolutely ravenously hungry, but she still hated to talk about eating, even with Paul.
“Give me a minute to freshen up,” she begged, nipping into the bathroom.
“Bridge, I’m starving!” Paul moaned dramatically.
Bridget thought he sounded rather like Tad. “Just a minute,” she giggled, before her thoughts turned serious.
She didn’t want to disgrace Paul. She still worried that people looked at them together and found her wanting. She could just imagine them turning to one another and asking what a man like Paul was doing with a woman like her. They probably thought he’d lost his mind.
“You look gorgeous,” Paul called through the door, and for a moment Bridget wondered if she had spoken her fears aloud. “Can we please go?”
“Tad has more patience than you!” Bridget scolded, as she emerged from the bathroom. Paul had barely given her time to splash her face with water.
“I know. I know. You can punish me later,” he said.
“Oh yes? Put you to bed early perhaps?” Bridget smiled innocently.
“Something like that,” Paul winked. “But first I need to eat!”
Bridget rolled her eyes, but she secretly found Paul’s tenacity endearing. She might not like talking about food, but she loved that Paul was passionate about eating.
After a brief discussion they decided to venture into Chinatown and picked out an exotic looking restaurant to try.
“You won’t say anything if they aren’t up to your Michelin star standard, will you?” Bridget asked. She was only half teasing.
Paul could be terrifying if he thought something wasn’t cooked right.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” he promised, but actually the food turned out to be delicious anyway.
Bridget was afraid she ate more than she should have, but the aromatic duck was the best she had ever tasted! By the time they had finished she was feeling very full. Happily Paul hadn’t skimped on his own servings either.
“God that was good,” he said, smacking his lips.
Bridget giggled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Slightly amazed, but glad.”
“I like eating out,” Paul shrugged, slightly defensively. “I just never get the time at home. That and most people seem to recognize me,” he grumbled. “It’s hard to enjoy a meal, even a good one, if everyone is watching you.”
Bridget nodded her understanding. She really could sympathize. She had spent her whole life worrying about people watching her eat!
“So, what now?” Paul asked, after he had paid the bill, and left a very handsome tip. “We could probably still catch a show if you fancied?” Bridget shook her head, glancing at Paul, suddenly feeling shy. “You want to do something else?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she murmured softly. “Why don’t we go back to the hotel?”
Paul leered at Bridget. He looked hungry again, albeit for something other than food this time. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”
They hurried back to the hotel, hardly able to keep their hands off one another until they got back to their room. Bridget was breathless with excitement and longing. Each casual brush of Paul’s fingers heightened her anticipation.
The second that they were alone the desire that had been simmering between them boiled over in a passionate display. It was thrilling to be away together somewhere special, somewhere different, without the pressures of work, without the risk of Tad walking in on them.
Paul appeared to be determined to explore those advantages to their fullest. He coaxed Bridget to shed her inhibitions. The nap that they had taken had recharged their batteries, and they both enjoyed eking out every last morsel of pleasure from one another’s bodies.
“I think I like England,” Paul groaned.
She giggled, and turned to face him. She stroked her fingers over his face. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop touching him. She loved him so much!
“I love you too,” Paul murmured gently, alerting Bridget to the fact that she had spoken her thoughts aloud.
She still hadn’t got used to hearing him say those magic words. Her stomach did a little flip, her heart skipped a beat, and she fell asleep with a smile on her lips.
Paul woke her the following morning with a slow, leisurely lovemaking session. She felt boneless and utterly spoiled by the time he was finished with her.
“I wish we could lie here all day,” she sighed contentedly.
Paul kissed the tip of her nose. “Why can’t we?”
“Don’t you need to see your television people?” she asked, a mild frown furrowing her brow.
“Not today,” he said. “I thought you were going to play tour guide? Although if you want to entertain me here I’m certainly not going to complain,” he grinned.
“Paul!” Bridget sighed. Didn’t the man ever wear himself out? “I did promise to show you around, didn’t I?” she said, peeling herself out of bed. “You’ve been to London before of course?”
“Only with work really. I’ve never done the whole cheesy tourist thing.”
“Then we must,” Bridget beamed. Her smiled faltered slightly. “It’s a shame Tad couldn’t come. He would have liked seeing the sights.”
“We’ll bring him next time,” Paul murmured.
Bridget smiled and nodded. “Well, we’ll play tourist today then, and maybe see a show tonight?” she suggested, warming to the idea, until she saw that Paul was shaking his head.
“I have plans for us tonight.”
“What sort of plans?” Bridget asked.
“The sort that are a surprise.”
Bridget pouted very prettily, and then she tried a bribe, but it wasn’t any use. Paul wouldn’t spill his secrets, and finally managed to distract her with the temptation of breakfast.
Starving after the morning’s exertions, they lingered over Belgian waffles, bacon and fresh-squeezed juice, and then they set off to explore. They started in the park itself, and then made their way to the palace before setting off to Westminster to see the Houses of Parliament and the Abbey.
Bridget did her best to give some context to what they were seeing, but she was not a Londoner by birth, and not keen enough on history to offer much more than a basic background for the attractions. It didn’t matter though. Paul seemed content to simply drink it in. Bridget was happy just being with him.
They bought lunch in the Westminster crypt café (elbowing a busload of German tourists out of the way to claim their sandwiches and apples) and ate it on a park bench next to the Thames. Bridget leaned her head on Paul’s shoulder as they watched the boats drift down the river. She wished that she could freeze the moment in time and relive it over and over.
Of course, that wasn’t possible. Eventually Paul asked her where they were heading next. Bridget was too embarrassed to ask to stay put, and so she gave him some options. They decided to head back the way that they had come, to see the Queen’s Mews and to save other parts of London for later in their trip.
Bridget enjoyed looking at the horses and carriages housed at the Mews, but she was anxious to get back to the hotel. Her legs were aching from all the walking
that they had done. She was secretly grateful when Paul hailed a cab to take them the short distance home.
“What time do I need to be ready?” Bridget asked when they returned to their suite. Now that they were back, her thoughts returned to Paul’s mysterious promise. “And what should I wear tonight?”
“You need to be ready to leave by six-thirty,” Paul told her- earning a squeal when Bridget noticed that it was already 5:15. “And you should wear something nice.”
“Nice?” she repeated, frowning at the rather vague description.
“Something that you’d wear to my restaurant,” Paul elaborated, and Bridget nodded her head. She had dined at the Four Seasons a few times since Paul had taken over, so she knew exactly what he meant. Luckily, she had the perfect thing.
Bridget hopped into the shower ahead of Paul. She worked on her makeup while he washed and changed, and then styled her hair before sliding into a pretty, form-fitting black number that she had bought especially for the trip.
Despite Paul’s attempts at sabotaging her diet and insisting that he could provide all of the exercise that Bridget needed, her weight had stabilized at a size ten. She wasn’t skinny, by any stretch of the imagination, but her body actually curved in and out in all the right places, and she was rather proud of her shapely legs (her horrible thighs notwithstanding).The dress showed everything off to its best advantage, and she was treated with an appreciative whistle when she finally emerged from the bathroom a little after 6:45.
Paul usually threw a fit when they were running late, and so she was surprised when he didn’t put up a fuss.
“Sorry!” she told him, flushing. “Are we going to make it?”
“They can wait,” he answered mysteriously- and then whisked her into a waiting cab.
The cab didn’t seem to go very far. It took them to an understated but expensive looking restaurant by the river. Paul helped Bridget out and then paid their fare. He ushered her inside to the maitre d’.
Hungry for More (2012) Page 17
