Vivian waved her empty fork. “Yes, yes. Confidence, self-esteem, of course, of course. But let me tell you something,” she said, leaning forward, the recessed lighting glinting off the heavy earrings dangling from her lobes and the multitude of gold bracelets adorning her wrist. “Having a gorgeous man woo you to his bed is a great way to put an exclamation point at the end of your personal mission statement.”
Lucy couldn’t help it; she laughed. She was no prude. God knows, she’d harbored many a detailed fantasy over the years. But actually acting them out? Entirely different scenario. She might not be a virgin, but clearly her experience up to this point had left her sadly lacking certain . . . skills. Namely the ones that would help her figure out how to go from reunion dance kiss to naked in Jason Prescott’s bed. Preferably without revealing what a total dweeb she really was in the process.
Five minutes into their salads, however, and Vivian not only made the idea of turning those fantasies into reality seem possible, she made it seem downright probable. Exciting, even. What a coup!
Lucy’s thoughts drifted to how the night in question would play out. . . .
“Care to have a drink at my place?” Jason murmured next to her ear as he helped her on with her coat. She could only nod in excited agreement as they left the restaurant together, deep in each other’s personal space. Lucy all but floated behind him into his apartment, tingling with anticipation for what was surely to come next. She watched with mounting desire as Jason slid off his evening jacket and sauntered over to the wet bar to pour her something dark and potent. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing tanned forearms, corded with muscle, then wrapped those big hands of his around the bottle before turning back to her, with that look in his eye.
You know. That look.
“You think to seduce me with cognac?” she purred as he crossed the room, the expression on his handsome face making it clear that was exactly his intent. She rewarded him with a clever smile, careful to stay cool and composed on the surface, not giving him the merest hint of the tempest her raging hormones were swiftly becoming.
She took the glass of amber liquid as if she parried like this, with men like him, every Friday night. Maybe even on the occasional school night. He laughed at her wry sense of humor, his sexy eyes twinkling with ever-increasing desire as he slid his hand down her bare arm and asked her if she wouldn’t like to take their drinks somewhere, you know, more comfortable.
His bedroom was pure animal magnetism on four-hundred- , no, make that six-hundred-thread-count sheets. He set his drink on his mahogany dresser and unbuttoned his shirt before sliding his slim leather belt through the loops of his perfectly tailored pants. The lights were low, the music a purring background rhythm perfect for . . . that. He crossed the room to where she still hovered by the doorway, obviously expecting a more direct invitation, the kind of seduction a woman like her demanded as her right. He slipped his tie around her neck and tugged her into the room with a smile meant to melt her resistance . . . and possibly her stockings.
“Would you like to get more comfortable?” he asked, and the Lucy she wanted to be smiled with wanton abandon and proceeded to put on a show worthy of any Vegas showgirl, ending with her wearing stockings, her CFM pumps . . . and little else. Swirling the remains of her drink, she crossed the room to where he now sat in his overstuffed leather chair, and propped her heel on his knee.
He slowly ran his hand up her calf, trailed it along her thigh until he reached the smooth, bare skin at the lacy edge. Then his fingers slid a fraction higher and she—
Who was she kidding? She’d excuse herself and run to the bathroom so she could cling to the toilet bowl while she lost her dinner. That was what the real Lucy Harper would end up doing.
“There is no possible way that I can go to bed with Jason Prescott!” Lucy put down her fork with a small clatter, as several heads turned.
“Of course you can, darling,” Vivian calmly replied, then shot a wink at the spectators, causing them to quickly return their attention back to their own salads, as if they hadn’t been caught gawking. “Ah, some things never change,” Vivian said with a delighted sigh as she turned her attention back to Lucy. “People love anything that smacks of scandal.”
Lucy could only shake her head. Vivian dePalma was in pure diva form today.
“Women just like you bed the Jason Prescotts of the world every day,” Vivian firmly stated. “And I daresay the Prescotts of the world somewhat expect it as their due.” She stabbed a pepper. “Doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have to work for it, mind you. Keeps them humble.” She glanced up and grinned before sinking her whitened and perfectly capped teeth into the hapless vegetable. “And more dedicated to the art of pleasure.” She chewed with relish before swallowing. “Men don’t understand how much better it is to give than receive. Until we show them why, that is.”
Vivian’s voice had risen just enough to rouse the interest of the spectators once again. Lucy was sure the added inflection in her tone, along with the wicked smile, were also calculated to draw attention. She loved her for it, while also realizing just how many of the important details her mother had glossed over when they’d had their “little talk” all those years ago.
“Vivian, I’m not sure I can keep up this pretense.” There. She’d finally uttered the words.
Now Vivian lowered her fork and leveled her with the most serious gaze Lucy had ever been on the receiving end of, though between the Botox and the exquisitely tattooed eyebrows, it was sometimes hard to tell. “‘Pretense’?”
Lucy searched for the right words. The ones that would convey her growing concerns about this whole princess business, while not offending the woman who’d been mostly responsible for her transformation in the first place—one she’d asked and paid handsomely for. “Part of me, a big part of me,” she hurried to assure her, “is very happy with everything I’ve learned. I do feel better about myself, more confident, and at least some of the times, less dorky. Or at least I know how to come across that way if I have to.” She fiddled with the linen napkin in her lap.
“Why, of course you do, darling.”
She forced herself to meet Vivian’s gaze, relieved to find no judgment there, just honest interest in her concerns. “But there is a part of me that still feels like I’m playing dress-up or something.”
“Darling,” Vivian said, pausing just long enough to run a glossy, bloodred, exquisitely manicured nail across the netting adorning her black pillbox hat, then slowly outlining the knife-edged lapel of her vintage Chanel suit as it dipped elegantly between her abundant bosoms, before finishing her thought, a knowing smile hovering around her perfectly painted mouth. “Playing dress-up is the best part of being a woman.”
“I guess. And I admit, I did feel good in that outfit, those jewels. I don’t want to sound ungrateful.”
“No worries on that score. Just tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I like the attention. Being noticed. It’s . . . nice. More than nice. But I can’t help feeling like I’m putting on some kind of show. That when I hit it off with someone, the person in question will figure out I’m really a fraud. That beneath the highlights and the French tips, I’m just doofy old Lucy with big feet and lumpy hair.”
“Darling, no one expects us to wear our best face all the time.”
Lucy stifled a little sigh.
“You went to that dance to prove to yourself that you could fit in anywhere and everywhere you so pleased. You chose to remain anonymous.”
“I was already anonymous. I was invisible in high school. College, too, for that matter. It wasn’t about seeing shocked faces. In fact, most of them probably don’t even remember me, so they wouldn’t get the transformation anyway. It was just for me. My own experiment, a little rite of passage. Proof, I guess, that I’d achieved my desired goal.”
“You achieved a little more than that.”
“Jason Prescott.” Just saying that filled her with both a delicious sense of anticipation. And abject
terror.
“Precisely. In fact, as a measure of success, I’d say that was your master’s degree.”
Lucy flushed a little.
“So, he noticed you. He asked you out. No need for any additional proof. You’ve definitely fulfilled your stated goal and then some.”
Lucy nodded.
Vivian lifted her hands, palms up. “So if you feel that by continuing to embrace the new, improved version of Lucy, you are setting him up for some kind of false expectations, then why not call it a day?”
“What?”
“No one is holding a gun to your head, you know. You don’t have to remain a blonde. And fake nails aren’t forever, darling. You can certainly wear whatever you feel most comfortable wearing. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And it is certainly true that now you are both the beholder, and the beheld.” Vivian rested her chin on her folded, heavily accessorized fingers. “Just ring up Jason and tell him you won’t be able to see him. Then move on with your life, date whenever and whoever makes you feel comfortable. The kind of man with whom you don’t have to feel you’re something you’re not.” She paused and smiled. “Unless, of course, you behold Jason Prescott as a desirable thing of beauty. It’s not simply about what he sees and wants, my dear, and you already know he wants you.” Her smile grew. “Tantalizing position to be in, isn’t it, darling?”
Lucy thought about that, about being the beholder. The very idea that this could be about what she wanted from Jason Prescott—or any man, for that matter—was a rather dazzling proposition. And a little intimidating.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Too trashy.” Lucy tossed the slinky red dress—the last of her shopping-spree-with-Vivian purchases—on her bed and held up the other hanger in front of her as she stared at her reflection.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall,” Jana quipped from behind her.
Lucy stuck her tongue out at Jana’s smiling reflection, then tossed the button-down black knit on the growing pile on her bed. She gazed warily inside her closet at the rapidly thinning selection of Big Date dresses.
“Maybe you should have done this, oh, I don’t know, sooner than an hour before you’re supposed to meet your date?”
Jana was propped up on the Oreo cookie pillows lining the headboard of Lucy’s double bed, eating straight out of a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
“Yeah, says the pregnant, married lady eating Chunky Monkey. You don’t have to worry if your dress purrs ‘Hey, big boy, I’m an easy lay’ or screams ‘Repressed librarian, run for your life!’”
“True,” Jana readily agreed, swallowing yet another heaping spoonful. “I knew if I spent long enough talking to you, you’d finally make me see why having a baby was a good thing.” She licked her spoon. “Thank you for that.”
Lucy was happy to see that Jana’s dry humor had made its return, but she was still worried about her friend. “So, things between you and Dave improving at all?”
“What, can’t a girl enjoy her ice cream in peace here?”
“Sorry,” Lucy said, wincing with regret as she dragged another two hangers from the rack. She didn’t want to push things with Jana, she just hated seeing her so miserable.
“Tonight is all about your neuroses, not mine,” Jana said, using her spoon to punctuate her sentence.
“Deal,” Lucy said with a sigh, tossing the latest two fashion victims on the pile without even bothering to hold them up first. “You know, maybe Vivian was right. Maybe I should have just called this whole night off and been happy with being asked in the first place.”
“Is that what she said? Because I don’t recall that in your detailed reiteration of your brunch.”
Lucy looked over her shoulder. “Hey, I wasn’t going to breathe a word. You begged me to tell you what happened, remember?”
Jana suddenly became interested in freeing a huge chunk of chocolate from her cup. “We all need distraction from time to time,” she finally muttered.
Lucy immediately sat on the side of the bed. “That bad? Still?”
Jana smiled ruefully. “It’s been over a week. Feels like a year.”
Lucy rubbed Jana’s knee. “He’s that upset? I’m just so surprised he’s not being more understanding.”
“Oh, he’s being understanding. He’s convinced that this is a phase and all I need is to drown myself in the Pelletier family sea of mass procreation and all my true maternal instincts will surface.”
Lucy recoiled. “What? How?”
Jana pointed her spoon. “Exactly what I said. Along with ‘Why?’ Okay, maybe it was ‘Dear God in heaven, why?’ I don’t think I said that part out loud.”
“His family is coming? Down here? For what, the holidays or something? You don’t need that kind of stress. Not the visit itself or playing hostess when you’re still—”
Jana waved her silent. “You say it, I’ll want to do it.”
“Sorry.” Lucy nodded. “Just nibble the ice cream. Can I get you anything else?”
“I’m pregnant, not dying. Although there are times . . .”
Lucy’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “I hate this for you, you know that. I can’t fix it and I hate that, too.”
“No more than me, trust me. And just to answer your question, no they aren’t coming here. Dave wants to take me home to Canada next month during the Thanksgiving holiday. It’s a special occassion. The family is rallying round for the christening of the most recent grandchild.”
“Meaning the whole gang is going to be there? And it’s all about annointing babies?” Lucy looked properly horrified, which seemed to satisfy Jana immensely.
“See? Exactly how I felt.”
“Isn’t it enough you visit his immediate family at Christmas? All sixty-two of them?”
“Sixteen. If you don’t count the four dogs and assorted infants. Which I don’t, since they can only drool on me, not interrogate me. Sometimes it might as well be sixty-two, though.” She stuck her spoon in the carton and sighed. “They’re so . . . huggy.”
Lucy didn’t instinctively shudder like Jana did at that thought. In fact, she thought it might be kind of nice having a big bosomy kind of family. Of course, her mom and dad were huggy, too, though on a more normal scale. And she only had two sets of aunts and uncles. No cousins. No drooling infants or animals, either, come to think of it. So it didn’t seem as overwhelming to her as it did to Jana. “Did you agree to go?”
Jana shrugged, dug back in. “Dave thinks that if I open up to his sisters, aunts, mom, and other assorted successfully reproducing family members, that I’ll get my ‘head in the game.’ ” She crooked her fingers in mock quotation marks on that last part, dripping ice cream onto Lucy’s bedspread.
Lucy dabbed it up and licked her finger before Jana could worry about the mess. “He didn’t actually use a sports analogy, did he?”
“Yep.”
“So, are you going to be a team player and head up there?”
Jana just gave her a look, then they both cracked up a little. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s my turn to do our Thanksgiving this year.”
“Well, don’t let that stop you. I mean, use us as an excuse if you want to stay, sure, but you know I want you to do whatever you have to. I’m sure stick-up-his-butt would want the same thing.”
Jana snorted a little, but said, “Don’t be mean.”
Lucy flipped up her hands. “I’m not. Yes, I was a horrible friend to go off and leave him like that. But he can be a man and answer the damn phone. So the nickname holds for now. I’m sure he has one or two for me lately.”
When Jana dove back into her ice cream, Lucy just swore under her breath.
“Actually,” Jana said, stirring, “it’s precisely because of the rift in my little external family that I don’t want to go.”
Lucy just looked at her. “Even I don’t buy that one. Grady and I will be fine. Someday. As soon as he pulls his—”
Jana leveled her spoon at Lucy. “N
o graphics for the pregnant woman.”
“Fine. But we will be fine, you know.” She gripped Jana’s knee. “Just do what you need to do for you. You and Dave.”
Jana looked over the edge of her carton. “Are you really really sure?”
“Yes,” Lucy said without hesitation. “And you know Grady will say the same thing when you call him. Because he answers your calls.”
“Stop. He’ll come around.”
Lucy bent her head and peered into Jana’s face. “Are you sure?”
She was teasing, but Jana must have heard something else. “Yes,” she said quite seriously. “I am. He’s just . . . going through some stuff. He’ll come around.”
Lucy wanted to ask her what “stuff” she was referring to. It hurt to know he wasn’t involving her with whatever was going on in his life.
But Jana suddenly stuck her spoon in the now-empty carton and impulsively grabbed Lucy’s hand. “Okay, promise me something.”
“Anything.”
Jana raised her eyebrows. “Careful throwing that around.”
Lucy just smiled. “Only with you. What’s the promise?”
“If I end up going to Canada, you and Grady have to do Thanksgiving together.”
Lucy’s smile faded. “I’m not sure I’m the one who can make that promise. Maybe you should run this by him first.”
“If he says yes? It would be the perfect time to get all this out in the open and over with once and for all.”
“Without you there to moderate, so no blood is spilled?”
“Lucy, please? For me?” She rubbed her tummy and looked pathetic.
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Please. Do not start pulling that crap on me.”
“Hey,” Jana said, eyes twinkling with her old mischief, “I gotta use this to some advantage, right? All the ice cream I can eat, and giving guilt trips on a whim. I think I’m beginning to get the hang of this motherhood thing already.”
“Gee,” Lucy said dryly. “So glad I could help.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yeah, yeah. Get Grumpy Butt to agree, and you’ve got yourself a deal. Of course,” she said, her words muffled by Jana’s sudden and surprising hug, “if you change your mind and decide to stay home, please do. I won’t even make you cook. Just show up.”
Sleeping with Beauty Page 25
