Listed: Volumes I-VI

by Noelle Adams

  She just gave a little shrug, “Since we’re right here, I wouldn’t mind doing some window shopping. Maybe look around at the stores you’re supposed to see when you come to New York.”

  Paul gave a faint sneer. “I’ve never seen a woman who shops like you.”

  Emily giggled at his expression, but she didn’t try to justify herself. She knew whatever she bought wouldn’t make a dent in Paul’s bank account, but that wasn’t really the point.

  They strolled down 5th Avenue and stopped in some of the high-end designer stores, where Emily gaped at the ludicrously expensive, stylish clothes. Paul tried to talk her into buying some of them, but she managed to refrain from caving, much to her husband’s annoyance.

  She sustained her resolve with admirable strength until she passed the small boutique of a designer Emily wasn't familiar with. She saw the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen in the window display.

  She stopped abruptly and stared at it, lusting for that dress more than any piece of clothing she’d ever laid eyes on.

  It was a dark gray silk shirtdress with a knee-length pencil skirt, a wide collar, and a belt with a beautiful onyx buckle. The dressed looked both vintage and stylish, and Emily could vividly see herself in it.

  She swallowed and forced her eyes away, starting to walk again, although leaving that dress in the window was almost painful.

  With an impatient shake of his head, Paul took her arm and dragged her into the boutique.

  He made her try it on, and the saleswoman found some shoes to try on with it. The outfit looked so good on her Emily couldn’t lie when she emerged from the dressing area and Paul asked if she wanted to buy it.

  “How much is it?” she asked the saleswoman, in the futile hope that it wasn’t as expensive as she feared.

  Paul had already pulled out his credit card. He handed it to the saleswoman with a murmured, “Don’t tell her.”

  Emily gasped indignantly and glared at him.

  He met her glare evenly as the saleswoman happily rang up the dress and shoes.

  Emily was trying to hold on to her righteous indignation, but she saw Paul hiding a smile. Then, always unable to take herself too seriously, she relaxed into a little laugh. “Fine. Thank you very much for the dress you forced on me. You’re a shopping bully. You know that, don’t you?”

  He chuckled, his eyes warm and fond the way they’d been on Tuesday evening when they were eating on the terrace. “Since you’ve given into me once, I’m guessing I can bully you into a few more purchases.”

  “Don’t count on it.” Emily firmly believed she was right.

  She was wrong, of course. He somehow convinced her to let him buy her a gorgeous tote, which she justified because she might need it on the trip to Egypt. Then, at Tiffany & Co., he insisted on getting her a pair of emerald earrings she was pretending not to stare at that would match her ring and necklace.

  But that was all. It certainly could have been worse.

  Paul was pretty pleased with himself as they returned to their suite to rest before dinner. The truth was—Emily was pleased with him too.

  * * *

  That evening, Emily gazed at herself in the mirror and was forced to conclude that she’d never looked more stylish and sexy in her life.

  She was wearing her new dress, and the fitted shape and slippery fabric flattered her figure, hugging the curve of her breasts and sliding over the contour of her hips. She’d been worried about the pencil skirt, since she didn’t have the incredibly long legs of a model, but with her new snake-print pumps with very high heels, even her legs looked svelte.

  She tried unbuttoning one more button at her neckline and decided the cleavage exposed was deep but not inappropriate. She liked the way the dress draped better that way, and her breasts had always been one of her better features.

  She’d spent much more time on eye makeup than normal, and she’d put on dark lipstick, which she almost never wore. She liked the effect. She looked polished, almost like she could belong with Paul.

  Her uncharacteristic sophistication was compounded by the addition of her wedding necklace and her new earrings, which both looked perfect with the dress.

  Her only frustration was her hair. She’d been growing it out for a couple of months, and it was at a weird in-between length. When she pulled it up into the French twist she always wore to dress up, it was too bulky in the back.

  She unpinned it again, letting it fall down on her shoulders, and took a breath before she raised her arms to twist it up again.

  A knock on her bedroom door startled her, and she let her hair fall back down.

  “Emily,” Paul called from the other side of the door. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah,” she said, wrapping her hair up with her hand one more time. “I’m ready.”

  Paul must have taken her words for an invitation to come in. As he opened the door, he said, “I made reservations for six-thirty to give us plenty of time before the show starts, but I can move them if…”

  His words trailed off as he processed her appearance. He wore all black—black trousers, black dress shirt, black jacket, and black shoes—and he looked scrumptious enough to eat.

  Emily dropped her hair again and displayed her outfit, a little self-consciously. “What do you think?”

  He just kept staring at her, his eyes moving up and down her body with unusual intensity.

  “Does that mean it’s good?” she asked, blushing slightly as she turned back toward the mirror to verify that she still looked as pretty as she thought. “Hopefully, you’re not speechless in horror.”

  “It’s good,” Paul said hoarsely, dragging his eyes up to her face.

  She smiled at him in the mirror, feeling strangely shy. He was still frozen in place, and he looked astonished or something. He hadn't been particularly effusive in his compliments, but she was sure it was admiration in his eyes. She figured he must be surprised that she’d managed to look so sexy and sophisticated this evening.

  “Just let me finish my hair,” she told him, feeling a ripple of pleasure as she looked again at her reflection in the glass. She’d felt something similar when she'd dressed to go to the prom with Chris that spring, and she’d felt something similar on her wedding day. But the way Paul was looking at her now made her feel even prettier today. “I’m having trouble getting it up.”

  She tried once more to twist it into place and ended up with an unattractive bump of hair on the top of her head. She dropped her hands once more, groaning in frustration.

  “Just leave it down,” Paul murmured, still watching her in the mirror.

  She looked at her loose, rumpled hair rather dubious. “It’s all messy now.”

  “I like it like that.”

  Emily felt a little thrill at his words, but she gave him an ironic look over her shoulder. “You just say that because you want to get out the door.”

  Paul smiled, his expression taking on that light, charming look he'd had all morning. “Of course.”

  She gave up on her hair. They had limited time before the play started anyway, and she was starting to get hungry.

  As she turned around, she got a glimpse of her ass. The pencil skirt emphasized the full curve of it, and the fabric was so thin she’d had to go without underwear, since she didn’t have a thong with her and all of her other pairs created an obvious panty-line. She made a face as she saw herself from this angle. “The dress doesn’t make my ass look too big, does it?”

  Paul made a brief choked sound as his eyes lowered to that particular feature. “Of course not. Your ass looks great.”

  * * *

  Paul took her to a place he said had the best steak in New York. It was a dimly lit restaurant with swanky décor, and it seemed to match Emily’s sexy, sophisticated outfit.

  She felt eyes on her as she and Paul walked to their table, and she couldn’t help but wonder what people thought of them. Paul dominated any room he entered—with his looks, his money, his brilliance
, his presence, the charisma that seeped from his pores.

  She could see women watch him, watch her because of him, and she couldn’t help but notice some female eyes would stray to his left hand, in an automatic check of his marital status.

  Something inside her bloomed at being that girl—the one with the most desirable man in the room. She’d never been that girl before. She’d always been second-best, gazing from the outskirts at the Lauras of the world, the luckier girls, the girls who always got the guy.

  But Paul was with her tonight, and everyone seemed to recognize it. It was her ring on his left hand. Even though the rational part of her brain recognized it was somewhat artificial, Emily didn’t really care.

  She felt special, and Paul was treating her like she was his date, smiling, giving her compliments, laughing at her jokes, and making sure she had everything she wanted. His eyes weren't roving around the room, searching for someone more attractive. Maybe he was just being nice, but he seemed to genuinely like her now, genuinely enjoy being with her.

  It didn’t have to be love. It didn’t have to be a real marriage. It didn’t have to last longer than the evening.

  For once, Emily felt like the girl she’d always wanted to be.

  The girl men might actually want.

  She’d finished her steak—which might have been the best piece of meat she’d ever eaten—and was starting on her dark chocolate mousse when she felt an inexplicable bubble of emotion rising in her throat.

  Paul was being light and charming like he’d been most of the day, and his demeanor just strengthened the thrilling, surreal quality of the evening. He must have noticed something on her face, though, because he halted the story he was telling and peered at her closely. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, feeling silly for her emotional response to the evening and incapable of explaining it to him without feeling like an absolute idiot.

  “Are you sick?” His eyes scanned her face, looking urgent in a way they hadn’t all day.

  “No,” she replied, trying to suppress a flash of annoyance. She wasn’t going to ruin her fairy-tale evening by having an argument with Paul about his constant inquiries about her health. “I’m fine. I was just having a good time.”

  He seemed like he wanted to question her more, but the manager came over then to ask them how their meal was. The manager was a young, attractive brunette—like Laura or the models Paul used to date—and she definitely seemed to have noticed his appeal.

  She stayed for a while to chat, ostensibly with both of them, but her eyes rarely made their way over to the other side of the table. Emily definitely didn’t miss the way the woman checked out both Paul’s ring finger and Emily’s.

  Emily felt a ridiculous vindication at the flicker of disappointment in the woman’s eyes at discovering Paul was married. It was such a petty feeling that Emily tried not to indulge it, but she’d never been someone other women were jealous of.

  Paul was polite and friendly with the manager, but after a few minutes he said, “We better get going soon. Are you ready, Emily?”

  Then, when they stood up to leave, he put his hand on the small of her back as they walked out.

  Emily decided she better go the bathroom at the restaurant, in case the theater restrooms were crowded. After she’d gone and then washed her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror, almost not recognizing the elegant, sensual woman she saw there. Even her ass didn't look too bad.

  She knew Paul was waiting, so she didn’t linger to admire her gorgeousness more than a minute.

  Paul wasn’t waiting right outside, so she walked toward the entrance of the restaurant. She paused as she turned a corner and saw him talking with the brunette manager again.

  The woman was tall, slim, and darkly gorgeous—and she was now flirting big-time with Paul. Emily could see it immediately in the kinds of smiles, hair tosses, and slanted glances the woman was throwing at him.

  Paul was smiling back, with his eyes as well as his mouth.

  Emily stood frozen as she watched. First, she was flooded with a wave of furious possessiveness. Paul was her husband, and that bitch was making a play for him.

  Her initial reaction didn’t last long, though. Emily wasn’t a fool. She knew Paul didn't belong to her. He cared about her—more now than he had a month ago—but he never would have married her under normal circumstances. He never would have even gone out with her.

  He wasn't really hers.

  Emily turned on her heel and hurried back to the restroom. Stared back into the mirror and made herself face the truth.

  She wasn’t really that woman. She was just Emily, and she’d always known what it meant to be one of the Emilys of the world.

  Paul was being incredibly generous in giving her a wonderful end to her life, but she had to keep the reality in perspective. She was allowed to enjoy the daydreams, as long as she didn’t believe they were real.

  It would only lead to this kind of kick in the gut when the fuzziness finally cleared.

  It always cleared eventually.

  Emily had never been the girl that men wanted, and that wasn’t going to change now.

  Her fairy-tale prom with Chris had ended without even a kiss. Her fairy-tale wedding had ended with her husband refusing to have sex with her. And her fairy-tale evening of being sexy and sophisticated would end with her husband flirting with the kind of woman he really liked.

  Story of her life.

  She just wasn’t destined for the happy ending.

  Her shoulders shook with a few helpless sobs, but she stifled them almost immediately.

  It didn’t matter. It didn't matter. She still had good things left to look forward to. She was going to see Henry V tonight. She was going to see the Pyramids tomorrow.

  Ultimately it wouldn't matter since she only had a couple of months left to be anyone at all.

  She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, feeling more like herself. She’d always been tough. She’d always taken care of herself. There was no reason that had to change.

  She was about to leave the bathroom when the beautiful manager came in.

  “Oh, hi,” the woman said, with a smile that looked a little fake. “I told him you were probably just redoing your makeup, but your husband was worried for some reason and wanted me to check on you.”

  Emily blinked. “Oh. I’m fine. I’m coming.”

  She followed the woman out of the restroom to find Paul pacing in the hall. When he saw her, he took three strides over and searched her face in concern. He must have been looking for signs of illness, but he evidently saw something else.

  “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she replied with a bright smile. “Sorry I took so long.”

  “Emily,” Paul persisted, a warning note in his voice.

  “I’m fine,” Emily forced out between clenched teeth, flushing hotly at having this conversation in front of the gorgeous woman who’d been flirting with him. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  Paul looked like he would argue, but then he noticed the manager too. He took Emily’s arm, although his grip was tighter than civility called for, and walked them out of the restaurant.

  Emily fought to keep her expression neutral, although her emotions were a confused, tumultuous jumble. As they were waiting on the sidewalk for the car to pull up, she noticed Paul searching her face again.

  He was worried about her. She could see it in the urgency of his eyes, the tension in his features. He thought she was sick or grieving—not moping because no one had ever really thought she was pretty.

  For some reason, that thought pushed her into tears again. She turned her face away from Paul so he wouldn’t see her contorting her features in an attempt to stifle the sobs.

  Evidently, he saw it anyway. He sucked in a harsh breath, and his hand tightened on her arm. She could feel the intensity pulsing from him, but he waited until they’d gotten into the car to ask her again.

&n
bsp; He didn’t really ask. He demanded, “Tell me what the hell is wrong.”

  “Nothing,” she said over the painful lump in her throat. “I’m not sick. I’m really not.”

  “Something is wrong. Stop lying to me.” He grabbed her face in one of his warm hands and turned it so it was facing him. “Tell me what upset you so much.”

  She thought frantically, trying to come up with something, anything, to tell him. There was just no way she could tell him the truth. “It’s…it’s nothing. I was just having a good evening. And…and I started to think about…about being sick.” She improvised as she stumbled through an explanation and hoped it would be convincing.

  The truth was she was doing her best to forget that she was sick at all. If she thought about it, she couldn’t fully enjoy her final months—so she kept forcing the bleak reality to the back of her mind.

  Paul didn’t have to know that, though.

  He dropped his hand from her face, and his intensity softened. His eyes were narrowed as he studied her, though, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced. He didn’t say anything. Just watched her.

  She looked away, since his eyes were too penetrating. Gazing out the window at the crowded street, she stammered, “I’m sorry I took so long. But…but you looked occupied, so I figured it would…it would be all right if…”

  “What?” Paul interrupted.

  Emily blinked over at him, trying to think through her broken rambles. “What what?”

  “What do you mean I looked occupied?”

  She suddenly realized her mistake. She never would have slipped so foolishly if she hadn’t still been fighting lingering tears. “Nothing. I meant nothing.”

  “Emily,” he said, his voice thick and intimidating.

  She could have held out. She was strong enough to put her foot down, even with Paul Marino. But, for some reason, she heard herself saying, “It’s nothing. I just meant you were talking to that woman, so I thought—”

  “Damn it, Emily. Did you actually think I was hitting on her?”

  “No. No. I mean, even if you were, that would be all right. I know we’re not—”