Fever Dreams

by Laura Resnick

  Caroline laughed. “I don't believe it! I've seen you get rid of shoes that were one shade lighter than your dress, and I've never known you to leave this room without every hair in place, but now that you look like you've been beaten with a rose bush, you don't even—”

  “I can't sweat the small stuff anymore,” Madeleine said distractedly. “As long as I look good enough for ... I mean, as long as he'll think I'm ... Well, he just gets annoyed when I look perfect, anyhow.”

  “Who?”

  “Ransom.”

  Caroline glanced at Charlotte, then asked, “Is he coming?”

  Madeleine fumbled with a string of pearls. Charlotte offered to fasten them for her. Madeleine met Caroline's eyes and admitted, “I don't know. He didn't give Dad a firm answer.”

  “So call the guy. It's not like you to just twiddle your thumbs and hope for the best,” Caroline said.

  “I tried,” Madeleine admitted. “He wasn't in his office, and they wouldn't give me his home phone number.”

  “It means a lot to you, that this guy should come tonight,” Caroline observed.

  “Yes.”

  “Madeleine, are you and he, uh...” Charlotte glanced at Caroline and tried again. “I mean, is there—”

  “Yes.” Madeleine slumped into a chair and blurted, “I'm in love with him.”

  “Madeleine!” Charlotte embraced her. “But that's wonderful!”

  “Hah! You don't know him. He can be so ... difficult when he wants to be.” She took Charlotte's hand, gripping it tightly. “When I was down in Montedora, I thought I knew how things would go when I got home. What I'd do and say, what he'd do. But now that I'm here...” She shivered. “I'm so nervous I feel like I'm going to be sick.”

  Exposing her vulnerability to her younger sisters was something she hadn't done in well over twenty years. And they lost no time in showing her that they valued her trust. They asked her about Ransom, about how she had fallen in love with him, and assured her that he undoubtedly returned her feelings.

  “Unless he's a jerk,” Caroline added, making Madeleine laugh.

  For the first time ever, Madeleine told the story of how she originally met Ransom, including the fact that she slept with him and walked out on him. Both her sisters were openly astonished by this story, trying to rearrange their mental image of Madeleine to suit this new information. Charlotte found the story delightfully sordid; Caroline crowed with delight.

  Madeleine wryly accepted their teasing, finally realizing that she hadn't done the most terrible thing in the world that night. At worst, she had made a mistake. And Ransom was right; people made mistakes all the time, after all, so what was the big deal?

  “And to think that I always thought you...” Caroline's voice trailed off. She sat bolt upright. “Ohmigod!”

  “What?” Madeleine asked.

  “Preston! What are you going to do about Preston?”

  “Preston.” Madeleine repeated. “Oh, no! I completely forgot about him.” She hadn't thought of him in ... she didn't know how long.

  “He's been calling Dad every day for news about you. He wanted to come to the airport with us, but Dad convinced him to let the family have a private reunion before tonight's bash.”

  “Is he coming here?” Madeleine asked wearily.

  “Yes. Do you want me to keep him away—”

  “No,” Madeleine said quickly. “He deserves better treatment than he's ever had from me, and I want to let him off the hook as soon as possible. I'll talk to him tonight.”

  Their mother knocked on the door and stuck her head into the room. After a bout of mild hysteria over Madeleine's scratches, she whirled on Caroline, who was still wearing her jeans. “Why aren't you dressed yet? People are already arriving!”

  Caroline sighed. “I'll go change. Excuse me.”

  Eleanore pursued her out the door, urging her to do something with her hair, too. “And you have such lovely hair, dear, I don't know why you never—”

  “Go tend your guests, Mother,” Caroline snapped.

  Charlotte and Madeleine smiled ironically at each other as the door closed behind their mother. Charlotte picked up a brush and looked in the mirror as she touched up her own hair.

  “Mother's still furious at Caroline for her campaign against Randall Cosmetics.”

  “Is that continuing?” Madeleine asked, putting on some eye make-up.

  “Oh, yes. With a vengeance.”

  “Does it bother you?” Madeleine asked.

  “I haven't really had time to pay attention to it.” Charlotte paused before admitting, “I've been pretty sick while you were away, Madeleine.”

  Madeleine paused. “Oh?”

  Charlotte bit her lip, keeping her eyes fixed on the mirror. “I've been diagnosed with a number of problems all resulting from ... from bulimia.”

  “Charlotte!”

  “So I haven't really discussed Richard's business problems with him, and I—”

  “Charlotte! Bulimia? But how ... I mean, what—”

  “Trying to get thin. Trying to stay thin. Trying to ... Oh, God! You know how I...” Her hand shook. “You were right, Madeleine, when you said I—”

  “Oh, don't, Charlotte. Please.”

  “I've really messed up my body and my health by—”

  Madeleine embraced her. “Oh, Charlotte, Charlotte, I'm so sorry.”

  “I'm scared,” Charlotte whispered, trembling. “I'm afraid I won't be able to stop.”

  “Yes, you will,” Madeleine said fiercely. “You can.”

  “Only Caroline and Richard know,” Charlotte whispered. “I don't want anyone else—”

  “No, of course not,” Madeleine murmured, hugging her, hoping Richard Randall would be supportive of his wife. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Charlotte fought back her tears. “I felt ... Tonight I felt like I could tell you.”

  Madeleine hugged her harder. “I'm so glad. I want to be someone you can tell anything to, Charlotte. Anything.”

  Madeleine pressed her sister for details about the treatment she was seeking, feeling helpless but knowing that she couldn't “fix” Charlotte. They talked until their mother came back and insisted they join the party. And Madeleine realized that a glorious part of being so imperfect was that the people she loved were willing to share their own imperfections with her.

  * * * *

  Ransom arrived at Chateau Camille around 9:30 that night. The party was in full swing, with a band playing oldies from the forties, food and champagne flowing freely, and overdressed guests filling the mansion to capacity. Ransom entered a vast reception room and looked around for Madeleine. A lovely young blonde woman caught his eye and approached him. She was accompanied by another woman who would be pretty if she weren't so painfully skinny. Something about them looked familiar, and by the time they reached his side, he realized he'd seen their picture in Barrington's office.

  “You're her sisters,” he said without preamble.

  “I'm Caroline. This is Charlotte. And you,” said the blonde one, “must be Ransom. Madeleine said you looked dangerous.” She nodded with apparent approval, then glanced down at his thigh. “How's the leg?”

  “Okay.” Aching a bit. He ignored it.

  “Madeleine didn't think you'd be wearing a tie,” Caroline observed. Charlotte tried to hide a smile.

  “Uh, your father told me it was a formal affair.” He plucked self-consciously at the bow tie that was strangling him. “Where's Maddie?”

  Charlotte blinked. “She lets you call her Maddie?”

  “To her face?” Caroline asked.

  He grinned. “Where is she?”

  “With Preston,” Charlotte said.

  Ransom frowned. “Preston?”

  “Uh-huh.” Caroline studied him, amusement dancing in the blue depths of her long-lashed eyes. “Surely he doesn't worry you?”

  He scowled at her. “No. But your sister does.”

  She grinned at him. “My money's on you
, Ransom.”

  Charlotte pointed to a set of double doors. “They're in the adjoining room. Just through there.”

  * * * *

  Madeleine's private talk with Preston had lasted about twenty minutes. She had apologized profusely for her behavior, assured him that she found neither his character nor his virility lacking, and explained that he deserved a woman who could love him with all her heart. He was, of course, determined to be a gentleman about the whole thing, and the entire scene had been far easier than she actually felt she deserved. She was nonetheless quite relieved when it was over. Now, in the civilized spirit of “no hard feelings", she was having a glass of champagne with Preston and her father when Ransom walked through the door.

  The sight of him, so eagerly awaited and nervously anticipated, unravelled her wits. She choked on her champagne, dropped her glass, and created a small scene as Preston gently patted her on the back, people watched with concern, and a caterer came running forward to clean up the mess.

  She felt his presence at her side even before her watering eyes cleared. “You came!” she blurted, making a fool of herself.

  “Ransom!” Her father shook his hand warmly. “I'm so glad you decided to join us!”

  “Thank you, sir,” Ransom said. “I hope I look as good as you on my sixtieth birthday.”

  “You're wearing a tux,” Madeleine said in disbelief.

  He shifted self-consciously. “It's rented.”

  “It looks it,” she told him.

  “Don't be such a snob.”

  Preston's eyes bulged with shock at their rudeness. Her father smiled. Looking from his daughter to the man whom he had hired to protect her, he said dryly, “I'd like to talk to you sometime about some security ideas for Barrington Enterprises.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ransom said, not taking his eyes off Madeleine. Those glittering green eyes burned straight through her. She couldn't have looked away if a bomb went off nearby. He didn't look tender, though; he looked ready to fight.

  “But, of course, this is a party,” Barrington said.

  “Yes,” Madeleine murmured, staring at Ransom. His bronzed skin and gold-streaked hair showed the effects of the Montedoran sun. His bruises had faded and vanished, but the cut on his forehead was turning into yet another permanent scar. Overall, though, she was relieved to see him looking so healthy and strong. Of course, he was a little thin at the moment; they'd both lost some weight during their adventures in Montedora. But he looked awfully good to her, rented tux and all.

  “Why don't we get together to discuss some ideas next week?” Barrington suggested.

  “Yeah, sure,” Ransom murmured. God, she looked beautiful, more beautiful than he remembered. She was wearing some tight, satiny thing that echoed the moon-spun color of her glorious hair. Her eyes, now free of fear and exhaustion, were hypnotic. He couldn't have looked away even if the sky suddenly caved in. Emotions burned through him, contradictory and incendiary.

  “Meanwhile,” Barrington said, his voice dry and amused, “I'm sure you and my daughter have a lot of catching up to do.”

  It hurt him to see the pink scratches still blemishing her perfect skin. It reminded him of how much danger she'd been in; of how much danger she'd put herself in. And that reminded him of all the things he had to say to her. He could throttle her for what she'd done!

  “Come, Preston,” Barrington said. “I'm sure we're needed somewhere.”

  As Barrington hauled him away, Ransom heard Preston object, “But surely you're not going to leave her alone with that fellow, sir? Didn't you see the surly look in his eyes? I really don't think—”

  “I do,” Barrington interrupted.

  “He looks awfully threatening, sir,” Preston fretted.

  “She can handle him,” Barrington insisted, dragging him away.

  “Didn't you give that guy his walking papers?” Ransom demanded in a low voice.

  Madeleine nodded. “Tonight. That doesn't mean he doesn't still care what—”

  “As long as he knows to keep his distance.”

  “He knows,” she said coolly. “Some men are gentlemen.”

  “Some men are wimps.” Ransom ignored her scowl and decided they'd better get the most important subject on the table right away. “Do you have something to tell me?”

  She looked startled. “Well ... yes.”

  “Where can we talk?”

  She licked her lips. “Um ... There's a small sitting room at the end of—”

  He took her arm. “Let's go.”

  “Does your leg still hurt?” she asked, hesitating.

  “Only when people keep asking about it.” He propelled her through the double doors.

  “But you're limping!”

  “I was shot two weeks ago,” he reminded her tersely.

  Madeleine realized he was determined to be as disagreeable as only he knew how to be. She ignored her sisters’ knowing gazes as she led Ransom out of the main reception room. Wondering what had put him in this abrasive mood, she was increasingly nervous as they pushed their way through the crowded corridor. She risked asking, “What happened with Doby Dune? Is he going to sue?”

  “No, he decided it would make him look bad in the press if the full story came out, which Marino's lawyers assured him it would if he didn't drop the whole thing.”

  “Look bad? You mean the part about him being abusive to his girlfriend?”

  “No,” Ransom replied with evident disgust. “The part where it took one punch to make him squeal like a schoolgirl.”

  Madeleine sneered aristocratically. “Men.”

  “Sometimes I actually share that sentiment, Miss Barrington.”

  “Really?” Her nerves were releasing her tension as anger now. “And what about you, Ransom? Blaming yourself for getting wounded in Montedora. Of all the ridiculous—”

  “Is this the room?”

  “No, the next door down.”

  “It is my fault.” He propelled her past more guests. “I knew better than to try to run clear across that schoolyard, unarmed. El Martillo's rifle was lying not three feet away from me. I should have picked it up and taken out those last two men.”

  “You don't know that that's how it would have happened if you'd gone for the gun!” She let him shove her through the door of the sitting room, then whirled on him as he locked it behind them. “Anything could have happened!”

  “I made myself a target when I—”

  “Then blame me! I was the one who shouted at you to run to where I was waiting.”

  “That's why I did it,” he said, his voice heavy with self-condemnation. “I heard your voice, and I forgot everything I knew. I could only think of getting to you. Maddie...” He shook his head. “I lost my head, and you could have been killed as a result.”

  She stared at him. “My God, is this what you've been stewing about for the past two weeks?”

  “No,” he snapped. “I've been ‘stewing’ about what I'd say to you when you finally got home—if you got home. What were you thinking of, to put me on a helicopter bound for Argentina, and then stay there, right in the middle of—”

  “You were dying! It took the supply trucks another week to reach us! You couldn't have lasted—”

  “Clients,” he interrupted, “get protected and preserved by their bodyguards, not the other way around.”

  “I can't believe you're saying this to me! I can't believe that you, even you, have the utter unmitigated gall to—”

  “I know.” He looked a little guilty. “I'm being ungrateful. It's not that I don't—”

  “Grateful?” she said in an absolutely awful tone. “Do you think I want your gratitude, you sonofabitch?”

  He blinked. “Now, Maddie—”

  “I'd have done anything for you—anything!—and all you can do is lecture me about what's appropriate for your goddamn clients and talk about gratitude! Sometimes you make me so mad, I don't need to wonder why two people in this world have already felt compelled to shoot y
ou!”

  “You're...” He cleared his throat. “You seem a little emotional,” he ventured.

  “A little?” she snarled, wanting to hit him.

  “I've heard about hormonal changes happening early on, but I never—”

  “What hormonal changes?”

  “You, uh, said you had something to tell me.”

  “So?” she challenged, hardly interested in telling him now, while he was being so difficult.

  He frowned at her tone. “Look, I'm willing to be as understanding as I have to be, Maddie, but don't push it, okay?”

  “Understanding? About what?”

  “The next nine months,” he said gently.

  That stopped her cold. She stared at him in stunned silence. Then she looked down at her flat belly. “What on earth makes you think I'm pregnant?”

  He started to look a little uncertain. “You said you had something to tell me.”

  “Yes, but not that. Ransom, I—”

  “We didn't have any condoms with us. It doesn't take a genius to figure out—”

  “I'm not pregnant. Definitely not. I can guarantee it.”

  He looked sharply at her. “You've had your period since the last time I saw you?”

  She flushed, as startled as ever by his frankness. “Yes. Last week.”

  “Oh.” Their eyes locked. “Then what did you want to tell me?”

  “This isn't exactly how I pictured it.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Maybe we could—”

  “Tell me.” Ransom's stomach churned as he waited for her to speak. Would she say it had all been a mistake, that it was all over between them? What would he do? What could he do? Jesus, he didn't want to live without her. He'd missed her so much these past two weeks, it was like starving all of the time.

  “It's just that...” she began.

  “Go on.” His voice was clipped, impatient. If she was going to cut his heart out, best to get it over with fast.

  She clasped her hands. “I, uh...” She cleared her throat and plunged ahead, meeting his hard gaze. “I love you.”

  He couldn't have been more stunned if she'd flung a bucket of cold water at him. “What?”

  Not at all the reaction she'd been hoping for, Madeleine noted sourly. Hurt, she repeated, “I love you, dammit.”