Lily Rose

by Deborah Robinson

  Lily turned questioning eyes to her aunt. “What does it mean?”

  “This is the name of your birth mother,” Aunt Martha explained. “Many years before your mother passed away, she told me she wanted to give this to you. She thought that if anything ever happened to her, maybe you would want to find your birth mother. Of course, your mother died when you were so young, I didn’t think it was the right time. But now is the right time.” Aunt Martha looked at Lily with concern. “Should I have waited this long?”

  Leaning forward, Lily embraced her frail aunt. “Of course, Aunt Martha. It wouldn’t have meant anything to me back then. It doesn’t really now. But I’ll have it, just in case.”

  Just in case of what, Lily didn’t know. But after she went back upstairs to resume packing, she didn’t wonder who her birth mother was. The idea was still so abstract in her mind that this Anna James Jefferson might as well have been an imaginary figure, a character in a story. Instead, Lily was overwhelmed with thoughts of Carrie Ellen, her real mother: her soothing touch, her loving words, the way she made Lily feel safe. Although she missed Carrie Ellen every day, the feeling now hit her as strongly as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She was resolved that there would never be anyone else she called her mother, no matter who appeared in her life.

  Still, Lily slipped the piece of paper into her suitcase. Someday she might need it, or she might forget about it. Either way, it didn’t change the fact that she was on the brink of starting a new chapter in her life, alone but determined to succeed.

  Chapter 10

  IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT, BUT Lily Rose couldn’t sleep. The next morning she’d be on a plane to Palm Beach, where she was getting married to Richard “Peyton” Reynolds III, sole heir to R. R. Peyton’s, the oldest and most prestigious department store in New York. All the fashion magazines and private social clubs in the city were not-so-politely whispering about her upcoming nuptials, as if a commoner was being married off to a crown prince. Rumor had it that there was no prenuptial agreement, and that Richard senior was secretly mad as a hornet and his long-suffering wife Lisa had turned into a shrieking maniac. Could they stop the wedding? Would the Reynolds family fortune ultimately rest in the hands of an interloper? Turn to Page Six to find out.

  Snuggling into her comforter, Lily smiled at the memory of how she and Peyton had laughed at the tabloids. Peyton, of course, coming from the family he did, was used to being written about in all kinds of light. Naturally shy and retiring, at first Lily was mortified at the sight of her name plastered in black-and-white print. What would her friends, especially those back in Kentucky, think of her? But Peyton tried to be reassuring: “Once the wedding is over and we’re married, everyone’s interest will move on to something else. You can’t let gossip control your life.” Lily looked into his eyes and believed him with all her heart. It didn’t matter what other people thought, even what his parents thought. She and Peyton were deeply in love—had been ever since they met two years ago—and nothing could tear them apart.

  Lily’s wedding attire and honeymoon clothes had been shipped to The Waves, one of the finest resorts in Palm Beach, and Peyton was already down on the island for his bachelor’s parties, so all she had to do now was get a good night’s sleep. Still, rest remained elusive. This was the last night she would spend in her apartment as a single woman. Lily Rose lived in a prewar Upper East Side building that was usually way out of the price range for a single girl in her mid twenties. While she had risen from being an assistant fashion coordinator at a large department store to the fashion director and spokeswoman at Peyton’s, even that certainly would not pay the rent in this zip code. Not even her most trusted friends knew that Lily had inherited a sizable amount of money when her Aunt Martha had died after her first year in New York and left her the entirety of Red Rose Farm.

  Lily had tried to make her apartment as close to home as possible, bringing a few antiques and other decorative pieces from Kentucky. The place had strong bones to begin with: floor-to-ceiling windows, solid oak floors, and handcrafted moldings on the graciously high ceilings. In the living room, an oriental rug covered the floor in soft blues and light pinks. Aunt Martha’s white Louis XIII sofa sat in front of a marble fireplace, the mantelpiece lined with blue-and-white Foo dog ginger jars. On either side were two matching French blue slipper chairs covered with Carrie Ellen’s needlepoint dog pillows. Also on proud display were the intricate quilts that Carrie Ellen’s mother and her mother’s friends had made at quilting bees when Lily had been adopted. Each person had embroidered squares with birds, flowers, children, and their own names to welcome Lily into their lives. These quilts may have seemed out of place in the hard glitz and glamour of Lily’s life now, but they were deeply imprinted on her heart. Another keepsake served as a firm reminder of her past. On her coffee table she always had a finely cut crystal bowl filled with the dried petals of roses from bouquets that had been given to her over the years by friends and lovers alike. They were all memories of the people who had passed through her life.

  To the side of the room, in front of one of the big windows overlooking Park Avenue, Lily had placed Alexander’s old oak office desk from his veterinary practice. At the moment, it was covered with dress designs, color swatches for the upcoming season, and fashion articles about the store, as well as sterling-silver–framed photos of her beloved parents and aunt and uncle. Lily never sat there in the quiet evenings without first thinking about the family she had lost.

  She wished fervently that they could be here to see her get married—her mother to help her get dressed, and her father to walk her down the aisle. Would they have liked Peyton? Would they have approved of all this? Lily knew they would have been proud of everything she had accomplished in only three years in New York, but would they like the direction in which her life was heading? What kind of advice would her mother have given her about marriage and being a good wife? Her mother had left her at such a young age, when Lily was barely a teenager, that they had hardly spoken of these things.

  Aunt Martha, however, had been around as Lily grew into a young woman, experienced Lily’s meeting and breakup with her first love, Finn Macarney. While she did not have the strict religious beliefs that Lily’s parents did, she also was cautious when it came to matters of love and sex. “Whatever you do, Lily,” she cautioned her niece when Lily was determined to move to New York, “don’t live with a man before getting married. He’s isn’t going to want to marry you if he already has all the comforts of marriage without making it official.” Laughing, Lily had assured her aunt that she wouldn’t, never thinking what New York City had in store for her.

  * * *

  Lily Rose had been at work in the middle of the day when she received the phone call that Aunt Martha had passed away. Although her health had not been robust in recent years, especially after the death of her husband, Aunt Martha had never let on to Lily how poorly she was doing. The heart attack, Aunt Martha’s doctor told Lily, was related to her childhood illness of polio— assuring her that there was nothing Lily could have done about it. Still, Lily blamed herself for not being there in Aunt Martha’s last moments. After the funeral, she walked out into the vast fields of Red Rose Farm, heartsick, and buried her hands in the tall bluegrass. Aunt Martha’s lawyer had told her that she would be inheriting the farm, which was still a very valuable property, but she would give it away in a second if it could bring her family back. Now she was truly alone.

  While she would never consider selling Red Rose Farm, Lily knew she couldn’t stay there, either. The farm was filled with the essence of all she had loved and lost, and now she had established a new life for herself in New York. Ray, who had lived most of his life at the farm, would keep the place running, and Lily would come down as needed, maybe for the holidays. She was glad to be able to board a plane for New York and immerse herself into work again.

  For the past year, Lily had worked as one of five assistant fashion coordinators at a small de
partment store. She reported to the fashion director, pulling together the clothes for every in-store fashion show, the new looks for each season, and what went on the mannequins. She took her role very seriously and sometimes wondered what her mother, Carrie Ellen, would think if she saw her now, brushing elbows with designers and models. However, Lily knew early on that this job wouldn’t be enough for her. She wanted to make her own fashion decisions, create her own style team. Aiming high, she’d applied for and miraculously gotten a job as a fashion coordinator at R. R. Peyton’s, and was set to start the week after she returned from Kentucky.

  R. R. Peyton’s was a paradise, nine floors of luxurious goods housed in a grand Beaux Arts building. Dating from the turn of the century, it was the city’s most prominent department store and was owned by the Reynolds family, headed by Richard Reynolds. Lily had seen pictures of him, tall and stern looking, in the business sections of newspapers. His twenty-five-year-old son, known as Peyton, was more a fixture of the tabloids for his presence on the party circuit. He was known for being kicked out of bars for drinking too much, throwing money at nightclub owners after trashing private rooms, and doing lines of coke off the backs of models in bathrooms. This was only what Lily had read; she had no idea what he was really like, until two months after she’d started her new job.

  She and her friend Catherine Cole were having drinks at Lloyds, a bar on the Upper East Side that many of the fashion and advertising people frequented after work. It was raining hard that evening, but everyone in the room was still looking forward to a good start to the weekend in the city. Then Lily glanced up from her chardonnay and saw Peyton Reynolds casually walk in. Everything about his appearance spoke of an easy confidence, of someone who knew he was attractive to women without even trying. He wore a long, gray raincoat over a tailored suit, his tie hanging loose around his neck. His wavy dark brown hair was just long enough to brush against his shirt collar, and his tan suggested he had just come back from an island somewhere. The moment Lily saw him, she knew the reason she hadn’t wanted to date anyone since she’d moved to the city was because she had never been in the presence of a man like Peyton Reynolds.

  As if her gaze was magically drawing him in, Peyton strode over to the bar and stood next to her. “The usual, please,” he told the bartender as he brushed his hand absently through his sleek, slightly damp hair. Then he glanced down at Lily, as though noticing her for the first time. “Don’t you work at R. R. Peyton’s?”

  Ignoring Catherine’s knowing look, Lily said, “Yes, I’m on the designer floor.”

  “I knew you looked familiar.” Peyton smoothly inserted himself into the space between Lily and Catherine. “So how do you like working for us?”

  As Lily made small talk with Peyton, she felt a quickening sensation of desire deep in her belly just from being close to him. She had never felt this way before with a man, especially one she’d just met. Her sensual experiences had been with her former boyfriend Finn, and he had been soothing and comfortable, like a warm cashmere sweater you never wanted to give away. No, something deeply sexual and lustful was stirring in Lily, and she wasn’t trying very hard to stop it.

  Over Peyton’s shoulder, Catherine had raised her eyebrows so high that they were ready to join her hairline. But Lily chose to ignore her friend’s warning signals and let herself get lost in Peyton’s deep brown eyes.

  “So, Lily,” Peyton said, “how would you like to join me for dinner?”

  “I, uh, don’t think so,” Lily stammered, thinking she couldn’t just leave with a man she really didn’t know, and especially since he was her boss.

  Peyton finished his drink and got to his feet. “Just consider it. I’ll be back.”

  Lily could only nod as he disappeared into the crowd that had assembled at the bar.

  After he left, Catherine hissed, “Lily, are you insane? He has a terrible reputation with women. Why would you even think about going out with him? We should leave now.”

  “He said he’d be back.”

  “Not if he finds another girl he wants to go to dinner with. He’s probably left already. Do you even see him anymore?”

  Stubbornly, Lily continued to scan the room until she had to admit that Catherine was likely right. She was waiting by the door, her coat on, while Catherine was in the restroom, when she felt someone spin her around. Without a word, Peyton pulled her into his arms and kissed her, long and slow, one hand around her slender waist and the other entwined in her long blond hair.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he mumbled into her ear, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

  Taking his hand, Lily let Peyton Reynolds lead her out of Lloyds and into another world.

  First, they dined at a restaurant that was normally booked months ahead, where the chef surprised Peyton by bringing over luscious langostino tails piled high, in olive oil and lemon, and an exquisite bottle of white burgundy. This intoxicatingly delicious dinner climaxed with a dark chocolate mousse that Lily practically devoured on her own.

  Then they went back to Lily’s apartment and fucked each other’s brains out all night long.

  The next morning, after Peyton had gotten dressed and left, Lily lay in bed, thinking about how what had just happened seemed like a dream, if it weren’t for the soreness of her body in all the right places and Peyton’s scent still permeating her sheets. She called Catherine, knowing that she needed to apologize to her friend for leaving her at Lloyds, and feeling like she needed to tell someone in order for it to feel real.

  “Spare me the details,” Catherine cut in before Lily could get very far. Then she added more gently, “Watch yourself with him, Lily. You know what they say about Peyton Reynolds.”

  “Those are just stories people tell to sell papers.”

  “But usually there’s some truth to them. Be careful, Lily. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Lily assured Catherine that she’d take care of herself, then spent the rest of the weekend luxuriating in the memory of Peyton, flushing a little when she recalled what they’d done to each other in certain areas of the apartment or on what furniture. She didn’t expect him to try and get in touch with her—they hadn’t exchanged numbers—although her heart jumped a little every time her phone rang. It wasn’t until Sunday afternoon when she wondered if they’d run into each other at work the next day. The corporate offices at R. R. Peyton’s were at the top of the building and she’d never seen him on the floor.

  Monday morning passed without any sign of Peyton, and Lily thought she was in the clear. But then in the afternoon she received word that management wanted to see her.

  Glad that she’d dressed that day in an ensemble—white cotton shirt, black pencil skirt, and black patent-leather pumps—that was both modest and showed off her figure, she took the elevator to the top floor. An assistant led her down the hall lined with portraits of the important players in the department store’s history, from the English settler who started a small men’s clothing store to Richard Reynolds himself. Then Lily was taken into Peyton’s office overlooking Central Park.

  The office was just as posh as Lily had expected, with panoramic views overlooking the Great Lawn. The windowsills, painted a high gloss black, stood out against the dove white walls. Shimmering in the sun was Peyton’s glass desk with black leather spindle legs, in front of a sleek black leather chair. Behind that, on a chic leather credenza, sat a few family photos and mementos, all suggesting a single, high-profile, young man’s bored attempt at filling the space. Above it hung a painting in brilliant red that bore the signature of Georgia O’Keeffe. The other side of the room contained a conference area with sumptuous black leather couches and chairs that indicated a relaxed way of doing business.

  “Well, hello,” Peyton said from his chair, and his tone of voice made Lily’s body tremble. He looked her up and down, as if he would have liked to fuck her on his desk if his father wasn’t sitting right down the hall. “I was wondering if you wanted to have
dinner again with me tonight.”

  This time Lily answered without hesitation.

  Within a week, she was calling him “Pey,” and within two he had virtually moved into her apartment. While she didn’t see Peyton often at work, and for a long time no one knew that they were dating, outside of it they were as domestic as could be. Except that their physical attraction to one another never waned. Lily had never felt this magnetic pull toward another person before, as if the core of her being couldn’t be away from him. And, under her influence, Peyton barely made it into the tabloids anymore. He admitted to her that he’d been under some bad influences, but now that he had her, he didn’t need his former vices. “You make me want to be a better person,” he told her, and Lily believed it.

  The first year of their relationship passed swiftly, with Lily meeting Peyton’s parents, Richard and Lisa Reynolds, at their house in Palm Beach over the holidays. In person, Richard Reynolds appeared more like a former quarterback than a corporate tycoon. A statuesque six-foot-five, he had thick black hair streaked with silver and hazel eyes in a weathered yet chiseled face. Lily thought he looked like a man’s man. A former model, Lisa Reynolds had been a beauty in her youth, but she had put on a few pounds and seen too many plastic surgeons. Her best feature had been her thick dark brown hair, but after it had turned gray, she had decided to go blond, which looked fine, if a bit fake. All in all she was still attractive, but Lily could tell that with her beauty fading, she clung to her husband with tight, perfectly manicured claws.

  At work, Lily was rising to new heights. Although still a fashion coordinator, she produced some of the store’s most dramatic and creative fashion shows. With her in charge, models slinked down the catwalk in perfect synchronization to a live band. Peyton, now president of the company under the supervision of his father, was pleased to see her career grow, telling her many times how proud he was that his girlfriend was making the store look so good. Around their anniversary, he suggested that they move into a new place together.