Emerald Coast

by Anita Hughes

  “I already bought out the newsstand.” She grinned. “I have enough copies to paper my apartment.”

  “You deserve it.” He was suddenly nervous. “It was an exceptional dining experience.”

  “Why isn’t Lily with you?” Mirabelle asked, smoothing a napkin.

  “We’re in a bit of a freeze,” Oliver admitted. “She hasn’t talked to me since I told her I kissed you.”

  “You told her!” Mirabelle gasped. “I can imagine that didn’t go over well.”

  “If I hadn’t lied to her in the first place, none of this would have happened,” he insisted. “I couldn’t keep any more secrets. I had to tell her the truth.”

  “Relationships can be as tricky as taking a soufflé out of the oven.” Mirabelle stood up. “Why don’t you have a cognac on the house? I’ll come say good-bye before you leave.”

  * * *

  Oliver swirled Grand Marnier in his glass and leaned back in his chair. The restaurant was closed, and he knew he should leave. But a fire flickered in the fireplace, and it had started to rain.

  He checked his watch and wondered if Lily would be in the living room when he arrived home. It hardly mattered. As soon as she heard his key, she would go upstairs to the bedroom.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.” Mirabelle appeared from the kitchen. “I always clean the stemware myself. It’s the only way I can be sure there aren’t any spots.”

  “You certainly are hands-on.” Oliver laughed. “Most chefs would leave the cleaning up to the staff and go home.”

  “Would you like to see the kitchen?” she asked. “I have a La Cornue stove imported from France.”

  “I’d love to.” Oliver followed her into a room with steel counters and a tile floor. There was a silver fridge and a coffee station with blue-and-white ceramic cups.

  “We cover the counters with tablecloths so we know how the food will look on the table. And we use iridescent lighting so the color palette is the same as in the dining room.” She stopped and laughed. “I stole those ideas from Per Se. Thomas Keller runs the best kitchen in Manhattan.”

  “It’s stunning,” Oliver agreed. “The best summer of my life was working at a restaurant in Naples. I could never get rid of the smell of garlic from my shirts. But there’s something so satisfying about serving customers the perfect spaghetti marinara.”

  “You’re the food critic for the New York Times,” she commented. “You’re too young and successful to be nostalgic about the past.”

  “I don’t feel successful,” he muttered. “I ruined my marriage.”

  “You didn’t come for the cheesecake tartlets,” Mirabelle began. “You came because you thought if your wife isn’t talking to you, you might as well take advantage of the situation.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “You want to kiss me and see if it was worth it.”

  Oliver gulped and thought he could just leave. But the cognac warmed his throat, and the rain splattered the window, and he leaned forward and kissed her.

  Mirabelle kissed him back, and he wrapped his arms around her. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to stroke her breasts. He caressed her blouse, and an electric shock surged through his body.

  “Oh, God.” He sighed. “You’re so lovely.”

  “Slow down,” she whispered. “If you’re going to kiss me, you should enjoy it.”

  She took his hand and slipped it beneath her bra. His fingers touched her nipples, and he let out a moan. Then his mouth was on hers, and all he could think about was the exquisite taste of her lips.

  “I should get to the train,” he said finally. He straightened his collar and ran his hands through his hair.

  “We can share a cab,” she suggested. “Have a nightcap at my place.”

  “It’s late.” He put on his jacket. “Perhaps next time.”

  “Oliver, you’re quite handsome, and any woman would want to kiss you.” She smoothed her skirt. “But you’re not happy. Go home and figure things out.”

  * * *

  Oliver pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition. Mirabelle was wrong. He hadn’t kissed her because he wanted to see if it was worth it; he’d done it to extinguish any hope. It was like shooting a lame horse. He couldn’t fight with Lily; he had to put himself out of his misery.

  It was one thing to turn a peck on the cheek into a kiss. It was completely different to hold another woman in his arms. There had been a moment when he’d yearned to slip his hand under Mirabelle’s skirt. He was as guilty as if they’d made love on the kitchen counter.

  He entered the farmhouse and took off his shoes. The light was on in the living room, and Lily sat on the floral sofa.

  “You’re home.” She looked up. “I called your phone. Louisa has a fever, and I wanted you to pick up some Children’s Tylenol.”

  “I can buy some now,” Oliver suggested, draping his jacket over an armchair.

  “She already fell asleep.” Lily shrugged. “You look terrible. Maybe you’re coming down with the same flu.”

  “I got soaked getting off the train.” Oliver sat opposite her.

  He studied Lily’s pale cheeks and watery eyes, and his stomach turned over. He couldn’t tell her what had happened; their marriage would be over. She was all he ever wanted, and he would do anything to keep her.

  “Do you remember when we were in Portugal on our honeymoon?” he began. “I was out of sorts because your father read Roger’s email at the wedding. I went to breakfast alone, and you thought I was flirting with some blonde. Then I saw you on the beach with that fisherman and almost punched him in the jaw.

  “You said if I was jealous of every little thing, we would never survive,” Oliver finished. “That’s all this is. I was jealous that Roger kissed you, so I kissed Mirabelle. I love you; we can’t let anyone come between us.”

  “I said most of the time I was so happy,” Lily remembered. “But we have to trust each other or we don’t have anything.”

  “You can trust me. I never meant to lie, but I didn’t do anything wrong. You have to give me another chance,” he implored.

  She picked up his jacket and hung it in the foyer. A piece of paper fell out, and she reached down and picked it up.

  “I think this is for you.” She handed it to him and ran up the staircase.

  “Where are you going?” He followed her. “We were talking about our marriage.”

  Lily stood at the top of the stairs ten minutes later, holding an overnight bag. She walked downstairs and stood in the foyer.

  “You can’t leave,” he insisted. “We have to make this work.”

  “I’m not leaving. You are.” She handed him the bag. “The Comfort Inn has free Wi-Fi. Good night, Oliver.”

  Oliver put the bag on the floor and remembered the piece of paper. He turned it over and read:

  Oliver, that was fun. If you want to do it again, you know my address. Xox Mirabelle.

  Oliver crumpled the paper and gasped. He picked up the bag and ran through the rain. He opened the car door and rested his head on the windshield. Horses were lucky. One bullet, and it was all over.

  * * *

  Oliver glanced around the terrace of the Hotel Cala di Volpe and groaned. It had only been an hour since Angela had delivered her news about the baby, but it felt like an eternity. Waiters flitted between tables, and he could hear the tinkling of ice cubes. He would give anything to be worrying about something else: the exorbitant price of cocktails or whether he had enough background information for his review.

  When you were married, the only time you thought you would have to deal with an unwanted pregnancy was when your daughter became a teenager and dated a musician. He suddenly pictured Louisa in her floral smocks and smiled. Once you had a child, you realized there was no such thing as an unwanted pregnancy. Louisa was the most important thing in the world.

  But what part would he play in the new baby’s life? Have his name on the birth certificate and recei
ve birthday party invitations? And what would happen when Angela got married? He would become the extra man who appeared at athletic events and graduations.

  One of his greatest regrets in the divorce was missing out on half of Louisa’s life. And children needed a father. He’d taught Louisa to tie her shoelaces and not to be afraid of spiders.

  And he hated living alone. He felt like a failure every time he went to Trader Joe’s and couples were filling carts with salmon steaks and bottles of sauvignon blanc. He needed someone to tell him to clear his desk and remember to shave.

  Angela was gorgeous and ambitious, and they had more in common than he’d thought. Why shouldn’t they stay together? She even said she could imagine falling in love with him.

  They’d get one of those fancy strollers and walk in Central Park. Maybe he’d even join a playgroup that met on Saturdays in Washington Square Park. On the weekends when they had Louisa, she could help run a bath. They’d all go out for dim sum, and people would comment that they were a beautiful family.

  Suddenly he pictured Lily strolling through the piazzetta and was gripped by a terrible pain. But he couldn’t think about Lily now. He had to concentrate on the tiny cells growing beneath the curve of Angela’s stomach.

  He took care of the bill and hurried down the stone steps. He raced to the Hotel Cervo and entered their suite.

  Angela was perched on a love seat, scrolling down her computer screen. Her coppery hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she sipped a glass of sparkling water.

  “I’m reading about the things to do during pregnancy.” She looked up. “One needs to drink six glasses of water a day and avoid salty foods. And never sleep in constricting clothing, it’s best to sleep naked.”

  “I thought over what you said.” Oliver sat opposite her. “Of course I want to raise our child together. We’ll turn my office into a nursery. The apartment will be a little cramped when Louisa is there, but babies don’t take up much space. The West Village has great playgrounds, and when he or she starts school, we can move to the suburbs.”

  Angela closed the computer and walked to the balcony. The sea was a sheet of glass and the dock was lined with long white yachts.

  “Do you really mean it, Oliver? That’s wonderful to hear!” She turned around. “What do you think about getting married? It doesn’t have to be right away, we can wait until the baby’s born. It would be nice to be a proper family, and it’s the best thing for a child. I’m from Ohio, we still believe in church weddings. You’d look so handsome in a tuxedo, and my mother has kept her wedding dress in the attic for decades. It would need some altering, but she’d be so happy if I wore it.”

  Oliver gulped and felt slightly dizzy. Did he want to marry Angela? He pictured driving away from the church in Carmel with Lily and feeling like he had pulled off an incredible heist. He’d convinced the most special girl in the world to marry him, and they were so happy.

  He remembered when they brought Louisa home from the hospital, and he filled the hallway with balloons. He recalled the excitement of Lily Bristol’s grand opening, and the first night they spent at the farmhouse. They had been so certain about everything and failed. How could he do it again?

  He ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. He couldn’t think about his life with Lily now. That was like a race car driver remembering a horrific crash before he climbed into the cockpit.

  “Of course, I want to get married at some point. Why don’t we get engaged now?” He stood up. “There’s no time like the present. I’ll go buy a ring.”

  “That’s very sweet, Oliver.” Angela kissed him. “Sometimes I worried if you were serious about our relationship, but I was wrong. You’ve made me so happy. You’re going to be a wonderful husband and father.”

  Oliver tried not to think that he had been a husband and he was a father. Wasn’t that the beauty of meeting Angela? He had the chance to do it all again and not mess it up. And she really was special. She was fun and beautiful and made him feel desirable.

  “Being pregnant makes me so tired, I can hardly keep my eyes open.” She stretched. “I’m going to take a nap. Would you like to join me?”

  “A nap, now?” Oliver asked. The sun made patterns on her dress, and suddenly he was incredibly turned on.

  “We can rub each other’s backs.” She turned around. “Can you help with my zipper?”

  Oliver unzipped her dress and pulled her toward him. She smelled like almond lotion, and he buried his mouth in her neck.

  “Come here.” He moved to the sofa and unzipped his slacks. He leaned against the cushions and positioned her on top of him. God, she was gorgeous, with her creamy skin and ripe breasts.

  “Let’s go into the bedroom,” she whispered. “The bed is much more comfortable.”

  He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. She lay on her stomach, and he caressed her back. Suddenly she flipped over and pulled him on top of her.

  “Do you know what else the pregnancy website says?” she asked, tightening her thighs around his buttocks.

  “What?” he groaned, kissing her collarbone and the space between her breasts.

  “A woman’s libido increases when she’s pregnant.” She arched her back. “She can last for hours.”

  “Is that so?” he breathed.

  Angela bucked underneath him, and he hung on like a cowboy at a rodeo. Her fingernails dug into his skin, and she slapped him gently on the thigh.

  “Angela!” he exclaimed. Then he collapsed against her breasts and came in one exquisite thrust.

  * * *

  Oliver leaned over the balcony and felt like a movie star or a politician. He was gazing at one of the most glamorous coastlines in the world and had just made love to a stunning woman who was carrying his baby.

  Angela was right; it would be nice to be a family. And what more could he ask for in a wife? Angela was bright and ambitious and she truly admired him. He really was lucky; he mustn’t take his good fortune for granted.

  “Oliver,” Angela called.

  “Yes?” Oliver walked to the door.

  She sat against the headboard. “For some reason I can’t sleep. Do you think this time you could actually rub my back?”

  “I’ll be right there.” He slipped off his robe and climbed into bed.

  Chapter Eleven

  LILY SAT ON THE BALCONY of her suite and inhaled the scent of bougainvillea. It was early afternoon, and the harbor resembled a jewelry case. Yachts gleamed in the sun like alabaster pearls, and there were topaz-colored speedboats.

  The opening was in two days, so she had hired a driver and driven into the hills to the town of Templo Pausania to buy a few things for the store. Old women tended stalls selling filigree jewelry and woven rugs and pine-scented candles. They insisted she accept gifts with her purchases and filled her basket with plums and oranges.

  One woman even pressed a silver Sardinian wedding ring into her hand. When Lily said she was nowhere near getting married, the woman replied in broken English that it would bring Lily luck. Lily smiled and promised to wear it on a silver chain around her neck.

  On the way back, the driver pointed out the secluded beaches of Baia di Sardinia and Liscia di Vacca. Lily gazed at the green hills dotted with flowers and the cobalt ocean littered with speedboats, and her heart lifted. The Emerald Coast was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.

  Now she studied the view from her suite’s balcony and was quite pleased with her morning purchases. She looked down at her plate and picked up a piece of Sardinian flatbread. There was a bowl of cold tomato soup and a glass of grapefruit juice on the outdoor table.

  The drapes were closed in Oliver’s suite, and her shoulders relaxed. She hadn’t thought about Oliver and Angela once since she and Ricky had returned from Porto Rotondo yesterday evening. It really had been a wonderful excursion, with dinner at S’Astore and Ricky’s gift of the ruby pendant.

  Could she and Ricky be falling in love? But spending
more than a few weeks on the Emerald Coast every year was impossible. She had other stores to manage, and she hated being away from Louisa.

  When she was with Ricky, she felt like the lead in a romantic movie. In the opening scene, she’s hurt so badly she doesn’t believe in love. But then she meets a handsome stranger and realizes she’s going to get her happy ending.

  She had promised herself she would try to be happy; she couldn’t go back on her word. If she didn’t take a chance, it would be like Louisa quitting gymnastics because she fell off the balance beam.

  Her phone buzzed, and she pressed accept.

  “Let me guess,” Ricky began. “You’re sitting outside eating risotto and ricotta and some kind of fruit. You’re gazing at the boats and thinking this really is the most glorious spot on earth. You are fortunate to be here and wonder why anyone would want to be anywhere else.”

  “Are you spying on me?” Lily laughed, glancing around the balcony.

  “That’s what every visitor is doing on a beautiful day on the Emerald Coast,” Ricky replied.

  “I’m eating cold soup instead of risotto and mango ice cream instead of fruit, and I was thinking I must get fabric for the store that is the same color as the sea.”

  “Then you are a woman of many facets.” Ricky paused. “That’s one of the reasons I’m falling in love with you.”

  “Ricky…” Lily began.

  “Check the hallway outside your suite,” he cut in. “There’s a present for you.”

  Lily ran through her suite and opened the door. There was a rectangular box wrapped in tissue paper.

  She tore open the paper and discovered a turquoise chiffon dress. There was a quilted purse with a gold chain.

  She picked up the phone. “It’s gorgeous. But I can’t accept any more presents.”

  “We have been invited to a dinner party on the yacht of Aga Khan III,” he answered. “I wanted you to wear something special.”

  “I haven’t even said yes. How do you know I’ll come?” Lily asked playfully. “And for a serious businessman, you spend a lot of time on yachts.”

  “Yachts in Sardinia are like golf courses or country clubs. That’s where people conduct business,” Ricky explained. “And Aga Khan III is the grandson of Prince Aga Khan. He is a very influential man.”