by Anita Hughes
“If we stand under the mistletoe, you have to kiss me.” Oliver appeared at her side. He held a plate of fruit tarts, and she inhaled the scent of his cologne.
“As I recall, we did quite a lot of that on the train into the city.” She smiled.
“I can’t wait until we leave so we can repeat the performance.” He kissed her. “I might even ask Ken if we can take a bottle of champagne. It’s making me appreciate your beauty.”
“Oliver, you don’t need to flirt with me.” She laughed. “It’s lovely to be here. The room looks so festive, and everyone is enjoying themselves.”
“I don’t care about any of it. I just want to be with you,” Oliver said, and his eyes were serious. “Let’s never fight again. I can’t bear it.”
“Why should we fight if there’s nothing to fight about?” she agreed. “Now go mingle. Everyone wants to say Merry Christmas to Oliver Bristol, New York Times restaurant critic.”
Oliver drifted across the room, and Lily went to the powder room to reapply her lipstick. She walked out and saw a couple standing under the mistletoe. The woman had blond hair and wore a red dress. She stood on tiptoe and had one hand in the man’s pocket.
Lily blinked and realized the man was Oliver. His hand was around Mirabelle’s waist, and his eyes were slightly closed.
“Oliver!” Lily exclaimed. Her cheeks flushed and she ran down the steps.
“Lily!” Oliver jumped and raced after her. “Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving, Oliver.” She gave her claim to the coat-check girl.
“We can’t leave without saying good-bye to our hosts,” he hissed. “It’s not polite.”
“You can do anything you like.” She slipped on her coat. “I’m going home.”
Lily hurried down West 11th Street and tried to stop shaking. Slush covered the sidewalk, but she was too upset to flag a cab.
“Where are you going?” Oliver caught up with her. “And you’re not even wearing boots. You’re going to freeze to death.”
“I’m not your concern,” she said. “Go back to the party.”
“Of course you’re my concern, you’re my wife.” He touched her arm. “Lily, stop. It didn’t mean anything. Mirabelle walked by, and I was standing under the mistletoe. I shouldn’t have let her kiss me. She was just being friendly. But it was a stupid thing to do, and I apologize.”
“You had your eyes half-closed like a swooning teenager,” she retorted. “And her hand was in your pocket.”
“She gave me a Christmas present.” He took a flat box out of his pocket. He tore it open and held up a silver pen. “I receive a dozen pens at Christmas. That’s hardly a romantic overture.”
“Keep it,” Lily snapped. “You can use it to sign the divorce papers.”
“I’ll give it back, if you prefer,” he pleaded. “I promise I’ll never see her again.”
Snow dusted Lily’s cheeks, and she took a deep breath.
“It’s no use, Oliver,” she sighed. “This isn’t working.”
“What do you mean?” he protested. “We had the best sex we’ve had in months in Vermont. And we had so much fun Christmas shopping with Louisa. She’s positive Santa Claus is going to bring her everything on her list.”
“It’s not hard to have great sex, we’ve been doing it for years. And we’re both good parents.” She twisted her hands. “But there will always be a Mirabelle or a Roger between us. We’re not a team anymore.”
“We’ll become a team,” he insisted. “We’ll take up couples yoga or learn to play bridge.”
“I watch you looking at me sometimes, and it’s as if you’re seeing someone else. And every time you get a text, I wonder if it’s from Mirabelle.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you wished you married Roger. But I know I’m being silly.” He paused. “And I swear I haven’t had any communication with Mirabelle.”
“The problem is I don’t believe you, even when you’re telling the truth,” she said, and her eyes were huge. “We can’t live like this. Any moment there can be a flare-up.”
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“One of us has to leave,” she said quietly.
“Leave for how long?” he gasped.
She walked to the curb and raised her arm. She waited for a cab to pull up and turned around. “Leave for however long it takes us to be happy.”
* * *
Lily adjusted her sunglasses and entered the lobby of Hotel Cervo. She thought of what the jewelry store owner had said about Ricky’s excellent taste in jewelry and gulped. She had to ask Ricky why he hadn’t mentioned his engagement. They couldn’t have secrets in their relationship.
Sofas were scattered with sea foam cushions, and vases were filled with yellow orchids, and Lily had never been anywhere more beautiful. She climbed the steps to her room and hoped Ricky had the right answer. If he didn’t, she didn’t know what she would do.
* * *
Lily stood in front of the mirror and zipped up her red chiffon dress. She slipped on gold sandals and dabbed her wrists with perfume. There was a bouquet of roses on the glass coffee table, and she felt a shiver of excitement.
After she’d returned from the jewelry store, she took a swim in the hotel pool. Then she came up to the suite and discovered the flowers with a note. Ricky couldn’t wait to see her, and they were going to have a wonderful evening.
She fastened the ruby pendant around her neck, and there was a knock at the door. Perhaps Enzo was bringing a platter of fruit and soft cheeses. She would tell him she was going out to dinner with Ricky; she didn’t need anything at all.
“Oliver!” She opened the door. “What do you want?”
“That’s not a polite greeting. I would have thought after four days on the Emerald Coast you’d be more relaxed.” He entered the suite. “It smells like a florist in here. Where did the roses come from?”
“They were a gift.” She followed him into the living room. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m busy.”
“You really should slow down and enjoy yourself.” He poured a glass of scotch. “Don’t you remember when we booked our holiday, we were so excited about exploring the Emerald Coast? We even thought of renting a Ducati motorcycle and driving up into the hills.”
“You suggested it. It was part of an early midlife crisis.” She fixed her hair in front of the mirror. “I would never get on the back of a motorcycle.”
“You could have worn a scarf and oversized sunglasses. We could have looked like a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde.” He perched on the sofa. “The sun would have stretched over the horizon, and the sea would have been a dappled carpet.”
“That’s quite poetic, but I have a date.” She fastened her earrings. “Why are you here?”
“There’s something I have to tell you,” he said. “But you better sit down.”
Lily turned and felt a small tremor.
“Did something happen to Louisa?” she asked.
“Louisa is fine. The last time I talked to her she was baking chocolate-chip cookies.” He paused. “I thought about what you said, that a relationship has to move forward. I think you’re right.”
“Is that all? I have to get ready.” She fastened the ruby pendant around her neck. “I’m supposed to be at the harbor in thirty minutes.”
“Good god, where did you get that pendant?” Oliver jumped up. “Don’t tell me you’re dating some Eurotrash. They buy you expensive jewels, and then they get stolen. You file an insurance claim and give them the money. It’s only when you discover a ‘Dear Jane’ letter on your pillow that you realize the jewelry was fake. It’s worse than those scams claiming you inherited ten million dollars from a dead relative in Africa.”
“Ricky gave it to me,” she said. “He bought it at a jewelry store in Porto Cervo.”
“Ricky gave it to you?”
“If you say one word about him moving too fast, I will ask you to leave,” she warned him. “It’s just a pendant, and it�
�s lovely.”
“I don’t think you’re moving too fast at all.”
“You don’t?” She looked up.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to ask Angela to marry me.”
“You’re what?” Lily started, and her hairbrush fell on the floor.
“I’m not good at living alone. I end up watching Gilmore Girls because it’s the only thing I can find on Netflix.” He sipped his drink. “I always run out of toothpaste because I forget to stock up on toiletries at Grand Union.”
“I don’t mind if you get married, I want you to be happy.” She bit her lip. “But you have to do it for the right reasons.”
Oliver opened his mouth as if he were about to say something. He swallowed the scotch and ran his hands through his hair.
“What are the right reasons? That Angela and I love each other?” he inquired. “You and I loved each other, and that didn’t count for anything.”
“It counted for everything. We had ten wonderful years and created a beautiful daughter. Why are you telling me before you ask Angela?”
“I thought you should know,” he answered. “She’ll be Louisa’s stepmother.”
“You wouldn’t ask Angela to marry you if you didn’t think she would be good with Louisa,” she replied. “Honestly, Oliver. I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t need my permission.”
“So you won’t tell me if you’re going to get married again?” he asked. “I don’t want Louisa raised by some hedge type who believes you need an Ivy League education and your own helicopter pad to be worth something.”
“What’s wrong with wanting to attend an Ivy League school?” She laughed. “But I’m not marrying anyone. I have to concentrate on Louisa and running Lily Bristol.”
“Well, I am getting married and I thought I should tell you,” he said stiffly. “Unless you prefer to communicate across the barbed wire fence at the playground like other divorced couples.”
“I’m glad we’re getting along.” She flushed. “But I don’t need to know the flavor of the wedding cake or the first dance song.”
“Do you remember when Louisa was little, and we dreamed about her wedding?” He sighed. “Whoever thought there would be any weddings in the family besides hers.”
“I’m sure your wedding will be gorgeous. You are marrying a florist.” She coated her lips with lipstick. “I really have to go. I’ll see you later.”
“Did you mean what you said about not getting married?” he asked.
“If the right man came along, I’d consider it.” Lily hesitated. “But right now, I’m much too busy.”
Oliver put his glass on the side table and walked to the door.
“That pendant suits you.” He turned around. “Whoever you choose will be a lucky man.”
* * *
Lily walked to the marina and tried to stop her heart from racing. Why was Oliver getting married? There was something he wasn’t telling her. Maybe he was just lonely. Oliver was never good at being alone. He slept with Louisa’s stuffed animals when she traveled and texted the minute she landed.
Oliver could do whatever he liked. And it would be good for Louisa. She would return from her weekends with Oliver with freshly washed hair and matching socks.
After all, she was seeing Ricky. But why hadn’t he told her he was engaged before? Maybe Ricky just wanted a summer romance, and she was going to get her heart broken.
She would tell Ricky she had a cold and curl up in her suite with a bowl of tomato soup and an old Meg Ryan movie. Tomorrow she’d spend all day at Lily Bristol, preparing for the grand opening. That’s why she was in Sardinia after all; she wasn’t looking for love.
“Lily, wait!” a male voice called.
She turned and saw Ricky striding toward her. His dark hair touched his collar, and he looked like an ad in a fashion magazine.
“I was so worried.” He caught up with her. “I went to your suite and you weren’t there.”
“You told me to meet you at the harbor,” she reminded him.
“I completely forgot.” He took her arm. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”
“And you were worried?”
“Of course, I was worried. I waited all day to be with you.” He kissed her. “But you’re here. And that’s all that matters.”
Lily kissed him back, and he smelled of musk aftershave. The sea looked as calm as a bath, and suddenly she felt happy. Why should she eat a bowl of soup in her room when she could have dinner on a glamorous yacht?
“I can’t wait.” Lily tipped her face up to his. “I haven’t eaten since lunchtime and I’m starving.”
* * *
Lily leaned against the yacht’s railing and gazed at the harbor. The sky was black velvet, and Porto Cervo was an impossibly beautiful painting. Couples mingled on the deck, and she heard the sounds of laughter and tinkling ice cubes.
It had been a wonderful evening. The Aga Khan’s yacht was even bigger and more elaborate than Christoff’s. There was a ballroom with Carrara marble floors and Murano glass chandeliers, a gallery filled with Impressionist paintings, and a music room with a gold harpsichord and a Steinway grand piano. Staterooms were decorated in pastel silks and had canopied beds and oriental rugs like the inside of an Arabian palace.
The lower deck held a hothouse with beds of English roses and orchids imported from India. There was a deck where Afghan hounds lounged around, and an aviary filled with tropical birds. One room was devoted entirely to Ming vases and Fabergé eggs.
And the food! Platters of smoked salmon and Russian caviar and exotic vegetables. A chef from the Hôtel de Crillon in Paris made crepe suzettes, and a sushi chef prepared trays of dragon rolls. There was a selection of aged cognacs and two-hundred-year-old bottles of French wine.
One table displayed desserts from all over the world. Lily sampled shaved ice with mango pudding from Taiwan and vanilla lamington cakes dusted with coconut from Australia. She and Ricky shared phyllo and sweet cheese from Jerusalem and marsala custard gelato that was transported in portable freezers from a gelateria in Rome.
Lily tried to find a few minutes alone with Ricky, but they played in a shuffleboard tournament, and the Aga Khan insisted on taking them to his library and showing them his collection of rare manuscripts. Finally they were alone, and Lily took a deep breath.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Lily leaned against the railing. “The ballrooms resemble a palazzo in Venice, and the staterooms are like the palaces described in a Rudyard Kipling book. I half expected to see a tiger or some impossibly sleek cheetah.”
“The Aga Khan does have exquisite taste,” Ricky agreed, standing beside her.
“And the food!” Lily sighed. “It’s as if Michelin-starred chefs from all over the world gathered in one place. The Scottish salmon with wilted spinach was superb, and the caramel croquembouche could have been served at the finest restaurant in Paris.”
“This suits you,” Ricky mused. “Standing on the deck of a super-yacht with a champagne flute in your hand.”
“Who wouldn’t look good with the breeze blowing her hair and a ruby pendant around her neck.” Lily laughed. “It’s like when I attended the fashion shows in Milan. You think you must have the organza dress that resembles a birthday cake or the sheath that leaves you half naked until you picture wearing it on the street. Some things are best left as a fantasy.”
“This isn’t a fantasy at all.” Ricky waved his hand. “Do you remember when I said I want to help you be happy? You’re happy here. Your eyes sparkle, and you are radiant as a girl.”
“I’m having a wonderful time. The yacht is spectacular, and the food is delicious, and the air smells of the finest cologne,” Lily agreed. “But tomorrow I’ll worry whether we received enough RSVPs for the grand opening and if I made Louisa’s dentist appointment.”
“This doesn’t have to end.” He touched her hand. “I’m not going to let you go just becau
se you have to get on a plane.”
“I have to live close to Oliver because of Louisa, and I work fifty-hour weeks,” she explained. “I can’t flit off to Sardinia for the weekend.”
“I’m falling in love with you, and I think you feel the same.” He kissed her. “We need to give ourselves a chance.”
Lily stepped back and fiddled with her earrings.
“I do have feelings for you. But there is something we haven’t talked about,” she began. “We can’t keep secrets from each other.”
“What kind of secrets?” he asked.
“Any kind.” She shrugged. “We need to be able to tell each other everything.”
“There is something I haven’t told you,” he admitted. “Do you remember when you came into my store, and I gave you my card? Then you called and invited me to lunch.” He paused. “I had already rung all the hotels in Porto Cervo looking for you. I couldn’t let you disappear.”
“Is that the only thing you haven’t told me?” she breathed.
“Of course it’s the only thing,” Ricky said and took her hand. “Let’s go inside. The Aga Khan asked us to play dominos, and we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Lily swallowed and tears pricked her eyes. If Ricky was capable of lying, they didn’t have anything at all.
“All this champagne gave me a headache,” she said. “Please give the Aga Khan my regrets. I’m going back to the hotel.”
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
“It’s nothing.” She hurried down the stairs and stepped onto the dock.
“Lily, wait!” He ran after her. “Something changed. You have to tell me what I did.”
Her heart thudded and she looked at Ricky. His dark eyes shone in the moonlight, and he had never looked so handsome.
“I lost a ruby from the pendant. I felt terrible, I thought you’d be disappointed,” she began. “I went to the jewelry store to replace it, and the salesman said you bought an engagement ring last year. You brought your fiancée, she was American, and her name was Poppy.