by July Hall
Eventually, Stephen had taken up his slack and engaged Sandra in conversation, and it only got worse. Charles had been half hoping for a bimbo. Someone he could write off the moment she started speaking. No such luck.
Tonight, he was tongue-tied for a different reason. He didn’t want to be here.
That was no excuse. He’d spent countless hours in places he didn’t want to be. They were in the middle of the main course, and he’d goddamn well better shape up. He wasn’t being rude, exactly—not yet—but if he waited much longer, he’d cross the line. He opened his mouth to ask Josephine about her home in Monte Carlo.
“Ms. Banks,” Bradley said suddenly. “Did you say you’d be in town for the holidays?”
Josephine appeared startled. But she smiled when she said, “Well, I’ll be in the country, anyway. What about you?”
“Mom and I will go to Aspen for New Year’s.” Bradley seemed to hesitate for a moment. “I’ll be spending Christmas with my dad.”
Charles pursed his lips. This was the first he’d heard of it. “Oh? I didn’t know that,” he said mildly. The mood of the table shifted from lighthearted to wary. Anyone who knew him also knew that tone of voice.
“We just discussed it yesterday,” Rosalie said quickly.
“Well, that’s…lovely. Does your father live in New York?” Josephine asked Bradley.
“Boston, though I’m trying to persuade him to come here and stay at my place.” Bradley gave Josephine a charming grin. “Show him that I’m all grown up, and host him for a change.”
Charles’s head began to throb at the temples. Robert was not welcome in New York. Both he and Bradley knew that. Rosalie was starting to look panicked.
“Well, you certainly are all grown up now,” Josephine said. The bright note in her voice told Charles she knew something was wrong. “My God, the last time I saw you, you must have been…well, a teenager, anyway. I don’t think you were in college yet.”
“Yeah, how long ago was that?” Bradley was still smiling. “I remember you and Uncle Charles were an item then.”
Charles’s hand tensed around the handle of his steak knife. On his left, Stephen bumped Charles’s knee with his own.
“We were,” Josephine said. “Then he let me get away.” Everyone chuckled uneasily. “There have been at least two noblemen in the meantime.” She gave Charles a mischievous smile.
“My loss,” he said automatically.
She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll drink to that.” She raised her glass, they clinked them together, and everyone relaxed.
Except for Charles. He didn’t relax all night, though the exchange served to break the spell on him, and he was able to make polite conversation again. Nobody ever expected him to be chatty, anyway.
Then, when dessert and coffee had been cleared away, and everyone was saying their good-byes, Stephen asked, “Josephine, do you have a ride to your hotel?”
If not, my brother will take you hung unspoken in the air.
For a moment, Josephine looked as embarrassed as Charles felt, but she put a bright smile on. “I’ve hired a car while I’m here. A darling little Porsche. We’re already good friends—I might have to buy one.” She turned her dark eyes on Charles. “Are you still riding around in those awful British tanks?”
“You mean those miracles of engineering?” Charles shot back, slipping easily into an old argument.
Josephine began, “Great big lumbering—”
Stephen interrupted them with a laugh. “If it’s all going to be car talk, I’ll say goodnight. Craig and I have a stag party to get to.” He kissed Josephine’s cheek. “So glad you could be here.”
“So am I. Have a lovely time.”
Charles looked around the room. Bradley had already escaped. Charles would have no opportunity to tell him to keep Robert the hell out of town—and to keep his mouth shut about Charles’s personal life—unless he called him tonight. He wanted to do no such thing; that sort of talk required eye contact. It was something else that would have to wait until next week, then, unless Bradley screwed up during the wedding itself.
Josephine held out her hand to Craig. “I’m delighted to meet you. I look forward to tomorrow.”
“Likewise,” Craig said as he shook her hand. He put his arm around Stephen. “Shall we, baby?”
Baby. Charles’s stomach swooped down in a way that was not unpleasant. Sandra liked to whisper baby in his ear in needful, husky tones. Nobody else had ever…
Someone touched his elbow. He looked down to see Josephine at his side. “Come on,” she said with a half smile. “You might as well walk me out. It’ll make their night.”
“Yes, of course,” Charles said immediately. He did his best to recover. “I want to see this German trash of yours.”
She linked her arm with his. “You snob. Do you even drive yourself anywhere?”
“Driving is a waste of productive time,” Charles said, trying with all his might not to remember Sandra on her knees in front of him in the backseat. No indeed, they could not have managed that if he’d been behind the wheel.
As they proceeded from the private room through the restaurant, Charles felt eyes on them. He knew several of the patrons, as did she, and they gave nods and smiles. He and Josephine looked natural together. The perfect power couple. Everyone had said so once.
As usual, everyone was wrong. All of this was wrong. Josephine on his arm this evening, his companion for tomorrow night, and in between, he’d go back to his empty suite—all wrong.
They got their coats, and the valet drove Josephine’s silver 911 up to the door. “Allow me,” Charles said and tipped him.
Josephine tsk’d but did not protest. Instead, she gave him a thoughtful look and said, “I know why I’m here. I realized as soon as I spoke to Stephen tonight.”
Charles had told both his siblings that Josephine would see through them. He, of course, was the one who had to deal with the fallout. He tugged at his collar and said, “Naturally, we’re all delighted to see you.”
Josephine crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “Was this your idea?”
“Was it—?” Charles glared at her. “What am I supposed to say to that?” The truth would be rude, and a lie would open all the wrong doors, and she knew it.
“That answers my question,” she said dryly. “So much for you pining away in regret.”
“I don’t pine,” Charles said.
“Oh, Charles,” she laughed. “Some things never change.” She air kissed his cheek again. “I really am happy to see you. We’ll have a lovely time tomorrow and not worry about anything else. All right?”
“Of course,” Charles said, wishing he could afford to dwell in a fantasy world where anything about tomorrow would be all right. “I’m looking forward to it.”
She looked skeptical and turned around to see Phillip driving the Phantom up behind her Porsche. “Oh God, I’d better get out of the way,” she said. “Before Leviathan eats up this poor little thing.” Her eyes sparkled at him. “Good night, Charles.”
“Good night,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He waved as she drove off, got in his own car, and thought, I didn’t love her enough.
It wasn’t that it had been too soon after Eleanor’s death. That had been part of it—he had not been ready to love—but even if he had been, it wouldn’t have been Josephine. He’d felt conflicted, knowing they could be good for each other in many ways. But when they’d ended it, he’d known it was the right thing to do. By contrast, if Sandra had walked onto the stage, it probably would have driven him crazy, not being ready to love her. And loving her.
Ask for what you want…
He rubbed a hand over his forehead and accepted the truth. This could not go on as it was. He knew how he felt and what he wanted. Pretending not to want it was as alien to him as taking second place. It was time to take action.
She didn’t have to love him. She only had to stay. That, of course, was no
n negotiable. He’d make it worth her while. If she’d just tell him what she wanted most, the thing she absolutely had to have, he’d give it to her, and she’d stay. That was how it worked, wasn’t it?
Of course it was. Make yourself indispensable: that was the key to success in every area of life. No one could do what he did. It wasn’t arrogance, it was a fact.
There had to be a way to do this without frightening her off. He’d keep it simple. There was no point to flowery sentiment. That would only embarrass them both, and actions spoke louder than words anyway. Something like…
Hell, it’d be easy. Something like: Sandra, I know it’s soon and I understand if you don’t feel the same, but I don’t believe in waffling. I have come to care for you very much, I want this to be serious, and I want to stop hiding.
That last part took him by surprise. But it was true, too. He wanted her to know he wasn’t ashamed. He’d deal with his family—God knew he was used to that. Presumably she knew how to handle hers. Who cared what the rest thought?
She’d told him to ask for what he wanted. He’d warned her about that. Well, too late now. He was what he was, and you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks.
Asking, though—that was the trick. No matter what she said, there were no guarantees. She’d refused him before. He wasn’t fucking likely to forget that one.
They’d talk on Sunday. Or even tomorrow night, if they weren’t both exhausted. He had to get this off his chest, and there was no sense in wasting time.
The little voice in the back of his head whispered words like desperation and starvation and insanity. He whipped it back into the shadows. Enough of that. There was no place for it here; this was too important for him to lose his head. There was no reason he couldn’t handle this calmly and rationally.
That was how he handled things. He was Charles Magister.
Everything would be simple.
Everything would work out exactly as it should.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Fine, I admit it,” Kristen said. “I’m impressed.”
Sandra tried not to preen. She was standing before her full-length mirror while Kristen sat cross-legged on her bed, and together they looked at her reflection. Arnaud was due to pick her up any minute, and she looked fabulous, if she did say so herself.
With Arnaud’s blessing, she’d ducked out of work early on Monday to hit her favorite boutique. Five hundred bucks and change later, she’d lugged a new gown down the block to an alterations place recommended by the sales associate.
Everything in the boutique was the work of local designers, some of whom Sandra knew personally through school and her job. Their clothes were beautifully made and had more character than something from a department store.
She’d promised Charles that she wouldn’t get anything slit up to her thigh. She hadn’t promised to look like a nun. The gown’s bodice was perfectly fitted. A halter neckline flattered her breasts and allowed for an open back. This meant she had to wear a backless bra, and there was no way he wouldn’t notice that. Beneath the structured top flowed a full A-line skirt.
The dress was deep navy, so dark it was almost black, overlaid with black lace, plus a little beading at the waist. Some of the details weren’t noticeable unless you got up close and could see the workmanship. That was the point. After all, though the dress was lovely, it wasn’t the centerpiece of her outfit.
Emeralds dangled from her earlobes, tassels of them framed by diamonds, catching the light. She hadn’t bothered with a necklace. Nothing she owned could compete. Instead, she’d borrowed her mother’s diamond bracelet—her gloves would hide it for most of the night, but she’d take those off for dinner. Indira had lent her a Judith Leiber jeweled clutch for the evening.
She and Indira had enjoyed pampering themselves today. Perhaps buoyed by adrenaline, Sandra hadn’t felt tired at all. By the time she got home, her nails were polished, her skin glowed from a facial, her eyebrows were waxed into perfect symmetry, and her hair fell in easy waves around her shoulders. She’d left it down, knowing it popped against the green earrings and the navy dress.
She’d been strategic with makeup, choosing to play up her eyes and settling on a berry-colored gloss instead of lipstick. They’d recommended it at the salon since “you’re having such a good skin day, sweetie.” Thank God. Before her senior prom, she’d had an acne breakout that still made her shudder when she remembered it.
The ugly duckling hadn’t done so badly. She might not be much compared to what would be on display tonight, and a catty remark from Rosalie was probably in her future (no matter what Charles said), but maybe she could hold her own. Nobody would expect a junior interior designer to outshine the glitterati anyway. In fact, they would probably be pissed if she stepped out of her rightful place. A Cinderella entrance only worked in fairy tales.
“Of course,” Kristen added, “with the amount of money you spent on that—”
“Oh, shut up.” Sandra tugged at the skirt. “It’s an investment.”
Kristen snorted and flopped back down on Sandra’s bed. She wore leggings and a sweatshirt. A scrunchie pulled her brown hair into a ponytail. It all looked very comfy compared to Sandra’s outfit, and was also the best possible way of screaming that no, she was totally not crushing on the guy who was about to arrive. Nope, not her.
“I bet Sugar Daddy Warbucks is gonna like it,” she said.
“Oh my God.” Sandra’s protest was only half-hearted by this point. Kristen had decided on Charles’s nickname and it was sticking like glue, and it was a waste of energy to argue with her. Still, Sandra felt compelled to add, “Don’t call him that.”
Kristen folded her hands over her stomach. “Whatever. Do you have any cutesy nicknames for him? I’m trying to picture it.”
Sandra thought of baby, and watched her reflection blush.
Kristen wrinkled her nose. “Never mind.”
“One day, you’ll know what it’s like,” Sandra said, meeting her sister’s eyes in the mirror. “You’ll have nicknames and all the rest.”
“What’s ‘all the rest?’” Kristen asked. “I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna hook up with someone who can fly me to Hong Kong at the drop of a hat.”
Sandra was never going to hear the end of that. Once she knew about the affair, Kristen had needed all of two seconds to work out that Charles had accompanied Sandra to China. “You never know,” she sighed.
Just then, the buzzer went off. Before Sandra could move, Kristen scrambled off the bed and bounded to the front door. Sandra heard her say, “Hello?”
“I’m here,” Arnaud replied, his voice a little fuzzy over the intercom. “May I come up?”
“Sure, of course,” Kristen said. “Did you actually find a parking spot?”
“I’m in a loading area. Let’s hope the parking gods don’t ticket me in the next five minutes.”
Kristen laughed and pushed the button. “Come on in.” When Sandra emerged into the living room, her sister gave her a triumphant look, as if to say, See? I’m totally cool.
But a few minutes later, that look melted right off her face when Arnaud stepped in. Sandra couldn’t blame her. If Arnaud looked good in a suit, he was devastating in white tie and tails. He carried a brown fur stole over one arm.
And he was carrying two long-stemmed red roses. “For two lovely ladies,” he said, holding them out, one in each hand.
Sandra took her rose and turned to see that Kristen had gone bright pink. “Thanks,” Kristen mumbled as she took hers. “You look nice.”
“You look comfortable,” Arnaud said. “I’m jealous. No big plans for Saturday night?”
Kristen looked at the rose like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Nope. Just, um, staying in.” She raised her head and got a little of her spark back when she added, “I’ve gotta make sure you get my sister back on time.”
Arnaud chuckled. “Does she have a curfew?”
“Midnight,” Kristen said ster
nly.
“Understood.” For the first time, Arnaud turned to Sandra and looked her up and down. He raised his eyebrows. “Perfect.”
Sandra exhaled in relief. “Thanks.”
He stepped in to get a closer look at her earrings. His eyes widened. “Are those real?”
Sandra had been practicing a semi-dishonest little maneuver. She raised her left arm so he could see the diamond bracelet and said, “Borrowed from my mom.”
Kristen looked impressed again.
“Clearly I should be in the lumber business,” Arnaud said. “You’ve got gloves?”
“Yep.” She’d draped the ivory kidskin opera gloves over the back of the sofa. Those had been a serendipitous find at an upscale consignment store, where she’d managed to pay half what Saks would have charged her. Maybe after tonight was over, she’d sell them back. Or she’d keep them, because really, it was cool to have a pair of ivory kidskin opera gloves. You obviously never knew when you might need them.
Arnaud watched as she tugged them on, careful not to snag the left one on her bracelet, and then nodded in approval. He held out the fur stole he’d draped over his arm. “This is on loan. I thought it would make a better impression than a coat.”
“Oh, wow.” Sandra took the fur and draped it around her shoulders. It was beautifully soft and heavy. “Thank you.”
“Is that real fur?” Kristen asked, predictably horrified. “That is total animal cruelty.”
“Agreed,” Arnaud said. “I wonder where your mother’s diamonds came from.” He held out his arm to Sandra. “Shall we?”
Sandra tossed her head back and took his arm. “We shall.”
“Have fun,” Kristen said sourly. But when Arnaud looked away for a moment, she gave Sandra a serious look and mouthed, Be careful.
Sandra didn’t need the warning, but she appreciated it all the same. She took a deep breath and gave both her sister and her boss a confident smile. “Let’s do this.”
Arnaud led her outside and down the front steps toward the loading area where he’d left the car. Sandra gasped. He’d rented a silver Jaguar F-Type coupe for the occasion.