He said, “I was born in London, but my parents are both from Texas. My brothers were both born in Texas. I consider myself a Texan, even though I spent many years growing up in Europe.”
That made sense. His father, who was now CEO had been a Vice President for Nilsson Worldwide for years, no doubt traveling the globe. I asked, “Have you ever been to San Antonio?”
“No. This is my first time.”
I gasped. “Then you haven’t seen the Alamo?”
“I saw the movie – does that count?”
“The one with John Wayne or the one with Dennis Quaid?”
“John Wayne.”
I rolled my eyes. “I love that movie, but it’s riddled with inaccuracies. You must see the Alamo in person. Otherwise I’ll have to take away your Texas card.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
It took a few minutes to be comfortable walking next to each other, matching our steps and the subtle swing of our connected arms so we didn’t unbalance each other. It was a little like running in a three-legged race, although not quite as awkward.
We left the hotel and walked outside onto the sidewalk. The Alamo was a few minutes’ journey, first east on Travis and then south on Alamo Plaza. The Alamo was a quiet little park in the center of busy downtown traffic. I was always surprised by how peaceful I felt when I stepped onto the grounds. In many ways, the site felt sacred, like a cemetery, but there were always tourists and people going on tours.
It was mid-morning on a weekday, so the crowds were not overwhelming. However, I did notice that several people looked at us oddly when they saw the handcuffs.
“I didn’t realize how weird we would look,” I said.
“Perhaps we should hold hands,” Philip said. “So we’re not so conspicuous.”
I thought that was a good idea. When we held hands, the cuffs almost looked like bracelets and were easier to hide beneath our jacket sleeves.
When we finally stood before the famous mission doors, looking up at the arched limestone and stucco edifice, he said, “It’s smaller than I expected.”
“Well, technically, this is just the remains of the church. Originally, there were more buildings. Do you want to take a guided tour? Or listen to an audio tour?”
He said, “I’d rather hear your tour.”
Since moving to San Antonio a few years before, I’d visited the Alamo at least twenty times. I loved it, even though the history was very sad. I said, “What do you know about the Battle of the Alamo?”
“Other than the fact that we lost?”
“Yes.”
Philip said, “There was a siege. A standoff between the Mexican army and the Texas army.”
“They were called Texians back then,” I volunteered.
“That was before Texas became its own country.”
I nodded. “Correct. The Republic of Texas.”
“Do you ever think that Texas should still be its own country?” he asked.
I looked at him sideways. “You sound like my Dad. Whenever he gets mad at the politicians, he thinks seceding would be a good idea.”
He asked, “So your family is in Texas?”
“Yes, my parents live in Red Oak.” I could tell from the look on his face that he had no idea where that was. “It’s north of Waxahachie.”
He asked, “What made you come to San Antonio?”
“I wanted to spread my wings. Live in a bigger city.”
He nodded. “Tell me what you like best about the Alamo.”
“Well, I like Colonel Travis’ letter. He sent it out during the siege to gather support.” Travis was the young military leader of the fort. We walked over to a plaque on the grass where we could read the letter together. Philip read the beginning words out loud.
“Fellow citizens and compatriots. I am besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Ana. I have sustained a continual Bombardment and cannonade for 24 hours and have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion; otherwise, the garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken. I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender or retreat.”
I shivered. Those words always affected me.
Philip said quietly, “Brave man.”
I said, “He was only twenty-six.”
“Tough times can make tough men.”
“And women,” I agreed and sniffed. Coming to the Alamo always made me a little weepy.
He silently read the remainder of the letter which ended with the line, in capital letters: VICTORY OR DEATH.
“Very sobering,” he said after he finished. “I am glad I never had to make such a decision.”
I said, “There’s the story that when Travis knew there was no hope, that all the men would be killed by Santa Ana, he drew a line in the sand and said, ‘I now want every man who is determined to stay here and die with me to come across this line.’ According to legend, only one man refused. He escaped in the middle of the night. Everyone else stayed and died defending the Alamo.”
“Do you think the story is true?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But it’s a good story. Like a parable. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, it teaches a lesson. It makes me think what I would be willing to die for.”
“What would you be willing to die for?”
“The safety of my family.”
“Your country?”
“I think it’s unlikely I’d ever be asked to go to war, but I’d like to think that yes, I’d be willing to die to protect others.”
Philip looked at me closely with his eyes narrowed. “You’re patriotic.”
Shawn sometimes teased me for being overly tender hearted. I said, “Do you think that’s silly?”
“No, not at all,” he said seriously and then motioned across the courtyard. “What’s that building over there?”
I was grateful for the slight change of subject. “That’s what’s left of the barracks. There’s a museum there.”
We walked over to the barracks and I told him about Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett who also died at the Alamo. We walked closely together so the handcuffs were not as noticeable.
Whenever conversation lagged, he would try to guess my first name. “Wendy?”
“No.”
“Winifred?”
“No.”
“It’s a women’s name, right? You’re not named Walter, are you?”
I smiled. “No, I’m not Walter.”
“Oh, I know. Is it Whitney?”
“No.”
We took thirty seconds of film footage in front of the Alamo and then Philip asked if I wanted to get lunch. “Are you hungry?”
I looked at my phone and was surprised to see that it was 1 p.m. already. Two hours of our twenty-four had passed quickly. “Sure,” I said, and I turned to follow him, but somehow in the process, I tripped over an uneven place in the sidewalk and I fell, wrenching my knee, pulling his left wrist, making him stagger as well.
He hastened to help me up. “Are you all right?”
I felt like the world’s biggest klutz. “I’m fine,” I said quickly, but then I saw that I’d broken the heel off one of my pumps. “Oh no.”
CHAPTER FOUR
PHILIP
W. J. looked at her broken shoe. “What now?” she asked. “I can’t walk around uneven like this and I don’t want to go barefoot.”
“How far away do you live?” I asked.
She looked uncomfortable and I realized that she might not want me to go to her residence. After all, I couldn’t just wait in a cab while she ran upstairs to get a replacement pair of shoes. We were one unit now. For the next twenty-two hours, everything she did, I did.
I said quickly, “It will be faster just to buy a new pair of shoes. Where’s the nearest mall?”
She said, “I think there’s a shoe store on the River Walk, but it’s for athletic shoes.”
“If we’re going
to be walking a lot today, that sounds like a good idea.”
She made a little face. “Running shoes with this suit?”
“Whatever you want is fine,” I said. “But where should we go?”
She did a quick Google search on her phone, I hailed a cab, and within twenty minutes, we walked into a mall. W. J. carried her shoes, so she didn’t walk awkwardly.
I saw a shoe store with designer brands on display in the windows, and I was surprised that she seemed to be walking past it.
“I thought we were getting shoes?” I said and stood my ground, which made her stop as well.
W. J. looked in the store window and said, “Oh. No. I can’t afford those. One of the larger department stores will have dress shoes that will do just fine.”
“I’m buying,” I offered.
She looked at me quizzically. “Why?”
It was the first time in my life a woman had asked me that. “I suppose because we’re together and I can?” I said carefully. “Why not?”
She said, “We’re not on a date. You’re not responsible for my expenses.”
I was amused by her vehemence. “Are you going to be a stickler on this?”
“I like to pay my own way,” she said.
“Very admirable. But the longer we wait, the less time we have to do the other things on our list.”
She hesitated. “You’re right. You have more money than you know what to do with. I should just say, “thank you” and not think about it.”
I smiled. “Exactly.”
We walked into the store and a male clerk asked what we were looking for. “Navy pumps,” she said. “Size eight.”
“And some flat sandals,” I said.
She looked at me sharply.
“We’re going to be walking a lot,” I reminded her. “I don’t want another shoe accident.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything more. We sat on two uncomfortable chairs, our hands still linked at the wrist. W. J. placed the broken shoes and her purse on another chair beside us.
The clerk hurried behind the checkout counter to a back room where there were shoes.
While we waited, I checked my emails. I scrolled through my inbox, but then ignored them when W. J. said, “I remember reading one time that it wasn’t worth Bill Gate’s time to pick up a one-hundred-dollar bill if it was lying on the ground.”
“I’m not as rich as Bill Gates,” I said simply. Last I heard, Bill was worth nearly a hundred billion.
“So, are you saying you’d pick up a hundred-dollar bill?”
“Actually, no,” I said honestly.
She smiled triumphantly. “See? I’m right.”
“No,” I said. “I’d leave it for someone else. I don’t need it, and it might help someone. Or the original owner might be looking for it. Besides, it might be a joke or prank, with someone filming and I wouldn’t want to be all over YouTube.”
She said, “Does that happen very often? Are you that famous?”
“No. Occasionally someone notices me, but for the most part, I’m just another business man.” I smiled. “Now if you’re talking about my brother Conrad, that’s different. He is always being hounded.”
She frowned slightly, her lovely brows furrowing. “Conrad Nilsson? I don’t know him.”
“He goes by Con Rad. R-A-D.” I thought the name was affected and ridiculous, but when Conrad started his music career, he didn’t want everyone to know that he was a trust fund baby. It didn’t fit his southern rock image.
Her eyes widened. “Really? Con Rad is your brother? I love his music.”
I sighed. “Nearly everyone does,” I said dryly, just as the store clerk returned with a tower of shoe boxes.
“You’re related to Con Rad?” the clerk asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s amazing.”
I smiled. “We’re in a bit of a hurry,” I said, and the clerk returned his attention to the task at hand.
“Yes, sir.”
I watched as W. J. tried on several pairs of navy pumps. She had pretty feet and her toes were painted a pale pinky beige that matched her fingernails. She was wearing ultra-sheer nude hose that was now snagged and had several noticeable runs.
She tsked her tongue as she surveyed the damage. She whispered, “After we buy shoes, we need to find a bathroom and I’ll get rid of the pantyhose.”
That was going to be interesting. We weren’t contortionists. I said, “We can buy another pair while we’re here.”
“Okay.”
When W. J. found a pair of shoes she liked, we both walked across the store to make certain they fit comfortably. It was odd for us to walk together, and the clerk noticed the handcuffs on our wrists. “It’s a bet,” I said firmly when I saw him staring at us, and he looked away.
“Yes, sir.”
Later, after I paid for the shoes and we left the store, W. J. said, “I think you scared him.”
“Scared him, how? He just made a big commission.” In the end, we’d bought three pairs of shoes. One pair of navy pumps with a moderate heel and two pairs of sandals because we each liked different styles best. She wore the pumps and the sandals were in our shared backpack. I had convinced her to throw out the ruined pair of shoes. “We don’t have room for them,” I said, and eventually she agreed with me.
She said, “You’re very polite, but occasionally, when you are annoyed, the dragon comes out.”
I was amused. “Dragon?”
“Yes, like you’re going to eat someone if they don’t obey immediately. Or breath fire on them. You did it just now with the clerk. Whenever he talked about something you didn’t like, you cut him off.”
“Is that how you see me?
She said, “It’s subtle, but it’s there. You’re a rich man, used to getting your own way.”
I supposed I was. But I wasn’t going to get my way with her. Remember the fiancé, I said to myself for the umpteenth time. As much as I was enjoying my time with W. J., today was all the time we would have together. I said calmly, “Where are we going next?”
She pointed to the end of the mall’s wing. We then walked into a department store and W. J. chose a pair of pantyhose.
“Make that two,” I said.
She looked at me sharply.
“I was a Boy Scout. I believe in being prepared.”
“All right,” she said and let me pay for them. We then found the department store bathrooms and went into a small room marked as a Family Restroom. There was a drop-down changing table, one toilet, one sink. I locked the door. The last thing I wanted was someone to join us.
W. J.’s face was slightly pink. She said, “This is going to be awkward.”
I nodded and said, “I’ll just close my eyes and let you do whatever you want with my left hand.”
“All right.” She took a deep breath and I closed my eyes.
I could hear fabric rustle as she pulled up her pencil skirt. I tried not to image what that might look like. My left hand briefly touched something silky, a slip perhaps?
“Sorry,” I said quietly. It didn’t seem right to use a normal voice when she was changing clothes.
“It’s all right,” she breathed out.
I then heard the sound of elastic being stretched and she said, “You’re going to have to bend down a little.”
I bent down, as she bent over, slipping the pantyhose from her legs. I was so close, I could smell her warm, natural scent as well as hints of Chanel. It was intoxicating. When she stepped out of the hose, she nearly lost her balance, making us both falter and for an instant I opened my eyes and saw her looking at me. I quickly closed my eyes again.
“Sorry,” she whispered huskily.
“It’s all right.”
“Whew,” she said when it was over. I heard her smoothing her skirt down. “You can open your eyes now.”
I opened my eyes and her face was red as she said, “I think I’ll go bare legged rather than wear hose.”
That was a good idea. I wasn’t sure I could handle another moment with my hand under her skirts. I smiled at our reflection in the large mirror and straightened my tie. Keep it clean, Philip.
She smiled and said nervously, “It’s not like I’m the Duchess of Cambridge, after all.”
I didn’t understand the reference. “I beg your pardon?”
“Kate Middleton. The Duchess of Cambridge. She’s not allowed to go bare legged in public. She has to wear hose. It’s a royal rule.”
“Is it really?”
“That’s what I’ve read online,” she said.
“Well,” I said. “I have never noticed, although the Duchess always looks lovely.”
She gasped, “You’ve met her?”
I nodded. “I’ve been introduced to her and Will, although I am not on a first name basis, by any means. We’ve spoken a few times when they’ve stayed at one of the Nilsson hotels.” As the Vice President of Business Development, I had met members of many royal families over the years.
W. J. whistled. “Wow.”
“What?”
“You and I live in very different worlds.”
CHAPTER FIVE
WINNIE
“Tell me about your fiancé.”
It was almost three o’clock and we were sitting at an outdoor table at a restaurant on the River Walk, waiting for our meal. We sat right by the water. “Is that one of the questions?” I asked, referring to the list of questions in our information packet.
“No. I’m just interested.”
“Well, his name is Shawn.”
“What does he look like?”
“He’s about your height, but his hair is lighter.” He probably weighed a little more than Philip, too. Shawn wasn’t overweight, he just wasn’t as muscular and trim as Philip.
“What does he do for a living?”
“He owns a Tex Mex restaurant in town.”
“Which one? Have I heard of it?”
“Probably not. There’s just the one location. It’s called Alamo Beans.”
Philip smiled, amused. “Alamo Beans?”
I agreed that it was an amusing name, but sometimes quirky names worked for restaurants, making them memorable. Besides, not everyone was lucky to be born with the last name of Nilsson and inherit a ton of five-star hotels. Shawn was a self-made man, and I admired that. I said, “It’s a vegetarian Tex Mex restaurant. Absolutely no animal products.”
Roses from a Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (Lone Star Billionaires, #2) Page 3