by Kim Izzo
“Your wish is my command.” I laughed. Not that I had a choice. Still, it pleased me that he had noticed my abilities at the gallery. Of course his clients’ wives didn’t take to Tatiana; all they saw were two large breasts aiming for their husbands’ wallets. I was no threat to them; I didn’t want married men. But there was a slight problem.
“My only concern is my clothes,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “I packed for skiing in St. Moritz, not socializing in London. I have a few things, but looking at this calendar I hope you like some of my pencil skirts a whole lot because you’ll be seeing them a whole lot.”
He pondered this for a moment and said brightly, “Can’t you go shopping?”
I scrunched up my face and shook my head. I had arrived at the point of no escape and no excuse. I had to come clean, or at least almost clean.
“The truth is, Scott,” I began carefully and sat down on the gold velvet sofa and patted the cushion beside me for him to sit, which he did. “When my grandmother died, money wasn’t part of the inheritance.”
He nodded slowly, digesting this new information. I shifted nervously on the sofa, not sure how he’d take this.
“I don’t mind wearing the same outfits,” I offered. “Just as long as you don’t mind.”
He kissed me gently, reassuringly. “Don’t fret, Kate,” he said kindly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of; there are lots of noble families like yours in this very situation. Let me take you shopping. We can go tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,” I said slyly, so as not to appear too excited by the prospect of shopping with a billionaire.
“Don’t argue,” he said. “Now get changed; we have an afternoon tea to get to.”
The next week flew by in a series of lunches and dinners with different couples. Mostly it was endless talk about the recession, which thoroughly bored me as it would anyone who had already lost everything. But I was just as determined to please Scott as I was at the Serpentine arts gala and was charming and effusive toward him and his guests.
In between his so-called business socials we went shopping. He took me to the best department stores—Harrods, Selfridges, Harvey Nicks—but he also gave me the credit card tour of the flagship boutiques: Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada, and Hermès. I’m not going to lie. Being able to pick what you want and not care about the price tag was an experience I could get very used to. But I didn’t go crazy; I just picked up one or two things I really liked. I didn’t want to come across as greedy. Even when I tried to pay for things, which wasn’t often, Scott never let me.
“Money is vulgar,” he said. “Women shouldn’t touch it.”
I liked his way of thinking.
When we were alone he was warm and romantic. Sex was still gentle and nice, though not too frequent. I wanted to fall in love with him and I wanted him to fall in love with me, yet despite all the positives there was something that seemed to hold both of us back. I decided that I just needed to be patient. Love would come. For his part, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he seemed detached, as if his mind was somewhere else or with someone else. It was a worry that had one solution: Fawn.
“I think he might still be in love with Tatiana,” I called her when I was alone.
“Gosh, I can’t imagine he is. Not after what she did, spying on his e-mails,” she said. “Have you checked for yourself?”
“Fawn! I don’t spy on people. That’s an invasion of privacy,” I shot back. Her suggestion made me laugh. Fight fire with fire, I suppose.
“Suit yourself. It’s probably your imagination anyway. You’re probably too clingy,” she advised. “Pull back!”
“Pull back? I was just getting somewhere!” I said.
“I know what I’m doing! Play hard to get. Now I must dash.”
She hung up before I could remind her that I’d already slept with the man and was staying in his hotel room. “Hard to get” doesn’t work when the chase is over. I sighed. This required thought. I paced back and forth, trying to imagine what would pass for playing hard to get in my situation. What did Scott want that I could stop giving so easily? It wasn’t sex. It wasn’t money. Then it hit me, of course! I knew what to do. I crossed through the suite to the den where Scott was working on his computer. We had plans that evening with yet another power couple.
“Scott,” I said calmly. “I’m going to have to cancel on you tonight.”
He wheeled around in his chair with an alarmed look on his face. “Why?”
“I have things to do,” I said vaguely and turned and walked away and counted. One. Two. Three. And sure enough the sound of his footsteps coming after me followed.
“Kate,” he said and turned me around and kissed me. “Are you not feeling well?”
“I’m perfect,” I said and pecked him on the cheek. “Enjoy yourself.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. I could feel his eyes watching me as I walked into our bedroom and shut the door.
The next day I got up and was out of the hotel before he was awake. I strolled along the Thames and sat on a park bench reading a magazine before coming back around noon. He was at his desk but hurried over when he heard me.
“Are you all right?” he asked and sat me down on the sofa.
“Yes, fine,” I said and smiled again.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all,” I said breezily.
“Are you sure? If I’ve offended you or something—”
“Scott, relax, I’m fine. I was feeling a little claustrophobic, that’s all.”
He seemed taken aback by this. “I’ve crowded you too much.” He nodded. “Forcing you to socialize with a bunch of bores. I’m sorry, Kate. It’s just that I could never bring Tatiana anywhere and with you, it’s so easy to mix business with pleasure.”
I perked up at this, then remembered my hard-to-get act.
“I’m very independent, Scott,” I said solemnly.
“Yes, I know you are.” He smiled. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s cancel tonight’s dinner and let’s just you and me do something romantic.”
“Hmmm. Like what?”
“Room service.”
That was just the beginning. Fawn knew her stuff. The more I pulled away the closer Scott wanted to be. And as much as I wanted to bring up Tatiana I resisted. I couldn’t let my insecurity show; that’s what did her in. And believe it or not, I didn’t check his computer when he left me alone. I wasn’t going to stoop to her level, either. It was too risky.
From then on and for the next three weeks, Scott wined and dined me like I’ve never been wined and dined before. We were inseparable. We went to the theater, the opera, and yet more charity balls. I was having fun for the first time in months. I was developing real feelings for him and I hoped he felt the same for me. But try as I might, it wasn’t love I felt, not yet, but it was enough to make me think love was still possible one day. The only fly in the ointment was a confused e-mail from Marianne. Despite being on maternity leave, her travel editor had sent her a flurry of angry e-mails from Badrutt’s Palace. I had neglected to file any stories on the hotel and naturally, the hotel’s owners and Helga, the PR girl, were upset. It’s not that I didn’t want to write about the hotel, it’s just that I’d been so busy with life in London that I’d forgotten and now it had blown up in my face. If I’d filed on time, then Marianne would never have found out that I’d lied to the hotel about my assignment. Fortunately, Web sites always need content, so she agreed to let me write the stories, as long as she didn’t have to pay me. Which was fine with me since Scott seemed well equipped to support me. Still, I felt bad and had sent a very apologetic e-mail to her and the travel editor. I’d hardly been in touch with Marianne or Brandon since Christmas when I ignored their advice and spent my last dime on a flight to Switzerland. I was a bad friend. I’d have to make it up to them somehow.
It was the last week of February. London was its usual gray self and I was out on my daily solitary walk.
I found it useful to maintain my air of independence and aloofness whenever possible and had taken to walking alone each morning. It had been a month since I’d come to London. I had managed to become Scott’s girlfriend but not much else. The word “love” was never uttered by either of us, not even once. This could go on forever. I was living a sort of suspended life, an ongoing vacation, which, despite deriving some pleasure from it, I mostly had a lingering sense of unease. And it didn’t offer me any security, no home and no future. Ann’s blue sofa, unemployment, and my mother’s nonstop bingo habit were still perilously close to becoming permanent fixtures unless something changed. Fawn had been harder and harder to reach. I was convinced she’d met a man, but she denied it. But now was an emergency and I called her once more.
“Fawn,” I said anxiously. “I’ve been dying to talk to you.”
“Sorry, Kate darling,” she purred. “I’ve had my hands full. What’s happening?”
I told her and she hemmed and hawed. “I don’t know how to take it to the next level,” I said desperately. “How do I make him propose?”
“There’s only one way,” she said knowingly. “It will require you to risk everything.”
“Yes,” I said cautiously. “Just tell me.”
“Leave him.”
When I got to the suite, I found Scott poring over a floor plan.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Come take a look,” he said.
I looked at the plan. It was an apartment, an enormous one with five bedrooms, each with a fireplace, an oversize kitchen and dining area, and an extremely large media room.
“It’s a palace,” I said.
“It used to be,” he remarked with a wink and handed me a brochure with colored interior photos. “But the family has to sell it. Foreclosure. I want to snap it up.”
The apartment was stunning, with high ceilings and tons of windows.
“Poor them, lucky you,” I said feeling sad at another family losing their home.
“I hope you like it,” he said.
“Yes, it’s gorgeous,” I said.
“Good, because I’ve just bought it.” He smiled.
“Congratulations,” I said. It was now or never to launch Fawn’s plan and I cleared my throat. “I have to pack.”
“Pack?” he said, and gave me a puzzled look.
“I’m going back to New York,” I said and walked toward the closet and began to pull my clothes off the rack, carefully choosing what was actually mine. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” he said and stood leaning on the threshold.
“I can’t be like Tatiana,” I said and gave him a look to convey I meant it. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, but I have a life. I can’t just be your trophy girlfriend. I want more.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time and just stood watching me pack.
“I have an appointment, to close the sale on the flat,” he said quickly. “Don’t go until I’m back. Promise?”
I nodded and kept shoving my wardrobe into my suitcase. I had finished packing and sat on the edge of our bed, holding my old plane ticket home and wondering why I’d ever listened to Fawn. Then at last Scott returned. He smiled when he saw me perched on the bed ready to leave.
“You are a fast packer,” he remarked and sat down beside me.
“You were gone a long time,” I said.
“Was I?” he asked. “I suppose I was. But I’m very selective and that takes time.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, feeling myself shake with nerves. I didn’t want to go home to Ann’s apartment. I wanted to stay here. Maybe I should backpedal and tell him I was overreacting and that I could handle being his girlfriend. But before I could speak he pulled something from his pocket; it was a dark blue velvet box.
“Will you marry me, Kate?” he said earnestly.
I took the box from his hand and opened it. Inside was a gorgeous square-cut diamond ring.
“I can’t believe this,” I said, completely stunned. I had envisioned this moment for months but never imagined it would happen. How could Fawn have known? I stared at the ring.
“Is that all the answer I’m going to get?” he joked. “I know this is fast; maybe you want to think about it a bit …”
“Yes, I mean no, I mean yes; yes, I will marry you,” I shrieked and threw my arms around him. To hell with cool and aloof. Despite proposing, he still didn’t say he loved me but that didn’t seem to matter. We just basked in the whole thrill of the moment and the realization that we both got what we wanted, or at least a large portion of it.
And that was how I came to be engaged to Scott Madewell. My friends said it couldn’t be done but I had done it.
“And so you own a flat in London?” Fawn asked, perched on the edge of her seat. We were having tea at Claridges; she’d flown up from Italy the moment I called with my news.
“Not yet, he’s finalizing all the paperwork after the wedding,” I explained. “But that’s not all; once we’re married I’ll be getting my own stock portfolio.”
I sat back in the chair, exhausted by it all. I had come very far, very fast, and I was overwhelmed.
“Have you told him you’re not really a titled aristocrat yet?” she asked darkly.
“No, and don’t you, either,” I teased, but meant it.
“I would never!” she said, acting insulted. “But what are you going to do? You have to tell him.”
“I will, in time,” I said, then added gravely, “At least he knows the truth about my financial situation.”
“You okay?” Fawn asked, seeing the gloom fall across my face.
“I don’t know …” I began, then hesitated.
“Go on,” she encouraged.
“Well, it all happened so fast with Scott,” I said cautiously. “It seemed almost too easy. Obviously, you helped. But do men, especially rich ones, really pop the question to someone they barely know? And without mentioning a prenup?”
Fawn waved my worries away with both hands. “Don’t let that concern you. He’s a very successful businessman, he’s used to getting what he wants when he wants it. He decided you’re to be his next wife and when a man like Scott Madewell makes a decision, he acts on it. Besides, it wasn’t that easy. Remember, I was there, you had to slay a Slovenian dragon.”
“That’s not all, Fawn,” I admitted. “He’s never said he loves me.”
Fawn chewed on this briefly. “Do you love him?”
I breathed in deeply. “The truth? Not really.” I spoke slowly as though my honesty were physically painful. “I like him. We enjoy each other’s company. But it’s not the big whirlwind romance that I thought would finally lead me down the aisle.” I hung my head in embarrassment and picked at my plate.
“Don’t worry, he loves you,” she said and put her hand over mine. I looked up at her and she smiled. “And you love him in your way. You’ve been through a lot this past year. You’re not yourself, you’ve said so many times. But you wouldn’t marry a man who couldn’t make you happy. It will be all right.”
“Thanks, Fawn,” I said with a smile. “I needed that.”
“When’s the wedding?” she asked. “I hope I’m invited.”
“Of course you are,” I reassured her. “The wedding is in six weeks. I know that’s coming up quickly, but we don’t want to wait.”
Fawn nodded as if she understood perfectly.
“Can I bring a date?” she asked with a sly grin.
“Of course you can!” I said enthusiastically. “Who is he?”
“I have someone in mind,” she said. “I’m heading back to Italy tomorrow.”
“Italian men can be dangerous,” I teased her.
“Never you mind,” she said. “I’ve seen The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone and it’s nothing like that.”
I hadn’t seen the movie, but I had a feeling I didn’t want to know.
“I can finish my article, too,” I said triumphantly. “Not that I need
the money, but it will be a nice swan song from my journalism career.”
“It will make for fascinating reading,” she said with a grin. “Legions of American women will see you as an inspiration and rich men the world over will be running for cover!”
“They can run but they can’t hide,” I joked, wondering if what happened to me could really happen to anyone else. I thought back to Jennifer’s friends, Tina and Arianna, and wondered how their quest for a rich husband was going. How amusing it was if at forty, I’d beaten them to the punch. Then I thought about the future. How I could help Ann out, give her real backing for her company. I could pay off my mother’s debts. I could even buy my home back. I could, but as I allowed the thought to settle in my mind, I knew that I could never live there again. The memories were too painful. It was time to move on.
“Your grandmother would be very proud of you,” Fawn added sweetly.
“Yes,” I said, feeling a choke of sadness. “All she ever wanted was for me to be happy.” I forced a smile. I had achieved my goal but I was still waiting for the happiness part.
Planning a wedding in six months would be a challenge; six weeks was insane, even when you have loads of money. Location was the hardest to come up with and everywhere in town was taken. We were contemplating an island elopement when Scott said he had a brain wave.
“Let’s hold the wedding at that estate,” he said as I felt the blood drain from my heart. “Where that chap Griff works.”
“Penwick Manor?” I scoffed, hoping to change his mind. “It’s in the country; people would have to travel.”
“It’s a lot closer than St. Barts, and it’s posh enough,” he pointed out. “Besides, I liked him and a wedding party would give the place an influx of cash.”
I admitted that was true. One look at Griff was enough to know that business wasn’t booming. I did love the look of the place. But I didn’t want my wedding to be the scene of any social awkwardness and I hadn’t told Scott about Griff kissing me. Not that I should. It was one kiss and a few flirtatious conversations. I was overreacting.