Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1)

by Celia Kennedy

  “Well, I’m sure they’re disappointed. I’ll hope to see you in December, then,” said Des, no doubt warning me off from attending the wedding as well.

  “Thank you for stopping by. I see Ms. Portman looking this way. Perhaps you’d like to rejoin her?” I had an edge to my voice.

  “Yes, well, it was nice to meet you again, Liam. And, as always, a pleasure to see you, Charlotte. Enjoy your meal.” Des waved as he turned toward his table.

  “Excuse me,” I said to Liam a few moments later. I fled to the bathroom at a dignified pace. Once safely inside the cubicle, I sat down and took inventory of my body. I was sweating profusely, devolving into a quivering mass again. Feeling absolutely confused, I sat until the fear left me and the sweat dried.

  The most pressing thought on my mind was, “Why hadn’t I told Liam about this ridiculous situation?”

  The moment of truth had arrived.

  Leaving the cubicle, I used a wet paper towel to wipe myself down as I muttered, “I need a shower!” I tidied up what was left of my makeup, and, with shaking hands, I brushed out my hair before pinning it up with some hairclips from my purse. I skeptically surveyed myself and decided it would have to do.

  With my hand on the door, I took in a deep breath, squared my shoulders, exhaled, and walked at a dignified pace back to the table. I saw faces swivel toward me. After I sat down at the table, Liam took one look at me and suggested we pay the bill. I surveyed him. In his eyes there was a hint of concern. “That would be really great,” I said quietly.

  I didn’t know exactly what I was going to say, but, in that moment, I knew that I was deeply in love with Liam Molloy.

  We walked to my apartment building hand in hand in silence. I dashed a few looks at him, wondering what his thoughts were. For the moment, he seemed content to look in windows, at people, the sidewalk—everywhere but at me. I couldn’t blame him. His brain must be firing a thousand questions. At this point, the obvious thing to do was to answer any questions he asked honestly.

  “Would you like to pack a bag and come back to the hotel tonight? Or would you rather stay home?” Liam asked, once we were standing outside front my door.

  “I’ll quickly pack an overnight bag and come back for more tomorrow. Okay?” I answered over-anxiously.

  “Perfect,” he said quietly with a soft smile.

  Within an hour we were sitting in his hotel room, and I was sipping water I’d taken from the mini-bar, lost in thought. Liam was on the phone to room service, ordering what he thought we’d need to make it through the evening.

  “Would you mind if I had a shower?” I asked, deferring bravery.

  “That’s fine, but there’s a fabulous tub in there. You might like to check it out,” he said calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened. Taking my hand, he led me to the cavernous bathroom.

  “Wow, look at the size of this place. It’s huge. I could go swimming in here,” I exclaimed. Continuing more quietly, I added, “I really would love a bath.” I needed to hide and sort out my thoughts.

  Liam started to fill the tub. “I think there’s some form of bubble bath here, if you’d like,” he said, pointing to the basket on the bathroom counter. I picked out a citrus-scented version and dribbled some in under the running water. Then he disappeared to the other room.

  Once the tub was half-full, I shed my clothes and poked a toe into the water. A little hot, perfect! I submerged myself while Liam wandered around the hotel room, doing who knew what. My mind wandered down various paths but kept returning to wishing like hell that I’d taken everyone’s advice and told him at the beginning. Then it would have been funny and weird, not weird and bad.

  True to their word, room service knocked at the door twenty minutes later. I heard muffled voices in the outer room and then the silence returned. I was contemplating my evacuation from the tub when the bathroom door opened.

  Careful not to slip on the wet floor, Liam maneuvered the room service cart next to the tub. It was loaded with desserts, a bottle of sparkling water, two glasses, and a bottle of white wine. He left momentarily, returned in his birthday suit, and then stepped into the water. “Eat this,” he ordered, handing me a forkful of dense chocolate cake. It contained marvelous healing powers. “What do you think we ought to do before I leave?” he asked softly, licking the remnants of the last bite of chocolate cake from my lips.

  “I’m pretty happy right here.” My response slid on the back of a lazy sigh.

  ***

  A long while later, we lay in bed, limbs entwined. Liam’s hand was tangled in my hair, stroking my head. I looked up into his beautiful green eyes and said, “I love you.” I was fearless.

  “I love you, too,” he replied.

  It was as if we had said it a million times, it was so comfortable. I folded into him and fell into a peaceful sleep.

  ***

  At work the next day, I immediately had a conference call with Marian, Kathleen, and Hillary. Quickly, I filled them in on meeting Des Bannerman outside the nightclub, including my accidentally scratching his cheek and finished with the prior night’s encounter.

  “That was you? The tabloids in Britain were full of trash talk… Brynn Attacks Des After Finding Him with a Prostitute… You know, that kind of thing,” Marian filled me in.

  “Don’t tell me stuff like that. It’s bad enough to know I did it! Did you see him on The Tonight Show?” I asked.

  “Who watches The Tonight Show? I like the other fella, older guy. What’s his name?” Marian asked.

  “Dallin Jones,” I answered.

  “Yes, well, if we’re done discussing talk shows, what do you think he’s up to?” Hillary asked, sensibly.

  “I have no idea. I can’t ask Tiziana to sort this out. I’m sure the last thing she needs is a day-by-day accounting of my restraining order violations. That and the fact that it puts her in an awkward situation.”

  “Well, at least Liam was there. What did he do when Des Bannerman casually strolled over and started chatting you up?” Marian wondered.

  “Well, it’s actually hard to describe, because I was busy trying not to throw up. Half of my brain was trying to figure out how to flee, and the other half was trying to figure out what Des was up to. Liam made small talk with him while I was paralyzed with fear. Then Des asked me if I was going to Saint-Tropez. I haven’t even told Liam about Saint-Tropez. After he went back to his table, I rushed to the bathroom and tried to regroup.” I tried to finish the narration on a humorous note.

  “What did Liam do when you came back?” Hillary asked.

  I described how gentle and kind he’d been. “He still hasn’t asked a single question. I tried to tell him, but I just wasn’t brave enough. What if he hates me for lying? If the shoe was on the other foot, I would have been asking questions the second we were alone.”

  We’d been on the phone long enough that we all needed to get on with work. Everyone demanded that I call them the instant something happened.

  ***

  Over the next few days, life took the pleasant pattern of waking up early enough to have a leisurely morning, dashing off to work with a phone call or two from Liam during the day, and then evenings spent at various restaurants throughout the city. The late evenings were passionate, romantic, and perfect.

  Perfect except for the lingering issue of my relationship with Des Bannerman.

  The summer heat was driving diners to sit at outdoor cafés. After wandering past many crowded nightspots looking for dinner, Liam and I decided on the Blue Water Grill. I was drinking a lovely combination of prosecco, lemon juice, and crème de cassis—a Prosecco Royale—while Liam sipped his favorite beer when the heat really turned up.

  “Charlotte, I’m leaving in two days, and there’s something I would like to know.” He spoke calmly, adjusting the cocktail napkin as he spoke.

  Sensing that the moment had arrived, I snatched up my own napkin and began torturing it. “Ask away!” I said with a lightness I was far from feeli
ng.

  “Charlotte, what was Des Bannerman talking about the other night? What’s happening in Saint-Tropez? Why would you both be there? And now that we’re talking about it, how do you know Des Bannerman?” He remained calm.

  “Liam, can we go back to the hotel now?” I asked, shredding the napkin into a million pieces.

  “Charlotte, I was hoping that you would tell me on your own. If you aren’t ready, that’s fine, but you don’t have to distract me by having sex with me. You could just say you aren’t ready to talk about it,” he answered, with a hint of humor in his voice.

  “No, Liam. We need a computer for me to explain it to you. My laptop is at the hotel,” I explained.

  “Oh, right. Sorry,” he said a little stiffly.

  Half an hour later, we were sitting at the desk in the hotel room. I was connected to the Internet and searched for “Des Bannerman Chamonix France December.” Several links to newspapers and tabloids popped up. I clicked on the Daily Mail website and slid the laptop toward him. He scrolled down the pictures on the right side of the screen, slowly looking at them and reading the captions. An eternity passed, and then he turned to look at me with his right hand covering his mouth. “That’s you?”

  “Yes,” I answered. The laughter that followed was both a relief and an annoyance.

  “I can’t believe it!” Liam said for the umpteenth time. His eyes flickered between me and the computer screen, saying, “Wow,” before returning to scrolling through articles that were full of lurid innuendo. I was torn between wanting to explain everything and wanting to run out of the room, never to be seen again.

  After finishing the mini-bar vodka bottles, I finally worked up enough courage to face the music. Reaching over, I pushed the lid of the laptop down. Liam’s gaze remained focused on the air where the screen had once been, his hands limply resting on the chair armrests. We sat in silence for a moment, and then suddenly both of Liam’s eyebrows shot up, his face showing signs that he had returned to the present. I knew that the time for full disclosure had arrived.

  “Okay… So you’re the girl in all the photographs. This certainly explains how you know Des Bannerman,” Liam quickly reviewed.

  I got up off the bed and wandered the room. I heard chuckling coming from behind me.

  A bit peeved that he found humor in this, I said a bit huffily, “Well, I’m glad you think it’s funny.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t funny at the time, but you don’t seem to be the kind of person to stay angry. Besides, nobody believes these things. Not to be unkind, but has anyone asked you if you’re the woman in the pictures with Des Bannerman in the last three months?” Liam asked, his voice still holding traces of laughter.

  Perching on the edge of the bed with my head resting in my hands, I quietly contemplated his question. “No, no one has asked me in the last three months. However, that doesn’t mean that there weren’t repercussions or that it’s all over. When it happens to you, it’s a bit traumatic. The photographers and paparazzi were a walk in the park compared to what happened afterwards.”

  “What happened afterwards?” Liam asked more seriously, finally recognizing that there was more to this than a photo of me pointing at Des’s underpants.

  Taking a deep breath, I found myself telling Liam the whole embarrassing story, starting with my crush on Des Bannerman and how we had searched high and low for him in Chamonix. When I described using Tiziana as bait, he interrupted, “That’s a real friend. I’d like to see her in action.”

  “Yes, well, back to the story.” Continuing with the saga as I paced around the hotel room, I reached the part about being served the restraining order. He listened intently with no more interruptions.

  “Then, when I returned to work after the holidays, I had to deal with Faith Clarkson. You’ve met her. You have some sense of what she’s like. She wanted me to recruit Des and all his buddies as clients. And if that wasn’t enough, I had to deal with phone calls from my parents, my sisters, friends. It was awful.” Gesturing to the computer, I asked, “How would you like to be known as the guy who threw himself under Angelina Jolie?”

  “Well, that’s a stupid question. No man minds being known for that!” Liam quipped. When I took a breath to speak, he raised a hand and said, “Hang on! I’m trying to put all this together. Tiziana helped you to meet Des Bannerman by flirting with Des’s mate Ted. Now, Tiziana is engaged to be married to Ted. You’ve had a row with her, from which you’ve just made up, and now Des Bannerman appears on the scene talking about Saint-Tropez.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  His eyes implored me to fill in the rest of the details.

  “So… he filed a restraining order against me while I was still in Chamonix! Before you ask me why, I have no idea. I was stunned. If I had received it two days earlier, I would have understood. At that point, I probably seemed like a stalker. But just before the pictures were taken of me lying under him in the snow, we’d been having this great conversation. Marian had told him I had a crush on him, but I had assured him I knew he was in love with Brynn Roberts, and it had been fun talking with him. He said he had enjoyed talking with me, that he liked my candor. I’m positive at that point he believed me and that it was all just friendly.”

  “So, you’ve no idea why he went to such lengths?” Liam asked. It wasn’t necessarily doubt I heard in his voice, but I did hear something wanting.

  “Trust me when I say that I’ve scoured my brain looking for anything that I could have said or done. I keep coming up with nothing,” I said. Looking at Liam, I realized now was the time to confess.

  Pulling up a chair to sit beside him, I owned up. “The restraining order requires no contact of any kind, and I have to stay five hundred feet away from him. It was Des Bannerman we ran into on our first date, outside the Bourgeois Pig.” I told him the story from beginning to end: the women in the bathroom and my scratching Des’s face. I sighed when I finished, taking a long look at him. He seemed amazingly calm, so I continued. “When you asked me if that was Des, I just panicked! I was still freaking out inside, wondering when the police or more lawyers were going to show up. How could I tell you all this on our first date? I didn’t want you to think I was a nutcase.”

  “So what do you suppose was behind him coming to the table at the restaurant?” Liam asked me, now seeming as confused as me. “I still don’t get the Saint-Tropez thing either,” he added.

  “I have no idea why he came to the table at the restaurant. Probably to get me to leave! I tell you, his ego is of gargantuan proportions. He just decided he doesn’t like me and turned my life into hell. As for Saint-Tropez, Tiziana and Ted are throwing an engagement party for themselves there, and because of Des, I can’t go, and I probably won’t be able to go the wedding, either, because he’s Ted’s best man!” I finished in a rush.

  “Truly bizarre!” Liam responded.

  At some point I said, “I’m sorry. I only made it worse.”

  I received a soft kiss on the top of my head. “Don’t worry. I understand, really I do.”

  Liam pulled me down beside him on the bed. I curled into his side while he stared at the ceiling for a while. Worn out from the conversation and months of dread and drama, I had almost fallen asleep when Liam said, “It’s unfortunate that Ted and Tiziana are in the middle of all this, but I have to believe that, if she’s the friend you think she is, it’ll all get sorted out. She wouldn’t have invited you to Saint-Tropez otherwise.”

  “I suppose. It may be too much to hope for, but can we talk about something else? I’m really tired of talking about Des Bannerman. I might actually hate him.”

  “Let me see if I can distract you.” His fingers gently tilted my lips to his, and, with that kiss, the passion that followed was a quiet passion. The kind that builds a fortress around you, a harbor, a safe place.

  Later, once all our energy had been spent, Liam spooned me, molding his body to mine after arranging blankets and pillows to create the perfect nest. W
ith his right hand trailing up and down my hip, he whispered in my ear, “I love you.”

  “I love you,” I squeaked between tears and sniffles. Finally, I had shed all secrets and fears, and Liam loved me. What more could there be?

  My tears were finally from joy.

  Chapter Ten

  WE DECIDED TO SPEND Liam’s last day in New York City sightseeing; our first stop was a tourist shop so that he could take home a few tacky presents for his family.

  He bought a shirt that said Yank my Doodle, It’s a Dandy for his father.

  “I really have to meet your dad someday,” I replied when he held the shirt up. Never in a million years would I buy a shirt like that for my father.

  “He’ll wear it down to the pub on Saturday night just to mortify my mam,” he said, admiration in his voice.

  Our next stop was the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “The place is enormous, how are we to see it all?” Liam asked me.

  “My strategy when I come here is to pick an artist, genre, theme, or color.”

  “Sounds perfect. Why don’t we look only at paintings that have blue in them?” Liam teased.

  “Well, you’ll have to narrow it down. Do you mean cerulean, teal, peacock blue, Dutch blue, Wedgewood blue, or baby blue?” I asked, as seriously as possible.

  “Cerulean.” He took my hand and led me down one of the many long corridors; we ended up in the Drawing and Prints Gallery. “There must be some cerulean in here!”

  I leaned toward him and asked quietly, “Only one question—what does cerulean look like?”

  Liam chuckled as he threw his arm around my shoulder. “Hmmm, it lies somewhere between cyan and blue. Not azure or sky blue, though. Definitely on the green side of blue.” He was matter-of-fact as his head swiveled around the room.

  Suddenly, a gong reverberated in my head, shocking me for a moment. This man was a graphic artist. Of course he would know what cerulean was. Quickly, the conversation with Tiziana about what I did or didn’t know about Liam came back to me. As we got a closer look at the pieces occupying the walls, I took the opportunity to learn a little more about him. While we wandered, he vaguely explained the skills necessary to be a graphic artist.