Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1)

by Celia Kennedy

  Upon returning to my chair, I noticed that the flight attendant had tidied everything up.

  Taylor, who was fussing with her carry-on, asked, “Are you ready?”

  “Abso-bleedin’-lutely!” I squeaked in excitement. Moments later, the wheels touched down on the tarmac.

  Butterflies were swarming in my midsection, and I could feel the beads of perspiration just waiting to ooze out of my pores. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s all going to be fine. He loves you!” I said to myself, as giddy and nervous as a schoolgirl.

  Like sheep, we made our way through customs and baggage claim, finally heading for the doors that separated the International Flight Lounge from the rest of the airport. Taking a deep breath and tugging down my pale blue suit jacket, I let out a deep breath and said, “Here we go.”

  No sooner had we pushed the door open than Liam strode up to us with confidence. He politely greeted Taylor with a peck to the check and then said, “Excuse me.”

  Wrapping me in his arms, he kissed me thoroughly and said, “My god, you’re beautiful.” He took my face in his hands, holding me close for another long moment, and then turned his attention to us both. “Welcome to London, ladies.” My butterflies flitted away.

  Once stowed safely in a taxi, Liam gave the driver Hillary’s address. While he was talking to the cabbie, Taylor quietly said, “Was the stress worth it?”

  I replied through the enormous grin on my face, “Abso-bleedin’-lutely!”

  ***

  At last, the cabbie pulled up in front of Hillary’s house in Chelsea. It was distinctly Victorian architecture: large, square, and symmetrical, with clean lines. “Even her house matches her,” Taylor said after a quick glance out the window. Liam paid the cabbie while we got out. No sooner had we put our fashionably-clad feet on the sidewalk than the front door opened. Hillary, dressed in a tailored white skirt and blouse, offered warm, welcoming hugs.

  Once Liam had divested the cab’s trunk of our luggage, he stretched out his hand to Hillary. “You must be Hillary. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  Hillary gave him a heartfelt smile, squeezed his hand firmly, and replied, “You, as well.” Looking at Charlotte and Taylor, she said, “I’m thrilled to have the company. I hope the chintz doesn’t put you off.” The last bit was tacked on in an unusually self-deprecating way. Hillary appeared to be lightening up.

  The cabbie and Liam struggled to get the luggage into the house while we quietly gossiped about Liam. “Marian is going to wet herself when she meets him. He’s absolutely lovely! I’m not one to comment, but Charlotte, I just have to say, have you looked at his arse?” That comment coming from Hillary left us all shaking in hysterics.

  “It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it?” I agreed as we appreciated it from a distance. Feeling us staring at him, Liam turned around to find the three of us suddenly discussing the surrounding architecture.

  Once safely inside Hillary’s house, we were given the tour, received room assignments, and then took our beverages of choice to sit outside in the back garden. It was the end of July and a perfect summer day. Blue sky, green grass, and flowers stretched around the garden border. We talked about the flight, the last few weeks in New York, and the upcoming months when we’d be setting up the new London office.

  After lazing around there for a good, long while, Hillary suggested lunch. “There’s a terrific place on Brompton Road called Aubaine. Lovely French food, pastries to die for.”

  “I’m in!” Taylor announced. She had a passion for pastries.

  Not long after, we stood in front of the restaurant, admiring its décor through large glass windows that stretched along the street front. The interior exuded an elegant balance between rustic and contemporary. The heavenly scent of bread wafted out into the summer air, and my stomach began to make unbelievable noises.

  “Quick, we’d better get food into her before she’s useless to me later,” Liam announced. Hillary’s eyebrows shot heavenwards, and Taylor giggled.

  We roamed in front of the boulangerie, admiring the baguettes and pastries. After waiting fifteen minutes for a table, all four of us were climbing the walls, made ravenous by the sights and smells. By the time we were finally seated and handed menus, we were in a state of desperation. “My god, does it get any better than this?” Taylor gasped. “This is what England is supposed to be like. I can’t tell you how excited I am!” I decided it was a combination of starvation and freedom from her mother that made Taylor seem nutty. Liam looked at me questioningly. I shrugged my shoulders and gave him a “roll with it” look.

  We all studied the menu with great care. Unable to take it anymore, I slapped down the menu and gnawed on a breadstick from the basket that had recently been placed on the table. I moaned and groaned with each bite.

  Taylor peered at me from over her menu. “What are you doing? If you don’t quit making those sounds, we’re going to get thrown out.”

  Liam leaned over and growled into my ear, “If you keep eating that breadstick like that, I’m going to be forced to throw your skirt up over your head right here. Show a little mercy! Eat your food, and think of a reasonable excuse for us to go our separate ways. As charming as Hillary and Taylor are, I want you, alone!”

  The meal was dutifully ordered and truly appreciated. Due to hunger and the lunchtime crowd, lingering wasn’t really an option. Liam paid for lunch, and we thanked him profusely for having rescued us several times that day. As we arrived back at the house in Chelsea, Hillary and Taylor solved my problem.

  “I’m sorry to run off on you so soon, but I have a few things I really must take care of this afternoon,” Hillary announced as we passed through the front door of the house. “You won’t mind, though. I’m sure you’re knackered. A lovely nap will do you wonders.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Taylor announced.

  A few minutes later, Hillary was out the door, and Taylor was about to head up the stairs to her room. She said over her ascending shoulder, “Whatever you do, make sure you’re here for dinner. I like Hillary, but I don’t want to be left alone with her on my first night.” Liam and I made small talk until we heard her bedroom door shut.

  Liam grabbed my hand and started to drag me toward the front door. “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Somewhere that, when I make you scream, no one will come bursting through the door!” Happily, I followed him into the afternoon sunshine.

  ***

  The bleating of the alarm clock woke me from a deep and dreamless sleep, and, through the open curtain, I could see that the sun was beginning to drop toward the horizon. My brain was muddled. Struggling to put an end to the noise, I rolled over to find the clock, but instead looked into deep green eyes. Liam reached over me to turn off the alarm.

  “Hey!” I whispered.

  “Hey, yourself. Do you feel better?” Liam’s voice was soft and velvety.

  “I feel absolutely perfect, just a little tired.” I tried to smother a yawn. “What time is it?”

  “It’s 6:00. We have enough time to have a shower and get back to Hillary’s. That is, if that’s what you want to do.” Liam pushed my hair off my shoulder and onto the pillow.

  “It isn’t really what I want to do. I want to stay under the blankets, order room service, and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, I promised Taylor I wouldn’t leave her alone with Hillary tonight. But don’t worry, things will be more settled soon, and then I can come and go as I please,” I explained between kisses.

  “I hope we don’t see the people who are in the next room. These walls are paper thin. I wasn’t really expecting that much screaming. You’ve lived up to the reputation of Americans being loud!”

  Blushing red as a beet, I pressed my face against his chest and said, “It’s either move to a hotel with thicker walls or don’t do that thing with your tongue. I can’t be held responsible for my behavior under those conditions.”

  Pulling me even closer, Liam nibbled my ears. “Well, then, I gue
ss I’ll be looking for a different hotel tomorrow.”

  Groaning and pushing gently against his chest, I said, “Okay, you’re going to have to quit that for now, or else Taylor will be pissed because we’ll be very late. Shower with me?”

  “Absolutely. I never miss an opportunity to lather up breasts!” Liam swung his legs over the edge of the bed and, moving toward the bathroom, gave me a full view of his backside. Looking at it, I knew it was a backside I would never grow tired of admiring.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE FIRST WEEK at Faith Clarkson International’s London offices was a hectic one. The managing director was relying heavily on the team from Faith Clarkson New York.

  Taylor and I came and went at odd hours of the day, rarely seeing Hillary. Working for the Institute of Philanthropy, Hillary kept odd hours herself. We made a habit of having a nightcap at the end of the day, before stumbling to our respective bedrooms.

  After staying in London for two days, Liam returned to Ireland with the promise of coming back for the weekend. In the end, it looked as if it would be a working weekend for me.

  Sitting in the back garden on a teak chaise, watching the sunset, I said, “I just want to do nothing. I’ve been chasing my tail for months. What was I thinking? I’m going to have to call Liam and let him know.” I spoke into my glass, sipping the remnants of the sangria Hillary had made.

  “Another?” Hillary asked, reaching for the pitcher of ruby red liquid and citrus slices.

  “Thanks, but no. I’d better call Liam before it gets much later.” I felt like a six-year-old who’d been denied her favorite toy. “Depending on what he says, I might have another when I come back!” I called out to her as I went into the house to use the phone.

  The sitting room looked like the cover of the British arm of Homes and Garden. Once there, I cozied myself up in a chair, tucked my feet underneath me, and dialed Liam’s phone number with dread.

  “Hello! My god, am I looking forward to the weekend. What’s the plan for shedding ourselves of your roommates and our clothes?” Liam asked.

  After a lengthy conversation, mostly comprised of me whining about work, we decided that Liam would still come for the weekend but bring his younger brother, Michael. The two Molloys would find entertainment during the day and then, on Saturday night, we would all go out.

  As we were hanging up, I daringly said, “I’ve been discreetly researching hotels known for soundproofed rooms.”

  Liam chuckled. “Look for one that comes equipped with toys, as well.”

  My confidence fled me. Shocked, I was stumped for what to say so I went with, “Oh, I forgot. Marcus will be here this weekend. Taylor told me this afternoon. It will be fun.”

  Certain that I had just personified the uptight-American stereotype, my guess was confirmed when I heard Liam laughing on the other end, “Are you suggesting a foursome?” I sat in dead silence, not knowing what to say.

  His deep voice now soothing, Liam said, “We’ll work on your phone sex skills. We can practice this weekend.” At my continued silence he added, “I love you, truly, madly, deeply, you silly woman.”

  “I love you, too,” I said before quickly hanging up. My cheeks flamed in mortification.

  Walking to the back garden, I saw that Taylor had made it home. “A glass for me as well, please,” I said as Hillary poured her a sangria. Taylor looked dead on her feet. “How was the rest of your day?”

  “Work, work, and more work. I can’t believe how much work. My mother had damned well better give us all excellent bonuses, pay raises, extended vacations, and a thank-you gift. I’m exhausted, and it’s only day number four.” Happy to sit back and listen to Taylor whine, Hillary and I sipped our drinks. “Well, enough of that, what have you been doing all day, Hillary? Saving the world from starvation?” Taylor asked, not unkindly.

  Hillary, who had been quietly listening and staring off into the night sky, turned her head and remarked, “Oh, nothing so noble today. Just a little shopping trip and travel planning.”

  “Where are you going?” Taylor asked.

  Sitting perfectly still, my breath caught in my throat, and my quickly-recovered peace evaporated in the evening air. Taylor cast a quick glance in my direction as she put two and two together. “Charlotte, I’m so sorry! I completely forgot. Would you like to talk about it?”

  “I certainly think we should,” Hillary interjected. “I think you should be going to the tanning salon and buying a ticket to Saint-Tropez. Charlotte, this is all so ridiculous. Tiziana is terribly disappointed. You really must go.”

  “First of all, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m so swamped with work I couldn’t imagine going, even without the other issue. Secondly, the other issue will be there, and I don’t wish to deal with it. So, no, I’m not going.”

  Taylor looked anxiously at both of us, not sure what to say.

  “Charlotte, Tiziana is getting married only once. It isn’t just a trip to the beach. This means the world to her. You know Tiziana better than all of us. How could you possibly put five hundred feet first? We’ll help you. It won’t be perfectly simple, but it won’t be the challenge you think. If you’d be willing,” Hillary added.

  Changing the subject, I said, “So, it turns out that Liam is coming this weekend after all, and he’d like to bring his younger brother Michael with him. Are you available to go out on the town with us on Saturday night?”

  “Oh, and Marcus will be here, too. He and I will stay at a hotel,” Taylor offered.

  “We have plenty of room. No one needs to stay at a hotel. It might be snug around the breakfast table, but I’m all for it,” Hillary replied enthusiastically, letting the subject be changed.

  The rest of the evening was pleasantly spent planning the weekend’s events. Eventually, Hillary announced she was off to bed. “I want to look my best!” she declared as she left us to ourselves.

  “I’m sure not a single hair on her head has ever been out of place,” Taylor remarked when she was out of hearing range.

  “Well, let’s see if Michael can muss it up,” I giggled, all thoughts of Saint-Tropez having drifted from my mind.

  ***

  Friday morning found me sorting through a mountain of paper. Pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes, I contemplated for the thousandth time if taking this job had been the craziest thing I’d ever done. While making a mental pro and con list, the telephone began to ring—the European version: ring, ring, pause, ring, ring, pause. “Where the hell is what’s-her-name?” I muttered, trying to find the phone among the stacks of paper.

  “Hello? Charlotte Young’s office,” I finally answered after five rings, rubbing my knee that had banged into the drawer.

  “Charlotte, it’s me. Tiziana!”

  Hearing her familiar voice brought a smile to my face. Relaxing back into my chair, I said, “Tiziana, how are you? Thanks so much for calling. I’m sorry! I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance.”

  “Well, you can make it up to me. We’re flying into London for the weekend. I’m dying to see you, so I told Ted that we must come. While I flatter myself that he’s indulging me, I think he’s desperate to get away from my mother.”

  “Oh, Tiziana. Fabulous! You can meet Liam. He’s coming for the weekend. This is perfect. What a great weekend. We’re going to have a full house. Liam’s bringing his brother Michael, and Taylor’s boyfriend Marcus will be here as well.”

  “Perhaps we can all meet at the Waldorf Hilton for cocktails? There’s a nice cocktail bar.”

  “That sounds decadent and fabulous. Let me check in with Taylor and Hillary, and I’ll give you a call. Where are you staying?”

  “Call me on my cell. Ted is having his house renovated before he puts it on the market. It’s in Chelsea. Not too far from Hillary’s, actually.” Moments later, we were buried in conversation regarding wedding plans. A voice on her end returned us to our current life, beckoning us back to reality.

  After leaving messages
for Hillary, Taylor, and Liam, there was no choice but to return to the mountain of work. At least I was a much happier person.

  ***

  “Happy” was insufficient to describe my emotions when Liam walked across the airport terminal on Friday at 4:30. He dropped his bag at his feet and swept me up in his arms, giving me a spine-tingling kiss. “I’ll never get tired of kissing you,” I breathed into his mouth. “You’re gorgeous!”

  “Ahem!” The sound came from not too far away. I spun around on my magenta stiletto heels to see an amazingly attractive man who looked quite a bit like Liam, wearing a grin.

  “You must be Michael. I’m so happy to meet you… and embarrassed.” A rosy blush bloomed from my neck and reached the tips of my ears.

  “I am. No need to be. You must be Tiziana. I’m happy to meet the lady who has captured my brother’s attention. Lovely to meet you,” Michael said while giving me a brief but warm hug.

  Confusion must have swept across my face, because Liam jumped to the rescue. “Very funny, Michael! Charlotte knows not to believe a word you say. And what’s with the interruption? The number of times I’ve had to stand around whilst Michael here has dallied with the ladies is uncountable,” Liam bantered. He picked up the bag at his feet, and the three of us trooped out of the airport to a cabbie waiting patiently in line.

  “Tiziana, huh?” I asked Liam quietly.

  “You can’t expect me not to repeat your description of her! Especially when we’re about to meet her. She sounds like someone you have to be prepared for,” Liam teased.

  “I expect so,” I said softly.

  Once we were sitting inside the cab, Michael asked, “Are you sure Hillary has enough room? I really don’t mind holing up somewhere. I have a friend or two I can go to.”

  “Hillary is delighted to have you come to stay. Actually, this is turning out to be quite the weekend. Did you get my message?” The last part was intended for Liam.