Complications (9 page)

“You should talk,” she retorted, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it. “I’m still wrinkled up like a prune from our hour and a half in the shower last night.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.” He reached over, idly carding his fingers through her hair, smiling softly. “But it might be a good idea if we got out of here for a few hours and let the housekeeping staff tidy up. There’s a couple of places I’ve been dying to take you.”

She sprang to her feet, bouncing with delight. “Oh, I can’t wait to see Versailles and the Louvre! And Notre Dame and Montmartre and the Left Bank—”

“We’ll do all the requisite tourist attractions before we go, but I had something different in mind for today. What would you say to me buying you a brand-new wardrobe?”

She dropped back onto the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong with all the clothes you’ve already bought me?”

“Nothing. But you’ll need a couple more formal gowns and some business attire, as well as casual wear. A soon-to-be senator’s wife can’t be seen out in public in jeans and a ratty old T-shirt.”

“Oh.” The air sailed out of her as if she’d been punched in the gut. “I didn’t think I was that big of a mess.”

He sat up with a sigh. “You’re not a mess. You’re lovely. Besides, isn’t it a husband’s prerogative to shower his bride with gifts?”

When he put it that way… “Is dinner at the hotel restaurant tonight part of the deal?”

Eric grinned. “I was counting on it.”

They showered—separately, this time—dressed and ate a quick room-service breakfast, then headed down to the limousine and off to explore the City of Light. Ally peered out the window, goggling at the bustling city streets like a greedy six-year-old with her nose pressed to the window of a chocolate factory. Excitement buzzed through her veins, just like the first time she’d set eyes on Manhattan.

It was a short ride to their first stop, the Chanel boutique on the Rue Cambon. Ally’s exhilaration fizzled the second she saw the place. She’d never seen so much black clothing in a shop window in her life, and the styles didn’t appeal to her at all. It looked nothing like what she’d seen in the Manhattan store. Her heart sank, but she took Eric’s arm and stepped inside.

A saleswoman approached, scarlet lips curled in obvious anticipation of throwing out the American riffraff. But her frown flipped upside down the moment Eric opened his mouth. Rattling along in exuberant rapid-fire French, she led them to a private sitting room with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, served them coffee, then disappeared.

Ally scanned the room, frowning. “Where are all the clothes?”

“We came in through the ready-to-wear side of the shop. This side is a bit different.” Eric started to pour her a cup, but stopped when she shook her head. “They’ll bring out several outfits. Pick the ones you like, and try them on for size. Then they’ll take your measurements and make a new outfit, tailored especially for you. A few weeks later, voila! A brand-new couturier wardrobe, delivered right to your doorstep.”

“Sounds like a lot of fuss for a few suits and dresses. Not to mention expensive as hell.”

“And worth every franc. Once you see the difference in quality between what you get here and off the rack, you’ll never want to shop at a department store again.”

Her skepticism lingered, but not for long. When the saleswoman returned with a clothing rail crammed with various outfits, Ally was intrigued. Then, when she saw the gorgeous skirts, blouses, jackets and dresses in sleek, flowing silk, feather-light cotton and rich wool, she fell instantly in love. And when she tried them on one by one, to Eric’s fervent approval, she’d never felt more elegant and sophisticated.

They left nearly five hours later, after ordering three new formal gowns, four suits, a half dozen dresses and several pairs of shoes. She’d even let Eric entice her over to the ready-to-wear side, where she picked out three everyday dresses, as well as some slacks and blouses. The plain black Chanel signature style, so stark and boring on the hanger, was actually quite stunning once she tried it on. All it took was a nod from Eric, and she knew she’d made the right choices.

Their driver had kept himself busy with a few errands while they were inside. In the backseat of the limo there was now a bottle of Moët in a standing silver ice bucket, along with a small wicker picnic basket. Ally, now famished to the point of lightheadedness, was overjoyed to find a loaf of baguette, some delectably runny Brie cheese and a bunch of red grapes inside.

“This is great,” she mumbled between shoveling bites into her mouth, “but why don’t we go back to the hotel for some real food?”

“We’re not quite done here yet. One more stop and that’s it, I promise.”

She barely stifled a groan. “Eric, I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I’m done. I have literally shopped till I’ve dropped. I’m not even sure my poor legs can carry me back up to our suite.”

He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll be sitting down for this next part.”

Two hours later, she emerged from the chief stylist’s chair at the Salon David Gabriel with a bouncy new mid-length bob and platinum highlights woven through her natural golden blond. Eric’s eyes popped wide when he saw her; for a second or two, Ally thought he might actually applaud. He settled for giving her stylist a handsome tip, then paid the receptionist and whisked her out to the limo to head back to the hotel.

Ally rested her freshly coiffed head against the limo’s plush leather cushions and—God, finally—let her eyes drift shut. “My stylist spoke fairly good English, but she didn’t even ask me what kind of cut I wanted, or what shade for the highlights. She just started working on me as soon as I sat down, like she already knew what to do.”

When Eric didn’t say anything, she opened her eyes and aimed a pointed glance at him. Eric simply shrugged. “I saw a photo in a magazine, and I thought the style would look beautiful on you. And it does, by the way.”

“So you called up the salon ahead of time and told them what you wanted? Like ordering a pizza?”

He sighed. “It’s not like I sent you in there to be experimented on. Barbara used to have her hair done at that salon whenever we were in town. I knew they’d do a superb job.” A few moments of awkward silence, then, “Are you trying to say you don’t like it?”

“I love the haircut. I’m not crazy about you trying to micromanage me.” That came out a lot more snippy than she’d intended. She took a breath, then went on in a calmer, more measured tone. “Believe it or not, I did an okay job deciding what clothes to buy and how to style my hair before you came along.”

“Sorry. I was simply trying to help you look your best. I’ll admit, I’m a control freak. But I thought that was part of what you loved about me,” he added with a tiny quirk of his lips.

His use of the word
love
sent a jolt of surprise zinging through her. Did he really mean it, or was it just something that had slipped out? The warm, happy glow blooming inside her quickly blotted out her lingering irritation. It was all so silly anyway. How many other women would object to their husbands taking them out for a day of shopping and beautification in one of the most exciting cities in the world? Besides, this was her honeymoon. She didn’t want to waste another minute of it arguing.

“I could’ve told her to cut it the way I wanted, but I didn’t,” she murmured. “It was just a little unnerving, that’s all. Next time, give a girl some warning, okay?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

“Haircuts are no time for surprises. Ask anyone who’s been scalped by one of those ten-dollar clip joints.” She rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “You really enjoyed playing Pygmalion today, didn’t you?”

“You seemed to rather enjoy being my Galatea.”

“I did enjoy it. But I’m still not used to all the attention. It freaked me out a little.”

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Give it a few months, and you’ll accept it as your due.”

It was after five when they got back to the hotel. Ally collapsed on the bed fully clothed and tumbled into a murky black pit, jerking awake at the gentle rasp of fingernails trailing down her arm. It took a minute or two for her head to clear, then she cast a bleary glance at her watch. God, she’d been out two hours. “Why’d you let me sleep so long?”

“You needed it.” Eric smiled. “Would you rather stay in and order room service tonight?”

Just like every other night since they’d arrived. She hadn’t come all the way to Paris just to see their suite, a couturier’s shop and a hair salon. Shaking her head, she rolled—well, okay, wobbled—to her feet. “What’s the point of you buying me all those gorgeous new clothes if I never take them out of the closet?”

She splashed some water on her face and applied fresh makeup before putting on her new black linen slacks and a cream-colored silk blouse. A dash of perfume, her mother’s strand of pearls, and she was ready.

But she stopped dead when she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. For one frozen moment, she didn’t recognize her own reflection—and then she did. Except for her hair length and color, she looked exactly like Barbara.

Eric was waiting for her in the living room. He’d put on the charcoal-gray suit he’d worn at their wedding. She pasted on a shaky smile, took his arm and let him escort her downstairs.

From the way Eric was crowing over their meal, she supposed it must’ve been delicious. But she barely tasted a thing. From the foie gras appetizer to their entrée of roasted blue lobster with gnocchi, baby leeks and truffles, it all sat in her mouth like so much sand. She picked at it, staring off into space while Eric rattled on unheeded.

She’d started glancing at her watch every few seconds by the time their waiter served them coffee. Eric finally picked up on her restlessness, tight lines springing up around his mouth and eyes as he pulled out his card to pay the check.

Fortunately, he waited until they were behind closed doors before lighting into her. “What’s the matter with you tonight? I was trying to show you a nice time, and you’re off on another planet.”

“You don’t even want to be here with me, do you?”

He gaped at her. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You’re trying to make me into someone else, someone I don’t even recognize, with all these clothes, and the new hair, and…and—”

“Oh, dear God…” The anger draining from his expression, he came over and wrapped her in his arms. “Allison, how many times do I have to tell you, you are
not
a consolation prize. I married you for one reason—because I
wanted
to.” Smiling, he stroked her hair and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. “As far as clothes go, you can wear anything you like around the house. You can even walk around stark naked for all I care.”

How did he do that? A few caresses and softly crooned words, and her fears were already fading away. “I’ll keep that in mind whenever I don’t want you to go to the office.”

“Don’t make it too often, or the board’ll fire me.” Then he laughed; she couldn’t help it—she burst out in giggles too. “Which, come to think of it, I probably wouldn’t mind that much.”

Neither would she. In fact, she was dreading their return trip to New York, where she’d be lucky to see him an hour or two each day. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself falling in love with him. But she had a feeling it was already too late.

Allison sighed as she peered out the cabin window at Paris, growing tinier and more distant the higher they rose in the sky. “That was a lot of fun.”

Her wistful tone tore at Eric’s heart. “You make it sound like we’re never coming back.”

“I’d rather not take anything for granted.” She slid her hand across the table to grasp his. “Or anybody.”

Smiling, Eric lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “No worries on that score.”

“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Oh, for being so stupid. I know you only want the best for me. And I know you’re not going to bolt at the first opportunity, either. I just need relax and learn to enjoy this new life of mine.”

“What have I been telling you for the past week?”

“Sometimes it takes a while to sink into my stubborn brain. So sue me.”

“I can think of better ways to spend our time,” he replied, then took her hand and led her over to the bed.

* * *

True to her word, Allison’s skittishness seemed to dissipate once they arrived home, for which Eric sent up a fervent prayer of gratitude. Maybe it was because her new promotion into on-air reporting kept her too busy to sit and brood. But maybe the fact that he genuinely looked forward to coming home to her every night had something to do with it too. It’d been a long time since he’d laughed so much—her snarky stories about her work day never failed to crack him up—or drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

One afternoon he returned to his office after a particularly tense business luncheon that dragged on till well past five. His assistant had already left, so he picked up his messages from her desk and darted inside, hoping no one else had seen him. He didn’t need to get caught up in another convoluted discussion with one of his vice presidents. His head was already pounding.

He’d only intended to knock back two aspirin, return a few calls and check his email. But when he looked up from his desk and saw who was sitting on the plush leather couch at the far side of the room, every fiber in his body instantly froze.

“How the hell did you get in here?” he demanded.

Nick just shrugged and raked a hand through his dark curls. He looked—well, even through his rising fury, Eric had to admit his ex-lover had looked better. With his rumpled suit, shaggy hair and five o’clock shadow, he should’ve been hanging out at the corner bar, nursing his second round of the night. The observation shook Eric to his core. He’d never known Nick to drink to excess, but he certainly looked like a man in desperate need of liquid courage.

Perverse pride surged through him, quickly blotted out by another jolt of anger. “Are you going to answer me, or do I have to call security to throw you out?”