In Sickness and in Wealth (3 page)

I would tell him. Eventually.
If
it became absolutely necessary. In the meantime, I had to make up my mind about him. Was I enough in love with him to make a real life with him? Did I want to be his wife, his
real
wife?

If I did, I had to make him fall in love with me.

J
ustin

I flew from Reno to Columbus, Ohio. To the second of our three distribution centers. The third was in New Jersey. Columbus and Reno were the distribution center capitals of the country. Row after row of warehouses of brand-name stores side by side. It didn't matter whether we were talking upscale brand or lowbrow, all the warehouses looked the same, distinguished only by the logos of their signs.

Originally, I was supposed to fly home to Seattle and then to Milano with Kay. A problem with one of our fulfillment processes kept me in Columbus longer than I intended. I called Ophie and had her arrange for Kay to fly out of Seattle on a hired business jet and pick me up in Columbus. From there we'd fly to Milano.

The schedule wasn't ideal. A red-eye flight from Seattle. The jet landed in Columbus at almost three in the morning. Which didn't matter to me. I was used to all-nighters and living on too little sleep. To me, the concept of time had become flimsy. I traveled so often I didn't get attached to any one time zone. It was enough when I was home in Seattle to settle back into Pacific Time. The first few years of Flash I hardly slept at all. If I'd been a normal twenty-one-year-old I would be partying all night in college and pulling all-nighters studying for exams anyway. This was no hardship.

As my driver pulled up alongside the sleek jet, my pulse quickened at the thought of seeing Kay for the first time in weeks. I could almost smell her. Taste her kiss on my lips. Missing someone when you're away from them was supposed to be a sure sign of true love. If true, I had it bad. I'd missed Kay the moment I stepped away from her. The only thing that had changed since college was the intensity.

Obsession was not the right word for my feelings. Kay had always been the one girl who saw past the geek, now past the money, to the guy I was. How could a billionaire like me ever know whether a girl wanted
him
, or simply what his money could buy?

Since being with Kay, since talking her into this marriage, or whatever it was, arrangement, I thought of her every minute I couldn't be with her. I hungered and thirsted for her. Unquenchable. Missing her laugh and her smile. The camaraderie. The intimacy of her, and only her, being in on my deepest secret.

No matter how much time we spent together, I was never sated. I wanted more. So much more.

Having a crew onboard meant more acting and playing the part of happy newlyweds. The lines continually blurred, becoming more indistinct every day. Like actors who fell in love with their costars, it would have been so easy to believe this script was real. With no final act where we divorced.

The flight attendant, Merry, welcomed me onboard and introduced me to the pilot, who waved and returned to preparing for a quick turnaround and takeoff. Merry offered me refreshments while my bags were loaded and the plane prepared for our transatlantic flight. I looked around for Kay, my heart in my throat. My desire pulsing. It must have been too damned obvious.

Merry took pity on me. "Mrs. Green retired shortly after takeoff from Seattle, sir. I believe she's waiting for you in the bedroom."

Poor Merry. She'd tried to say it with a professional, straight face. But a hint of a smile played at the edges of her lips, like she knew what she was saying was full of innuendo and promise.

Kay waiting for me in the fine silk sheets, dressed in a whisper of sexy lingerie. My pulse roared.

I nodded and tried not to look as eager and horny as I was. I practically ran to the bedroom as the plane taxied down the runway. By the time I pulled the bedroom door open, we were airborne. And I was flying high with the thought of Kay.

A light was on on the nightstand. Kay was in bed—sound asleep, her blond hair tumbling over her pillow. She wore evening makeup, the kind I'd told her turned me on. Long false lashes. Sultry, smoky eyes. Red lipstick in a shade so deep I could actually tell it was red. She was tucked beneath the covers with one slender arm exposed, the strap from her lingerie in my favorite shade of blue sliding off her shoulder.

I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. I wanted to dive into that bed and into Kay and lose myself. I stripped off my jacket and tossed it over a chair. Pulled my shirt free of my slacks. Kicked off my shoes. Sat on the edge of the bed. Brushed her hair out of her eyes. Traced her arm with my fingers.

She didn't even stir.

"Kay?" I whispered, gently shaking her.

Still no movement.

I slid out of my clothes and into bed. Damn, she was wearing a negligee designed to give me a hard-on for life. I curled up behind her and pressed into her, breathing into her ear. "Kay, baby."

Nothing but the soft, even rhythm of her breathing. She was practically comatose. Unless I wanted to make love to an unconscious woman, I wasn't getting lucky tonight.

K
ayla

I woke to the gentle whir of airplane engines. The sky was still dark outside the jet windows toward the rear of the plane. I'd become so used to the lights of the city sparkling into the penthouse, I'd left the shutters open. That's what homey was becoming to me, being on display and feeling like I was sleeping in the middle of the open sky. We were driving into a hint of dawn over the nose of the plane. Next to me, the guest pillow was rumpled and smelled like Jus.

Jus!

I sat up and looked around. The bed was empty. So was the room. His jacket was slung over a chair.

So much for being a seductress. I'd meant to wait up for him. Give him a greeting that would make him happy. Instead, I'd zonked out completely, fallen asleep in full makeup. There were lipstick and foundation stains on my pillowcase. And I was sure I looked lovely with my tangled hair, smeared makeup, and one false eyelash coming off. Why hadn't he woken me?

I slid out of bed and took a quick shower, hoping he'd join me. Airplane shower sex had to be on his list, right?

He left me alone and disappointed in the shower. I dressed and made myself presentable. I found him in the main body of the airplane, sitting in a plush leather seat, working on his laptop at a table. Working, always working.

His back was to me. I slipped behind and beside him and slid my arms around his neck. "Welcome back. Why didn't you wake me?"

He looked up and gave me a sweet, quick kiss that made me ache inside with want, and what, if it wasn't love budding, was a damn good imitation.

His lips curved in a smile. "I tried." He stroked my cheek. "But waking you was like trying to wake the dead. I figured you needed your sleep and gave up."

Did he sound disappointed? Selfishly, I hoped he was.
I
was. Suddenly I was becoming the sex fiend in this relationship, craving his eager, caring touch.

"Sorry." I put on a playful pout to show him I genuinely was. "I took something for motion sickness. It was supposed to be non-drowsy. But it must have knocked me out."

I was lying. During the last week I'd become hormonally tired. I'd been in denial before, but now I'd been assailed by the first damning symptom of pregnancy—bone-weary exhaustion and a desperate need for sleep at the drop of a hat. But it wouldn't do to make him suspicious right out of the gate. Not that he would be looking for signs of pregnancy. But why court trouble?

He frowned. "Was there turbulence?"

I shook my head. "Just the fear of it."

"Statistically, flying is the safest mode of transportation—"

"I suppose you've heard the one about the statistician who drowned in a river that averaged three feet deep?"

He laughed. "The fear is all in your head. You have to face it."

"I did. With the help of over-the-counter meds."

He shook his head. "We have a big day ahead of us. Are you ready for Milan?" He snapped his laptop shut a little too casually.

Jus was always understanding and kind. Eric would have been in a rant or a major man pout over a missed opportunity. Reunion sex was sacred to him.

"I've been ready for Milan my whole life." I slipped into the chair across from Jus. "I'm hungry." The sudden sick hunger was another symptom I was just discovering. "What time is it? Time for breakfast yet?"

"It's time for breakfast somewhere in the world. If you're hungry, we'll eat." He signaled for Merry.

What I was really hungry for was him. Why didn't I just tell him? Because of the baby. Because I had to be sure. About everything.

J
ustin

Via Monte Napoleone
was the most important street in the
Quadrilatero della moda,
the fashion district of Milan. Every major Italian designer, every major designer period, had a boutique along the brick streets. As a surprise for Kay, I'd booked private appointments at half a dozen of her favorites. I'd asked Sarah for help choosing which designers. And asked her to use her contacts. She was our Italian buyer. She knew the fashion industry, and Kay's tastes, much better than I did. At heart, I was a programmer, a guy who thought baggy jeans and T-shirts were all the style I needed, and who still confused colors and couldn't tell pink from gray. Sometimes I was still surprised to be in the business I was. It was all Riggins' fault.

I sat in the perfumed private dressing room area, beneath a crystal chandelier, in a chair reserved for guests of the shopper—husbands, benefactors, friends—sipping a fine Italian wine. I was surrounded by mirrors that flattered the shopper, and lighting designed to make anyone with money enough to be there look good.

I'd insisted Kay try on sexy, formfitting outfits. Everything should show off her fabulous figure. If I was going to have a trophy wife, she should look it. She always looked hot. But I wanted the very best in Italian fashion for her.

Italian women, especially the Milanese, knew how to dress to provoke the male eye to ardor and lust. It was a special pride of theirs. The women were thin, yet lush, in their tight clothes and stiletto shoes. They caught the eye with their sultry looks. Kay was blond, but she could have been one of them, their American sister.

She came out of the dressing room in a violet dress as tight as second skin and a pair of four-inch heels. My mouth went dry. My pulse raced. All I could think about was sex.

"Get it." My voice nearly cracked. I was that desperate and horny.

She turned sideways, biting her lip as she studied her reflection. Her hand skimmed her perfectly flat stomach. She frowned, looking unhappy and displeased with what she saw. Kay had abs ordinary girls would kill for. I cursed the sorority for instilling a sense of unrealistic body perfection. She looked pretty damn perfect to me.

"I don't know—"

"Get it," I reiterated.

She smiled uncertainly at me. "You're spoiling me. It's expensive—"

Another girl would have taken advantage of my generosity and abused it. Kay had to be convinced. Which was one reason I loved her. She didn't take my generosity for granted. "What's money for if you can't spend it on the woman you love?"

Too much? Maybe. Angelina, the Italian woman helping us, smiled at the
amore
.

"I love that violet color. It looks great on you and matches your eyes," I said, trying to encourage Kay.

Her forehead creased before she broke into a soft laugh. "Jus! This dress is blue. And so are my eyes, and you know it. I'm not Elizabeth Taylor with her famed violet eyes."

I shrugged. "You are to me."

It hadn't escaped my notice that she'd begun wearing my favorite colors. I was enormously pleased.

She turned to Angelina. "He's colorblind."

Angelina made a sympathetic noise.

"Don't you ever wish you saw the world as it really is?" Kay asked me.

"No. I like my version of it just fine." I motioned to Angelina. "We'll take it. Mail it home with the rest."

K
ayla

Angelina spoke perfect English. Inside the dressing room, I held my breath as she unzipped the back of the dress for me. I couldn't have gotten in and out of it without her help. The dress, all the clothes Jus had bought me, were beautiful, the kinds of things you see in high-fashion magazines and dream about. But don't think you'll ever be able to afford.

Ordinarily, I would have been on top of the world, waiting for fall when the season turned so I could wear these new luxuries. But given my current condition, it seemed a waste to buy a dress for fall unless it was maternity fashion.

As I stepped out of it, I turned to Angelina. "Can this dress be taken out?"

She gave me a curious look. "You're so slender,
signora
. It's a perfect fit. You don't need it let out at all."

I leaned into her and put a hand on her arm, glancing cautiously toward the door as if Jus could hear. I lowered my voice. "I'm pregnant." I put a finger to my lips. "My husband doesn't know."

So the first person I told was a saleswoman, a complete stranger, who couldn't have cared less, except that I might balk at more purchases and cut her commission. Even so, I felt lighter at sharing with someone.

She nodded knowingly. "I can keep the secret. Congratulations."

I pinched my mouth to one side. "Hmmmm…thanks."

She sensed my worry. "You aren't happy?"

I couldn't say too much. "I'm uncertain. This wasn't planned. We've only been married a few months." I paused. I was running off at the mouth. "Can you show me anything that will hide a pregnancy for a few months longer?"

She nodded. "Of course. But you won't be able to hide it in the bedroom." Italians were frank about sex.

"No, of course not. He'll have to know soon. But as for the rest of the world, I'd just as soon keep them in the dark as long as possible."

Angelina studied my figure. "Your husband wants to show you off. We'll have to be very clever to get what we want past him. Something with ruching, I think."

I nodded, relieved.

"Have you been to the
Duomo di Milano
yet?"

It seemed and odd, out-of-the-blue question, especially from a saleswoman.

"Not yet. We haven't had time for sightseeing," I said. "We will before we leave Milan."