It All Began in Monte Carlo (12 page)

Her sigh was strong enough to have swept the erring husband out of bed along with his mistress, his new woman, whatever she was. All Pru knew was that she had worked in the same office. That's how they had met. The whole situation was one long cliché. Didn't they always say it was the coworker, the neighbor, the best friend? Now Pru knew only too well they were right. Proximity, availability, opportunity. The “come-on,” and no consequences. Only now there were. Consequences. One of them being that she had eaten herself into a decline and didn't know how to get out of it.

In the foyer, half-hidden behind a giant floral display on the large round table, Allie saw Sunny in Mac's arms standing by the elevators. Then Sunny suddenly stepped back and rushed outside, with Mac hurrying after her.

Fingers crossed, Allie decided there was nothing she could do to help right now. She would call Sunny later, tell her she had gotten there earlier than expected, had seen her with Mac and to please call and tell her what was going on.

Meanwhile she'd better get back to Pru Hilson or she would probably faint. If ever a woman needed straightening out it was Pru. She had lost her man, for whatever reason, and Allie did not believe it was all Pru's fault. From what she could gather (she had never met the husband, had only seen the photograph that Pru still carried in her wallet, staring at it like it was the holy grail, touching his imprinted face with a finger, still in love, or so it seemed) the husband was a shit. Anyhow, Allie had seen his photo and she did not care for what she saw. An arrogant red-faced man, the kind who always wore dark glasses so you couldn't read his eyes, a smile on his fleshy lips, a hand resting on a dark green Jaguar sport car that Allie would bet he was wishing was a Bentley.

“Come on, Pru,” she said, back in the bar. “Let's go get something to eat.” And she swept Pru quickly out in front of her, telling her what she had seen as they went.

 

Maha watched her go. “That's Allie Ray,” she said, and the others swiveled their heads to look.

“Still beautiful,” Maha commented.

Maha was also thinking about the little scene in the bar. The emotions had been palpable between Sunny and the man who had suddenly taken her over. Eddie Johanssen had been left in the dust. Sunny had not even excused herself, not even said goodbye and good luck. Still, you never knew, it might not be over with Johanssen; the game might continue. Maha hoped whatever was going on would not divert Sunny from the plan she had in mind for her. Sunny Alvarez needed a new life and Maha knew exactly how to give it to her. Besides, interestingly, Kitty Ratte had already moved in on Eddie.

Maha watched Kitty giving him the same sweetly sympathetic glances she had given Sunny just the other night, from eyes as hard and shiny as blue sea glass. Corruption is a form of evil and instinctively, Maha knew Kitty Ratte was a professional in corruption.

The bar felt suddenly too stuffy, too filled with perfume, too many nerve endings twanging. As when the bride had galloped in for her martini and left, angst trembled again in the air.

The bar was quiet now because all roads had been cordoned off due to the robbery. “Why don't we go up to my suite,” Maha said to her companions. “We'll send down for dinner and talk some more.”

 

Leaning on the bar, Eddie cradled his drink between cold hands. He had not realized how strongly he felt about Sunny until she walked out on him without so much as a backward glance. Not even an excuse me. Not even, oh by the way this is my ex-fiancé. Not even wait here, I'll be back. Not a promise of anything more between them. Yet he knew she felt the same strong attraction he did.

Now he did not know what to do, except just stay here and hope she would return.

“You should be angry,” the woman sitting next to him said. “Sunny should not have left you like that.”

Eddie swiveled his eyes to her, then turned away. He did not answer.

Looking at him, Kitty knew exactly what she was dealing with and knew he was exactly what she wanted. A rich man. A man with a past; a man in the throes of new love and lust; a man dazzled with new possibilities; a
vulnerable
man.

“I am a friend of Sunny's,” she said, hitching herself higher on the chair. Her orange shirtdress slid open to midthigh. She noticed his sideways glance and smiled.

“I know Sunny so well,” she added, speaking softly. “Sunny is an
emotional woman and not responsible for her actions. I mean, how could she leave you, just like that? She told me you have been together for a while now, long enough to know that you care. Oh don't worry,” she added quickly, pressing a gentle hand on Eddie's arm. “Sunny told me everything. But of course, I will never repeat it.”

Eddie wondered what it was Sunny could have told her.

Kitty lowered her chin and gave him her demure up-glance smile filled with sympathy, as were her eyes. “Look, why not let me buy you a drink? Tell me your troubles? I promise, I'm a very good listener.” She signaled the barman and ordered a Red Bull and a glass of red wine for herself and another vodka for him.

It was the older of the two barmen, the one with the silver hair. He deliberately avoided her eyes as he set the drinks in front of her. He knew what she was and he did not like women like Kitty bringing down the tone of his bar.

And Eddie did not notice the pill Kitty slipped into his drink. He turned to look at her.

“Here's to you.” Kitty lifted her glass in a toast.

He stared at her, trying to take in the reality of her: the flame-red hair sweeping over blue eyes under puffy lids; the milkmaid cheeks; the prominent teeth; vulgar Dior earrings; the fleshy naked thighs. And, most of all, the sympathy that seemed to shine right out of her. And right now Eddie was a lonely man in need of consolation.

Kitty gave him an even broader smile. “Here's to good luck,” she said, lifting the glass again, and this time he lifted his in response.

Suddenly, Eddie felt the need to talk and Kitty proved to be a good listener. She knew how to pat a man's hand, how to be sympathetic, letting him know at the same time that she found him very attractive.

An hour went by, maybe two. They were still at the bar and Sunny had not returned.

“I don't understand how she can't want you,” Kitty was saying, running a hand lightly down Eddie's arm. “You're
so
attractive. So . . .” She smiled at him with her small secret blue eyes. “So
sexy.
”

The pill she had slipped into his vodka was working. Eddie was staring at her, hypnotized, exactly the way Kitty wanted him.

“Believe me, Eddie Johanssen,” she whispered. “I know what I am talking about. You don't know what you are missing. Sunny is a simple woman. There are things that a woman like me can do that would surprise you. After all, you and I both love sex, don't we? Come on now, admit it. Sunny will never do to you what I can.”

The mention of Sunny's name jolted Eddie back to reality and away from Kitty's pinpoint eyes. He got unsteadily to his feet. “I have to leave.” He felt very drunk, though he'd had only two vodkas. “Thank you for your company, Kitty.” He didn't know what else to say. “You were good to listen to my . . . my . . .”

“Your
emotional
problems,” Kitty said, so softly again he had to lean across to hear her. Then, quickly, she kissed him, a flutter of her open lips against his, a tiny suggestion of tongue that he could believe he either had, or had not, felt. That was Kitty's style. She was a professional, she knew her job and exactly how to play him.

“See you tomorrow,” she called as he turned and made for the exit. “I'll be here.” She did not add, “Even if Sunny is not,” but she knew Eddie would get it. Blackmail was on her mind and she'd bet her last buck she could get Eddie.

 

 

When Sunny left Mac at the elevator, she ran outside, shivering in her little black dress.

Lights glittered on the boats and in the Casino, and the castle glowed on its rock like something from a fairy tale. The curve of the bay was a bejeweled necklace strung into infinity to the west, fading into the sweep of mountains to the east.

Mac stood looking at her. The distance between them was more than a mere few feet; it was a deep moat and he did not know if Sunny would let down the drawbridge so he could cross to the other side.

He said, “You asked what took me so long.”

She did not reply. She did not even turn her head to look at him. Worried, he ran his hands through his already-rumpled dark hair.

“Sunny, let's go back inside. We can go to my room, and talk. You'll catch your death out here.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and Sunny jumped. His touch was like an electric charge through the silken fabric of her dress. It was as though Mac were putting his brand on her again. He had already done that the first time they made love, when even the air around them had seemed illuminated from the electric shock of their kisses.

She turned and walked away. He followed. The police sirens still howled and the halogens pooled in a white glare. Helicopters clattered noisily overhead, catching them in their beams.

She stole a look, to see whether he was keeping an eye on the police activity that was so much a part of his life, but his head was down and for once he seemed oblivious. God, he was so handsome in his own particular roughed-up way, the way she loved. But she had left him for a good reason and she must keep to that resolve. It was time to become her own woman and not merely a permanent fiancée. Even though she wanted to, she couldn't simply fall into Mac's arms the way she had by the elevator and say, as she always did, exactly what was on her mind. Like,
what took you so long.
When what she should have said was
you bastard, go marry somebody else. I'm gone.

But she knew Mac was not going to marry any other woman. The truth was, Mac was “married” to his work.

Mac saw her shiver and took off his leather jacket. He swung her round, stuffing her arms into the sleeves, rolling the cuffs. He put his hands on her shoulders. His grip tightened as he said, “You are the love of my life, Sunny, I'll never let you go. I'm so sorry. I am so
so
sorry. I behaved selfishly, I didn't think of you, I put myself first.”

The wind blew Sunny's long dark hair into her face and she put up a hand to push it away, along with the tears.

Mac was thinking of her falling into his arms just minutes ago by the elevator. “What took you so long,” she'd said, and he had been swept with relief. She had not really run away, he'd thought, closing his arms around her; she had simply been upset, she'd felt rejected. And he
had
rejected her, putting off the wedding once again.

Truthfully, he had not thought marriage meant that much to Sunny. The idea of marriage had always been like a game between them. Last year, after all the murder and mayhem in St. Tropez, when they were back home, he had asked her to marry him. “Right here, right now,” he'd said. “Marry me.” But she'd thought the timing was wrong, or something. Who knew with women? And so their delightful
game of Sunny and Mac had continued, until this fixation of hers with getting married in the New Year had come up. Of course he'd agreed. He wanted to stay with Sunny forever, however long life gave him, but when it came to setting a date, something else always came up. “Someone always needs you more,” Sunny had said, with an edge of sadness in her voice that had never been there before.

Normally, Sunny was like her name; a sunshiny person, a woman who radiated joy of life, a woman who understood love, who understood Mac, who loved him. But right now she was a woman radiating indifference, and right now, Mac could not blame her.

“Sunny,” he pleaded.

Sunny turned to look into his familiar face, wondering if what he had just said was true. If she did agree to return to L.A., to their life, to her work, his work, their dogs, the Malibu beach cottage, would it be the same all over again? She recalled what Maha Mondragon had said about taking the chances life offered her, and that she should not be afraid of the future. There was something mystical about Maha that drew Sunny to her. Perhaps Maha really could see into the future. And if so, had she meant her future with Mac? But oh God, she loved him.

Her eyes reflected the lamplight as she looked at him. “You bastard,” she said.

Mac hung his head, acknowledging his guilt. He said, “But I still love you.”

“Even though you don't want to marry me?”

“I can only repeat, I love you Sunny. I always will.”

“I bought the wedding dress,” she said. “Lace.”

“But you're not a ‘lace' girl.”

Sunny smiled. Dammit Mac knew her too well. Or thought he did. Right now she had something he didn't know about her, and his name was Eddie Johanssen.

Shocked, she remembered she had simply left Eddie without so
much as an “excuse me I must go,” or even “I'm sorry.” She wondered whether he had waited for her to return, and if he'd guessed who it was she had walked off with.

He must, she supposed, with a tinge of regret because, with Eddie, everything had been so simple, so outside the realms of everyday reality, right from the beginning on the Paris flight, alone together for all those hours. It had been a relief to have a man's complete attention and interest. After all she was a woman alone. And vulnerable.

But Mac knew nothing of her “romance” with her new savior; Mac had always been that savior. Mac had been her entire life. They were two as one. Together. Forever. Or so she had thought.

“I already knew about the dress,” Mac told her, still standing a couple of feet away, though it might as well have been a thousand miles. “I went to your place, looking for you. I found it hanging in the closet. I brought it here.”

Stunned, she reached across that thousand-mile gap, touched his face, felt the harsh stubble under her fingers.
“You brought my dress?”