Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1) (21 page)

“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. With 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.

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.

Although he did not seem to be very interested in discussing it, he was very interested in finding our subject matter. We wandered the galleries for a few hours; Liam had many “Ah-ha!” moments, pointing out all the cerulean. By then I was an expert.

Finally, we left the museum in search of food. “How about grabbing something from a vendor in the park?” I suggested as we walked down the wide stone steps outside the Met.

We bought loads of food from various vendors as we wandered through Central Park, making our way to the north end of the lake to the Loeb Boathouse. After renting a row boat, we spent all afternoon munching and paddling around the lake.

“Do you suppose all Saturdays could be this glorious?” I inquired through a mouth stuffed with pretzel covered in mustard.

“I have no idea what you just said! You have mustard all over your mouth and bits of food sprayed everywhere. I think you’ve become entirely too comfortable around me. If you start scratching your arse, I’m taking you back to shore!” Liam teased.

The image of that caused me to laugh so hard that I started to choke. Putting down the paddles in the bottom of the boat, he handed me a bottle of water. When my coughing fit subsided, he used a paper napkin to dab at my mouth. “Disgusting,” he said with a smile. He gave me a quick kiss, licked his lips, and announced, “Now, show your breeding. Be dignified while I demonstrate my manly rowing skills. Just wave to your public, madam!”

Exhausted from our action-packed day, we both just wanted to lie down and relax for a while, “Do you suppose we could call Taylor and Marcus and delay dinner a bit?” Liam asked as we walked into his suite.

“Fine with me. But you have to call. Marcus is your friend.”

“Coward!” I threw myself onto the bed and he tossed me the remote control for the TV before going to get his phone.

I responded, “I think I’ve clearly established that.”

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “My dream woman is not a coward. Don’t forget it.”

After a minute, Liam reported, “Faith made a reservation at the Grand Central Oyster Bar for 9:00. Is that okay? Good Lord, my arms are already sore!” He collapsed beside me.

I continued flipping channels and nodded, secretly pleased that he hadn’t assumed control of the remote. Finally, I landed on one showing old films, and we watched Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers expend energy dancing across the screen while we lay like sloths on the massive bed.

Promptly at 9:00 we met Marcus and Taylor at the Grand Central Oyster Bar. “What a great place,” Liam shouted over the noise. The atmosphere was infused with the history and flavor of New York City that had seeped into its walls. It was cavernous and lively. People sat at tables and counters; waiters hustled and bustled with trays of food. It was the kind of place that you moved to New York City for.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this many bricks before. That’s saying a lot, considering where I’m from. How many do you think there are?” Liam asked as he glanced around the massive space, taking it all in.

The huge space was a group of rooms joined by arching walls and glass windows. Most of the space was built of brick, with wood paneling on the walls. The arches were outlined in white lights, and the ambient light was warm and inviting. On the ceiling above us was a massive circular chandelier. It too twinkled with white light.

The waiter passed out hand-written menus then hovered in the background. We quickly ordered a round of Guinnesses, in tribute to Liam, and an assortment of oysters from the raw bar. The waiter left the menus but was gone with a flash.

“I love it here! I really do. This is fabulous. When you come to Dublin, I have somewhere like this I want to take you. Nothing quite as huge, mind you. But if you like this, you’ll love the Saddle Room.”

The delivery of our beer and oysters caused a pause in the conversation. No sooner had the waiter whooshed away than Marcus laughed. “How funny is that? Aphrodisiacs served in a place called the Saddle Room. Are there private dining rooms? Or do you have to eat in public?” Liam got it immediately, of course. It took Taylor and me a moment longer. She whacked his arm and made a few disparaging comments about his less-than-gentlemanly behavior.

Ignoring her objections, he went on to add, “The images that wander through one’s mind. I can just imagine some woman slurping down oysters, straddling a saddle, doing who knows what. Then in teeters some little old woman saying, ‘I’ll have me some of that!’”

When Marcus and Liam had explored all possible permutations of the saddle and oyster, Taylor quietly said, “Gives a whole new meaning to ‘saddle sore’!”

Thankfully the waiter returned, putting a pause on the rude humor, and asked for our order. We ordered another round of drinks, a beer brewed on Long Island.

“Would you prefer something instead of the oysters? Perhaps some chowder?” the waiter asked, seeing our appetizer tray sitting largely untouched in the center of the table. We all rushed to assure him that we were enjoying them, they were superb, and all the etceteras. This, of course, set off another round of laughter.