James Patterson: Honeymoon

True, Connor had hired one of the very best decorators in New York. In fact, he was so impressed with her, he asked her out on a date. Six months later she was tying him up in bed.

And he’d never felt happier, more excited, more alive in his entire life.

Five years before, he’d found love, marveled at it, treasured it, but his fiancée, Moira, had died of cancer. He’d thought he could never find love again, but suddenly there she was, the amazing Nora Sinclair.

Nora walked through the marble foyer and past the dining room. Before she had to leave, there was just enough time to take pity on the appetite she’d worked up in Connor.

She entered the kitchen, her favorite room in the house. Prior to enrolling at the New York School of Interior Design, she’d thought about becoming a chef. Even gone as far as taking courses at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris.

Though she chose to decorate homes instead of plates, cooking remained one of Nora’s passions. It relaxed her. Helped clear her mind. Even making something as basic as Connor’s favorite: a big, juicy double cheeseburger with onions—and inside, caviar.

Fifteen minutes later, she called out to him, “Honey, it’s almost ready. Are you?”

Back in cutoff Dockers and Polo shirt, he made his way downstairs and ambled up behind Nora at the stove. “No place else on earth…”

“… I’d rather be,” she said, taking her cue. It was one of their things. A shared mantra. Little testaments of making the most of their time together, which, given their bustling careers, was always at a premium.

He peered over her shoulder as she sliced into a large onion. “They never make you cry, huh?”

“No, I guess they don’t.”

Connor took a seat at the kitchen table. “When is the car service picking you up?”

“Less than an hour.”

He nodded, fidgeted with a place mat. “So where is this client of yours who’s making you work on a Sunday?”

“Boston,” she answered. “Retired guy who just bought and renovated a huge brownstone in the Back Bay.”

Nora cut a kaiser roll and loaded it up with the sizzling double cheeseburger and onions. She grabbed an Amstel Light for Connor and another Evian water for herself from the fridge.

“Better than Smith and Wollensky,” he said after the first bite. “With a far more attractive chef, I might add.”

Nora smiled. “I’ve got some Graeter’s for you, too. Raspberry Chip.” Graeter’s was the best ice cream she’d ever tasted, good enough, great enough, to have it shipped all the way from Cincinnati.

Nora took a sip of water and watched him make quick work of her cooking. He always did. Such a healthy appetite! Good for him.

“God, I love you,” he suddenly gushed.

“And I love you.” Nora stopped and stared into his blue eyes. “I do. I adore you, actually.”

He raised his palms in the air. “Then, really, what are we waiting for?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve already got more clothes here than I do.”

Nora blinked a few times. “Is that your idea of a proposal?”

“No,” he said. “ This is my idea of one.”

He reached into the pocket of his shorts and removed a small box, Tiffany blue. Dropping to one knee, Connor placed it in her hand. “Nora Sinclair, you make me incredibly happy. I can’t believe that I found you. Will you marry me?”

With a completely stunned look on her face, Nora opened the box to see an enormous diamond. Tears welled in her green eyes.

“Yes, yes, yes! Yippee-yes!” she cried out. “I’ll marry you, Connor Brown! I love you so much.”

Pop! went the champagne. Dom Pérignon ’85 that he’d chilled in anticipation. He’d also bought a bottle of Jack Daniel’s for himself, just in case Nora said no.

With two glasses poured, Connor raised his high and made a toast. “To happily ever after,” he said.

“To happily ever after,” echoed Nora. “To yippee-yes!”

They clinked glasses, they sipped, they held hands. Madly in love and giddy with excitement, they hugged and kissed.

Soon, though, the celebration was interrupted by a horn in the driveway. Nora’s car service had arrived.

She quickly dressed, and moments later, as the limousine started to drive away, Nora called to Connor out the open back window. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world!”

Chapter 3

NORA COULDN’T STOP staring at the dazzling ring for most of the ride to the Westchester airport. Connor had done well. The diamond was at least four carats, a brilliant round stone, at least D or E color, and flanked by baguettes. All set beautifully in platinum. It looked amazing on her, she thought. It looks like it belongs.

“Will you be needing a pickup upon your return, Ms. Sinclair?” asked the driver, guiding her out of the Lincoln Town Car in front of the terminal.

“No, I’m all set,” she said. “Thank you.” She handed the man a handsome tip, popped up the handle on her suitcase, and rolled on inside—past the exceedingly long line for coach check-in and right up to the first-class counter. With each step she could practically hear Connor’s voice and the start of one of their other shared mantras.

“Less hassle…,” he’d say.

“Is always worth more money,” she’d respond.

After a smooth takeoff and a climb to cruising altitude, Nora finally took her eyes off her engagement ring. She opened up the latest issue of House & Garden. One of the feature pictorials was a home she’d decorated for a client out in Connecticut. DARING IN DARIEN, read the title. The shots were glorious, and the accompanying article glowing with praise. The only thing missing was any mention of her name.

Precisely how she wanted it.

An hour later, the plane touched down at Logan Airport. Nora picked up her rental car, a Chrysler Sebring convertible. With the top down and her sunglasses on, she started on her way toward the Back Bay section of Boston.

The presets on the radio led her to believe two things. First, Beantown had too many all-talk stations. Second, the previous driver had no business renting that car. A convertible requires music.

She hit the SEEK button and found a tune to her liking. With her hair blowing freely in the wind and her tan skin soaking up the mid-June sun, she sang along with a classic. “I Only Have Eyes for You” by the Flamingos.

Soon Nora pulled up to a magnificent old brownstone on Commonwealth Avenue just down from the Public Garden. The relative quiet of a summer Sunday afternoon had lent itself to a bit of luck: a visitor space in front. “Goodie,” Nora said.

She shifted into park and spent a moment making a minor adjustment to her hair. Barrette? No barrette? Barrette! Before reaching for the door, she glanced at her watch. It was showtime.

Chapter 4

AS SHE WALKED up to the oversize double doors of the old brownstone, Nora reached inside her purse for the key she’d been given when Jeffrey Walker first hired her. With the place so big and the buzzer a little temperamental, he’d asked that she just let herself in. A little voice in her head whispered, Sweet.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” Nora called as she stepped inside. “Hello? Mr. Walker?”

She stood in the center of the foyer and listened. Then she heard the distant sound of Miles Davis and his magnificent trumpet trickling down from the second floor.

She called out again. This time she heard footsteps overhead.

“Nora, is that you?” came a voice from atop the stairs.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she answered. “You better not be.”

Jeffrey Walker hurried down to the foyer. Then he swept Nora up in his arms. He twirled her around as they kissed for a full minute. Then they kissed again.