James Patterson - Honeymoon

Who could tell? But he sure as hell hoped so.

Chapter 45

JEFFREY PEERED ACROSS the candlelit dinner table at Nora. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Of course I am,” she said.

“I don’t know, you seemed a little put-off when I suggested we go out instead of eating in.”

“Don’t be silly. This is wonderful.” Nora tried to match her body language to her words. That took some serious acting. She was supposed to be back at his brownstone, busy preparing his last meal. She had made up her mind.

Now here they were at Jeffrey’s favorite restaurant. Nora had never been more on edge. She felt like a racehorse at a starting gate that refused to open.

“I love this place,” said Jeffrey, looking around. They were at La Primavera in the North End of Boston. The decor was simple and elegant with white linen tablecloths, gleaming silverware, soft lighting. When you sat down it was assumed you wanted regular water, not bottled. And frankly, Nora could have cared less.

Jeffrey had the osso buco, Nora the risotto with porcini mushrooms. But she had zero appetite. The wine was a Poggio dell’Oliviera Chianti Classico, the ’94 Reserve. The wine, she needed. When the plates were cleared, Nora steered the conversation to the following weekend. Her unfinished business was weighing heavily on her mind.

“You forgot,” said Jeffrey. “I’m traveling, darling. That book festival down in Virginia.”

“You’re right, I did forget.” Nora felt like screaming. “I can’t believe I’m letting you loose with hundreds of your adoring female fans.”

Jeffrey folded his hands in front of him and leaned on the table. “Listen, I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said. “It’s about the way we’ve treated our marriage. Or, really, the way I’ve treated it—the secrecy. I think I’ve been unfair to you.”

“Have you sensed that it’s bothering me? Because—”

“No, actually, you’ve been so understanding. It’s made me feel worse. I mean, I’ve got the most wonderful wife in the world. It’s time the world knew it.”

Nora smiled, as she should have, but inside, the warning lights were flashing. “What about your fans?” she asked. “All those women next week in Virginia who want to see one of People magazine’s sexiest and most eligible bachelors? ”

“Screw ’em.”

“That’s kind of what they’re hoping for, honey,” said Nora.

Jeffrey reached for her hands, clasping them lightly. “You’ve been understanding and I’ve been incredibly selfish. But no more.”

Nora sensed there was no talking him out of it. At least not right then. He was such a typical guy. He had his mind made up about what was best for her, and there was no changing his mind.

“Tell you what,” she said. “Do your book fair, wow the ladies with your looks and charm and erudition, and then we’ll talk about it when you get back.”

“Sure thing,” he said in a tone that suggested otherwise. “There’s just one problem.”

“What’s that?” Nora asked. You want to propose to me again, in the middle of this crowded restaurant?

“Yesterday, I did an interview for New York magazine. I came clean and told them about you. The wedding in Cuernavaca. You should have seen the reporter, she couldn’t wait to put the scoop in her article. She asked if the magazine could get shots of the two of us. I said sure.”

Nora’s poker face finally folded. “ You did? ”

“Yes,” he said, clasping her hands tighter. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, it’s not a problem.”

Not at all, she thought. It’s a big problem.

Chapter 46

NORA RETURNED to Manhattan late the following afternoon. She missed her loft apartment, the comfort and quiet of it, the things she’d bought for herself over the years. She missed what she considered her real life.

While she drew herself a bath, she listened to her messages. She’d been checking them periodically while away. There were four new ones. The first three were work-related, bitchy clients. The final one was from Brian Stewart, her first-class companion to Boston, the Brad Pitt look-alike.

The message was short and sweet, the kind she liked. Brian expressed how much he enjoyed meeting her and how he looked forward to seeing her again. “I should be back in the city by the end of the week and I’d love to take you out for a night on the town. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

If you insist, Brian.

Nora took her hot bath. Afterward, she ordered in Chinese and sorted through her mail. Before the eleven o’clock news ended, she was sound asleep on the couch, sleeping like a baby. And she slept late.

Just before noon the next day, Nora strolled into Hargrove & Sons on the Upper East Side. Personally, she thought the place was beyond stuffy, with many of the sales staff seemingly older than the antiques they were peddling. But the store was a favorite of her client, longtime film producer Dale Minton, and he had insisted on meeting her there.

Nora browsed on her own for a few minutes. After walking by yet another plaid sofa, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“It is you, Olivia!”

The overly excited man standing before her was Steven Keppler—middle-aged, midtown tax attorney with a bad comb-over.

“Uh… hi,” said Nora. She quickly flipped through her mental Rolodex and came up with his name. “How are you, Steven?”

“I’m great, Olivia. You know, I was calling out your name. You didn’t hear me?”

She played it cool. “Oh, that’s so typical of me. The more I shop, the less I can hear what’s going on around me.”

Steven laughed and let it go. As he launched into his “fancy meeting you here” small talk, Nora remembered his ogling tendencies. How could she forget? Sure enough, his eyes were beginning to drool. Do eyes drool? Well, Keppler’s did. Meanwhile, she was keeping one eye on the entrance for Dale. This could be a disaster in the making.

“So, Olivia, are you shopping for yourself, or a client?” asked Steven.

“A client,” she said, looking at her watch.

That’s when she saw him. Dale Minton was waltzing through the front door that very second, looking as if he owned the place. He certainly could have, if he wanted to.

“Oh, there he is now,” she said. She tried not to panic, but the image of Dale calling her Nora with Steven looking on, and vice versa, was fraying her nerves.

“I’ll let you do your business,” he said. “Just promise me I can take you out to dinner sometime.” The guy certainly was an opportunist. He knew what she knew, that yes was a much quicker answer. No would’ve required making an excuse.

“Yes,” said Nora. “That would be nice. Call me.”

“I will. I’m on vacation beginning next week, but when I get back, I’m going to hold you to that promise.”

Steven Keppler turned to go with Dale still a few feet away. It was close, but she dodged a bullet. Then…

“It was good seeing you, Olivia,” called Steven loudly.

Nora gave him a weak smile and glanced at Dale, who looked thoroughly confused. “Did that man just call you Olivia? ” he asked.

Nora prayed to the goddess of quick thinking. She delivered. Nora leaned into Dale with a whisper. “I met him at a party a few months back. I told him I was Olivia—for obvious reasons.”

Dale nodded, no longer confused, and Nora smiled. Her two lives remained safely apart.

For now, anyway.

Chapter 47

A BLOND WOMAN drifted from one piece of old furniture to another, her eyes shielded by a pair of dark sunglasses. She was playing detective and feeling slightly ridiculous, to tell the truth. But she needed to watch Nora Sinclair.