Danielle Steel - the Wedding (2000)

Edwards, please, she said, looking vague, and pushing the hair out of her eyes. She felt a mess as she stood there holding her heavy New York coat, and wearing the raincoat. She had a tote bag in one hand, and her briefcase in the other, and next to her, her suitcase.

First name? the woman in charge asked her, without expression.

Brandon.

Have you already checked in to the hotel?

I'm sure he has. He arrived earlier this evening. I just flew in from New York to meet him.

And you are? She stared blankly at Allegra.

Mrs. Edwards. She felt perfectly comfortable with the lie. She always stayed at the Fairmont as Mrs. Edwards. It was simpler.

Thank you, Mrs. Edwards, five-fourteen. She handed her a key, and signaled to the porter. He picked up the suitcase, and walked her to the elevator, offering to take the smaller bags from her, and she gladly gave them up. She felt as though she were about to fall over. It was two-thirty in the morning Eastern time, and she'd been going nonstop since seven-thirty. And in the end, her trip East had been fraught with emotion. She pushed that from her mind now, and rode upstairs, trying to suppress a small smile as she thought of Brandon's surprise when he saw her. Maybe he wouldn't even wake up and see her there, next to him, until morning. She wondered if he already had the girls with him, or if they were joining him in the morning. She suspected they might already be there, which was probably why he had come up so early.

The porter turned the key in the door for her, and she told him to set the bags down just inside the door and leave them there, as she tipped him and put a finger to her lips, for fear that Brandon was sleeping. He'd had a hard week with the trial, and he was probably exhausted. She tipped the porter handsomely, and turned on one small light in the living room of the suite, and closed the door behind her. Brandon was such a good customer that they almost always gave him a two-bedroom suite for the price of two king-size rooms, and she made her way through the living room of the suite now in the dim light, careful not to wake anyone up. There was no sound in the room beyond, and she was sure he was asleep. His briefcase stood near the desk, his jacket was hung over the back of a chair, there were several books and newspapers, The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, a Law Review, and there was a pair of his shoes, the loafers he often wore to work, under the chair where he'd hung the jacket. He was fairly neat at home, but in hotels he was never as careful.

She set down all her bags, and with a small smile, she tiptoed into the darkness of the bedroom. She just wanted to see him, and then she'd get undressed, and get into bed beside him. The room was dark as she went in, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that there was no one in the bed. The covers were turned back, and there were chocolates on the pillows. Brandon wasn't there. She wondered if he was with the girls, or still with Joanie talking about business again, or maybe he'd gone to a movie. He liked going to movies so he could unwind, particularly after a hard week, like the trial. But she was a little disappointed not to see him. She realized quickly though that this would give her time to shower and wash her hair, and she'd have time to relax before he got home, and they could go to bed together, possibly with a more interesting outcome. She had to force Jeff from her head again as she thought of it, and it was ridiculous but she felt unfaithful to him too now. It was a totally schizophrenic situation. But she would not allow herself to think of him, as she nicked on the light so she could get ready.

She took off her suit jacket, and went to hang it up in the closet, and as soon as she got there she realized why Brandon wasn't in bed. They'd given her the key to the wrong room. There were someone else's clothes there. There were half a dozen women's dresses hanging there, two of them fairly dressy, and a pair of jeans, and some shoes. And as she realized it, Allegra backed out of the closet quickly. She hurried back to the living room, to pick up her things before the people returned and were outraged by her intrusion. But as she reached the living room, she saw his jacket again, and the familiar shoes, and she went and looked at them again. She was sure of it. They were Brandon's. And the briefcase was his too. She'd have known it anywhere, and it bore his initials. It was Brandon's room ‘ but there were women's things in the closet. She went back and looked again, wondering if they were her things and he had brought them in case she'd join him, but that was ridiculous. These were the clothes of a woman who was at least four or five inches shorter. Allegra fingered the dresses, as though trying to understand why they were there. She was so tired, her mind refused to absorb what she was seeing.

She walked into the bathroom then. There was makeup, and gold slippers with little white feathers on them, and an almost transparent white lace nightgown. And as Allegra stared at it, the full impact of what she was seeing finally hit her. He had come to San Francisco with another woman. These weren't her things, they didn't belong to his daughters, who were clearly not there. And she realized he didn't even have a two-bedroom suite this time, as usual, to accommodate the girls. And the clothes she had seen were far too small to be Joanie's. These were clearly someone else's. But whose? That remained an unanswered question. As she looked around, she saw feminine articles of clothing everywhere, panty hose on the bed, a bra over the back of a chair, panties next to the sink. Allegra wanted to scream as she looked at all of it. What had he been doing? What had he done? And for how long? How many times had he fooled her? How many times had he come to San Francisco with someone else, while telling her that he wanted to be alone with his children? She had never suspected it, not even for a minute. She had always trusted him. And he had cheated and lied. And there had been plenty of opportunity for him to do it in Los Angeles too. Jeff's face loomed into her head as she thought of all of it. She had been consumed with guilt over a few kisses, and left a man who claimed to be seriously interested in her, all because she felt such an obligation, and a bond, to Brandon. And all the while he was a cheat and a liar. Hot tears stung her eyes as she continued to look around. But there was no more to see, and she knew she didn't want to be there when they returned from dinner.

Her face blazed as she thought of all the times he had been so aloof, and needed space, and had to be alone, and could never make a commitment to her. No wonder. He was a complete bastard.

Juggling all her bags awkwardly, she hurried from the room, and rushed to the elevator, praying that they wouldn't come out of it just as she was leaving. But the elevator was empty when she got in, and she went all the way downstairs to the California Street entrance, and hurried outside to look for a cab, knowing full well it might take a while for her to find one. Taxis in San Francisco were not as easy to find as they were in New York, and most of them would be waiting at the hotel's main entrance. But that was the last place she wanted to be now. She didn't want to run into Brandon as they came back from wherever they'd been. And she stood on California Street, holding her bags, as the cable cars lumbered by laden with tourists. She looked up at them with eyes filled with tears and anger.

It was beyond incredible what he'd done to her. He'd been cheating on her, and God only knew for how long. The master of noncommitment had been spreading himself around.

She finally saw a cab, and dropped her briefcase to hail it, and the driver got out to help her organize her bags.

Thanks very much, she said distractedly, and got into the taxi.