Danielle Steel - Second Chance

“You remember that thing you asked me last night,” she said in a whisper as she lay next to him.

“Mmmm… yeah…” He smiled at her. “I think I remember.” He was expecting another one of her speeches about why she didn't need marriage. “What about it?”

“I think I'd like to do it.” She said it so softly, he almost didn't hear it.

“Are you serious?” he whispered back. He had no idea what had made her agree finally. He was stunned.

“Yeah. I think so. Maybe it's not such a bad idea. Just one time. With you. Generally speaking, it's against my principles, but for you, I was thinking of making an exception.”

“That'll do.” He was beaming at her. She only had to be brave about it once. That was generally the best way. One time only. “Will you really marry me, Fiona?” After everything she'd said to try and talk him out of it, he hardly dared to believe it.

“Yes, I think so. Unless I come to my senses.”

“Maybe we should do it soon, before you do that.”

“When were you thinking?”

“Whenever you want.” He wanted to make it as easy and painless as possible for her.

“Maybe in a few weeks, after we get home. Just the two of us. And maybe Sir Winston.”

“Do I have to marry the dog too?”

“Absolutely.” She looked as though she meant it, and he wasn't about to argue with her. He was much too excited, and much too happy. “Are you going to tell your children before we do it?” She looked understandably worried.

“I don't think so. They're not going to want to be there. I'd rather tell them after. What do you think?”

“I'd like that better. We can have a party afterward or something. But I think when we actually do ‘the deed,’ ” she hated to even say the word, “it should be private.”

“Name the day, and I'll be there,” he said, and held her close to him, and then he got out of bed, fished the ring out of his pocket, and slipped it on her finger. She lay in bed staring at it in wonder and amazement, and then tears slid slowly down her cheeks as she looked at him. She had finally dared, and finally trusted him enough to do it. Or she was going to, anyway. All she could do then was lie in bed and hold him, knowing how much she loved him. She felt as though she had come home finally, to someone she was truly safe with. She knew that she could trust this man with her heart, and her life, without question.

Chapter 11

Their wedding day was as simple and as easy as they could possibly have made it. One day after work, they went to get the license. Then Fiona made an appointment with a minister she knew, and on a Saturday afternoon in January, she and John went to a little church she had always liked in the Village. They took a cab downtown, and she brought Sir Winston with her. It was not the kind of wedding John would have planned, but it was exactly what Fiona wanted. She came downstairs wearing a white suit, and a fur coat she seldom wore, and she wore her hair sleek and straight and long. She had never looked as beautiful as when they exchanged their vows in the tiny church, and he put a simple gold ring on her finger. And as she looked up at him, she actually believed, finally, that she belonged to him forever, and he belonged to her. She had never realized how much this would mean to her. To Fiona, it was a promise never to be broken, and she knew that to John it was just as powerful, which was why she had married him. It was a solemn vow they both believed in. And when they went home that afternoon, they just sat there for a while and drank champagne, and then she started to giggle.

“I can't believe I did it,” she said in disbelief.

“Neither can I. I'm so glad you did. We did,” he corrected. They decided not to call his children till the next morning. They didn't want to do anything to spoil it.

They spent the night in bed, holding each other, and made love, and everything around them seemed to be quiet and peaceful. And when they woke up in the morning, it was snowing and the entire world was covered in a beautiful white blanket.

They made breakfast and walked the dog, and John looked at her with amusement.

“By the way, what's your name now? Just so I know when I introduce you.”

“What do you think? Does Fiona Anderson sound too weird? Fiona Monaghan-Anderson sounds too pretentious. I'll tell you what, I'll try Anderson for a few weeks, and if I like it, I'll stick with it.”

“That sounds sensible. I have to admit, I hope you like it.”

“We could trade names,” she said, feeling giddy.

After they got back to the house, she called Adrian, and John went upstairs to call his daughters. Both calls were predictable. Adrian was beside himself, he was so thrilled, and both girls were nasty to their father. He knew they had hoped to stop him by their antics, and they were horrified to find they hadn't. But there was nothing they could do to him now. He had married Fiona, and he hoped they would make their peace with it, but even if they didn't, it wouldn't change anything. Fiona didn't ask a lot of questions about it after he had talked to them. She hadn't expected them to react any differently. Adrian had asked her if she was still going to Paris for the January couture shows.

“Of course I am. I didn't quit my job, I just got married,” she said. It had only taken her forty-two years to do it. It was utterly amazing.

But they barely had time to celebrate it. Fiona said that they had taken the honeymoon before the wedding, when they went to the Caribbean. She left for Paris ten days later for the spring/summer couture shows. And right after she got back, they had the ready-to-wear shows during fashion week. Hell week, as she called it. She was working constantly, and scarcely saw John at all for the first month they were married. They didn't even have time to plan a party. And now when his daughters came home, he told them that they could either stay with him at Fiona's, or he and Fiona would both come home, but he was no longer willing to come home alone to see them.

And much to Fiona's horror, the girls reluctantly accepted the idea that she would come with him, and John actually begged her to stay at his apartment for the weekend. She knew how important it was to him. It was one of those hideous sacrifices Adrian had spoken of, which made all the difference, so she agreed to do it. And it was almost as unpleasant as she had expected.

The girls hardly spoke to her, and when they did, they were supercilious and bitchy, but at least they tolerated her being there, which was an improvement. Mrs. Westerman damn near poisoned her with a curry so spicy it nearly killed her, and much to John's horror and disbelief, she “accidentally” let Fifi out of the kitchen, and the dog made a beeline straight to Fiona's left leg this time, and took a chunk out of her left ankle, instead of the right one. This time she only needed four stitches. Adrian looked at her in total astonishment when he saw her on Monday morning.

“Again? Are you insane? When are they going to put that dog down?”

“I thought John was going to kill the housekeeper. He screamed so loud that both girls were crying, and she threatened to quit. I may have to get a stun gun the next time the girls come to visit.”

“I hope they don't come often. Did he fire the housekeeper?”

“He can't. The girls love her.”

“Fiona, she's trying to kill you.”

“I know. Death by fatal curry. I still have heartburn from it. Thank God the dog is too short to go for my throat, otherwise she would. I just have to make the best of it. I love him.”

“You don't have to love the dog, his housekeeper, and his children.”

“That's a much bigger challenge,” she confessed, and John was once again mortally embarrassed. It had been a pretty ghastly weekend, and he had been having a lot of stress at the office. Fiona had been busier than she'd been in months. The whole magazine seemed to be going crazy. People had quit, the format had changed, the new ad campaign was causing problems and had to be redesigned, which was yet another of John's problems, as well as hers. A photographer had sued the magazine. A supermodel had OD'd on a shoot and damn near died, and attracted a huge amount of negative publicity. Fiona was coming home at ten o'clock every night, and traveling more than she ever had. She made three trips to Paris in one month, and the following month she got stuck in Berlin for two weeks, and then had to fly right back out to Rome for an important meeting with Valentino. John complained that he never saw her, and he was right.