Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1) (39 page)

The silence was finally broken when he said, “I’m hoping you’re happy about this... My friends are wanting to meet you this time, so I said we’d meet them down at the pub later. Is that okay?”

“Perfect.”

That evening, I found myself in a neighborhood pub surrounded by hordes of people who greeted Liam and me. Michael and his parents showed up at some point, and I found myself sitting at a little table, chatting away with them. It had taken some effort to put aside the fact that they had seen Liam put his hand up my dress. I was relieved that Michael didn’t see fit to remind us all.

“Your father and I need to go,” Niamh said. “We’re getting too old for all of this.”

“Speak for yourself, woman!” Eamonn declared.

“Well, I’ll be speaking for you. You’re the one who’ll be useless tomorrow if you stay much longer.” She shared Liam’s determination in her eyes.

We stayed for another drink and then I, too, had to beg off. I was physically and emotionally finished. Saying our goodbyes, we promised to meet up again soon with several of his friends.

“Great friends,” I said while we walked back to his place. “We need to hook Marian and Kathleen up with a few of them. Wouldn’t it be great?” Liam rolled his eyes.

***

The next day, we woke up in the early afternoon. I threw on a soft, drapey cover-up while Liam pulled on sweatpants before going to the kitchen to explore. He was prepared with a load of supplies this time. I was soon throwing eggs and slices of bacon into pans, and he took over making coffee and toast. My stomach rumbled: I was almost faint from the smell of the food for the second time in just a few days.

I sat at the table, gobbling down every morsel on my plate, when Liam brought over the coffee pot to refill my cup. Returning to the table, he watched in amusement as I used a piece of toast to round up remnants of egg. He leaned his chair back on its legs and said, oh-so-casually, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and, seeing that you’re in favor of Marcus being a kept man, how would you feel about it for yourself?”

“Kept men? What are you talking about?” I was completely confused.

He coughed uncomfortably into his fist, looking uncertain. “Charlotte, what I’m saying is this. I want to marry you. Now. Today. I want to eat breakfast with you every day. I don’t want to stare at postcards at night and wonder how you are, where you are, what you’re doing. I want to stare into your eyes and know. I want to have a home with you. If I were to pack the lot up and move to London, would it bother you if I didn’t have a job lined up? Is that a financial option?”

Taking a deep breath, I carried my dishes to the sink, then looked through the window at the street scene below for a moment. “Who would we ask?”

“What do you mean who would we ask?” He was standing right behind me. His hands came to rest on my shoulders, his voice hopeful. He spun me around gently.

“Who would we ask to be witnesses?”

THE DAY HAD
finally dawned. It was seven months later than planned, but it was Tiziana and Ted’s wedding day.

Liam and I drifted slowly around the dance floor. A wooden platform was in the center of a large, manicured lawn in the center of a garden adjacent to an ancient Italian castle. The perfume of summer flowers hung on humid night air, and the twinkle of the stars above us accentuated the romantic setting Tiziana had created for her wedding.

“You have to hand it to them, they know how to throw a party,” Liam whispered loudly in my ear over the band’s lead singer, Bono.

I nodded, seeing no real purpose in talking.

Liam led me to a vacant table in a quiet corner of the garden. While I settled into the chair, he ran his lips along my mostly naked shoulder. With a kiss to my cleavage, he said, “Be right back!” and went off in search of cold drinks, leaving me a few minutes of solitude before he returned with what appeared to be beer for him and a large glass of sparkling something for me. Behind him was a familiar crowd.

“My feet are killing me. Next time one of you gets married, remind me to wear sensible shoes,” Marian complained.

“You don’t get the boy by wearing sensible shoes!” I reminded her.

“True, very true.” She sighed, pulling off a golden Versace sandal to massage her foot.

Des dragged up a chair and said to me, “You look heavenly.”

“
Notting Hill
,” I answered immediately.

Over the prior year, Des had become a familiar face in our crowd. Not only was he the nice guy Gemma claimed him to be, I was genuinely pleased to learn he could take as well as he gave. He had a rather ribald sense of humor. The first time he told a fart joke, I nearly wet myself.

“No, this time I mean it! You do,” he repeated kindly.

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it. I’m almost as round as I am tall.” I plucked the empire waist away from my ever-expanding abdomen.

“She does look heavenly, Des,” Ted pitched in, having joined the group. “Like a Grecian goddess! Well done, Liam!”

“I don’t remember seeing any drawings of Aphrodite looking like a… Well, whatever. Why is it that men always get the credit? It isn’t like his sperm did the job alone!”

Hillary didn’t flinch. Clearly being involved with Michael had desensitized her. A year before, the discussion of sperm at a wedding reception would have caused her to go catatonic.

Seeking out her groom, the blushing bride joined us. Tiziana glowed with excitement. She had dressed us all in floor-length gowns in the palest of pale gold, each unique in subtle ways that benefitted our various assets. She herself wore a stunning gown made of Mikado silk designed by an up-and-coming Italian designer. A diamond tiara glimmered from within the confines of her intricately woven hair.

“A summer wedding, isn’t it beautiful?” Her voice had a melodious, joyful ring to it. In a more conspiratorial voice, she said, “Don’t tell my Mama she was right. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Clearly sharing her happiness, Ted gave her a long, passionate kiss, which was followed by the appropriate rude remarks from the rest of us.

A waiter, dapperly attired, arrived bearing a tray of cocktails. They looked delicious. I turned sad puppy-eyes to Tiziana. “What are those?”

She looked guilty. “A Sbagliato.”

I knew she was keeping her answer short on purpose.

“Which is?” I prompted.

Summoning up all her charm, she draped her arm around my shoulders. “Bella, we’ll toast the bambino with these! A combination of prosecco, sweet vermouth, Campari, and an orange twist. Sugar and spice, and everything nice!” I gave her a big smile to let her know she was off the hook.

I gave Liam a glance and ventured my thought. “Since we have you all here, it seems as good a time as any to invite you all to the christening. Since the wedding was a quiet affair, we’ve decided to pull out all the stops and have a big party. Obviously the exact date is a bit nebulous, close to the end of October. We’ll send out invitations when we know.”

My abdomen tightened and I felt the flutter of the baby readjusting itself. Reflexively, I put a hand to my belly and used the other to catch Tiziana’s hand. “Tiziana, I’d like for you to be the baby’s godmother.” At this, she jumped up and down, nearly toppling the tiara and hairdo. Marian, Hillary, and Kathleen looked despondent.

“Good Lord, I’ve married an Irishman! Don’t worry! You’ll all have your turn!”

“True enough,” chorused through the group.

Liam took over. “As for godfather, Des, we’d like to ask you.”

Des, who was stuffing his bowtie into his tuxedo jacket pocket, looked up in utter shock. “Seriously? Look, I’m flattered, but let’s be realistic. I’ll be crap! I’ll probably forget all her birthdays, and then, when she’s eighteen, I’ll take her out for a few drinks. And then, let’s face it, I’ll probably try to shag her!”

“
About A Boy
!” I shouted.

Keep reading for an excerpt of

Cognac and Couture,

The Passport Series, Book Two

Five Countries, Five Lives, At the Same Moment

11:10 p.m. Friday, August 21, 1998

“DARLING, COULD YOU
just lean a little further back, lift your left foot just a touch, and make sure your toes are softly pointed?” the celebrated celebrity photographer Jeremy Sutton sang out to Kathleen in a sycophantic voice, just before bellowing to the hairstylist, “For Christ’s sake, brush her hair off her forehead and keep it off. I want her hair over her right shoulder, not her left.”

A fairly large number of people were attempting to juggle light reflectors, hold down wind barriers, and grapple with styling weapons, while dodging small ocean waves that rushed the beach. Granted, they were in the shallow blue waters, but it was all so ludicrous that Kathleen had to suppress laughing while the makeup artist applied another layer of powder to take the shine off her forehead.

“She’s sweating! Someone get a bloody umbrella over here and shade her,” the photographer demanded, while he prowled around Kathleen, looking at her through various camera lenses. Lowering the camera from in front of his face, he looked at her and said charmingly, “Darling, you are simply beautiful. For you, there is no bad angle.”

Cries of urgency registered in Kathleen’s head, just before a wave swept the photographer to his knees. He heroically held his camera over his head, saving his equipment. Once she realized the photographer was fine, she looked where all the commotion was occurring. Two of the wind barriers had blown down the long sandy beach, and several people were chasing after them, hoping to stop them before they crashed into innocent bystanders.

The scene unfolded on Finn’s Beach at the southern tip of Bali. To get there, they had had to take a two-minute funicular ride between two steep cliff walls covered in a dense jungle of plants. At the base of the cliffs, a sandy beach rushed into the crystal clear Bali Sea.

The photo shoot was officially a disaster! Kathleen waved to one of the staff hired by
Forbes Magazine.
“Could you drag this under the palapa for me?”

Taking in the general chaos, the darkly tanned employee grabbed the teak lounge chair out of the surf and tugged it into the shade. “Would you care for a drink while you wait?” The man had a dignity discordant to the situation.

Kathleen smiled from beneath the protection of the dark green palm fronds that roofed the palapa. “A tall glass of pineapple juice would be wonderful.” Not that she was cruel, but, since it wasn’t her turn to clean up a disaster of epic proportions, she sat back and watched the scene with a wide grin.

The soggy photographer made his way to her after directing all of his employees to pack up their equipment. “Truly sorry, love, but it’s a bust. The wind is too strong. We’ll need to find another location. My assistant has a spot in mind a few miles up the road. Okay?”

“Absolutely fine. How long until we leave?”

“Twenty minutes or so.” With that, he was off to confer with his assistant.

Kathleen drained the glass and leaned her head back against the wooden frame of the chaise. She felt a catnap coming on; with nothing more to do than listen to the lapping waves and the clacking of the palm fronds, she let the heat and the soothing melodies pull her into a short sleep.

***

When they arrived in the remote and tiny cove of Padang Padang, it was still early in the day. The photo shoot soon attracted the interest of the beachgoers and locals; they quickly set up places to watch from a few hundred yards away. The owners of the small fish cafés on the beach enjoyed a high volume of business.

“Fancy a nosh before we get started?” Jeremy asked Kathleen. “You need a make-over anyway.”

What an ass
, she thought to herself. Not that she was surprised that her makeup and hair needed fixing, but he just was so abrupt and arrogant. The consummate professional, she replied, “The fish smells incredible. I could definitely do with some food.”

The two made their way to one of the smallest cafés and ate a quick meal of ikan bakar, grilled fish, and fried noodles. “This is extraordinary,” she said after a few bites.

“Try this.” Jeremy held a small dish that contained a red sauce.

“What is it?”

“Sambal. Its base is bumbu—a combination of many spices. A bit on the picante side. Tasty though.”

Kathleen used her fork to take a small sample. Using her little finger to deliver a sample to her mouth, she felt the fire. “Excellent. A little too hot for me, though.” If the photographer realized how much she was sweating through the material of the lightweight business suit chosen for the photo shoot, he’d have a conniption.

While he finished his meal, her eyes swept the crescent-shaped cove, taking in the massive boulders plopped down along the beach randomly by Mother Nature; trees grew out of them at odd angles. The natural beauty of the cove was more rugged than Finn’s Beach, which appealed to her.

Jeremy interrupted her thoughts. “This should suit you well.”

“How so?”

“A lily among thorns.” He tossed money onto the table. “Shall we?”

“Sure.”

As they walked back to where the minions wrangled equipment and props, Jeremy called to the stylists, “All right, she’s all yours. Get her ready. Someone find her a toothbrush. She’s had fish for lunch. A fresh suit, too. She’s ripe!”

Kathleen stopped abruptly, kicking up sand.
You’re definitely a thorn
, she thought to herself.

***

Just as the sun began to set on Padang beach, Jeremy called it a wrap. “You know, I think some of these photos with the soft colors of the sun setting will be perfect.” He stared at the digital screen of his camera. “Lovely, really lovely.”

Kathleen was grateful when one of his quieter assistants offered her a lift. She wouldn’t have to listen to Jeremy drone on for the next hour as they drove to their hotel, The Four Seasons Bali at Sayan. The name sounded as gorgeous as the landscape they drove through.