He held his arms out, "I phoned the hotel we stayed in and got them to tell me the stuff you ordered."
I shook my head, "What? What hotel?"
"The one where you hired the private shopper."
The one where he made me orgasm over and over—right. How had I forgotten that hotel? How had he remembered so well?
I blushed, thinking about it. He smiled, "Yeah, that hotel." He looked funny, off a little. Like he was unsure how to be around me.
I laughed and opened the door for him. He walked in and placed the bags on the bed, His eyes darted to my bag. "So, uh… seven?"
I rubbed my eyes and climbed back onto the bed, pushing the bags over. "Yeah, sure."
I pulled the blankets up. He got up and walked to the far side of the room, "You have a good flight?" It was weird the way he said it.
I sighed, "Whatever you're avoiding asking me, just do it. I'm beat and we don’t do small talk."
He looked like he might say something but he stopped himself short and shook his head. He looked a bit lost as he walked back over to the door, "I need to go do something. I'll see you at dinner."
“Whatever.” I waved and pulled the covers up over my face, "Night."
I closed my eyes and let the sleep claim me again. I woke to the alarm that I should have woken to an hour earlier. It was six, I had an hour to be hot. I dumped the bags on the bed and grabbed the shampoo and conditioner and frizz control he bought me. I stumbled into the bathroom and started the process of not looking like I was no longer caring about my looks.
The hot water was amazing and the idea of being in a hotel with France made me think about the last shower we had taken. I blushed, smiling and scrubbing.
I got out, dialed Brandi and started changing into the sexy underwear and bra he'd bought me. It was stunning and not the same as I had ordered last time.
"Hello?"
I spoke softly, "He has a girlfriend. An Italian-model girlfriend."
Brandi sighed, "I know. Will told me when I met up with him the other day. They're engaged, J.D. You need to home wreck on his ass and get this to end. Will thinks she's looking for a green card, rich-husband combo and Mike is so desperate to get over you that he's making this mistake."
My mouth was dry. I grabbed a bottle of the Swiss mineral water and guzzled it. I coughed, "You sent me here, knowing he was engaged? Do you hate me, Bran?"
"Baby, I know you and him are meant to be. You need to tell him how you feel and don’t do your prim and proper bullshit. Belt it out."
I nodded, feeling faint. "Okay. I hate you though. You and Will. You're dead to me."
She chuckled, "That’s fine. Call me later."
I shuddered. He was engaged—already? It had been six months since he asked me to run away with him. Asshole. I felt a bitterness creeping up inside of me. Not a jealous bitterness but an 'I want him jealous' bitterness. Fucker.
I pulled on the dress that he bought me, hiking it up a bit and adding the padding back into the push-up bra. I slid my feet into the patent-leather, black Versace pumps. My hair was in its natural state of curls, around my shoulders. The black dress was sexy with the harsh push-up of the bra. I looked classically beautiful. Not Italian-model beautiful, but I wasn’t going to beat myself up over that. She had to have flaws too.
God was fair.
I lined my eye makeup on a little heavy and smoky, then ran anti-frizz product through my hair. I sprayed a touch of perfume and gave myself a final look.
It was good. He had done very well.
My lips were red, nothing beat a strawberry-blonde with red lipstick. Not even an Italian model.
I left the room and made my way downstairs to the dining room. The maitre d’ brought me to my table. They weren’t there yet.
I sat and waited, perusing the wine list.
I smiled when I saw one of my favorites.
"Can I get you a drink to start?"
I made a face, "It's going to seem presumptuous of me to order wine for the table, but I must have a bottle of the pinot noir. It was made by a vineyard in the Alto Adige region. I had tasted it when I had gone for the sommelier tasting. The region was well known for its pinot noir grapes. It had a history of thousands of years of winemaking and grape growing. I had found it fascinating.
The server grinned, "The lady knows her wine."
I smiled, "I do. I love wine. I actually spent a little time in Alto Adige, in Tirol and a few other places."
He looked taken aback, "Wow. That is impressive. The area is so rich with wine."
I nodded, "It flows everywhere."
He smiled, "I will be back with your wine."
I sat there alone until he came back with the bottle. He poured my taster. I smelled and drank, swishing it about in my mouth, and letting it get air in my mouth as I swallowed. I nodded, "Perfect."
He poured me a full glass and looked around the room, "Are you dining alone?"
I shook my head, "I'm not supposed to be."
He frowned, "Who are you waiting for?"
"Mike France."
He scowled, "Of course. Some of the others he plays with, the other foreigners are at that table there."
I laughed, "You don’t like Mike?"
He looked around discretely, "I am a huge fan of his. That woman, Ms. Ribissi is another story."
"Excellent. I think you and I will be great friends. Can I tell you a secret?"
His dark eyes lit up, "Of course."
"I'm here to ruin their engagement."
His face glowed, "Oh, what a wonderful thing. You are here to save him from that money-grabbing man-eater?"
I took a drink of my wine, "No. I want him for myself."
"This bottle is on the house. You dine for free. Wait until I tell the others, there is hope for him. We assumed it was the hits to the head that have made him stupid."
I laughed and drank another big gulp. I wasn’t savoring my wine. I was chugging it. I needed liquid courage.
"My name is Romeo, and if you need anything at all while you are here, you tell me."
I looked around, "I don’t think they're coming. Can you introduce me to the other hockey players?"
He clapped his hands, "Wonderful idea." He grabbed my bottle and glass and carried them over to their table in the corner. Six beefy guys sat there. They didn’t all look like hockey players, well, maybe one didn’t.
"May I introduce, Miss Jacqueline Croix. She is a friend to Mr. France. He has been delayed and she is dining alone tonight."
Their faces lit up. One guy smiled, "Come sit with us, sweetheart." He sounded like he was from Texas maybe.
Another guy with a German accent shoved his chair over, "Sit next to me."
I smiled, "Thank you. I didn’t want to sit alone." Actually, I wanted France to come in and see me with everyone else, let him be the awkward one. He and the model.
I sat, nestled into the small group.
"This is Bill from Vermont, Sal from Germany, Luce from Israel, Daniel from Sweden, Arthur from Ireland, and I am Tex, from Texas."
I waved, "Jack or J.D."
Tex gave me a squeeze, not realizing I hated being touched by other people. "J.D., now that’s my kind of girl."
I laughed and let him keep his arm wrapped around me. I hoped that France would walk in, accidentally seeing me with another man touching me.
Of course he didn’t.
We started drinking.
"So Jack, where are you from?"
I looked at the eager faces of the men, "New York."
"Did he just call you Jack?"
I turned around to see France standing behind us, alone.
I nodded, "Yeah."
He shook his head, "Her name is J.D. or Jacqueline. No one calls her Jack, okay?"
They all stopped for a second and then instantly started laughing. His face got red.
I looked around at the laughing men. Arthur from Ireland nodded, "You're that Jack. Shit, I thought you were bisexual, France."
Mike's face got even worse. He put a hand out for me, "Can I talk to you?"
I shook my head, "Where's Daniela?"
"Upstairs."
"Is she coming down?"
He shook his head, "No. Can you guys excuse us?" He tossed down a hundred-dollar bill. I grimaced, "That’s not enough for the bottle."
He pulled me from my chair, "Tex, you got the rest of that bill?"
"Yup."
France dragged me out of the dining room. I pulled my arm from his grip, "What are you doing?"
He paced for a minute and then pulled me down the hall to the elevator. He pressed the button, "Why did you come here?"
The elevator arrived, but before I could answer, he pushed me inside and against the wall. His face was savage as he reached inside of his pocket, ripping the pink bachelorette sash from his pants. I frowned for a second, "Did you go through my bag?"
He held it in my face, "How did you get this?"
I shoved him back, "I went to Empire State Building that night, you meathead. I went to the train station, your apartment, your house in Jersey, my house, the coffee house we once accidentally made out in, and then it dawned on me. The Empire State Building. Of course. The place that would show me you loved me, more than anything in the whole world. I paid the sax player two thousand dollars for it."
He clenched his jaw, "Why?"
I shoved him again, "Because I wanted your fucking signature. Why do you think?"
He pounded the wall of the elevator, "Why are you doing this to me?"
I jumped, feeling my lip quiver. He was angry in a way I had never seen before. He closed his eyes, "Why did you come here? Because I finally met someone? Because I was finally happy?"
I felt my nostrils flare, "Firstly, you've known her like a week. Finally happy—my ass. You are rebounding on that poor girl. Secondly, you really believe that I would come here just to sabotage your engagement? How was I supposed to know you were engaged, dick?"