A Match Made on Madison (The Matchmaker Chronicles) (33 page)

“Exactly. You just need to give Cybil more credit.”

“But I do. I think she’s the most amazing person on the planet.”

“With really bad taste in men?” she coaxed.

“No. I mean, well, yes. She does sort of seem to have a knack for picking losers.”

“In your opinion.”

“Yes. But after all I know what I’m doing.” I sat back, feeling sort of smug.

“Do you?” she flung back. “Then why are you sitting here at Tiffany’s with me? Shouldn’t you be out with your friends celebrating?”

“They all have someone else.” The minute it was out I wanted to take it back. It sounded so lame. Or desperate. Or something. I thought about Stephen. His voice on the phone. He’d sounded desperate, too. And I’d blown him off. Maybe I should have at least tried to listen. After all, I was supposed to be the expert. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m delighted everyone is so happy. Especially Cybil. She deserves someone like Mark. It’s just that. . .”

“Now that everything’s so neatly arranged you feel empty.”

I nodded.

“Have you considered that there might be another reason?” It was like she was reading my mind.

“Stephen called.”

“What?” She looked almost as confused as I felt.

“Cybil’s not taking his calls. So he called me. He wanted to talk. I think he wants her back. I blew him off.”

“And you haven’t told Cybil.”

“No. If I do, she might not go out with Mark.”

“And that would be a bad thing?” There was something in her voice that I didn’t quite recognize. Or maybe I just didn’t want to.

“Well, yes. I mean, no. I mean, oh God, I don’t know. I’m always so certain about these things. I have to be. Maybe it’s because it’s Cybil.” I sighed, my heart feeling sort of like it had lost something important. Only I had no idea what. Maybe if I talked to Stephen. Maybe that’s where the answer lay. Or at least maybe I’d feel better for giving him the chance to say whatever it was he had to say.

Only problem was, I hadn’t the slightest idea where to find him. I obviously couldn’t call Cybil. I glanced at my watch. She’d be getting ready for Mark about now. My stomach flipped again. I was always nervous when a new client had his first date. But this was ridiculous. Maybe I just needed to concentrate on something else, like Stephen.

“Mother, would you mind terribly if I took off?”

“Dare I ask why?” Her eyes glittered with something I couldn’t quite put a name to.

“There’s just something I need to do.”

“Well, take this, then.” She held out the blue bag. “For luck.” I opened the sack and pulled out the blue box. Inside was the little ring, its diamond and emeralds winking at me in the light. I felt tears sting the back of my eyes. “Thanks, Mom,” I said, sliding the ring onto my finger.

Her smile said it all.

And so, armed with my mother’s love, I headed out to find Stephen.

Which turned out to be a whole lot easier than I’d imagined. He was waiting for me in the lobby of my building. Harry tried to apologize, but I waved him away with a smile. “It’s okay, Stephen is a friend.” It probably served me right to see Stephen so surprised, but, in truth, I hadn’t ever gone out of my way to get to know him. I made a living on first impressions, and Stephen just wasn’t the kind of man a mother would choose for her daughter. You know what I mean?

But with my mother’s admonishment ringing in my ears, I thought maybe I ought to try to see him the way Cybil did. We took the elevator in silence and were still fighting awkwardness as we sat across from each other in my apartment. Waldo, on leave from parental duty, watched us both from his perch in the window. Stephen stared at the floor, and I stared at Stephen.

He looked tired, but he’d had his hair cut, and his clothes were free of paint stains. Okay, I know that sounds judgmental, but I don’t mean it that way. There’s never been any question about Stephen’s looks. He’s hot. I can admit that. But that’s not enough. There has to be more. Right? I mean, a good body doesn’t guarantee a good relationship.

Case in point.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said finally, his gaze meeting mine.

I try to maintain a neutral place when I deal with clients. They’re the ones on the emotional roller coaster, and they expect me to be the voice of reason. But Stephen wasn’t a client. And it was almost impossible not to react to the pain in his eyes. It was so palpable, even Waldo recognized it, jumping from his perch to rub against Stephen’s legs, offering his own specialized form of comfort.

Stephen automatically reached down to pick Waldo up, scratching him behind the ears. Clearly, my cat had no reservations about the man. He wasn’t usually big on sitting in strangers’ laps. But with Stephen, he seemed right at home. Two peas in a pod, maybe.

Or maybe he was seeing something I’d simply refused to acknowledge.

“I’m sorry I cut you off earlier. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s all right. I probably deserved it. I’ve hurt Cybil more times than I care to count.” An understatement surely. But there was no questioning his regret, it showed in every pore. “I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“But you have,” I found myself saying. “Deeply.” Now I’m not altogether sure that this is what Cybil would have wanted me to say. I mean, something snarky seemed a much better way to go, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. It was part of his charm actually, his little-boy-lost appearance. “I shouldn’t be here.” He started to rise, but I waved him back in his seat.

“You’re here. So you might as well say what you came to say.”

He nodded, swallowing awkwardly, and I realized something else about Stephen Hobbs. He was shy. Painfully so, if I had to call it. Which explained a lot of his previous social faux pas. What was surprising was that I hadn’t noticed it before. I mean I’m good at reading people.

Unless I’d already categorized them.

I felt the hot stain of guilt and jumped to my feet. “Would you like a drink? I’ve got pretty much everything.” Thanks to a rather intoxicating New Year’s Eve party last year.

“A beer, maybe?” Okay, so I didn’t have everything.

“I’m sorry. That’s the one thing I don’t have. How about some wine? Or a scotch or something?”

“I’ll have scotch, then. On the rocks.”

I walked over to the little table that served double duty as a bar and pulled out the bottle of scotch. It was nothing special, a bottle of Cutty Sark, but in my mind’s eye I saw the bottle of Chivas Mark had been drinking at Bungalow 8. With that thought, I glanced down at my watch, the time snapping me sharply back to reality. Mark was probably getting ready to pick Cybil up about now.

I poured some of the whiskey into a glass for Stephen and a double for myself. It had been a long day. I deserved it. Turning around I noted my purring cat, contentedly kneading Stephen’s leg. It’s really hard to dislike a man who loves cats. And I didn’t even know he liked them.

On and off, Stephen had been part of Cybil’s life for almost three years. So why the hell didn’t I know him better?

Because you prejudged him and wrote him off as not good enough for Cybil,
the little voice inside my head admonished. Well, said another slightly louder voice,
it’s not as if you weren’t right. After all, he did dump her three times
. I shook my head again, this time to dispel the voices before I turned into Sybil—with an S.

“Here you go.” I handed Stephen the glass and returned to my inquisitioner’s seat. “So I take it you’re having second thoughts.”

“And third and forth and fifth ones,” he said, taking a long sip of scotch. “I . . . ,” he started and then stopped, staring down into his drink. “I made a huge mistake.”

“Yes, you did,” I agreed, not at all inclined to gloss over the truth. Better that he face it and move on.

“But I had the best of intentions.”

“I beg your pardon?” I said, staring at him now as if he had two heads. “You broke Cybil’s heart because you thought it would be good for her?” Again I’d said more than I meant to, but the idea that this man had hurt her on purpose absolutely made me cross-eyed. I drank half of my scotch, and then slowly pulled in air until I was calm enough to look at him.

If he’d seemed wounded before, he was positively crestfallen now. “You don’t think I’m good enough for her.”

It was an odd segue and caught me off guard. “I . . .” It was my turn to stumble. “I don’t think the two of you work as a couple. No.” There I’d said it. And it was nothing more than the truth. So why did I feel like I’d kicked a puppy?

“Well, that’s what I think, too.” If his earlier admission had surprised me, this one floored me.

“Say what?”

“That’s why I broke it off. I know that she deserves something better than me.” He shrugged, lifting his gaze to meet mine, the naked longing there making me shiver. “I want her to be happy.”

“But what if you’re the only one who can do that?” I couldn’t believe I’d said it. Hell, I wasn’t even certain that I believed it.

“But you said . . .”

“It’s not about me, Stephen. It’s about you and Cybil. And no one else’s opinion should matter in the least.” Great, now I was channeling my mother.

“I tried to believe that. I mean, she makes me so incredibly happy. She completes me in ways that you can’t even imagine.” And don’t want to, thank you very much. “But I’m not sure I do the same for her.”

And suddenly I saw the complete picture. The two of them together, laughing and happy. Cybil did need him. And in some inexplicable way, he completed her, too. I’d just been too judgmental to see the truth of it. Oh God, what had I done?

“Do you want her back?” I asked, my thoughts spinning with revelations.

“Yes.”

“For good this time. No more running away?” I’d moved from channeling my mother to Dr. Phil.

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head solemnly and reached into his pocket, producing a little velvet box. I got a lump in my throat, and the damn thing wasn’t even meant for me. “Look . . . well, I’ve had a lot of time to think. In fact, aside from trying to get hold of Cybil, I haven’t done much else. And the truth is, what I really want is to spend the rest of my life with her. If she’ll have me.”

I nodded, unable to string together three words. Me. And I’m not even sentimental.

“Of course,” he said, looking dejected again. “She won’t take my calls. So I’m not even sure I’ll get the chance to ask her. Especially with Mark Grayson in her life. I mean, how can I compete with that?”

“It’s easy, Stephen. She loves you. Not him.” And of course that was the absolute truth of the matter. Cybil did love him. With all her heart. I had the cupcake crumbs to prove it. “She’s only going out with Mark for me. Because of the bet.” And I recognized then that that was the truth as well. My best friend had put aside her heartache and was going out with Mark Grayson on my account. So that I could win a stupid bet. And all I’d done for her was diss the man she loved. But not anymore.

I knew exactly what to do.

It would no doubt give the gossip hounds fodder for weeks to come, the resulting press proving to Mark that I was no better than his initial impression of me. But if I had to lose whatever it was I had with Mark in order for Cybil to be truly happy, so be it.

I loved her, too. It was as simple as that.

“Stephen,” I said, reaching over to take his drink, sure for once that I was doing exactly the right thing. “She and Mark should be on their way to Per Se. Go and get her.”

Chapter 24

New York Palace.
455 Madison Avenue (between Fiftieth and Fifty-first streets), 212.888.7000.

Guests enter this hotel through tall iron gates via a courtyard lit by Florentine lanterns. The heart of it is the Italian Renaissance-style palace designed in 1882. Public spaces are rich with architectural details including coffered ceilings, bronze doré moldings, mosaics, murals, and stained glass by Tiffany. Fireplaces include a beauty in the upper lobby crafted by Augustus St. Gaudens.

—www.gayot.com

∞∞∞

Three months later . . .

There’s something absolutely magical about the New York Palace. The moment you step through the iron gates into the soft lighting of the Grand Courtyard, it’s as if you’ve stepped back in time. Elegance and opulence at its very best. And it isn’t just the courtyard. It’s the hotel itself. From the magnificent three-storied staircase in the lobby to the luscious Villard Ballroom, the Palace evokes the graceful style of the Gilded Age.

And today the ballroom was even more beautiful, white peonies everywhere—on the tables, in the alcoves set into the oval walls, even in the center of the fabulous six-tiered wedding cake. Their heady smell filled the room, and when added to the seemingly endless supply of Perrier Jouet, it was enough to leave a girl positively giddy

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Anderson said, snagging a smoked salmon canapé from a passing waiter.

“Almost as lovely as the wedding,” Richard agreed, exchanging his empty crystal goblet for a full one.

The wedding had indeed been fabulous. Held in the Reid Salon, it had almost been too sublime for adjectives. Limited to only the closest of friends, it had an intimacy that only magnified the beauty of the ceremony.

And now, here in the ballroom, the joy had expanded to include the glitterati of Manhattan. Friends and enemies coming together despite their differences to celebrate the happiness of one of their own.

“Well, I thought everything went magnificently,” my mother said, her pale blue Versace sheath making her look almost in-candescent. But then my mother was always at her best at parties. “Have you seen the bride?”

“No. Not since the ceremony. I don’t think they’ve come in yet.”

“If they’re smart,” Richard said, “they’ll skip the whole thing.”

“Richard,” Anderson scolded, “just because you don’t like parties . . .”

“It’s not the parties. It’s the crush. Look at this place—you can’t move a muscle without bumping into someone.”

“Ignore him,” Anderson said, sotto whisper. “He’s just mad because he ran into an old flame who didn’t even recognize him.”