Complications (7 page)

“Aren’t they all?” Holly shoved a section of newspaper and a pen in her direction. “If you still want to go apartment hunting tomorrow, you’d better start circling some likely choices.”

The words swam on the page, blurring together. She couldn’t focus anymore, couldn’t think. She was so fucking tired of all this—of living in a cramped, shitty apartment, eating crappy food, struggling in jobs far below her ability level. If she wasn’t so exhausted, she would’ve burst into tears.

She deserved better, and Eric was offering it to her. Was it so wrong that she wanted to accept? No, they weren’t madly in love, but they had affection and respect—and great sex. Maybe, in time, love would develop too.

It wasn’t ideal, but it could still work. She wanted it to work. She liked the idea of coming home to Eric every night, having a quiet dinner with him, falling asleep beside him after another bout of wild, abandoned fucking. It could be a good life, a comfortable life—and if Eric became senator, an incredibly exciting life as well.

“Earth to Ally,” Holly chirped, dinging her fork against her glass. “I don’t know what planet you were on, but next time, buy me a ticket too.”

Ally chuckled and pushed the newspaper aside. “I don’t think we’ll be needing this.”

Holly’s eyes went wide. “You mean you’ve made up your mind?”

“There’s a couple of issues Eric and I still need to iron out, but…yeah, I think so.”

“Holy shit. Are you sure?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Hey, this is a pretty big step. I didn’t think you’d go through with it. But then, I didn’t think you’d actually sleep with Eric either.” Holly’s Diet Coke froze halfway to her mouth. “Oh, geez—you’re not going to make me wear some fugly bridesmaid’s dress, are you?”

Ally just laughed and threw the classifieds at her.

Another long day at the office had left Eric drained, a slow throb starting over his right eye. He’d only been home a few minutes when his doorbell rang. He threw on his robe and went to answer it, his breath freezing in his lungs when he saw Ally standing there.

“Hey,” she said, flashing a smile that quickly faded as her gaze flicked over him. “Did I get you at a bad time?”

So she’d decided already. Was that a good sign, or not? The wary look on her face didn’t give him much of a clue. He tried to swallow around the lump in his parched throat and stepped back to let her in. “No, it’s fine, I just thought you’d call first.”

“I lost count of all the times I picked up the phone today, but…” She gave a little half shrug. “This is something we should discuss in person anyway.”

Not a flat-out no, although that didn’t ease his nervousness. “Make yourself comfortable on the couch, and I’ll go get us some coffee.”

“I’d rather sit in the kitchen, if you don’t mind.”

She had one hand on her shoulder bag, gripping it so tightly her knuckles had turned white. His own uneasiness ratcheted up a couple of notches. “Wherever you like.”

Neither of them said another word until the coffee was done brewing and Eric had set a plate of sliced apples and Anjou pears on the table. Ally reached for a pear slice and took a tiny bite. “I, um, came over tonight to tell you I’ve decided to accept your proposal, provided we can come to an agreement on a couple other issues.”

He grasped his coffee mug, grateful for the heat seeping into his icy fingers. “What other issues?”

“I know there are certain things you want out of this marriage. I know you wouldn’t have asked me in the first place if you didn’t have the election coming up next year. So”—she took a deep breath—“I’ll do it. I’ll be your perfect little political wife. I’ll stand next to you and wave and smile at all your rallies and parties. But I want this to be a real marriage, Eric. Which means I expect you to be faithful.”

Was that all? Relief swept over him so fast, he nearly keeled over. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Really? So you’re okay with no more nightclubs or semipublic encounters?”

“Ally, that history’s so ancient, it’s fossilized. My promiscuous days are long over.” He grabbed a piece of apple and bit into it, relishing its sharp, crisp flavor. “What else?”

“There’s an opening for an on-air correspondent with MSNBC’s New York office. I want it. And I know you can make it happen with one phone call.”

Well, this was an unexpected turnabout. “I thought you were perfectly capable of landing a job on your own.”

“I’ve already put in my application, but Martin keeps stalling me. He says I need another year of experience before they’ll consider moving me up. Well, I don’t want to wait another year. I’ve got a master’s in journalism from Columbia fucking University. I’m qualified for this job, and I deserve it. And if you want to marry me that badly, you’ll get it for me.”

He loved it when she turned assertive like this—and so did a certain part of his anatomy. “Consider it done.”

“Wow.” A surprised grin spread across her lips. “That was easier than I thought.”

“Did you think I’d say no?”

“Eric, you’re not exactly the kind of person other people make demands of and live to tell about it.”

“Really? I had no idea I was so intimidating.”

“Not anymore. I’ve seen through your gruff façade.”

“Thank God for that.” He rose, took her by the hand and pulled her into his arms for a deep kiss. “There’s one more thing you need to decide,” he added with a grin. “Paris or Rome for the honeymoon?”

* * *

They were married at city hall the last week of April, with Holly and Ally’s father Gabe as witnesses. Ally’s breath caught as Eric slipped the platinum band onto her finger, right above her matching engagement ring, which sported a flawless two-carat diamond solitaire. He’d taken her to Tiffany’s a couple of weeks earlier and told her to pick out whatever she liked. Her eyes had nearly popped out of her head when he’d taken out his black AMEX card to pay for it. She hadn’t had the nerve to ask how much the final bill was, but she’d caught a glimpse of at least five zeroes on the receipt he’d signed.

The judge pronounced them husband and wife, and they kissed. Ally’s father stepped up to shake Eric’s hand, Holly clapped, cried and threw rice, and Ally blushed. The entire ceremony took a grand total of fifteen minutes.

After, they all climbed into the limo and headed to the Plaza Hotel for lunch. Ally leaned her head on Eric’s shoulder and admired her rings, turning them to and fro in the light. They glittered like stars, throwing shimmery patterns over the skirt of the cream-colored Chanel suit Eric had helped her pick out. He’d bought a new suit for the occasion too, charcoal gray with a silver-and-black pinstripe tie and sleek black Bruno Magli brogues. His white rose boutonnière threaded with pink baby’s breath was a perfect match with her bouquet.

They’d barely had time to crack open the chilled bottle of Veuve Clicquot and offer up a toast before the limo pulled up in front of the Plaza. Ally took Eric’s arm and let him escort her inside, but instead of heading for the restaurant, he turned in the opposite direction and walked toward the rear of the hotel. A uniformed hotel worker flung open a set of double doors to reveal a ballroom packed with guests, all leaping to their feet and clapping as they entered.

Ally just stared, sagging against Eric’s arm. All this, for them? No, for
her
. Obviously Eric had planned it. Her eyes stung, but she blinked hard and flung her arms around Eric instead. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted a nice, quiet wedding?” she whispered, giving him a look of mock reprimand.

He kissed her on the cheek. “You didn’t say anything about the reception.”

She scanned the room, taking in the crowd, the simple, elegant white and pink floral centerpieces on every table and another, larger table near the far wall, piled high with gifts. “How’d you put this together so quickly?”

“This is where a highly efficient assistant comes in handy. All I provided was the credit card.”

He was fibbing, of course. Knowing Eric, he’d probably supervised every detail. Now she really was going to cry. “What am I going to do with you?”

“If your father wasn’t standing next to us, I’d be happy to offer some suggestions.” He grinned. “But why don’t we sit down and enjoy our lunch instead?”

The wedding party took their seats at a raised table at the front of the room, then Eric signaled for the banquet staff to start serving. First came French onion soup, followed by mixed green salad with Ally’s favorite vinaigrette dressing, then the main course, a delicious coq au vin with sautéed mushrooms and garlic mashed potatoes, all washed down with glass after glass of ice-cold French champagne.

Ally chatted, giggled and stuffed herself silly, reaching over every few minutes to clasp Eric’s hand. Finally he leaned over and asked, “Something wrong?”

“What’s the matter? Can’t a wife hold her husband’s hand if she wants to?”

“Relax, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed a soft kiss to her palm, then rose, dinging his spoon against his wineglass to get everyone’s attention. The room fell silent. “I’d like to thank you all for coming today, especially on such short notice. I promise you, it won’t happen again.” The room dissolved in laughter. “Most of you are used to hearing me give long speeches, but today’s a day for celebrating, not talking, so I’ll keep my remarks brief. To my bride’s father, Gabe Taylor, and her good friend, Holly Martin—thank you for standing up with us today. Since my own family’s unable to be here, I’m touched and grateful for your support.” Was it her imagination, or was his voice actually cracking? He licked his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced down at her, genuine warmth in his eyes. “And to my wife Allison, whose humor and wisdom have guided me through difficult times. Here’s to happier times for both of us for many years to come.”

Eric drained his glass, and the entire room followed suit. Ally was about to spring up and plant a kiss on him—until Eric’s gaze locked on something in the distance. All the color bled from his face.

The banquet staff was wheeling in the cake, a four-tiered confection dripping with fresh flowers and whipped cream icing, but Eric barely glanced at it. Instead, he tossed his napkin on the table. “I’ll be right back.”

“What? Where are you—” But he was already heading for the nearest door. Ally stared after him, torn between following and staying put, but her body’s stubborn refusal to move effectively settled that dilemma.

Holly was at her side in an instant. “What’s going on?”

Apprehension settled in Ally’s chest and closed around her heart like a cold fist. Every pair of eyes in the room was focused on her now, and she didn’t care for the attention one bit. It felt like a million tiny invisible pins, all jabbing at her at once. “No idea. Maybe he’s not feeling well.”

At least, she hoped that was the reason. But what if he’d changed his mind? Realized too late what a mistake he’d made, and left her to deal with the fallout? No, that was ridiculous. Eric would never do such a thing.

Would he?

“He seemed perfectly fine a couple minutes ago,” Holly said.

“I’ll go check the men’s room.” Her father patted her on the shoulder before heading out the same door Eric had used.

Holly shot her a quizzical glance, but Ally shook her head. What else could she do? It’d look pretty odd if both the bride and the groom ditched their own reception. So she breathed deep, poured herself another glass of champagne and waited.

* * *

Eric thought he was hallucinating when he saw a familiar tall, dark-haired figure lurking at the back of the ballroom—until the man turned and dashed out the nearest exit.

Eric reacted without thinking, practically sprinting from the room, then down the hallway to the hotel lobby. Pulse racing, he scoured the lobby from one end to the other, but there was no sign of the man—of Nick—anywhere. He ran outside, dodging bellhops and guests piling in and out of cabs. He scanned the block in both directions—nothing—then went back inside to check the restaurant.

But Nick wasn’t there. In all likelihood, he’d never been there. Eric had probably just caught a glimpse of a hotel worker who resembled him, and his imagination had filled in the rest.

His shirt was sticking to him, damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed and hot. He couldn’t go back to the ballroom like this. So he trudged to the men’s room and splashed some cool water on his face and neck. He hadn’t realized how badly he was shaking; he had to hold on to the edge of the sink to steady himself.

“Eric?” A hand slid onto his shoulder and almost sent him splattering all over the ceiling. It was Gabe, peering at him with genuine concern. “You okay? Ally thought you might be sick.”

He laughed, though it sounded more like a dry, crackly rasp. “I just needed some air. The room was getting stuffy, and I’ve overindulged a bit on the champagne.” He took a hand towel from the attendant and blotted his face and wiped his hands. “I’m fine now, really.”

Gabe gave him a wary look but didn’t say anything, merely clapped him on the arm and escorted him back to the ballroom. Ally shot to her feet when she saw him, reaching up to cup his face in both hands. “My God, you look like you just ran a marathon. Where’d you disappear to?”

“We’ll talk about it later.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and tried to ignore the heat of two hundred gazes glued on the both of them. “Let’s cut the cake before it melts under these lights.”

“But what about—”

“Later, Allison. I mean it.”

She stared at him, her mouth going tight. “Fine. Whatever you say.” Then she took his proffered hand and went to help him cut the cake.

The reception ended at four. Ally was aching to be alone with Eric, but when Holly and her father climbed into the limo to ride out to JFK airport with them, she couldn’t exactly say no. Then Eric invited them onto the Courtland Industries jet for a bon-voyage toast. After more hugs and kisses that left Ally’s eyes stinging, they said their goodbyes, and the jet took off for Paris.

Once airborne, Ally ducked into the bathroom to change into jeans and a sweater, then lounged in a comfy leather chair and sipped club soda until Eric returned from changing his own clothes.