Manolos in Manhattan (31 page)

Holly took a bite of her pasta with
arrabiata
. “Ooh, delicious,” she announced, and savored the explosion of fiery tastes in her mouth. She dropped her fork and picked up her wineglass. “But hot,” she added, and took a longish sip. “Really hot. Whoa.”

Jamie smirked. “I warned you.”

“Jamie’s the best cook,” Izzy said as she twirled pasta around on her fork, “isn’t he?”

“He’s pretty good,” Holly agreed, and leaned over to kiss him again, smiling.

Izzy nodded. “Especially when he makes breakfast. Did he ever make you pancakes, Holly? He made us some this morning, and they were
so
good!”

There was a beat of silence, and Holly’s smile froze.

“You...had breakfast with Jamie this morning?” she managed to ask.

Izzy nodded, impervious to the sudden tension that descended on the table. “He stayed over last night. This morning he made pancakes, and eggs, and bacon, and then I helped clean up.” She giggled. “Jamie and Aunt Catherine had a flour fight when he was mixing the batter. Flour went
every
where.”

“I bet,” Holly said, and carefully laid her napkin down on the table. Her appetite had fled.

Jamie put his hand atop hers. “Holly,” he said in a low voice, “it’s not what you’re thinking. Nothing happened.”

She pulled her hand away.

“Jamie slept on the sofa,” Izzy went on, “with Aunt Catherine. I had to go in the living room this morning and wake them up. They must’ve been
really
tired.”

“I’m sure.” Holly blinked rapidly in an effort to (a) keep from crying and (b) prevent herself from dumping the entire bottle of chianti on Jamie’s head. “I’m sure they stayed up late.” She leveled a hard stare at Catherine. “Talking about food, no doubt.”

Before Catherine could respond, her cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, and glanced down at the screen. She paled. “It’s the hospital, I have to take it.”

As Holly steadfastly refused to meet Jamie’s eye or listen to his urgent, whispered pleas not to overreact, the murmur of Catherine’s voice on the phone ended as she put her mobile away.

She stood and pushed her chair back abruptly. “It’s Leigh,” she said, and reached for her purse. “My sister. We have to go to the hospital, Izzy. Your mom...” emotion choked off her words. “Your mom’s not doing well.”

Izzy’s fork fell to her plate with a clatter. “Is Mommy getting worse? She is, isn’t she?” Tears rose and swam in the girl’s eyes. “She’s not going to die, is she, Aunt Catherine?

“I don’t know,” Catherine said truthfully, and dragged in a jagged breath. “I hope not. But the nurse said we need to get to the hospital to see her just as soon as we can.”

Jamie thrust back his chair. “I’ll take care of the bill,” he told Catherine, who’d reached out to take Izzy’s hand. “You and Iz grab a taxi and get yourselves to the hospital.”

“No.” Jamie and Catherine turned to stare at her as Holly spoke. She took a deep, steadying breath. “I’ll take care of the bill. Take Catherine and Izzy to the hospital, Jamie. I’ll come as soon as I can.” She glanced at Catherine. “Sloan Kettering, right?”

She managed a nod. “Yes. On York Avenue. Thank you.”

Jamie hesitated. “Are you sure about this, Hols?”

“Yes, of course I am.” Holly took the credit card he handed her. “Catherine and Izzy need you right now.”

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes full of unspoken things as he looked at her. “Thanks for understanding. I ‒ we’ll talk later,” he promised, and he was gone.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Natalie wriggled her sock-clad feet in Rhys’s lap. “Pass me another slice of pepperoni, darling.”

It was Sunday night, and they were stretched out on the sofa in the den, watching TV and sharing a pizza. While Rhys nursed a second glass of whisky, Natalie made do with spring water and lemon. She smiled and laid a hand lightly on her stomach.

After all, she had their little girl – or boy – to consider.

“That man with the hook for a hand makes me shudder,” she observed, glad she was cozied up on the couch with Rhys. They were watching
Charade
with Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant.

“Hmm.”

“Can you imagine?” she went on, frowning as Cary Grant chased Audrey through the Paris métro. “Three men chasing after you, thinking you have something you don’t?”

He mumbled something.

“And then there’s Alex, the man she loves but can’t quite trust because he’s lied to her from start to finish…”

When Rhys made no response, she looked over, irritated and ready to accuse him of not listening, but he’d fallen asleep, the whisky tumbler still dangling from one hand.

Natalie leaned forward and, very gently, took the glass from him and set it aside, then kissed him on the forehead.

“I love you,” she murmured, and got up to turn off the TV.

As she debated whether to wake Rhys or leave him lying on the sofa, Natalie felt a sharp, tightening pain in her pelvis. She let out a sharp breath.

What was that
? She wondered uneasily. It was too early for labor; she was barely five-and-a-half months’ pregnant. Braxton Hicks contractions didn’t usually start until later. It was probably just...indigestion, she told herself. Nothing more.

But the heaviness in her pelvis remained. And as she made her way to the airing cupboard to fetch a blanket for Rhys, another pain tightened and gripped her, making her cry out.

Rhys stirred and sat up. “Natalie? What’s wrong?”

She bit her lip as panic threatened to swamp her. “Nothing, I’m sure. I’m just having...a couple of tiny little contractions. It’s probably false labor.”

“We can’t take a chance,” he said, and got up to find his keys. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Rhys, no! You’ve had a couple of drinks and you’re half-asleep, you can’t possibly drive.”

“Then we’ll take a taxi. Come on, let’s go.”

Two hours later, they emerged from the hospital and Rhys flagged down a taxi.

“I’m glad it was a false alarm,” Nat said as she slipped her arm through Rhys’s and settled against him in the back seat. “Of course the contractions stopped once we got to the hospital. I feel like one of those cars that make a strange noise until you take it in to the mechanic. Sorry for the wasted trip.”

He squeezed her hand. “Better to be sure than take a chance. The doctor said preterm labor is a real possibility, even this early. Thank God you weren’t having contractions.”

She nodded. “He said he’ll run a test and let me know. But he thinks it unlikely.”

“Well, I’m glad we checked it out just the same. Rhys yawned. “I hate to belabor the point…”

“Ha, ha,” Nat said, and grinned.

“…but I’m really knackered. Getting ready for this launch is doing me in. When we get back, it’s straight to bed for me.”

“Me, too.” Natalie rested her head against his shoulder. “Thanks for coming along, darling. I don’t know what I’d do if it wasn’t for you.”

“You’d probably have married Dominic. You’d be living a life of luxury, filled with Maseratis, haute couture, celebrity friends, and cases of Veuve Clicquot.”

“And a husband who’s always surrounded with groupies and female fans,” she added. “Don’t forget that bit.” She frowned. “But I don’t think Dom’s cheated on Gemma. He really
does
love her.”

Rhys let out an unconvinced snort.

“He does! And he buys her all sorts of lovely things.”

“Well, all I can give you at the moment is an apartment with a nice view and an overcomplicated espresso machine. Sorry.”

“That’s enough for me,” she murmured, and drew closer. “Who needs haute couture or Veuve Clicquot, anyway?”

After paying the restaurant bill at Bella, Holly went outside to hail a taxi. “Sloan Kettering,” she told the driver.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the hospital. Holly paid the fare and went inside.

“I’m looking for Leigh Morgan,” she told the woman at the front desk. “She’s an oncology patient.”

The woman typed the name into her computer. “Oh, yes.” She gave Holly the room number.

“Thanks.” She went to the lifts and got in, her thoughts tangled.

Jamie and Catherine had spent the night together last night. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

On one hand, she was furious. She’d felt such guilt for kissing Ciaran, and staying the night in his room...yet Jamie had actually
slept
with Catherine. Unless, she thought doubtfully, sleeping – like her and Ciaran ‒ was all they’d really done?

The doors slid open and Holly stepped off the lift. On the other hand, who was she to judge? If she hadn’t been off her face last night from drinking too much champagne, who knows what might have happened between her and Ciaran?

She might very well have had sex with him.

Holly rounded the corner and began to walk down a long corridor of rooms. Dinner carts stood abandoned outside some of the rooms. The faint smell of tomato soup and disinfectant – exactly as she remembered the hallways smelling when she’d had her tonsils out as a child – assailed her. Televisions murmured from inside the rooms she passed.

She didn’t like hospitals.

As Holly got closer to Leigh’s room, her footsteps slowed, then stopped. She saw the three of them before they saw her, and she froze.

In the small sitting area at the end of the hall, Catherine stood near the far wall, crying. Jamie held her. Izzy clung to his leg, her face red and swollen from weeping. He knelt down and scooped her into his arms, and as he turned back to Catherine with Izzy clinging to his neck like a limpet, he saw her.

She didn’t need to be told; she knew from his expression that at some point during the time she’d spent settling the bill and hailing a taxi to come to the hospital, Catherine’s sister had died. The devastation on Catherine’s face, on Izzy and Jamie’s face, said everything.

“She’s gone,” he told her, confirming her thoughts. “Cath and Izzy barely had time to say goodbye.”

Holly felt her own eyes well up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

And she
was
sorry. She was sorry for Catherine, who’d lost her sister, and for Izzy, who’d lost her mother. She was sorry for the time she and Jamie had wasted, both of them knowing they really didn’t belong together. She was sorry she’d wasted Ciaran’s time, too.

But she was glad that Jamie was here now, and glad he’d been here for Catherine and her niece when they needed him the most.

They belong together
, she realized.
They’re a family now.
I’m
the outsider. And it’s all right
.

Jamie nodded slightly. “Thanks for coming, Hols. I don’t know when I’ll get back. It’ll probably be late.”

“It’s okay,” she said, and meant it. “Catherine and Izzy need you. Stay with them. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

And with a nod, she turned and left the hospital.

Chapter Fifty-Five

As Holly arrived at work on Monday morning, she wondered if she dared to risk a trip down to the corner coffee shop to get a frozen cappuccino with whipped cream and chocolate shavings before facing Coco’s certain wrath…?

“Good morning, Holly.
So
nice of you to join us.”

Coco, dressed in a black pencil skirt and a white blouse, stood before her with her arms crossed against her chest.

“Good morning,” Holly mumbled, and moved to step around her.

“Leaving aside the fact that you’re late,” Coco went on, “I have to ask...where
were
you? We all came in to work yesterday and spent the day moving merchandise to the first floor. You never showed. And you didn’t respond to my messages.”

All six of them
? Holly nearly retorted, but said instead, “Sorry, Cokes, but I...forgot to take my phone with me.” She rolled her eyes expressively. “Don’t you just
hate
when that happens?”

“Sorry, but I never forget to take my phone anywhere, so I’m afraid I can’t relate.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t think just because you’re Alastair’s daughter you can do as you please, Holly. And one more thing –
don’t
call me ‘Cokes.’” She spun around on one high heel and stalked away.

Well
, Holly thought,
that’s me put in my place
. She sighed. It looked as though a frozen cappuccino with whipped cream and chocolate shavings was definitely
not
in the offing. She dropped her purse on her desk and sat down to tackle the pile of work her lovely, impossible-to-please boss had dumped on her.

It promised to be a long, miserable morning.

Just before eleven, Holly looked up from the letter she was typing as Chaz’s desk phone rang.

“Good morning, Dashwood and James, Chaz Williams speaking.” He paused and glanced over at Holly, and in a much lower voice said, “Hello, you. Yes, of course. That’d be great.” He smirked. “Ooh, you’re naughty. I’ll see you in a few. Bye.”

Holly paused, her fingers on the keyboard. “Who was that?” she inquired. “Your mysterious new Brit boyfriend?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said, and thrust his chair back. “I’m off. I have a lunch date, and hopefully it’ll run late. Be sure to type up that launch schedule for Rhys. And
don’t
forget to use spell-check.”

Holly watched him stride away with mingled irritation and jealousy. She wished she had a hot lunch date on offer.

But she hadn’t heard from Ciaran since the unfortunate incident in the King Cole Bar with her parents. And Jamie was, as the saying went, off the table.

She planned to pack her stuff tonight and move out of the Midtown. Natalie had said she could stay at theirs, but Holly didn’t want to intrude. And staying at her dad’s in Gramercy Park was out of the question.

So that only left Chaz...

Holly turned back to the computer and once again wondered who his new boyfriend was. Oh well, thanks to whoever it was, at least Chaz ‒ and his bitchy attitude ‒ would be out of the office for a while. Score!

As her fingers flew over the keyboard, her desk phone rang. Holly eyed it with misgivings. She hoped it wasn’t Rhys, calling to reprimand her for failing to show up yesterday.

“Hello?” she said cautiously. “Holly James here.”