“Toy with him and keep him interested, you know.” Deanna waves her foot. “Play hard to get. I mean, he’s obviously hooked now. But if you give in to him tonight, he mightn’t want to see you again. There are men like that.”
Yes, there are.
“But I’m not sure I want to be with that sort of guy for keeps,” I say.
I’m conflicted about this, of course. My head tells me I shouldn’t be even hoping that this will be like a normal boy-girl relationship. And yet –
I’m over-analyzing stuff again. I should simply be in the moment. Enjoy things for what they are. Not manipulate stuff or worry about things I can’t control.
That’s my own good advice I should be taking.
“Oh my God,” Deanna says, looking at her Guess wristwatch. “It’s seven o’ clock!”
I panic.
Right on cue, the doorbell rings.
9
I’m all flustered, and so Deanna sprints to the door. Our tiny apartment suddenly feels like a furnace.
What am I doing in this dress?
“Hi,” I can hear Deanna saying in a voice that may possibly be brighter than a 100 Watt light bulb. “Would you like to come in? She’s just getting ready.”
“Nice flowers,” says a male voice.
I go weak-kneed. It’s inconceivable that his voice can do this to me – but it does! And he’s come to fetch me himself, not send some flunky or aide.
I rush out of the bedroom. And there he is – Alexander Vassar in the flesh. Alone.
Suddenly he’s plain Alex again – the Alex that I’ve f**ked the very first time I saw him, and the Alex who tried to seduce me in his hotel bedroom. The Alex who seems to desire me like no other guy.
He seems as stunned as I am.
“Wow,” he says. “You’re so beautiful.”
I can’t take my eyes off him too. He’s insanely and beyond beautiful. He’s so glorious that it hurts to look too long at him. His longish hair is a little disheveled, and the rest of his face and body is simply . . . well, Deanna can’t stop gluing her eyes to him either. He’s dressed fittingly in a suit that shows off his broad shoulders. His shirt is white and his jacket and pants are charcoal.
His blue-green eyes are mesmerizing. And I can’t help it. When I look at him, I think about sex.
Now I remember why I succumbed to his kiss in the restroom. I remember clearly, so help me.
I attempt to make a coherent sentence. “Uh, Alex, this is my roommate, Deanna. Deanna, Alex.”
“Hello.” Alex appears to recover some himself. Amazing! To think that I have actually impressed him with the way I look!
Deanna gives him a hug. “Well . . . hello.” It isn’t just Alex. She’s one of those touchy-feely people who hug everybody, so I won’t hold it against her.
“Thank you,” she says after she lets him go. She turns to me, makes a funny face and mouths ‘hot hot hot!’
“So . . . you ready to go?” Alex says.
“Yeah, sure.”
I make to walk confidently forward and almost trip on my dress.
Alex proffers me his arm. I take it, feeling self-conscious and more than a little dazzled.
“So . . . how did you know my dress size?” I say.
He dips his eyes knowingly up and down my body. “Let’s just say I made a wild guess. No. Seriously. I called up Housekeeping and asked.”
He called up Housekeeing and asked for my dress size? OK . . . I don’t know how to feel about this. On one hand, it’s flattering. On the other . . . it’s just obsessive.
How can a guy like this be so totally obsessed with me?
“So where are we going?” I say.
He winks. “It’s a surprise.”
10
I’m prepared to be surprised, but I wasn’t expecting this.
We are in a stretch limo, chauffeured by a driver who wears dark glasses against the setting sun. When the limo goes farther and farther out of the city limits, I begin to be worried.
“Where are we going?”
Part of me expects to be kidnapped, because this man – gorgeous as he is – is so unpredictable. He makes me tense every second I’m with him, and I honestly don’t know what will happen next.
He smiles at me, and it’s like the sun has gone up again. “It’s still a surprise.”
We rev into a moderate-sized airfield, and a plane is on the tarmac with all its engines on.
I’m immediately alarmed again. “Where are we going?”
“Up in the air.”
That’s obvious.
It’s also obvious that this is a private plane, because it has the Moldovian crest on it. (Yes, I Googled.) The driver stops the car. Alex gets out, comes round to my door and opens it for me. Charming.
“Are you trying to impress me with your good manners?” I say.
“I believe I am.”
He gives me his arm. This is an official date and I’m enjoying myself so far, so I take it and let him lead me to the steps of the plane, which is a Boeing 737.
The décor inside is unlike anything I have ever seen in a plane. The walls have oak panels running across them, and there are about eight plush seats, all arranged so that they face one another. Another compartment is boarded off. The lighting is a warm white – or what they consider warm white, seeing that it’s actually yellow.
Three hostesses are standing by at attention, and the lead one – a pretty blue-eyed blonde who raises my suspicions – greet us.
“Good evening, your highness. Good evening, Ms. Turner.”
Oh, so she knows my name.
“Good evening, Arabella. And will you can the ‘your highness’ crap? I can’t abide that when my father isn’t around.”
Really?
The blonde sizes me up fleetingly, and beams as if to say ‘I have to be nice to you even if I don’t want to, and he’ll dump you after tonight faster than you can flush that diamond choker down the chute’.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Alex indicates a seat.
I do. He seats himself across a table, facing me.
“Strap in,” he says. “We’re taking off soon.”
It seems strange to strap myself in with a seatbelt when I’m wearing such Oscar party clothing. Alex is solicitous.
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
“There are pashmina shawls onboard if you need them. Arabella can pick out one for you.”
“It’s OK.” I’m pretty warm and flushed all over actually. It’s the excitement and anxiety of it all, even though I’m trying to remain calm and ice princess cool. And failing miserably. I don’t even know what’s a ‘pashmina’.