DRAW ME A PICTURE

A novel by Meredith Greene

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PUBLISHED BY:

Meredith Greene of Belator Books

www.belatorbooks.com

Draw Me a Picture

Copyright © 2008 Meredith Greene All Rights Reserved

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to belatorbooks.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

For Stephen, who inspired me to write in the first place—and to persevere to the end--who helped me shape the characters and supplied succinct edits… and who was subsequently written into each male protagonist written of thereafter.

A hearty verse of thanks also must go out to the dedicated reviewers of FictionPress.com & Writerscafe.org who took the time to contribute many vastly-appreciated opinions and then went on to buy our books.

ONE

The passing faces never failed to interest Michelle Gregory. Each day, a continuous crowd of people walked by her corner… a veritable lava-flow of human beings. Most of them saw nothing but the quickest way to wherever it was they were going. Some of the faces wore anger; others appeared worried; the majority, however, held a fixed expression of intense concentration. After her move to the ‘Big Apple’, Michelle learned quickly that New Yorkers seldom smile, being completely immersed in their various occupations. At first she wondered--naively--if the amount of stress that they embraced so willingly was worth the angst and apparent insomnia. Three years later, she was convinced that the populace not only thrived on stress, but prided themselves in being able to do so.

Sitting on her sidewalk-mat, Michelle shivered. At one time her coat had been thick and warm, though lately it sported patches on the back and shoulders. The biting fall air spoke strongly of its intention to surrender wholly to winter. As intimidating the thought of freezing rain, icy winds and deep drifts of snow Michelle knew she was one of the lucky ones... she was not truly homeless. Selling her drawings on the busy Midtown corner enabled her to purchase food and the necessary hygienic supplies.

Two years had come and gone since she was fired and blacklisted by the prominent Johnson & Black Accounting Firm. Despite visiting the unemployment office frequently, no other firm would hire the overly-moral CPA from Denver. Her “ethical issues”--as her previous supervisor had put it--interfered with the firm’s normal routine of pulling illegal strings which allowed certain large clients to get away with hundreds of thousands of dollars in taxes they rightfully owed. Michelle’s refusal to go along with such tactics had cost her everything: her income, her dignity and even her beloved loft, a place she’d come to call home.

“And, here I sit,” Michelle thought.

Memories of her short financial ‘career’ still felt unwelcome. Drawing was the only other marketable talent she possessed, and yet she found herself “overly-qualified” for every menial job she applied for. A glut of dishwashers, actors, models and waitresses vied with each other fervently for the few jobs available. Oddly, the walking business-folk didn't object to purchasing Michelle’s $5 portraits, landmark sketches and caricatures. Every day, the Stanford-grad hid away her pride and trekked the eleven blocks from her hotel to sit, sketch and sell her pictures. The most popular items among the locals were funny caricatures of Mayor Bloomberg and other political figures; the tourists favored her renderings of the Brooklyn Bridge and Empire State Building. Each sale added to the small pile of folded bills kept in a shoe box in her hotel room. Coming back ‘home’ with just $20 was a good day.

At least housing was not a problem, like for so many others who tried to make it in New York City. Shortly after Michelle was sacked a friendly ex-coworker called her, with the phone-number of a Mr. Jason Chan. Michelle was in a near panic at the time--finding the job market so hostile--so she called. Mr. Chan turned out to be the manager of the prestigious Waldorf-Astoria Hotel and was under pressure to shave his budget. In their first meeting the man explained his intention to drop the hotel’s pricey accounting firm and go with a far less expensive one, with just partial audit insurance. He just wanted Michelle to comb through the books and make certain all was in order prior to the transfer. Michelle dove into the piles of paperwork and software with a sort of desperation to prove herself.

The experience proved highly therapeutic. It reminded Michelle of her talents in navigating mazes of numbers. Her work allowed Mr. Chan to save more than he’d hoped for. The fear of IRS scrutiny gone, the manager readily agreed to Michelle’s bargain: in exchange for keeping a watch for audit flags she insisted on a free room, with laundry services. Art that time, Michelle’s apartment lease was up and housing had proved itself the most precious of commodities.

Sitting on the street corner Michelle looked over at her display of portraits and wondered what her parents would have thought about their daughter vending sketches in order to eat; her mother would have wanted her to move back in; her father would've joked about getting the Stanford tuition money back.

Tears pricked the corners of Michelle’s eyes at the thought of them. Four years earlier, a late-night car accident had taken their lives. Time did little to heal the void they left. Even moving to New York had not chased away the ache in her soul; they were her only family in the United States. A few distant relatives of hers existed in Scotland, but Michelle had never met them. She did have an uncle, her father’s brother, but he'd proved to be a bit eccentric... always working construction jobs around the world or holed up in some little-known country, often disappearing for years on end. The man had not responded when Michelle sent news of her parents’ death; he did not come to the funeral. She feared that he was dead, or worse... that he didn’t care. Amid millions of people--in the city that never sleeps--Michelle felt completely alone.

A sharp beep brought the young artist back to reality; glancing down at her watch, Michelle smiled. It was 12:05. Sitting up, she eagerly searched the oncoming lunch crowd for a particular face, one with brilliant blue eyes. Sequestered beneath Michelle’s bed at the hotel--inside her sketch portfolio--sat a portrait... one lovingly crafted. It portrayed a handsome man in his early thirties, with a strong jaw, merry eyes and a downright gorgeous smile. The man’s face reminded Michelle of how one of the Knights of the Round Table must have looked, minus the beard, possible fleas and hygienic issues. While she was drawing it, Michelle was amazed at how the lines seemed to drip right from her pen onto the thick paper, as if they had a mind of their own. Each night, she took the portrait out and allowed herself a moment’s gaze and a wistful smile before putting it away again.

The man of Michelle’s secret portrait did—in fact--exist. He walked by her little corner every day, at exactly 12:06. Even on weekends. His routine appeared to be everything to him; it was the thing which made Michelle take notice of him in the first place... he was never late. Dark blond hair set off the man's dark blue eyes nicely. He appeared right around six-foot tall, by Michelle’s reckoning... though it was hard to accurately guess from the ground.

In spite of the stranger’s good looks Michelle did not entertain romantic thoughts about him. Not--at least--until the day she saw him smile. A few months earlier, a small child accidentally bumped into the man, interrupting his stride. Michelle watched as the scene unfolded not seven feet away from her corner. Brows gathered, the man frowned down at the little urchin. A smile spread slowly over his face; his eyes shone like sapphires. Michelle stared at him. The stone mask of the no-nonsense businessman seemed to crack; a ray of light shone through from some other realm, revealing a glimpse of his soul. It was his smile that had inspired the portrait.

As she searched for his face in the crowds, Michelle reminded herself how futile it was to look and hope. Once--in a mad moment of bravado--she'd actually toyed with the idea of falling into step with him and saying... well, something. Courage failed her. Later, she laughed at her own foolishness. What would she say? “Hi... want to get some dinner?” Michelle imagined him looking at her askance, lifting an eyebrow or simply walking away in disgust. Certainly her face and clothes were clean, but her bedraggled, worn attire was just one step above ‘waif’… not to mention her currently unemployed situation. The very idea was unthinkable. Still, something compelled her to look for him each day, and to wonder.

12:06. The face she sought appeared. The blue-eyed man walked swiftly towards her, talking on a cell-phone. Michelle leaned forward--as far as she dared--in order to hear his voice. Bits of conversation floated toward her through the other sounds of the street and pedestrian footfalls. He had a pleasant voice, fine diction and a decided English accent. He passed quickly and was soon lost in the moving crowd of walking suits, heading to wherever it was he went. Michelle sighed, heavily. For the few seconds she saw the blue-eyed man each day, she felt light. But---in his wake--her emotions shifted to more downcast feelings, accompanied by a tendency to pity herself. He was so strikingly good-looking, so poised; she imagined herself looking like the Little Match Girl… soot-ridden... lighting matches to keep herself warm.

“Ah, well,” she whispered, “Until tomorrow.”

After two years of selling her drawings out on the streets of Manhattan, Michelle had learned to embrace optimism. The alternative to this was depression; she saw daily examples of this in the lined faces of lost souls who shrouded themselves in alcoholism and misery. The sight of those at rock-bottom kept Michelle’s spirits up; there was a lot to be thankful for, even in her situation.

A middle-aged businessman in a dark suit passed by, glancing at one of the cartoons on Michelle’s display. He laughed and dug in his pocket for money. Taking the picture down from the display board, Michelle quickly wrapped it in brown paper and tied a length of twine around it before handing the package over. As the man walked away Michelle smoothed and folded the precious bills, discreetly stowing them away in her sock.

The day proved profitable; she sketched five drawings and sold four. As the sunlight waned toward twilight; Michelle stood and habitually folded her cardboard display. Adjusting her coat, she picked up the little rug, rolled it and pulled down the brim of her hat. It was not wise to be out here after dark. Stepping into the narrow river of people Michelle joined them for the walk home, eleven blocks of familiar sights, smells and sounds. The sharp tang of Chinese food and hot-pastrami filled the air. Hot dog stands and vendors selling hot chestnuts gathered at the street corners.

Working her way toward a fruit stand Michelle exchanged a nod with the elderly Vietnamese woman sitting behind the rows of apples. The woman immediately picked up two, rosy-colored pieces of fruit and put them in a small sack; she knew Michelle by sight. Handing over the money Michelle took her fruit with a smile. Down the block she gravitated towards a take-out window with excellent Chinese food. With today’s sales she was able to get chow mien, broccoli beef and egg-rolls. The food smelled sublime. Michelle hastened her step toward home; she couldn’t wait to sit down in her room and devour it.

The alley running behind the Waldorf teemed with people at all times of the day and night: kitchen assistants carrying bins of vegetables and fruit, bakery vans, carpet cleaners, linen delivery trucks and the occasional security guard. Michelle smiled as she spotted Samuel, a fatherly guard she had come to know fairly well. From almost day one, the older man tended to look on Michelle as his responsibility.

“Miss Michelle,” he said, tipping his cap. Michelle smiled at him.

“Samuel... you are valiance, itself,” she replied, shifting her packages in order to shake his hand. Laugh lines deepened around the man’s eyes as he returned her smile.

“I see y’ have Chinese tonight,” he commented, walking with Michelle to one of the back entrances. Swiping his card, he opened the door for her. “Mabel was getting worried y’ weren’t eatin’ enough.”

Michelle chuckled. She’d only met Samuel’s wife a few times but was inclined to stand a bit straighter when the stout, matronly woman was around. After just a few minutes, however, the severe facade melted and she’d fussed over Michelle like a mother hen. Once, the woman had Samuel bring her a care-basket, with canned food and such, but Michelle refused it; she had no kitchen to bake or cook and nowhere to store cans. She did appreciate the thought and wrote a note saying so, sending it back--via Samuel--along with a single rose (cut discreetly from the Waldorf garden courtyard.) From then on Mabel’s deliveries consisted of cookies, with the occasional fresh loaf of bread.

“I have fruit today, as well,” Michelle said, holding up the paper bag of apples. “She needn’t worry. My parents taught me how to take care of myself.” Walking through the door, she turned back to Samuel. “Please tell her how I adored her raisin bread. It was simply delicious.”

Samuel nodded, his face taking on a wistful expression.

“I know,” he said, sadly. “She wouldn’t let me eat any of it; says it’s bad for my diet.” He patted his belly affectionately. “I may have been forced to commandeer a few slices of yours, though,” he added, his eyes twinkling. Smiling, Michelle nodded goodbye; she chuckled all the way down the service hall.

The air grew in humidity and warmth as she neared the kitchens. Walking forward in the dimly lit hallway, faint scents of rosemary and garlic filled Michelle’s nostrils. A half-smile formed on her face at the familiar sound of the sous-chef arguing with his boss. A loud, metallic clang sounded out and the head chef began screaming obscenities. It was one of the few moments Michelle was grateful for not taking French lessons, though she could guess at what was being said. Stepping aside, she allowed two kitchen assistants to dart by her, trying to escape the chef’s wrath. Ducking into the stairwell Michelle climbed quickly to the second floor.

The hotel’s cheapest rooms were short on space, but pleasant nonetheless. Michelle's room looked out over the top of the maintenance ‘shed’ in the corner of the garden courtyard. Rarely did she see anyone but the cleaning crews in here. Not many people actually rented the tiny rooms, unless all others were full. Using her key card, Michelle let herself into her room; she let out a sigh as the door closed behind her. Her eye rested on familiar things: the gray carpet, the bed with its deep-red linens, potted flowers growing by the open window, the diminutive antique table and the tall, cherry armoire. It felt good to be home.

Closing the window against the night, Michelle drew the curtain and began her nightly habits: her battered boots were removed, wiped down and placed carefully in the bottom of the armoire, her coat hung up and the other clothing bundled into the laundry basket. Michelle’s tiny bathroom boasted a toilet, pedestal sink and a slender shower, one just big enough for someone like her to squeeze into; the big plus was the hotel’s boiler system: never-ending hot water. At the end of the day, it was pure bliss just to stand under such cascading heat and let it wash away the grime of the street. After her shower Michelle dressed in yoga pants, her Stanford sweatshirt and slippers. She put her wet hair back in a pony tail and picked up her key card and laundry. The second floor had a small laundry ‘room’ at the end of the hall, hidden in a converted closet with folding wooden doors. Checking the inside for clothes Michelle set her wash going and walked back to her room, reveling in the quiet.

“If I didn’t have to go outside to make money, I’d gladly make this my hermitage,” she thought. The idea rather appealed; beside Samuel and Mabel she really had no one to worry about, nor was there anyone to worry about her. Here, at least, she had a small measure of secluded comfort.

Back in her room, she turned on the miniature CD player adorning her night-table. Lovely strains of Chopin’s Piano Concerto #2 filled the air and Michelle sat on the floor by the bed. Reaching under her bed, Michelle pulled out a leather portfolio. She sifted through the drawings inside and found the 12:06 man’s portrait. She held it up as if it were a fragile thing. Michelle thought it was probably her best work. Somehow she’d managed to capture that radiant smile from nothing but memory. Smiling back at the picture she slid it once again into the portfolio, fastening up the nickel buckles.

Michelle held the briefcase a moment, inhaling the faint smell of leather. The portfolio had been a gift from her father on graduation day. The charcoal pencils and fine pens had come from her mother;. They'd known, somehow, that she’d kept her passion for art amid the myriad accounting classes and volumes of tax law. Michelle’s eyes misted over. She put the portfolio away.

Looking at the hotel writing desk she smiled at the collection of pictures set up there: a photo of her parents on their wedding day, a picture of them smiling over her as a baby; a snapshot of her as a child standing by her Uncle Oscar, almost lost in the huge sombrero he had brought from Mexico.

Standing up Michelle turned the music down and glanced at the clock; her laundry would not be done for another twenty minutes. Looking around, she wished she had a teapot, or some kind of kettle. She missed tea; she missed a lot of things. Michelle’s eye drifted to the unopened Chinese food on her desk. Smiling, she grasped it and sat down on the floor again; the spicy aroma cheered her up immensely. The egg rolls were especially good. Michelle ate, gladly abandoning the realm of self-pity and want.

Tossing the empty food containers away down the hallway garbage chute, Michelle caught a glimpse of a family checking into a room far down the hall. A small boy and his parents smiled at each other, talking excitedly as they maneuvered their suitcases into the door; they looked happy. The solitary observer felt lighthearted just looking at them until the moment their door shut; the hall suddenly looked barren. Michelle went back into her room quickly. Loneliness had been her only companion for the last four years, but at times she heartily resented its presence.

Lying in bed some hours later, Michelle listened to the slow jangling of a janitor’s cart as it passed her door. In the distance an ambulance siren rang out over the never-ending sounds of moving cars outside.

“I am lonely,” she whispered into the dark; she felt it so acutely it was almost painful. Michelle thought briefly of the 12:06 man, of his cerulean eyes and brilliant smile. “...and, I’m a coward,” she admitted, smiling to herself.

There had to be a way to signal the blue-eyed man she so admired, to let him know she existed; a subtle way… one that did not require heroics. She would give almost anything to see him smile at her. Peering over the edge of her bed, Michelle could just make out the portfolio. Perhaps it was time to let her portrait see the light of day.

“It’s worth a shot,” she murmured; she was tired of being lonely. She was tired of merely existing. Lying back on her pillow Michelle smiled as Sleep danced its slow steps around her room.

TWO

Early the next morning Michelle traveled along her normal route to work. Anticipation gave new energy to her steps, today. She wore her patched coat and a brown, corduroy skirt, with thermals underneath. Her boots were clean but scuffed, her dark red hair all tucked beneath her floppy-brimmed, canvas hat; a gray scarf and mittens rounded out her ensemble.

“If this next week goes well I just may have enough money to shop at the illustrious Goodwill Store… for my ‘winter wardrobe’,” Michelle thought. The notion made her smile.

Walking along at a brisk pace, she arrived at her corner. Panhandlers did not find this location desirable due to the fast pace of the passers-by. The pedestrians did stop for pictures, however, their eyes caught by a cartoon or drawing; even the most stern-faced individuals seemed to want a bit of brevity in their lives. Having set up her display Michelle pulled out a larger, wrapped picture from her bag. She slid the thin package behind the display, out of sight.

Through the morning hours the stream of foot traffic did not lessen. For the first time--since she began selling portraits on the corner--Michelle found herself unable to concentrate on her sketch-pad. She fidgeted and nervously bit her lip. At noon, she could wait no longer. Fetching the mystery package out, Michelle pulled the wrapping from the blue-eyed man’s portrait; she fixed it to the display with care. She placed it at a top corner, where it had the most advantage of being seen.

Scanning the oncoming crowd, Michelle glanced at her watch. 12:05. Michelle wondered if he’d even see the portrait, let alone recognize the picture as himself. It wasn’t much of a flag, but at least she had raised it. 12:06... her mouth went dry. Michelle picked up her water bottle and took a small sip, keeping an eye on the moving crowd. People walked forward--seven or eight deep--each keeping an inch or so of ‘personal space’ around them. Michelle realized her heart was racing.

“Stop,” she silently chided herself. “Calm down. He’s just another person walking to lunch.” Taking a deep breath she watched, waiting.

He was late. Michelle’s hazel eyes searched the crowd at a faster pace. 12:08. She wondered if she’d chosen the one day to bring her portrait that he decided to call in sick. Another two minutes went by. Michelle’s felt her heart sink in disappointment.

Then--through the crowd--she glimpsed his face… but it was instantly obscured again by a group of moving pedestrians. Sitting up, Michelle felt a smile creep over her mouth as she waited for the man to come closer; he walked somewhat slower than the other travelers. The crowd parted and the reason for his tardiness suddenly became clear; walking next to Michelle’s mystery man was an elegant older woman, beautifully dressed. She held onto the man’s arm and spoke to him with a smile; he inclined his head to one side as if to hear her over the sounds of the street.

The woman’s face seemed similar--in feature and form—to that of the blue-eyed man. Michelle assumed the lady was his mother. Her artistic eye missed nothing. The older woman was well-dressed, her manner and walk exuded English sophistication from her deep-red suit-dress and black, fur-lined coat, to her button-up boots and tasteful garnet jewelry. She was easily a matron of considerable status.

Looking at her, Michelle felt conscious of every stain and hole in her clothing. Even the scuffs of her shoes seemed to leap out into view like never before. The older woman’s face seemed kind but Michelle just wanted to disappear, feeling every inch the bedraggled street artist. Eying them from under her hat brim, Michelle watched as they walked closer. The man from Michelle’s portrait must have said something humorous as the older woman laughed and then looked around with a smile.

Something next to Michelle caught the lady’s attention; she paused, her face dressed in mild surprise.

“Oh, no,” Michelle thought. She had forgotten all about the portrait. Ducking her head down, Michelle squeezed her eyes shut, the last remnants of bravery draining away; she prayed that the lovely, rich lady and her gorgeous son would just keep walking.

A few seconds ticked by. She opened her eyes again. Two, polished boots stood in front of her mat.

“That picture there William,” said a pleasant voice above her. “It’s you! I am certain of it.” Michelle wanted to hide, or fall into a sidewalk crack... anything but look up.

“Ahem…”

A man cleared his throat somewhere far above Michelle’s head. Inhaling a rather large breath, she peered up from under her hat. She had a long way to look. Blue eyes met her gaze; their color appeared different up close... as inviting as pictures of tropical coastal waters in a travel magazine. The man’s expression reflected momentary surprise, then amusement.

“My mother favors this picture,” he said, pointing at  the display. Michelle glanced at the woman next to him. The lady smiled.

“Well, aren’t you a dear,” she murmured in a soft voice, a gloved hand to her chest. Michelle blinked. Under the lady’s kind gaze she felt unduly juvenile. With her hair all tucked away she knew she probably resembled a teenager, more than a woman in her twenties.

“The sign says five dollars,” came the blue-eyed man’s voice again. “It does look uncannily like me, I’ll admit.”

“Five dollars?” his mother repeated, still looking at Michelle. “It’s worth much more than that, my dear. Really well done. How nice it would look on the ballroom wall... I could never get you to sit for a portrait.”

“Dammed waste of time,” the blue-eyed man said, grinning. “That’s what cameras are for.”

“He walks by here, each day at 12:06,” Michelle heard herself saying. “Where the heck did that come from?” she thought. She bit her lip to keep more words from coming out. The blue-eyed man’s eyebrows rose slightly. His mother clapped her hands together.

“I knew it!” the lady said, happily. “It is you... a mother knows. Would you be so kind, my boy? I’ve no paper money with me and I don’t suppose she takes checks.” The man chuckled at her enthusiasm and dug in his pocket for money.

“Well, for five dollars I suppose I can purchase it for you,” he stated, counting out the bills.

Though she hadn’t breathed in over a minute, Michelle forced her arms to move; carefully, she unpinned the portrait, wrapped it swiftly and tied the twine. Looking up again at the man she held the package up to him; their eyes met a second time.

William Montgomery had--reluctantly--allowed his mother to guide them over to a street artist. The huddled figure sat against the building next to a simple cardboard display, pen and ink drawings pinned to it. Some of the pictures weren’t bad but his mother pointed to the one in the top corner; his own face looked back at him. The portrait was very good. William looked curiously down at the artist, sitting so small on her mat with her back to the building. The girl’s odd, beautiful eyes struck him as she looked up from under her dingy hat; they shone out from her fair skin like greenish-gold gemstones. He’d never seen their equal.

She was a young woman, far too young to be out here peddling drawings--in William’s opinion. He felt instantly glad she had the sense to dress so plainly, lest she attract the wrong kind of attention. She’d caught his notice, however and he was drawn right in. Questions hovered on the tip of his tongue as he counted out the money. Why was she out here? Where was her family? When she lifted her eyes again to his--holding out the wrapped portrait--William decided to get a better look at her. Instead of taking the picture, he clasped her wrist and gently pulled her up to stand.

Michelle felt like she was in some kind of dream. The man just reached out, took her hand and made her stand up, and she didn’t say even one word in reprimand. Up close the man was even better looking, if that were possible. Unlike most of the 'british' men she’d seen on TV he was tall and broad-shouldered. He seemed to be scrutinizing her just as closely.

Giving the young woman an encouraging smile William pressed the money into her slender hand. The young woman's gloves were stained and worn. He felt a strange urge to cover her hands with his own and keep them warm. His mother spoke up.

“You’re very talented, my dear,” she said softly. Glancing at the woman Michelle felt comforted by the kind look in her eyes. The woman possessed blue eyes like her son's, though a little paler in hue.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” she managed to say, resisting the temptation to bite her lip.

The woman lifted a gloved hand and touched Michelle lightly on the side of her face; the gesture was natural and concerned, but it caught Michelle off guard.

“So young,” the lady said, smiling sadly. Michelle blinked; she struggled not to cry… not in front of them.

“We should go, Mother,” William, said, sobering. He saw the young woman stiffen at his mother’s touch; he knew his mum meant it kindly, but there were times he’d seen homeless people flip out. This girl was pretty and shy but she could easily be mentally ill. His mother looked up at him and nodded.

“Please take care of yourself, my dear,” she said, looking back at the young woman. Michelle just nodded, stupidly; her tongue seemed frozen. William and his mother began to walk away, Michelle left staring after them; she saw William bend down a little towards his mother.

“You have to be careful; the homeless here are very touchy about their lifestyle.” His words, though quietly spoken, drifted back to Michelle’s ears. Wound up already, her emotions brimmed over and something in her snapped.

“I am NOT homeless!” she yelled after the retreating pair.

They stopped walking at once, looking back at her in surprise. Michelle felt her face flame, but the embarrassment merely fueled her outburst. “I live in a nice hotel!” she continued. A few pedestrians stopped and stared, too. “I just can’t find work! I’m a CPA! I went to Stanford! And I... take care of myself just fine!”

Tears welled up, blurring Michelle’s vision; William's surprised expression, however, stood out with startling clarity. Shame hit Michelle like a slap in the face;. Flinging the dollar bills over the heads of the crowd, she turned around, seeking an escape. Grabbing her things in one swift movement, Michelle darted headlong into the throng of moving people, weaving among them in the opposite direction as William and his mother. Though no one followed her, she did not stop running until she reached the Waldorf’s back alley. Samuel was not on duty, and Michelle was glad of it; she knew she appeared distraught and didn’t feel like explaining herself at the moment.

It was not until she’d reached the sanctuary of her room that Michelle fully realized what had taken place. Collapsing on the floor, she caught her breath and began sobbing. Her behavior stuck out as appalling; making a scene was not in her nature, let alone running away like a spoiled child. Michelle felt mortified, in the ultimate sense of the word. Not only did she yell and throw money at the man she’d been hoping to impress, but his mother was there to witness her unhinged behavior. Well, she knew that if William was wondering whether or not she was mental, he knew what to think now.

Hanging her head, Michelle allowed her tears to flow unchecked.

“Oh... my... stars. I’m such an idiot,” she said, pressing her fists against her forehead. William wouldn’t want anything to do with her now, she was sure of it, and she’d only just found out his name. Sighing, Michelle wiped her eyes on the corner of her coat. Staring at the edge of the worn garment, she decided to take off her things; she carefully put them away and started the water going in the shower. She got out a towel automatically and stepped into the bathroom. Letting hot water pour over her Michelle was assailed by sobering thoughts.

She knew she couldn’t go back there; sitting at the same corner would be unwise. Thanks to her brave effort at being seen he blue-eyed man was aware of her presence. If she went back he might yell at her for scaring his mother, or something. Even if he said, or did, nothing, Michelle knew she wouldn’t be able to bear him passing by each day knowing she’d so royally screwed up her chance at making a good first impression.

“Ah well,” she thought, her eyes shut. “It’s not like he would’ve asked me out anyway. I’ll find another corner.” Enshrined in melancholy, Michelle sank down to the floor. “Hopefully, he’ll forget all about me.”

She sat in the shower for a long time.

BEHIND HIS mahogany desk William Montgomery stared out the windows of his office. He did not really see the splendid view outside. A pensive look marred his features; his blue eyes appeared troubled. Neat piles of papers sat on his desk, unnoticed. The altercation with the pretty street artist at lunch bothered him and he couldn’t escape the urge to do something.

Like most people would have been he was startled by the girl’s outburst, but her look of embarrassment struck him like an arrow. For the entire lunch hour following his mother had done nothing but say she hoped the young woman was alright, where was her family, etc; she was mortified that they might have inadvertently caused the “poor girl” additional suffering. She wondered if the girl really had gone to Stanford and if so, what was she doing selling drawings on the street. After seeing his mother to a cab, William returned to the corner; the girl was nowhere to be found.

Standing, William walked over to a window and stood, his hands clasped behind his back. Grimly, he pondered why he’d assumed the young woman was homeless. The idea apparently insulted her. To be sure she was sitting on the street, but she wasn’t panhandling; her clothes were worn but they were clean and she did look as though she took care of herself. Perhaps it was her jobless condition; once she admitted she’d seen him each day, it was easy to draw the conclusion that the girl was otherwise unemployed. Maybe it was just her stained, drooping hat.

William smiled, recalling the girl’s lovely eyes looking up from under the brim of it. The sky might as well have opened, and poured a single ray of sunlight down on her face. Though slight, the young woman possessed a haunting beauty that William could not shake from his mind; not that he tried. He appreciated a bona fide distraction the same as any man, let alone a lovely mystery-girl; one whom might need rescuing. Perhaps she would return to her corner; it was also probable that she may never come back.

“Perhaps she wants to be found,” William murmured, looking down; his window went all the way to the floor, offering a substantial view of the streets, far below. As he stared as the moving cars, he wondered about the girl. Why was she out there? The young woman certainly didn’t like her unemployed situation and was clearly mortified at being called ‘homeless’.

The heated words she shouted earlier came floating back to him; William returned to his desk. When angered, people usually give out far more information than they intend to.

“A nice hotel... CPA... Stanford,” he said, as if reciting notes in a meeting. In his profession, remembering all the minute details meant the difference between losing a client and making the deal of the century. Picking up the phone, William decided that if the mystery-girl could draw an exact portrait of him without even meeting him, he could find her with just a bit of effort.

Taking out his cell, he dialed his mother’s number.

“It’s William. Fine. Is there a name on the back of that portrait you got today? Yes, I’ll wait.” He tapped his foot on the wood flooring, impatient to put a name to the face in his mind. “Yes? Got it…” William wrote something on a nearby notepad. “Thank you. No, no… I’ll be working late. Alfred will drive you to the station. You as well. Get plenty of rest. Good bye.”

Hanging up, William read the name he’d hastily scrawled, a boyish look of satisfaction crossing his eyes. “Michelle Gregory,” he said, to himself. The name fit her; she looked like a Michelle. Ambling absent-mindedly to the window again, William fingered the paper awhile before folding it and putting it into his pocket. Looking down at the streets, he smiled to himself. He had no idea what he’d say to her if he ever saw her again.

“First,” he thought, “I have to find her.”

CHAPTER THREE

Michelle settled in at her new corner with surprising ease. No other drawing artists frequented the place, only the occasional food vendor cart and one, aging guitarist named Patrick. The singer’s ‘art’ consisted of warbling through all the Simon & Garfunkle songs he could remember. Michelle was amazed at how many there were; she best liked The Sound of Silence, mostly because it was the only one she knew. Any initial suspicion felt by Patrick was thwarted by Michelle’s daily offering of an apple or orange. He reminded her a little of her grandfather, with his pronounced features and false teeth. Over the ensuing weeks, Michelle allowed him to sit next to her while they ate lunch; Patrick was full of amusing stories and opinions of those whom daily favored him with musical ‘criticism’.

The corner lay several blocks from her old one, in an entirely different direction. Michelle knew she probably would not see William here; she reason that his lunchtime routine was fairly fixed and the new location was too far out of the way to accidentally stumble upon her. Once again, Michelle was lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces, hidden in the swirling bustle of walking, work, lights and food that made up New York City. Her contact with humans now broadened slightly to include noontime conversations with the elderly Patrick. In these small ways, Michelle felt somewhat distracted; she was grateful not to be left alone with thoughts of William.

At night, however, memories of his deep, blue eyes and his last, shocked expression haunted her. Each time these thoughts re-emerged tears of remorse and loneliness fell to her pillow for what might have been. As silly as it was to think on it--and torture herself, the situation left Michelle with a feeling of purely feminine regret. It seemed to her that the streets grew darker each day, the wind blew colder and the passing faces appeared strange and threatening.

Six weeks after she’d left her old haunt, Michelle came home early. It was a good day for selling drawings; she’s finally gathered enough money to buy some warm, winter clothing. After a shower and a fresh change of clothes, she quickly made her way out the Waldorf’s back entrance, intent on heading straight to the nearby Good Will Store. Samuel saw her as she breezed out the door; he walked up to her, his face lit with some secret joy.

“Miss Michelle...” he said, walking over to her. “I hope y’ like Monet.”

Puzzled at his words, Michelle arrested her stride.

“Well, he’s a little old for me,” she said, smiling, “... and deceased... but, yes. I adore his paintings. Who doesn’t?” Samuel chuckled, his teeth sowing brightly in his swarthy face.

“Me,” he said. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I like a nice painting same as anybody but, being dragged around for a whole night lookin’ at art and talkin’ about art isn’t my idea of a good time. Especially on a night the Knicks are playin’.”

“I see,” Michelle said, trying not to laugh. “I take it Mabel likes Monet?”

“Yes, she does,” Samuel said, taking off his cap and rubbing his bald head. “Her sister gave her tickets to some art show at the Guggenheim.”

Michelle’s eyes widened considerably.

“You mean… you have tickets... to the Guggenheim Monet showing?” she repeated, quietly. “Twelve of his actual paintings on display?” Samuel nodded.

“Mabel’s mother has the flu; she called today and wants Mabel to go take care of her for a few days,” he explained, his smile returning. “So... instead of being at some ritzy to-do I get to hang with my boys at the game. I figured the tickets shouldn’t go to waste, so, why don’t you go... and take a friend?” He held out a small, thick envelope to her with the museum’s logo emblazoned upon it.

Michelle looked from it back to the good-natured security guard.

“I would love to see those paintings,” she conceded, “But, this... this is too much, sir. I can’t.”

“You can,” Samuel said, smiling. He pressed the envelope into Michelle’s hand. “I insist. They should be seen by folk who’ll actually enjoy them; that would be you.” Looking down at the tickets, Michelle felt her eyes mist over.

“I’m eternally grateful to you both,” Michelle said, meaning every syllable. Patting the young woman on the shoulder, Samuel put his cap back on and straightened it.

“I’ll take warm beer over wine any day,” he said, plaintively. Michelle smiled.

“Indeed,” she said. “I hope you have a wonderful time.”

“You too, Miss Michelle.” Michelle took his hand and shook it; Samuel wasn’t the hugging type, but then neither was she. The middle-aged security guard turned back to his duty, giving her a small salute. Michelle returned his wave and jubilantly resumed her errand, which was now infused with added incentive. It would feel odd to walk closely among strangers, all evening and in one room but the prospect of seeing those particular paintings... to gaze at them as long as she wanted stole away any feelings of reserve. Now, if she could just find something to wear...

The woman behind the Good Will counter looked bored with life; she took no notice of incoming customers and continued reading her magazine. Michelle secured a cart and passed the counter with an inward glee; nothing was going to dampen her excitement. There were just a few shoppers; the hour was yet early. Slowly and carefully, Michelle perused racks of coats with a savor only the unfortunate know. This particular store had access to some of the finer neighborhoods in the city and was thereby able to stock its shelves with mostly quality items. Feeling thick wools and fluffy fleeces, Michelle thought it was tragic that the affluent men and women whom donated these fine items probably didn’t have a clue how much happiness their cast-off clothing brought.

“If they only knew,” she thought, shaking her head. “At least the clothes aren’t being thrown out or put into storage, where no one can use them.”

A hint of bright blue caught Michelle’s eye. Buried between a tawny, fringed monstrosity and a black dinner jacket hung a long, rich-blue pea coat. Digging it out, Michelle looked over every inch of it with a critical eye. The wool was thick and exquisite; there was a small tear in the right sleeve and some of the dark blue buttons were missing; it came down past Michelle’s knees. It was perfect. Michelle knew she had buttons enough to replace the missing ones, but she was more concerned with the coat’s price; it was well made and it had certainly cost a pretty penny brand new. Flipping over the price tag, Michelle breathed a sigh of relief. For twelve dollars, she could be the proud owner of a very nice, warm coat.

Happily, she put it in her little cart. For a few dollars more, she found a new set of warm, white fleece gloves and a fluffy, white, fleece beret. Thick socks were found, warm leggings and thermals. Wool sweaters were available in abundance and Michelle quickly found two that would service her well. Having found all her necessary things, Michelle made her way towards the check-out. The dress rack, however, beckoned; Michelle did not resist.

“Just a look,” she thought, a smile playing around her mouth. It had been such a long time since she’d had an occasion to dress up for.

After a half hour of careful searching, she found a long, pale pink gown, the color of slightly blushing roses. It had a low, square neck and long, slim sleeves; it looked almost medieval. Though it was not brand new, Michelle decided after dry cleaning and a few judicious alterations, it would look very well.

“I’m glad I kept a pair of heels,” she thought with satisfaction. Slowly, she walked to the check stand with her treasures. Standing in line, Michelle tapped her foot with a huge smile on her face; she could not wait to get home.

Once back in her hotel room, she turned the pink gown inside out and tried it on. It felt a little stiff, like it had been recently starched; a few alterations were necessary and dry-cleaning. At her mother's insistence, Michelle had taken sewing classes as a teenager, at  a local fabric store. Right now, she was very glad she had taken them; with a bit of skill, and restraint, even a second-hand dress could become an elegant gown. Smiling, Michelle thought of the Cinderella movie and chuckled at the thought of mice and birds altering a dress. She threaded a needle with light pink thread, unconsciously humming a Disney song.

An hour later, Michelle clipped her thread and took out the last pins from the gown; hanging it up, she  started mending the coat sleeve coat. Carefully pinning the torn sides right-side-together, she selected strong , thick thread somewhat close to the coats' blue hue. With the aid of a thimble, she pulled the needle in and out of the fabric in a series of tiny 'whip' stitches. Satisfied the repair seam would not unravel, Michelle began clipping the existing buttons from the coats' bright, blue surface.

Digging in her sewing basket, Michelle located an old, metal, hinged box that had once contained bath-salts. It was filled with hundreds of buttons of every shape and size. Her Gramma Betty had started the ‘button box’ when she was a young bride; it was passed down to Michelle’s mother and then to herself. After searching several minutes, Michelle found some antique, silver-plated buttons with thistles embossed on them, all tied together with thread. There were more than enough of them to replace the coat’s buttons. Sewing these on Michelle felt unusually industrious.

With care she hung her pink gown and the newly-mended coat on hangers. Leaving her room she took the stairs down to the first level, making her way to the laundry. A Mrs. Carlyle was section manager there. Michelle had met her briefly when she first came to live on the second floor; since the young guest hardly used the laundry service Mrs. Carlyle did not mind taking the two items along with the evening dry-cleaning.

Thanking her, Michelle jogged back up to her floor and did the rest of her laundry herself. She spent a happy hour putting away the new clothes. As she closed the armoire’s doors, relief washed over her like a warm tide; winter’s rage and icy threats seemed lessened already by the simple shield of warm clothing. Michelle gave in to closing her blinds, turning on her CD player and waltzing around her room for a few minutes. Chuckling softly at herself, Michelle shut off the music.

“Once in awhile, one must dance,” she murmured.

THE FOLLOWING day Michelle planned on quitting the streets early. Patrick absorbed her happy news of the art-show tickets with a straight face, but Michelle knew he was pleased. Her suspicions were confirmed when she presented him with her spare ticket; he held it close a moment, then grinned.

“I’ll have to find my ‘dinner jacket’,” he said, his eyes twinkling merrily.  “I hope they put on a good spread.” Michelle laughed softly as this.

“More likely there will only a few, tiny hors d’oeuvres and champagne; nothing substantial,” she said. Patrick shook his head.

“Well, then I’ll see if I can make it,” he said, rubbing his beard. “You never know, something else might come up.”

“I hope you do. I am looking forward to going by myself,” Michelle stated, happily. “No one to distract me... or tell me that they think Monet is over-rated. So what if he was half-blind? He still painted the most beautiful pictures… and when I look at them, they fill my mind with breezy thoughts of sunshine, of idyllic afternoons and naps in flower-scented gardens...”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Patrick agreed. “If I see you I’ll just sagely nod and move on, like them aristocratic rich folk do.” He lifted his chin a little and played a few bars of 'Pomp and Circumstance' on his guitar. Laughing, Michelle put an orange in his guitar-case and packed up her display. The opening of the Monet exhibit began in little over two hours. There was just enough time to get ready.

An hour later Michelle leaned into her armoire, searching for her pair of fancy shoes; a sharp knock came at her door when. Peering out the peephole, Michelle saw Mrs. Carlyle from the laundry downstairs; the woman held two garment bags. Taking out one of her precious five-dollar bills, Michelle slipped on sweatshirt and opened the door. The woman handed her the clothes and smiled at the tip. Thanking her, Michelle closed the door. She laid the bulkier coat down on her bed and eagerly took off the plastic garment bag covering the pale pink dress.

The gown looked much improved; the cleaning had left it very soft and smoothly pressed. She wanted to try it on right away, but her hair was still wet from showering. Laying the gown carefully on the bed, Michelle disappeared into the bathroom. As quickly as possible, she dried and brushed her hair; taking out her curling iron from the cabinet, Michelle put soft curls on the ends of her long, reddish-brown tresses. Carefully parting her hair on the far, right side, she tucked the front ends behind her ears and pinned them, allowing the rest of her hair to tumble down her shoulders in a shiny, bouncy fountain. Holding her breath, she slipped into her gown. Michelle looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, feeling an odd sensation of nervousness.

The dress did look well; the design seemed lovely in its simple lines. The color blended well with her skin tone, giving her a healthy glow and her eyes blazed out pale gold, with a hint of green. Encouraged, Michelle brought out her makeup box, something she hardly ever wore anymore. She dabbed on a little foundation, powder and thinly lined her eyes with brown liner, using similarly-shaded mascara. Clear lip gloss finished out her makeup job and Michelle was happy with the results. Looking critically in the mirror Michelle almost didn’t recognize herself; a healthier, prettier girl looked back at her.

“I have not seen you in a long time,” she told her reflection.

Donning her coat, Michelle slid on the new white hat and gloves, reveling in their warmth. The coat felt as good as it looked. The silver buttons thereon twinkled in the soft light. Michelle found a pair of nylons and her high heels. The dress almost covered her shoes, but she'd had seen long gowns like this recently in store windows. Modesty was apparently 'in' again.

“Lucky me,” Michelle said to herself. “I get to be fashionable and warm.” The thought pleased her. Glancing at the clock, she grabbed her ticket and put it carefully in her coats inside pocket. She put the tube of lip gloss in her other pocket, deciding against taking her purse. What would be the point? Purse snatchers scuttled about in the shadows of these gala events, though Michelle reasoned they’d not bother her. She looked nice,not wealthy.

Stepping out the door Michelle hesitated at the familiar stairwell entrance. Turning around, she walked all the way down the hall to the main elevator. Normally--dressed in her street clothes and carrying her vending display--she never took the elevator; she did not want to bring any ill-repute to Mr. Chan or the hotel because of her appearance. Tonight, she felt equal to everyone.

The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside, earning a smile from a young man dressed entirely in black Armani. She stood away from him in the other corner. After a few moments the man cleared his throat; Michelle suspected it was a signal to converse but ignored it. She smiled down at the floor until the doors opened in the lobby. Her fellow passenger motioned for her to precede him and Michelle walked out into the grand foyer. She resisted the temptation to sashay.

The Waldorf-Astoria lobby was famous for its décor. Elegant, professionally designed seasonal touches graced almost every surface, applied by people who were paid far too much. Michelle knew this for fact; she’d seen the receipts. Smiling, she walked on and admired the view. The lovely sight invoked a soft sigh from the young woman; the fall-themed garlands, classical furniture and twinkling chandeliers spoke pleasant promises of comfort to visitors, calling them onward to the more expensive rooms upstairs. Despite the luxury presented, Michelle felt happy with her little room; she had no bill to pay at the end of her stay.

Heading out one of the front doors, Michelle halted as icy air enveloped her; freezing air. Her breath turned into an opaque cloud before her face, looking almost solid. Though most of her person was nestled in the new coat, Michelle could feel the chill wrap around her throat.

“Should’ve worn a muffler,” she silently chided herself. The valet, well-wrapped against the night air asked if he could call her a cab. Michelle was tempted but shook her head; it was simply too great a luxury. The subway was her carriage for the evening, at a fraction of the cost. Walking was the cheapest but the museum was forty-two blocks away.

“No use arriving at the gallery drenched in sweat,” she thought, descending the subways steps.

Outside the Guggenheim, a line of cabs, cars and limos stretched around the corner; horns beeped loudly and the vehicles jostled for attention from the valets. Suddenly glad to be a pedestrian, Michelle joined the short queue of people outside the main entrance. Bright banners hung from the building on poles emblazoned with the name of the famous French impressionist; two, huge searchlights pointed straight into the sky on either side of the entrance, as if to say 'Monet has arrived'. Lovely couples strolled up and down the wide, white staircase, looking as if they did this every day.

Waiting in line Michelle nervously clutched her ticket; so many people standing nearby put her a little on edge. Even though she walked back and forth to her corner in a huge crowd every day, this was different; the commuting people she’d never see again, but these fellow art-enthusiasts would be holed up in a room with her for the next few hours, brushing up against her and possibly attempting conversation. Michelle took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. In spite of her anti-social tendencies, she knew it was good for her to fight it and mingle with humans.

“Nobody knows who I am, or what I do,” she thought.

The couple in front of her moved forward; Michelle noticed the bottom of the woman’s black dress dragged slightly on the ground, effectively picking up the dust. Little crystals sewn all over the fabric clinked as the woman moved. Smiling, Michelle wondered how much the man had paid for his wife to wear a sparkly dust-mop. The couple ahead of her handed their tickets to the doorman and went inside. Doubts inundated Michelle as she approached the doorman and guards. What if she was here on the wrong night? What if the ticket was no good? Maybe Mabel’s sister had bought them from some con-artist making forgeries? What if...

The doorman clipped her ticket and handed it back with a smile.

“Enjoy the paintings, miss,” he said, opening the door. Weakly returning his smile, Michelle stepped inside.

Insignificant; she felt every letter of that word standing inside the bulwark building of artistic expression. The very air felt intimidating. Despite this, Michelle remembered that had come to see paintings, grandeur notwithstanding. Soft lights beckoned from the far end of the echoing antechamber; through tall, glass doors Michelle glimpsed couples walking and talking. Peeking amid the milling people was a painting, hung on a gray-hued wall, lit perfectly by tiny spotlights. Monet’s own works were just inside those doors.

Excitement flooded her. Although Michelle thought it silly to feel so thrilled at seeing art, she knew whence her emotions sprung. The paintings were really just beautiful monuments, testifying that one would live, work, love and die but the pieces of that life were somehow able to be preserved, and be appreciated. Eyes aglow, Michelle walked forward, grateful to be among those allowed to see and enjoy.

The museum offered a coat check. Unbuttoning her overcoat, Michelle enjoyed the way the embossed buttons felt in her fingers as she pushed them through the buttonholes. She tucked her hat and gloves into the pockets and reluctantly handed the coat across the counter. The black-clad youth slipped the coat onto a hangar, tagged it and gave her back the bottom portion of the ticket. Michelle uttered a low ‘thank you,’ before turning away. Walking towards the glass doors, she slipped the ticket stub discreetly into her bodice, having no pocket or purse. The glass door opened before her and Michelle stepped into the exhibition; she was immersed in an ethereal world of low voices, clinking glasses and art.

Insecurity gripped Michelle as she entered the room; she resisted the urge to find the darkest corner and hide. Glancing around, she did not see Patrick the street musician anywhere but that did not really surprise her. The ticket was worth a lot fenced. Forcing herself to act like a normal person would, she slowly made her way towards the first painting. The people milling around seemed more interested in conversations with one another than actually looking at the art, enabling Michelle an unobstructed view of the first painting.

It was exquisite. No other word even came close, but then Michelle did not see a mere collection of framed artwork. The people around her faded, the wall darkened and the painting itself blazed forth filling her view completely. Every brush-stroke beckoned; each color called out for attention. So ensconced was she in her perusal that a nearby server had to call to her three times. Michelle jumped as a middle-aged man in a server’s tuxedo lightly touched her shoulder.

“Wh-what?” she said, uncertainly, blinking at the waiter.

“Wine?” the server asked, offering his tray. The gleaming, stemmed glasses were half-filled with various wines, both pale and vibrant. Michelle shook her head.

“Oh... I’m sorry, sir,” she stammered. “I don’t drink but, thank you.”

“We have sparkling cider, miss,” the server said, holding out a tall, thin flute. Minute bubbles in the golden liquid rose, disappearing as they gained the surface. Michelle accepted the glass and inhaled its sweet fragrance.

“Perfect,” she said, smiling. The man nodded and swept off, balancing his tray with adept precision. Michelle was free to lose herself in the painting once more.

Across the room, a man with blue eyes stared at Michelle as she turned back to the painting. His expression was one of astonishment. William Montgomery indeed felt surprised; the young street artist with the unusual eyes was standing not thirty feet away from him. He was certain it was her... Michelle Gregory. The girl who’d drawn the incredible portrait of him and then yelled at him; the girl who’d run away embarrassed, never to reappear. She was the very last person he expected to see here.

William had tried for weeks to locate the artist. The private investigator he hired turned up some interesting information: the years at Stanford, her parent’s auto accident and the fact that over two years ago she was sacked from a very prestigious accounting firm. More inquiries established she’d not been fired for legitimate reasons; a former coworker informed the PI that Michelle Gregory was ‘brilliant’ with taxes, a little anti-social but was fired since she wasn’t willing to bend the rules for a wealthy client.

There the trail went cold. Her old landlord thought well of her but did not have a forwarding address. There were no post office boxes with her name attached to them, and none of the employment agencies had heard from a Michelle Gregory in almost two years. William tried code-calling the local hotels; they either didn’t have her there, or refused to give out any information. It was as if she’d fallen off the map. He walked by her vacated corner each day hoping to see her, to no avail. Yet, here she was… standing in the Guggenheim exhibition room looking as if she’d stepped right out of one of the paintings.

When she’d entered the room, his eye was drawn to her hesitant body language; the girl appeared inexplicably familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her. He’d studied the young woman as she moved, trying to remember who she was; he was about to walk over to her when she turned to face a server. Oddly-beautiful eyes looked out from her face; pale gold, with a little green in them. William knew her at once. Drifting closer, he weighed what to say to her; he couldn’t imagine admitting he’d been investigating her whereabouts, but he wanted her to know how much he’d been trying to find her.

“Hello. I’ve been searching for you… want to go out?” William shook his head, a rueful smile lifting one corner of his mouth, and then he froze. Go out? The thought baffled William momentarily; he just wanted to meet her, to apologize for calling her homeless... why the jump to dating?

William looked at the young woman again. She hadn’t moved from the first painting; she was just gazing at it, standing like a graceful statue. “She definitely cleans up well,” he thought. William suddenly missed her eyes; he wanted to look into them and speak with her, to make her laugh... just to see her eyes light up. Perhaps she would go out with him. There were so many things he wanted to ask her; surely she wouldn’t run away again. William suspected that yelling wasn’t something she did frequently; she seemed embarrassed and surprised at herself that day at the corner.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he said to himself. Taking a large drink of champagne William began weaving his way through the surrounding crowd, toward the young woman in the pink dress.

Lost in a color-strewn landscape Michelle could almost see the painter standing in his Giverny studio: tubes of paint littered the floor and a wooden palette sat on a nearby stool. Paintbrush in hand, Monet stood with a serious expression on his face, his feet apart in stubborn stance. At that moment, the master painter was merely a fellow human... a little-known artist with stains on his clothes, wearing an odd, unfashionable cap that ‘unsettled’ everyone but himself. Michelle was comforted by the thought. Although fame and money were considered by most to be 'wonderful', she was glad the artist had not lived to witness the frenzy of popularity that ensued post mortem. She just knew he would have hated gushing fans and hordes of visitors invading his beloved haunts.

“Unknown, undiscovered artists are... happier,” she murmured.

“I agree.”

A man beside--and slightly behind—her spoke, but Michelle did not look at him. The voice was pleasant and refined with a clear, English accent… all horribly familiar. The painting blurred. Staring ahead, Michelle unconsciously gripped her cider.

“It’s Miss Gregory, isn’t it?” came the voice again. “I found your name on your drawing. Michelle Gregory.” The man’s head leaned a little more into her peripheral view. Michelle couldn’t get her voice to work; she wanted to say something but nothing would come out. She could feel his intent gaze on her face. “You’ve gone pale,” the man continued, quietly. “Does this mean you’re going to yell and toss your drink at me?” Mortified, Michelle turned away, feeling an overwhelming urge to bolt.

A hand on her arm stopped her.

“Please don’t go.” The man’s voice came again; he moved to block her way. “I meant no offense. It’s just... last time you ran off and didn’t come back. I know. I looked for you.”

Venturing a glance up, Michelle’s eyes met William’s; they were looking at her with concern. He was so very good -looking and as always well-dressed; the fine, gray-wool suit, gray shirt and dark gray silk tie suited him well. Michelle was amazed he was even speaking with her, let alone searching her face with questions in his eyes.

“I am so sorry,” she blurted out, surprising herself and her companion. “I never behave that way, and … oh, your poor mother! I... um...” Unable to continue Michelle looked down, biting her lip.

A soft chuckle brought her gaze back up. The blue-eyed man was smiling at her; not mockingly, per say, but as if he found her mortification amusing.

“Truthfully, Miss Gregory, your words were justified... however dramatic,” he said. “I should not have assumed you were homeless.”

“I’m not,” Michelle said, lifting her chin a little. “But, I do sell my drawings out there.” The man held out his hand to her.

“William Montgomery,” he said, looking down into her eyes.

“Michelle Gregory,” said she, gently taking his hand. “But... you already knew that.”

The man's palm felt a little rough; Michelle unconsciously gave it her attention. She expected a soft, manicured hand, but his had calluses and scrapes on it. William saw her scrutiny and grinned.

“I build furniture,” he explained. “I have a little wood shop at my apartment.”

“Oh.” Realizing she still held his hand, Michelle quickly let it go. “Uh... as your occupation?” she asked, looking up at him.

Momentarily William’s gaze was caught up in her strange, beautiful eyes. If his heart had the capacity to flutter, it would have. The young woman looked quite stunning in her pale, pink dress. Her sable-colored hair seemed to glow in the soft light. William thought he could faintly smell apple blossoms. Suddenly, he imagined them picnicking together in some sunny apple orchard, the air scented with rosy flowers. In his vision she smiled up at him and he leaned in for a kiss...

“Mr. Montgomery?”

A soft voice interrupted William’s reverie. The orchard disappeared, but Michelle was still in front of him.

“Er... ah... no. Hobby,” he stammered, attempting to clear his head. His brain reeled from the vibrant, imaginary scene. “I’m a corporate lawyer… Brownstone & Peters. I only wish carpentry was my sole occupation, but... one must pay the bills.” He gave Michelle a wistful smile. She looked at him steadily for a moment and then took a sip of her cider.

“Not much money in hobbies,” she returned. “Being a ‘starving artist’ is not for the faint of heart.” William noted her wry tone. Leaning forward a little, he looked down at her.

“You may be slender, my dear but hardly emaciated,” he said, lowering his voice.

Michelle felt her face turn red. She looked away and drained her cider. Smiling, William halted a nearby server. “Two more champagne,” he directed at the man.

“Not for me... thank you,” Michelle managed to say. William looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

The waiter recognized Michelle and held out a different flute.

“Sparkling cider for the lady,” he quipped. Michelle nodded and let William relieve her of her empty glass.

“You’re a bit dressed up to be a devout teetotaler,” William remarked, taking a drink of his champagne.

“I have never liked the taste of alcohol,” Michelle explained. Taking a step towards the next painting, she saw William fall into step beside her. “It’s not a religious thing, more of a personal preference. I do cook with it, though.”

“Do you?” William said, smiling. Michelle gave him a sidelong look.

“Yes,” she said. “I do know how to cook... for myself, anyway.”

William was pleased at their conversation thus far, though he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the paintings when a living one was standing right next to him, delicately sipping her drink. She seemed to be enjoying the cider very much.

They approached a large painting. The canvas nearly covered the wall.  Michelle’s eyes grew wide at the sight of it.

“I can see him,” she said, almost too softly to be heard. William caught it, however. Lifting an eyebrow he looked at t he painting, then over at her.

“Who?” he inquired. Michelle started, looked at William.

“Oh... sorry,” she replied. “I didn’t realize I said that out loud.”

“Who did you see?” William asked, gently, leaning closer to her. He already liked the way her soft voice threaded its way through the surrounding chatter.

Feeling a bit silly Michelle took a deep breath.

“Monet,” she admitted. She pointed to the floor in front of her feet. “He must have stood just this far away to paint this part. I can see him... in his paint-spattered clothes, his garden clogs... wearing that little cap that everyone loathed.”

William smiled but did not interrupt. The change in her face fascinated him. Her shyness was gone and her face glowed as she described the scene in the studio, the painter’s face and how he held the brushes.

“So…” he said, as she paused. “What is he doing?” Looking at the painting, Michelle’s mouth curved into a little smile.

“He’s gripping his hair, like all painters do, saying: ‘That corner is not right! Alice! Where the hell is my lunch?!’”

William threw back his head and laughed; his companion's expression and the subtle French accent she’d lapsed into were hilarious. Some nearby socialites were bothered by his outburst and moved away, whispering. Michelle was delighted; she sipped her cider and enjoyed the sight. Her companion’s laughter sounded like cheerful music.

“You have quite an imagination, Michelle,” William said, recovering his composure; his blue eyes appeared bright with humor. Michelle noticed William had beautiful teeth; so much for the stereotypical Englishman with crooked choppers. His were very white and straight.

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” she said, turning to the painting again.

William hovered by her side.

“Please call me William,” he offered, hoping she would. Playing nervously with her drink, Michelle suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“Please don’t be insulted by this but... I don’t know you that well,” she said, glancing shyly at him. William’s brain whirred to come up with a good response to her frank reply.

“True,” he said. “Then, perhaps we could eat dinner together later; we can get to know one another better, and you can ask me all kinds of things.”

Michelle’s initial instinct was to refuse; however, she remembered it was normal for people to socially attend meals together. Had it been that long since she’d been out?

“Yes, it has,” she thought. She wondered if the man was merely asking her out of pity.

“I’m not saying you look like you need to eat,” William continued, forestalling her. “I’ve already established that you look... lovely.” He watched her fair skin turn a deep rose color and liked it; she was beautiful. She looked as delicate as a flower and was obviously not used to compliments.

“I would love to,” Michelle said, unexpectedly; her voice was almost too soft to be heard. “I was going to eat after coming here; you can’t really enjoy this on a full stomach.” She lifted her hand and gestured towards the paintings.

Grinning, William nodded; he was elated at his success in procuring her company for dinner. Offering her his arm, he stepped closer.

“Shall we enjoy the paintings together?” he suggested, looking down into her eyes. Michelle blinked; she wondered what she’d done to deserve the undivided attention of this handsome, polite man. Part of her warned 'Rich man... he wants what all men want'. The other side of her said: ‘keep your wits about you but dream and hope all you like'.

Looking up at William, Michelle gently took his arm and smiled.

“I promise not to talk too much,” she said, her eyes shining.

“Rubbish,” William returned, “I would like you to tell me what you see him doing at each one. That was quite entertaining. I’ve never quite seen Monet in such a light.” Michelle shrugged a little.

“I’ve read his journals and the articles his friends wrote of him,” she said. “His paintings just seem to speak. When I look at them, Monet does not seem so intimidating, but is just an artist... you know, a fellow human being.” As she spoke, her lips curved into a half-smile. William saw Michelle possessed a single dimple; he thought it adorable. He wanted to reach up and brush it with his fingertip, but did not. Having finally found Michelle, William had no intention of scaring her off.

In the hours that followed no two people in the museum enjoyed themselves more than they. Their conversations were filled with more merriment than either had experienced for some time. Looking at Michelle as she reverently spoke of Madame Monet’s death, William was suddenly struck by the vast amount of time he spent in his office. This little slip of an American sketch-artist felt more passion about these paintings and knew more about them than himself, despite his careful education and the facilitating refinements of high society. So thoroughly was he entangled in his work, he’d been missing the very juice of life and all it had to offer. He could see life in Michelle’s eyes and longed to share it.

Lingering beside William, Michelle was envious of each couple she saw; they were able to go home with their respective companions, while she merely had the pleasure of William’s company for but a few, wonderful hours. Unwilling to let the opportunity pass her by, she reveled in every second and prodded herself to come a little more out of her habitual shell. As the minutes flew by, Michelle grew more comfortable talking with her escort, and managed to say mostly witty things; she did reminded herself not to dominate the conversation, for, years ago her grandmother had instructed her on talking to men:

“Don’t talk so much that you can’t learn a little. No one likes people who think they know everything.” Wise words they were, and Michelle applied them.

A few minutes after eight PM, Michelle looked up and saw that they stood in front of the last painting. Apprehension flooded her; she was about to go to dinner, with him… the man she’d watched walk by each day, the one she’d dreamed of, the unattainable man of her portrait; the man with the smile. However, unlike her fearful suspicions, William hadn’t rebuffed her; he sought her out and in lieu of the look of disgust she had once envisioned he had searched her eyes with interest and perhaps a little uncertainty.

William did not look uncertain now; he grinned and pointed towards the main entrance.

“Shall we?” he asked. Michelle thought they were the most beautiful words ever spoken. Nodding, she took his arm with a deep delight.

“Just for dinner...” she thought, “I can have a dear companion.”

At the coat check, she let William hold her overcoat for her. He, in turn, liked how his companion snuggled into its woolen depths; he was loath to cover up her form in such heavy layers but when Michelle put on her white hat and gloves, she looked so darling that the dim antechamber was brightened.

Outside, William signaled for a cab. Michelle tried not to look as excited as she felt; she loved riding in taxis. It was fun just being driven somewhere, let alone with a dashing acquaintance; it had been over a year since she’d been able to even think about taking one anywhere. William quietly observed her expression as the cab drew up.

“You’re all bubbly,” he said, smiling down at her. “You don’t even know where we’re going.” Michelle looked at him and smiled. Getting into the taxi, she scooted over so William could get in beside her.

“Oh, anywhere would be nice,” she replied, smiling at him. Then a thought occurred to her. “Except sushi,” she corrected, wrinkling her nose. William laughed.

“Good heavens… no,” he said, closing the taxi’s door. “At a party I may tolerate a bit of sushi, drowned out with a few tumblers of sake, but not by choice in this weather...” Michelle giggled a bit at his dismal tone.

“Ah, so you’ve been at a few ‘there’s-nothing-but-sushi’ parties,” she said. Grinning, William nodded.

“More than a few,” he commented. “For some reason most of Manhattan’s corporate party-planners are ardent fans of well-presented bits of raw fish.”

“Tonight kind of feels like hot soup and fresh bread night,” Michelle proposed, after a pause; she resisted the urge to lick her lips. Hunger had been building up in her since breakfast. William looked thoughtful.

“That suggestion is quite apropos,” he replied. “I know just the place.” He leaned forward and said something to the driver. Michelle didn’t catch it but the cab began edging into the traffic, despite some honks of protest from the vehicles behind.

Sitting beside one another the two felt oddly comfortable, even in saying nothing. William didn’t know if he’d ever met a more pleasant girl in his life. Glancing sideways at her, he watched as she sat serenely, hands folded in her lap; she looked out her window with rapt attention.

“How long have you lived in New York?” he asked, suddenly feeling curious. The investigative report he’d received on her did not include everything.

“Three years,” Michelle answered, turning to face him. William looked mildly surprised.

“You seem to enjoy the city like a tourist,” he remarked. Michelle’s eyes took on a doubtful look, as if she didn’t know what he meant by it. “It’s a compliment, Michelle,” William told her.

A slow smile spread over Michelle’s face.

“I wasn’t going to throw anything at you,” she replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief. William was very tempted to lean over and kiss her, she looked so attractive smiling. Michelle saw the intense look in his eyes and demurely dropped her gaze to her hands; her white gloves stood out nicely against the intense blue coat and its glinting buttons.

“This is pretty,” William commented, fingering the very edge of her coat sleeve. “Is it new?”

Michelle smiled to herself.

“If only he knew,” she thought. Looking sideways at William, she decided to tell him.

“Well, it is, to me,” she said. “It was twelve dollars at the Good Will..” The latter part she whispered conspiratorially. Her companion’s eyebrows rose slightly. “It had a tear and missing buttons,” Michelle continued. “All it needed was a proper dry-cleaning and a little TLC.”

William liked seeing the more animated side of his guest and was rather moved by her pride in taking a cast-off coat and making it whole again.

“I’m impressed,” he said. Michelle caught the look in his eyes and saw he meant his words. A little bit of her pink dress peeked out beyond the coat sleeve. William drew his finger across it. “The dress too?” he asked, looking down at her face. He as rewarded by a deep blush from his guest, visible even in the darkness of the cab. Michelle nodded, dumbly; the flutter of William’s touch on her sleeve affected even her breathing.

“Wow...” she thought, as he continued to finger her sleeve. “He’s only touching my sleeve...”

“It’s lovely,” William said, interrupting her thoughts. Michelle willed herself not to blush again; she failed.

“Thank you,” she said, softly; she looked at his perfectly tailored, black wool coat. “You are always so well-dressed,” she accoladed, shyly. “You must shop at the Good Will, too.” William chuckled.

“Perhaps I should start,” he mused, not removing his hand from Michelle’s sleeve. “I must admit, you pull it off,” he continued. “No one would guess second hand; you’ve quite put your own little touches into it.” He fingered one of the silver buttons on her sleeve.

Michelle resisted the urge to throw her arms around William’s neck and kiss his face in gratitude for his compliments. Instead, she gave him a sweet smile and a soft 'thank you'. After a moment, something caused her to remember the elegant woman who'd accompanied William the last time she saw him... the day she'd yelled at him. Michelle looked up at William, a sudden look of concern filling her eyes.

“Your mother...” she began,“I hope she wasn’t offended by my behavior, you know that day... at my old corner.” William patted her arm, leaning a little closer to her.

“Please do not worry about it,” he said. “My mother was merely concerned about you. She hoped you were alright.” Michelle’s eyes held a far-away look.

“I don’t know what she must think of me,” she returned her voice a little sad. “She was so lovely.” William smiled.

“Ironically, she thought the same thing about you,” he said, his hand still on her sleeve. “You know, Michelle… if my mother had not been with me, I would have chased after you.”

His voice dropped lower as he spoke; Michelle met his gaze. The intense look was back in his deep, blue eyes. Michelle was suddenly very aware of how small the cab was, and how close she sat to this man, about whom she had entertained many a romantic notion. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin, slightly.

“I doubt you’d have caught me,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too prim. William grinned; it was the smile of an over-confident teenager.

“Really?” he murmured. “It seems that I have caught up to you just fine.” Michelle’s eyes widened, then she scowled a little.

“Touché,” she assented. William chuckled, patting her gloved hand.

“I am very glad you agreed to come out with me,” he said.  Looking into her eyes, William wondered if he should share some of his thoughts out loud. “After all...” he thought, “what good is this night if it’s wasted in shallow chatter?” She didn’t seem the type for that anyhow. William figured if he let her into his mind a little she’d either run away screaming or stick it out. He decided it was worth the risk.

“When I first saw you sitting on the sidewalk,” he began, sitting up a little more, “I was intrigued by your eyes, looking up from under that hat of yours.” A small smile graced Michelle’s lips, and William felt encouraged to go on. “I looked for you every day after that, but you never came back,” he continued, shifting in his seat a little.

Michelle searched William’s eyes carefully, as if weighing each one of his words. She swallowed her; this was all very interesting information. If William felt such freedom to communicate, she did not object to learning more of his thoughts.

William found it difficult to concentrate on his little ‘confession’ when Michelle’s clear, beautiful eyes were delving so deeply into his. He didn’t see any dark things in them... just the honest and pure thoughts of youth. The orchard-picnic vision popped up again as they rode along in the cab and even though William wanted to re-play it in his mind, he forced himself to keep talking.

“Even my mother asked about you,” he continued. “I cannot express my relief in seeing you again, tonight.” He looked into Michelle’s eyes fearlessly. This time William did not stop his hand from lifting up; softly, he tucked a stray piece of her hair back behind her ear.

Michelle had never wanted to be kissed so much in her life; she was blissfully drowning in the cobalt waters of William’s eyes. She watched his gaze drop to her mouth; momentarily, her lungs stopped working. William leaned a little towards her.

The cab abruptly halted, tossing both passengers forward, then back against the seat.

“Bloody hell!” William exclaimed. He turned to Michelle, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asked,; he almost broke out laughing. Michelle’s hat had slid forward over her eyes in the most comical fashion; she pushed it back off her face, her eyes wide. Seeing William’s face, she relaxed.

“I forgot about that aspect of taxi-rides,” she said.

The little window between the driver and backseat slid open.

“That’ll be $32.50,” the driver spat out; his hand reached through the window, the gloved fingers snapping expectantly. William's brow darkened; he’d been this close to tasting Michelle’s lips when they were so rudely interrupted. The driver’s attitude was typical of ‘cabbies’. William handed the money over and helped his guest out of the cab. The taxi sped off immediately, tires squealing.

Offering Michelle his arm, William led her towards a small, white staircase.

“Oh, how pleasant this looks...” Michelle breathed. The short staircase before them was lit with lanterns that had candles inside; they led up to a wide, red door with the name 'Marie’s' emblazoned upon it in large, scrolling, gold lettering.

“It is,” William agreed, smiling at her awed reaction. “This is my favorite spot for a quiet dinner.” Michelle nodded; she was grateful just to be out with him; a fast-food place would have been alright but this was a nice surprise.

The restaurant looked small but immaculately clean. There were no tables; semi-circle booths hugged the dark, fabric-covered walls ending with a long bar at the far end of the room. The room boasted deep shades of rich red, black damask upholstery and soft, glowing candles; dark-clad waiters drifted through the cozy space like black swans on a midnight lake. A myriad of pleasant scents drifted in the warm air, above all the sublime scent of fresh-baked bread. The maitre d’ nodded at William and without a word escorted them to a nearby booth.

“I guess you do come here often,” Michelle said, removing her coat; she scooted into the booth, trying to do so daintily. William slipped in next to her, secretly pleased that the small booth gave him a legitimate excuse to sit as close to Michelle as possible.

“Yes, well… working as much as I do, dinners at home are not conducive to deadlines. This place is close and quiet.”

“One needs some quiet,” Michelle agreed. “Even in New York.” William smiled.

“Especially here,” he said.

Laying his coat beside him on the seat, William turned to his date; she was glowing again in her pink dress. He especially liked her long hair; it looked touchable and soft. She wore simple jewelry and just a little makeup; she appeared to be just herself, nothing more or less. His scrutiny was not lost on Michelle; she pretended to occupy herself with folding her coat and laying it next to her on the booth seat.

They ended up ordering clam chowder and fresh rolls. While they waited for the food, William amused Michelle with stories of his childhood in London.

“... Yes, I was a little ripper,” he said, smiling. “The fire department came out and everything. We were only having our own little Bonfire Night… didn’t mean for the whole field to go ablaze.” Michelle giggled softly at her companion’s admission of youthful--albeit unintentional--arson.

“I bet your mother has a bunch of stories to tell about you,” she said. William narrowed his eyes at her.

“Don’t even joke about that; she’d go on all day,” he stated. “I don’t suppose you did anything bad as a child, eh?”

“Well, I never set anything on fire, but I did play a few pranks...” Michelle confessed, absently re-folding the table napkin.

Interested, William set his elbows on the table ad leaned forward a little.

“Do tell,” he murmured; his eyes held a strange gleam.

“Uh... alright.” William’s expression made Michelle a little uneasy but she plunged into her story regardless, hoping to amuse him. “There were a few but the best one was getting back at a group of preppy girls, after they had their jock boyfriends toss me and my friend Leah into the school dumpster a few times.” William’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Now, why would they do a thing like that?” he inquired. “Come on... what did you do to get them mad?”

“It was more like what we didn’t do,” Michelle told him, giving a half-smile. “Leah and I pulled some of the best grades and were two of the few ‘girl geeks’, I guess. The ‘leader’ of the preppy girls was, ah… a girl of ill repute, so to speak. Too much time at parties and not enough actual studying.”

“I see,” William said. “She didn’t like you and your friend?”

“Not quite,” Michelle said, titling her head a little. “We were not in her set, so I doubt she’d ever have noticed us, until she wanted us to sell her some term papers.”

“I gather you said ‘no’,” William said, grinning.

“Correct,” Michelle returned, with a smile. “Apparently the problem was that since we wouldn’t sell her the papers, no one else would, either.”

“So, the little witches had their jock boyfriends put pressure on you, eh?” William asked. Nodding, Michelle laughed inwardly at William’s pronunciation of ‘witches’; his ‘w’ sounded almost non-existent.

“Exactly,” she answered, putting her hands in her lap.

“What did you do about it?” William asked; he enjoyed seeing Michelle more enlivened; it was visible proof that the young woman was growing more comfortable around him. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d so enjoyed someone’s company.

“Well, we waited until after P.E.--when ‘the witches’ were showering--” Michelle was saying. “... and no, it’s nothing perverted, William.” She paused, looking narrowly at her companion. Wiping the knowing grin off his face, William feigned innocence.

“Why would you assume...”

“Well, you are male…” Michelle said, plaintively. William snorted and motioned for her to continue. “Anyway, Leah and I each grabbed a CO2 fire extinguisher and spent a glorious half minute freezing all their clothing solid.”

At this, William’s eyebrows shot up, a smile creeping over his face.

“Why, you little minx,” he said, admiringly. Michelle shrugged.

“They deserved it,” she said. “They never should have messed with kids who received A’s in Chemistry.” William chuckled, nodding his head.

“Sounds like fun,” he said, catching Michelle’s eye.

“It was,” she said, sighing a little. “You could hear the screams all the way to the quad.”

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, William watched his date smile at the table; she appeared lost in youthful memories.

“I think that is one of the best pranks I have ever heard of,” he stated. All of the sudden, his stomach rumbled; William’s face reddened a little; to her credit Michelle pretended she hadn’t heard. “Service is a little slow,” William joked, rubbing the back of his neck. Michelle gave him a smile.

“I bet the food is worth the wait,” she said, gently. Something in Michelle’s voice put William at ease. Sinking back comfortably against the booth, he looked at her.

“It is,” said he. “Like so many things.” Michelle bit her lip and looked away; William's gaze was so intense she felt warmed through, like being slowly dipped in melted chocolate. Michelle fiddled with the tablecloth and steered her mind away from that whole realm.

William watched her for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Michelle,” said he. A wave of nervousness welled up in his companion at these words. Michelle forced herself to look up at William despite her trepidation; she’d long realized it was best to face questions with bravery, even if one did not feel it. “That portrait you drew of me... had you been watching me long?” William continued. Michelle swallowed, forcing herself to keep eye contact with her companion.

“Not really watching, per say...” she managed, feeling a blush creep up her neck. “You just walked by at the same, exact time. I really only saw you for a few seconds each day… walking in the one direction, but never back.” Smiling at the young woman’s uncertain tone, William switched his gaze to the vase on the table.

“I see. Well, I go to lunch and then I walk around the block back to work. Exercise, you know,” he explained, looking over at Michelle again. “You drew that picture of me just from that?”

Michelle looked at him with mild surprise.

“Oh, no…” she said, firmly. “There was this one little boy. He ran into you one day.” Her smile returned as she watched William’s eyebrows draw together in puzzlement.

“I remember...” he said, brightening. “The little urchin was running from his mum; he slammed right into my leg.” He shook his head, grinning. “He reminded me of myself, when things were simpler.” Looking at Michelle, William saw her regarding him with a soft look in her eyes.

“You smiled at him,” she said. “I had never seen you smile before but when you looked down at the boy there was… a glow that spread over your face, and the warmth of it radiated in that dismal crowd. I couldn’t rest until I’d put your expression on paper.” Michelle’s eyes brightened as she spoke.

William forgot his grumbling stomach and leaned towards her a little. This girl fascinated him; she had such a passion for art and it showed through her eyes and carefully chosen words. He felt he could watch her for hours. He was tempted to launch into a discussion on Monet just to hear her sweet voice and watch her lovely mouth form words.

Realizing he was staring, William straightened up, shaking his head a little. What spell was he under? He’d known this young woman only a few hours, and he’d spent all that time vastly enjoying himself. For the first time in years, William was looking forward to eating with company, something he normally avoided. He liked solitude and had for years; there was never any pressure to be this or that or act properly, but, after being with Michelle eating alone simply no longer appealed. Suddenly, William could see Michelle sitting with him for every meal he’d ever have. The idea of her constant company filled his soul with a warm comfort.

“William?” Michelle’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. She looked amused at his daydreaming. “Are you tired?” she asked, tilting her head a little to one side. William grinned down at her, perusing her face with pleasure; she’d spoken his first name and naturally so. This was progress.

“Not a bit,” he said, warmly. “I was merely thinking how long it had been since I’d had such pleasant company.” He spoke with such sincerity that Michelle immediately dismissed her doubts of boring him to death. “I’ve never brought a date here,” William continued.

At his words, Michelle looked a bit taken aback.

“This is a date?” she wondered aloud; after a moment she allowed a smile to return to her face. “A date,” she said, nodding to herself. She looked up at William; he appeared amused. “Do you always ask out ragged street artists that you barely know?” Michelle asked, crossing her arms defensively. Chuckling, William lowered his eyelids a little.

“Only the pretty ones that run away,” he said in a low voice. He got what he was after; Michelle blushed again.

At that moment, a dark-clad waiter appeared bearing two pewter soup-plates. A large, wicker cornucopia of rolls was set down on the table as well and the server swept off, leaving the two hungry guests to themselves. William and Michelle exchanged a look of mutual relief... food. William was genuinely famished, having skipped lunch that day. He watched Michelle from the corner of his eye as she expertly flicked out her napkin and laid it across her lap.

“You’ve done that before,” he observed, grinning boyishly at his guest.

“Yes,” Michelle replied, returning his smile. “I was a server at four-star restaurant while I was at college. I’m resisting polishing the silver.” William chuckled as Michelle critically eyed her fork; how fun it would be to tell the owner his silver did not measure up to the standards of an unemployed Manhattan street-artist.

They dipped into their dinner with relish; the savory, thick soup was creamy and delicious, the fresh, buttery rolls the perfect accompaniment. William and Michelle spent several pleasant minutes eating in the warm atmosphere. The clink of glasses and the soft murmurs of quiet conversation sounded now and again but nothing disturbed the peace.

Michelle enjoyed every morsel; it reminded her grandmother’s clam chowder. As she ate, Michelle thought of her kindly 'Gramma Betty'; the lady had died several years earlier. She had owned a ‘cottage’ on the Chesapeake Bay, which was in reality a sprawling domicile by the water. Though well off, the woman has always done her own cooking; each Christmas, Michelle and her family flew out to see her. They’d make the special clam chowder together as well as dozens of different cookies. Later they’d sit out on the snowy veranda, watching the stormy, gray water, well bundled up with hot cocoa in hand. Deluged with fond memories, Michelle smiled down at her bowl, lovingly dipping a piece of bread into the soup.

Enjoying his own food, William snuck a few glances at Michelle; she did not eat as though starving but with such enjoyment he couldn’t help but smile. Rarely would women eat well on a date, in his experience; they usually ordered a few lettuce leaves or something and nibbled away daintily, pretending they did not feel anything as archaic as Hunger. Sitting by Michelle, William felt at home, like he was in his own living room; he was momentarily tempted to remove his shoes and slouch back into the seat.

Beside him, Michelle took another roll and sighed contentedly.

“Excellent,” she said, when William looked over. “It’s just like my grandmother’s chowder.” William felt interested to know more but Michelle didn’t elaborate. Wiping his mouth with the napkin, he sat back. It was good; such was the reason he came here; the food tasted home-made and fresh.

“One of my grandmothers used to make lemon curd on toast for breakfast,” he said, laying his napkin on the table. “She'd eat in her conservatory; it was the best breakfast, with the flowers inside and the rain outside running the glass.” Michelle leaned forward a little, drawn to William’s happy expression.

“That sounds lovely,” said she. “Thank you for the soup. I have not enjoyed an evening so much in... well, a long time.”

William heard the sincerity in Michelle’s voice and looked at her. His eyes dropped to her hand as it rested on the table; it looked lonely. He gently covered it with his own.

“Same here, Michelle,” he murmured. Michelle felt the air leave her lungs, momentarily; the moment felt similar to the one  in the cab, before the driver has so rudely tossed them around. She didn’t think William would try to kiss her again, and in public, too. They barely knew each other.

“Dessert?” William asked; his voice walked firmly through Michelle's thoughts.

“Um... dinner was perfect,” she said, stammering a little. “Nothing more is needed.” The corners of William’s eyes crinkled as he grinned.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused, aloud. “I’ve never known a woman to turn down...” He glanced down at the gilt-edged dessert card. “... Dark Chocolate Mousse Cake?”

Michelle forced herself not to lick her lips.

“Completely... utterly... unfair,” she said, in defeat. Grinning, William beckoned at a nearby waiter.

“Want to share one?” he asked. “I doubt I could eat a whole slice.” Michelle nodded, feeling a little surprised at the suggestion. The sharing of food was normally reserved for intimate couples. They’d met on a street corner, for crying out loud. Looking at William, however, Michelle saw he was leaning back comfortably, apparently unconcerned with the doubts she was obliged to feel for him.

The cake proved incredibly rich. William watched as Michelle savored her bites; he allowed himself a few fork-fulls then urged his guest to eat the rest. When Michelle balked at the idea, William stole her fork and tried to feed her another bite. Laughing, his guest lightly pushed his arm away; she slyly stole his fork and stabbed a piece of cake with it. She lifted the bit of dessert to William’s lips; he let her feed him, keeping a soft hold on her wrist. Michelle realized she’d leaned in a little too close to her date and pulled slowly out of his grasp, feeling like she’d crossed a bit of a line.

William signaled for the check.

“You can only pay if I get to leave a tip,” Michelle said, trying not to sound demanding. William began to object; Michelle laid her hand on his arm. “Please?” she asked, looking at him. “I would feel... strange, if you didn’t allow me.”

“Good heavens...” William thought, looking at Michelle, “I’d love to allow you so much more...” He smiled at her and nodded, rewarded by his companion's answering smile.

Taking out a ten-dollar bill, Michelle quickly folded and re-folded it into a series of tiny triangles, at last carefully drawing it out into the shape of a little, flying bird; her hands flew so swiftly that William hardly knew what she was doing until she placed it on the table. He smiled down at the green-tinted crane.

“I love doing that,” Michelle said, shyly looking up at him. “It’s something different.”

“Well, aren’t you clever,” her date said, flashing her a grin. William signed off on the check quickly and grabbed his coat. “Now, my origami-folding, chocolate-feeding companion,” he said, leaning towards Michelle a little; she giggled at his words. “I must admit that I honestly don’t wish to part company with you.”

Michelle’s expression sobered when she encountered William’s eyes; he looked almost sad.

“Me either, William,” she said, sincerely. “This entire evening has been… wonderful.” To William’s puzzlement, Michelle grimaced after she spoke.

“Something the matter?” he asked.

“It’s such a trite word,” Michelle said, wistfully. “I wish no one had ever used the word ‘wonderful’ so I could use it to describe tonight without sounding like I've never picked up a dictionary...”

William laughed; his date looked rather adorable with her nose wrinkled up.

“Ah, Michelle... I have not laughed so much in ages,” he said, scooting out from the booth. Offering a hand to Michelle, he immediately noted the soft warmth of her skin when their hands to connected. Clearing his throat, he helped his companion into her coat; the subtle scent of her apple blossom perfume didn’t help matters much. As William led Michelle out of Marie’s, the idyllic orchard vision haunted his brain with a vengeance.

“Apples aren’t even blossoming this time of year...” he silently admonished himself.

Michelle unconsciously slipped her arm through his as they gained the front stairs; the cold air made her want to draw close to her new acquaintance. Turning his collar against the wind, William smiled down at Michelle.

“Let me see you home,” he said, as they descended the stairs. “I would love to take a stroll with you, or get coffee... anything other than end our evening.” William surprised himself by blurting out such information. It sounded rather desperate.

“But?” Michelle rescued him.

“But... I have to work tomorrow,” William admitted, heavily.

For the first time in years, he was actually dreading going home. Normally, he couldn’t wait to get home, to kick off his shoes and drop onto his favored couch. Yet, tonight, William did not want to part from this intriguing young woman who made him laugh. Frankly, he really wanted to bring her home with him but he knew that would definitely scare her off. Michelle fairly radiated ‘good girl’ vibrations, if such things existed. Still, William stood on the sidewalk, toying with ideas he shouldn’t.

“You may,” Michelle said.

Williams looked at her, momentarily confused. “See me home... if you’d still like to, that is.” Michelle continued; she wondered at the fleeting look of guilt on William’s face, but dismissed it.

“Ah... absolutely,” William said, smiling down at her. He delighted in the feel of her arm holding his. Reaching up, he tucked a wispy strand of hair behind her ear; he decided he liked her ears very much; they were soft, pink and irresistible. Michelle shivered just a little at his touch.

“I... uh... won’t be able to... um, invite you in,” she managed to say, striving hard not to blush.

“What, no cognac on hand?” William teased. Michelle looked up with a small grin.

“No, I just... don’t invite anyone into my room,” she explained; she glanced up at with William with hesitation, half expecting him to laugh. He did not. Touched by Michelle’s forthright manner, William smiled. He liked that she absolutely did not want to give the wrong impression.

“I understand, Michelle,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting anything.” Michelle’s shoulders relaxed a little; she felt her anxiety draining away.

“Thank you,” she said, with gratitude.

A taxi pulled up in front of them, as if by magic; Michelle didn’t remember William signaling for one.

“You said—some time ago--that you lived in a 'nice' hotel,” William said, shutting the cab door after them. “Where should I send the driver?” Michelle giggled softly; this was going to be fun. Clearing her throat, she mustered her best sophisticated voice.

“The Waldorf-Astoria,” she said, lifting her chin. William smiled.

“Now, now...” he joked. “You may as well just tell me. I’ll find out sooner or later.” Looking closer at Michelle’s face, William sobered; her eyes were bright with mirth but there was no falsehood in them. “You’re... serious?” he said, incredulous.

Unable to hold back her laughter, Michelle told William about her arrangement with the hotel in between breaths. William seemed impressed.

“You knew when you told me that I wouldn’t believe the Waldorf… didn’t you?” Wiping her eyes, Michelle nodded.

“I love telling people where I live,” she admitted. “Why lie? The truth is far more interesting.”Allowing himself a smile, William took her gloved hand.

“You are full of surprises,” he said. “Well then, to the Waldorf-Astoria, driver!” he ordered, speaking the sentence as only a Englishman is able. The cab sped off but soon after slowed in the after-dinner traffic. For once, William did not mind the languid pace; it meant more time with Michelle.

“So, any other ‘arrangements’ I should know about?” he inquired, after a few moments. Michelle gave him a shy upward glance.

“Nothing bad,” she told him. “Once a quarter I look over the books for a small day spa. They give me a free body wrap and a mineral shower. Those are amazingly relaxing... just like being back in a Colorado hot springs.” Michelle’s eyes took on a dreamy look as eh spoke. She looked quite alluring so relaxed; William was tempted to lean down to kiss her.

“Slow... take it slow, old boy,” he thought. Their newly established association was tenuous enough without rushing into physical contact.

“Colorado,” he mused, aloud. “That’s where you’re from, correct?”

At this, Michelle’s eyebrows shot up. William felt that perhaps an explanation was due. “Well… when you didn’t come back to your corner, I looked up the name on my mother’s portrait with a private investigator I know,” he said. “You mentioned Stanford in your little shout at me that day; I found your name in the alumnus list.”

Michelle's face colored a little at the mention of her  verbal-outburst that day.

“Yes,” she acknowledged, after a short pause. “I grew up in Denver. My parents sent me to Stanford University, in California; my mother also went there.” As she spoke Michelle struggled with welling emotions; her parents were not a safe subject.

“Graduate School of Business, Financial Accounting,” William recited. “... and a minor in Drawing. An odd combination.” He reached for her hand. “The investigator also found that rather unpleasant business with the Johnson & Black Accounting Firm.”

Michelle gave a short sigh of exasperation; just hearing that name caused a bit of resentment to boil up within her.

“Yes. Some things you can dance around in taxes,” she said, her voice sounding a little forced. “Then there are illegal means; popular ones... but still illegal.”

“So, that’s why you were blacklisted,” William said, noting her discomfort.

“Yes,” Michelle said, leaning back against the seat. “It’s amazing how ethics can cost you not only your job but the chance of being re-hired in the field, ever again.” She looked out the window, willing herself not to cry.

“And, with four or five people clamoring for every job, I can see why you sell your drawings out on the corner,” William said, gently. Michelle gave him a side-long look.

“No pitying  the bedraggled street artists, now,” she said. “I know I have a lot to be thankful for. I may have lost my apartment but at least I don’t have to sleep out on the streets, or in a shelter. Working out there is not so bad, you know. All things considered, it has been great experience for face studies.”

Making an effort, William refrained from smiling at Michelle’s little speech; her chin had lifted ever so slightly as she spoke. Sit was clear to him that she wished no one to feel sorry for her. Despite this, he felt a rapidly increasing desire to sweep her into his arms and promise to take care of her forever.

William gave himself a mental slap. Here he was sitting with a stranger, albeit a lovely and good one, but a stranger nonetheless. Thoughts o f companionship, a relationship... even of marriage occurred to him so quickly that he  felt unprepared to deal with them at the moment. Bewildered by his own brain’s leaps into the unknown William gazed at Michelle, thinking fantastic things.

Michelle saw a soft look descend into William’s face; his eyes appeared to harbor a intensely pensive expression. She was dying to know what was on his mind but feared to pry. She contented herself with timidly squeezing his hand.

“I do alright, William,” she said, reassuringly. “Please don’t worry about me.” Her companion smiled back at her; it was the ethereal smile Michelle had captured in her portrait. Michelle found herself gazing back at him. In spite of her insecurities, she wanted very badly to believe that William would be interested in her for a long time to come; logic told her she should not allow that hope to take flight so soon.

Sitting beside her, William grew curious about the conflicting expressions in Michelle’s eyes. There was so much in her face he felt fascinated by... and yet, he could see she possessed a pointed fear, one that he could not quite fathom. William wondered if perhaps all she needed was a little comfort. He needed some as well; more than anything he wanted to be the one to bring her what solace a man was able.

“I can see you take care of yourself, sweetheart,” he murmured; he stopped, realizing he’d called her ‘sweetheart’. Blushing, Michelle looked out her window. The taxi  was not far from her hotel now; just a few more blocks.

“Will you have lunch with me tomorrow?” William ventured, after a moment. The end of their evening drew nearer. Despite their recent acquaintance, he could not let her go without giving her some indication of his intentions. He intended to see her as much as humanly possible.

Michelle gave William her attention once more.

“In my floppy hat?” she inquired, with a teasing smile. “Carrying my display case and rug?” Grinning, William narrowed his eyes at her.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” he remarked. “Take the day off work tomorrow. Then you can finally see where I go to lunch.” Michelle looked uncertain. “My mother is in town visiting again; I will be meeting her for lunch, before she travels back to her house.” Michelle’s smile faded at his words about his mother. William squeezed her hand.

“Relax,” he said, softly. “She’d love to see you… as would I.”

Giving William a brave smile, Michelle took in a deep breath. It occurred to her that this was one of those now-or-never moments, the kind one encounters while traveling the path of life; you either take it or forever rue your own cowardice.

“My old corner then? At 12:06?” she offered, sounding more confident than she felt. Whatever doubts she harbored, William’s answering smile made them vanish.

“Not a moment later,” he promised.

The taxi pulled up in front of the Waldorf’s grand edifice.

“Michelle?” The young woman paused in her exit of the cab; she looked back at William uncertainly. He smiled. “Sleep well,” he said, looking as if he wished to say much more. Michelle surprised her companion, and herself, by leaning back into the cab; she gave William a very small kiss on the side of his face.

“I will,” she whispered, pulling back. William was mesmerized; Michelle’s lovely eyes glowed with something unearthly. “You as well... and, thank you.”

William squeezed her hand before letting go.

“You’re very welcome, Michelle,” he said. He meant, ‘You’re very welcome to be a part of my life until I die’, but hoped the young woman wouldn’t guess that. He rolled down the window as she walked from the cab. “Goodnight,” he called after her. Michelle turned and gave him a little wave before disappearing through the doors.

Settling back in the seat, William gave the driver directions to his building, unable to stop a slow smile from spreading over his face. His felt that his emotions and thoughts were slipping away from their logical rut at an alarming rate, but it didn’t bother him in the least. Sighing, William pondered the evening’s events, chuckling now and then at the amusing things Michelle had said and done. Her charming traits outweighed the insecure, awkward ones.

“Lovely, shy … but cheeky minx,” he said, to himself. He simply couldn’t believe he’d found her after all these weeks. For the full ride home, William allowed himself the wispy daydream of blossoming apple trees and a pretty girl in pale pink.

CHAPTER FOUR

The next day dawned under a gray, rainy sky. Standing beneath her umbrella, Michelle hovered by the wall at her old corner... waiting for William. The excitement she felt seemed almost impossible to contain. The evening before seemed like a dream in the face of the rain pouring down… but nothing could dampen Michelle’s spirits. She fortified herself to see William’s face, feeling a bit like a teenage girl off on her first date.

“It won’t do to seem too eager,” she thought. “No use scaring the man off with desperation.”

Michelle dressed with care for her lunch date; she still owned a nice 'everyday' outfit. Under her blue coat she wore warm, black tights, black ankle boots, a red plaid skirt and a crisp, white blouse. A thin, black ribbon choker necklace rounded out her ensemble, though she felt a bit schoolgirl-ish wearing it. It wasn’t a ‘business lunch’ or anything, she reasoned. Concluding that William liked her hairstyle yesterday, Michelle had taken the time to put a few curls on the ends of her hair. She valiantly fended the rain off with the large, white umbrella.

Standing at the corner her smile shone out radiantly, her eyes lit up with anticipation, once agian searching the oncoming foot traffic for a glimpse of his face. 12:05. Michelle held her breath.

“Oh, calm down!” she whispered. She could not stop smiling; she forced herself to look at her boots. She looked up into the umbrella. She tried counting raindrops, but gave up as the skies above let loose a cloudburst.

“No hat today?” came a pleasant voice. Peeking out from under her umbrella, Michelle saw William standing next to her, armed with his own umbrella. She graced him with a brilliant smile. The sight of her happy expression chased  any weather-induced gloom away from William's thoughts. Walking towards Michelle’s old corner, he'd spied a blue-coated figure standing still, mostly hidden by a large white umbrella. It wasn’t until he’d drawn closer--and observed the silver buttons--that he’d let out a relieved breath.

“Hello, William,” Michelle said, pleasantly; even her tone made William feel welcome. He pretended to tip a hat that wasn’t there.

“Michelle,” he said. Still smiling, the young woman switched her umbrella to her other hand and took his offered arm.

As they walked forward Michelle felt the ghostly presence of loneliness leave her. The corner no longer seemed to be a well of disappointed dreams, but a portal... opening to a realm of possibility. She glanced over at her companion as often as possible, trying to be discreet about it. William had such a noble profile; she liked how his dark blond hair picked up light in spite of the overcast sky.

“See something you like?” William asked after a few moments. Michelle blushed and forced herself not to hide under her umbrella.

“It’s just good to see you,” she stated. “You’re wearing gloves today.” William gave her a boyish grin. “Yes, well my hands were chilly last night," he said. He indicated a glossy set of double doors off to their right. A hanging, wooden sign above the doors read The Flagon.

Weaving their way through the other pedestrians the two companions paused at the restaurant entrance to shake and close their soaking umbrellas.

“After you,” William said, holding the door. Michelle smiled as she went in. A warm cloud of air met her inside the atrium. A stout, cheerful-looking man--clad in a green vest and shirt-sleeves--grinned at them.

“Welcome to The Flagon!” he called out heartily. “Mr. Montgomery,” he nodded at William. “Another guest today, then?” The man held out his hands for their coats.

As Michelle unbuttoned her coat, she looked around the long, low room. It appeared styled after an English pub with dark leather chairs, polished wood fixtures and a genuine, crackling fireplace. The ambiance of the room felt unusually comfortable, for a mere eating establishment. Turning back towards William, Michelle caught his expression. He seemed to be studying her outfit with frank admiration. Blushing, Michelle looked at the greeter and handed him her coat. Much to her embarrassment, the man in the green vest winked at her. William stepped a bit closer to his guest.

“You look... very nice, Michelle,” he said, clearing his throat. Michelle resisted batting her eyes at him; her skirt wasn’t that short.

“Thank you. Is your mother here already?” she asked, looking around the main room.

William swallowed and pretended to look for his mum. Michelle looked a bit more fun and comfortable than last night, though he was quite partial to that pink dress of hers. However, this little, red skirt and feminine blouse looked downright seductive, yet she managed to appear completely unaware of it. Trying to clear his mind, William searched for his mother. Spying a familiar hat across the room, he took Michelle’s hand and led the way toward the table. The green-vested man scooped up a few menus and followed them.

As they approached a far table William’s mother looked up. Immediately she noted that her son was holding the hand of a pretty, young woman. She beamed. Getting to her feet, the lady held out her arm gracefully to William. Her son kissed her on the cheek in greeting and turned to Michelle. His guest appeared to be a little uncomfortable, a rather forced smile on her face.

“Mother, I’d like to introduce...”

“Michelle. Yes, I know,” his mother interrupted, still smiling. “You told me all about her at breakfast. I’m not losing my memory yet, my boy.” She turned to her son's guest; her kindly expression evaporated what fears Michelle held. “My dear, how nice of you to join us,” the woman said. “Don’t you look lovely. Pay no mind to what happened when we met, poor dear. I was overjoyed when William told me that he found you...”

William coughed, pulling out a chair for his mother.

“Please sit,” he told her, patiently. Sporting a tolerant smile, the older woman complied. William held Michelle’s chair for her as well; his guest took her seat, feeling much more at ease.

“I hope you’ll accept my apology for my behavior that day, Mrs. Montgomery,” Michelle said, looking at William’s mother.

“Nonsense,” the woman said, blithely. She patted Michelle’s hand. “My name is Margaret, my dear. ‘Mrs. Montgomery’ was my mother-in-law... an unpleasant woman. It is very good to see you! I simply adore the picture you drew of William. It is superb; you are singularly talented. All of my friends in Vermont are quite jealous and want to know whom the elusive artist is and if they do commissioned work...”

Overwhelmed by the flood of goodwill coming from Margaret, Michelle was rendered speechless.

“My dear madam,” William began, trying to hide his smile. His date seemed rather flustered. “Do take a breath. My guest has no intention of running off, I think.” Recovering herself, Michelle gave William a narrow look. Satisfied, William turned to contemplate his menu.

“I am glad you like the picture so much,” Michelle said, turning back to Margaret. “It was one of my favorites.” the lady smiled, dimpling prettily.

“I love it,” she answered. “I have it hanging in the ballroom. The framing company in town is simply brilliant. The light in that room is largely natural, you see, and suits all my artwork well. I hope you will visit and see how it is situated.” Michelle didn’t know what to say, but Margaret did not appear to need a response. “I am frankly amazed that you perfected such a accurate drawing from your little corner, though it is a good spot for face study, isn’t it? Two years is quite a long time to vend sketches... William told me a little about your situation.”

Michelle’s eyebrows rose at this. The lady patted her hand again. “I think you’re quite clever,” Margaret continued, unfazed. “Your parents would be very proud of you.” Blinking, Michelle felt nearly on the verge of tears. This motherly woman was about killing her with kindness, the loss of her own mother all that more apparent. William observed Michelle’s drawn expression and handed his mother a menu.

“I recommend the fish and chips,” he said, trying to catch Michelle’s eye; the young woman stared down at the table as if she didn’t really see it.

“You would,” Margaret announced, looking at her son over her menu.

Her annoyed tone made Michelle glance up at her. “I will bet one hundred American dollars that you order ‘fish and chips’ every, single day,” Margaret continued. “You should eat a variety of foods, or your health will deteriorate... the salmon looks good.” The last part she said to herself. Michelle stifled a giggle; William grinned.

“So, a variety from fish and chips is... salmon? Another fish?”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Margaret said, giving her son’s arm a little pinch. She looked up at an approaching waiter. “Bread? Oh, good. I am famished.”

William caught Michelle’s eye and smiled reassuringly at her. Returning his smile, she picked up her menu and attempted to act normally. While the young woman searched her menu, William studied her face, rather wishing they were alone; her hair looked rather touchable, all loose and curling softly around her shoulders. She softly bit her bottom lip in concentration; William smiled, wanting to try it himself. Margaret looked up--about to say something--and saw her son watching Michelle. Glancing between the two, she smiled down into her menu, remaining quiet.

A waiter appeared and silently took their orders. William did order the fish and chips, despite a glare from his mum. Michelle made him smile by having the same thing.

“It sounds good,” she defended. Margaret patted her hand.

“You have whatever you like, dear.” The elegant lady ordered the salmon and pinched William’s arm again when he asked the waiter to bring his mother a ‘variety’ salad.

As the waiter sauntered off with their orders, Michelle studied the room. Instead of a booth the round, mahogany table was flanked by four dark brown leather chairs. Coffer-ed wooden partitions were built up between tables, a detail Michelle liked very much; it enabled more private conversation amid the lunching groups. The air of the place was both smoky and spicy, the furniture deep and relaxing; the whole effect was pleasing.

“This is very much a man-hangout,” she thought, fingering a pewter salt-shaker.

“How do you like my midday haven, Michelle?” William asked from across the table. Looking over at him, Michelle immediately liked the playful twinkle in his eye. Straightening her posture a little, she folded her hands in her lap.

“Very much,” said she, keeping William’s gaze. “It is pleasant and... relaxed. I can see why you like it.”

Margaret gave a little snort.

“The same food everyday... really,” she scoffed. “You should eat better. Doesn’t Alfred feed you greens?”

“Alfred would feed me greens for breakfast if I would allow it,” William replied testily. He didn’t appreciated being berated by his mother in front of Michelle. His guest--he noticed—seemed quite amused by their banter. “I’m surprised he doesn’t wake me at two in the morning, wanting me to take in a little spinach.”

Michelle repressed a strong desire to laugh at William’s expression; she’d not seen him annoyed before. She cleared her throat instead.

“Who’s Alfred?” she asked, innocently. Margaret turned to her.

“Why Alfred is William’s valet,” she explained, giving her son a saccharine smile. William grimaced at her. Leaning forward, Michelle set her elbows on the tabletop and rested her chin on her hands; she fixed her eyes on William.

“You need a valet?” she asked, smiling.

“Yes, well William is far too busy to take proper care of himself,” Margaret answered for her son. “Besides, Alfred’s been with the family since William was in nappies.”

William pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers; part of him wanting to throttle his mother. The woman looked on the verge of pulling out photo albums. Across the table Michelle gave him some very amused glances. Of all the things William wanted to discuss on their second outing, his mother’s memories of his babyhood was not among them.

“He put me through some worrisome times, believe me,” Margaret continued. “Once he swallowed a whole goldfish... one of my favorites. It took some to-do to get it out. A lot of castor oil...”

“Enough!” William demanded. “Surely, there is something else to talk about...” His voice took on a desperation that Michelle found hilarious. She giggled behind her hand while Margaret argued a mother’s right to share embarrassing stories.

“You were a good boy,” she said, tapping her fork on the tabletop. “You’ve really nothing to be ashamed of.”

Fortunately, the waiter chose that moment to bring a tray of steaming plates to their table. The delicious smell of the food seemed to quell the good-natured disagreement between William and his mother, and they retreated to their proverbial corners. Michelle dipped her head at Margret’s quick blessing and cut genteelly into her fish.

William began to reach for his chips but thought better of it and went for his fork. Michelle also wanted to use her fingers; in her experience one didn’t eat fish and chips any other way. However, in front of Margaret, Michelle acquiesced to ‘decorum’. William caught her eye and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

“This is nice,” Margaret said, after a minute. “They do know how to cook fish properly, I will give you that. You should have Michelle over to your flat for dinner, William. Alfred really can put on a feast.”

Grimacing, William resisted the urge to ‘accidentally’ spill his glass of water on her. He’d been toying with the idea of asking Michelle over since last night, but now it was tossed tactlessly onto the table like a flopping, dying fish. Michelle, however, didn’t seem to notice his mother’s gentle prodding; she leaned forward smiling.

“Does Alfred do all the cooking?” she asked, sweetly. Immediately, she felt William’s intent gaze upon her; she pretended to be very interested in arranging the fork and knife on her plate. Looking up, she met William’s eyes; his smile seemed rather predatory all of the sudden. Returning to her food Michelle ate slowly, a smile hovering around her mouth.

The food kept Margret’s stories to a minimum; Michelle did not encourage her, though she was sorely tempted. It was strange to think of William as a child, as a mischievous, little “ripper” with dirt on his face and snails in his pockets. Stealing glances at him Michelle inwardly laughed; every time his mother spoke frustration evidenced itself on his face, giving way to embarrassment soon after. He made valiant attempts to change the subject several times; Michelle decided to give him a hand.

“Have you lived in Vermont long?” she inquired of Margaret, as the older woman paused to sip her coffee. Margaret patted her lips daintily with her table napkin.

“No; only a few years,” said she, giving Michelle a kind smile. “Originally, I purchased the property to remodel and sell  quickly but when William was promoted to junior partner, I knew trans-Atlantic flights to visit London would be too much for his busy schedule, or for my health.”

“You moved to another country... just to be near William?” Michelle felt a little surprised at such devotion, wondering if the woman was unable to let go.

Margaret nodded.

“Do not misunderstand me, my dear,” she answered, sagely. “I wanted to see my son more than once a year. I love my home in London... however, Vermont is growing on me, I must say. Some of the ladies nearby even play bridge and seem enthralled to have me in their set. The air is sufficiently dry, the winter is manageable and the fall colors... simply breathtaking.” The older woman sighed and gazed out a nearby window.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, as if struck by a thought. “I have the most wonderful idea! William, why don’t you and Michelle drive up and visit me? The leaves have just turned and are nearly at the most beautiful stage. There is an apple festival coming up and a fabulous farmers market; my chef, Jean-Claude is simply wild about it...”

William interrupted his mother’s soliloquy.

“My dear madam, Michelle has her work... and I do not know if I can procure any time off right now. There are rumors of an upcoming merger...”

“Pish!” Margaret interposed, with a flip of her hand. “There are always rumors of mergers; you have been working at that office for six years solid, seven days a week without a proper holiday. I can barely get him for one day at Christmas,” she said, aside to Michelle. “Don’t tell me you haven’t racked up the vacation days. And Michelle, have you ever seen Vermont in the fall?”

Michelle felt unwilling to be pulled into the matter.

“Uh... no, but I...” she began.

“Wonderful!” Margaret stated, happily. “You’ll simply adore it, my dear. I am dying for you to see your picture all framed in its nook. There are so many things to do around the little town. I’ve a few friends who’d like to meet you very much. Now, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Tell me what weekend you’re free and I’ll arrange things.” Margaret looked very pleased with herself; she set her coffee cup down on its saucer as a sort of final gesture.

“No promises, Mother,” William said, gravely, raking his hand slowly through his hair. Taking work off was no joke. There were indeed rumors circling around the upper offices of a possible buyout of the firm, which meant new owner and perhaps layoffs. Not to mention preparing for the possible merger he spoke of; an especially complicated and delicate matter, it hung like a dark cloud over his entire floor. He glanced over at Michelle. The young woman looked down at the table with a rather blank expression; she appeared to be racking her brain for a good excuse not to go. Her apparent confusion was not lost on William; he knew that she hated to be pitied or extended charity. Perhaps she simply did not wish to go.

“She’s out with us now,” he thought, looking at her expression intently. “She’s enjoying herself, and she had a good time with me last night at dinner...” Without a doubt Michelle had enjoyed herself last night; he’d seen it all over her face the entire evening. Perhaps his mother’s suggestion had merit. A long drive in his tiny roadster would allow them hours of uninterrupted conversation. Perhaps even a picnic. William shook his head slightly. Michelle had not even agreed to the idea yet, no matter what his mum had decided. He would find out later what his young companion really wanted to do.

Absentmindedly, Michelle arranged her fork and knife on the empty plate. She glanced over at William; he seemed thoughtful, though a slight smile curved one side of his mouth. He was a perplexing man to read, she decided; yet, the enigma of William also seemed intriguing. She longed for the time and opportunity to figure him out. The idea of imposing on Margaret weighed on her, but such a trip with William would give them plenty of time to talk and get to know one another better. William’s silence on the issue worried Michelle a little; perhaps he felt burdened by the idea. She was resolved to say nothing about it unless he brought it up. Taking a folded ten-dollar bill from her skirt pocket, Michelle started to fold the origami bird in her lap. Finished, she put it slyly behind her water glass; William saw her actions, however, and chuckled.

“You and your little gratuities,” he said. Michelle looked at him guiltily and shrugged. William beckoned to the server and signed the check, adding a tip. Standing, he reached over and took the bird, putting it into his pocket. “Souvenir,” he explained to Michelle. She grinned.

“If you wanted one, you just had to ask,” she replied, folding her arms over her chest. “Now you’ve stolen from the bus-boy.” William laughed.

“Hardly,” he said, smiling down at Michelle. “I left a generous tip. This bird is mine.” He said the last words in a soft tone, sending a quick wink in Michelle's direction. Blushing, the young woman excused herself from the table to find the ladies room.

Once Michelle was out of earshot, Margaret turned to her son with a broad smile.

“You were right,” she said, “She is just lovely. I quite adore her already.” William smiled.

“I am glad of it,” he said. “I just hope you didn’t scare her off with that forced vacation to your home. She despises being pitied.” At this, Margaret looked a little taken aback.

“Pity? Nonsense,” she said her hand to her chest. “I would give an invitation to any sweet girl I thought you were interested in.”

“You think she interests me, eh?” William stalled. He really didn’t want his mother interfering with him and Michelle, especially when things were going so well.

Margaret gave her son a knowing look.

“The feelings between you two, however recent, are very ardent,” she remarked, quietly. “Even an old woman can see that. If I weren’t here I wager you would both be elsewhere and more happily occupied.” William’s eyebrows shot up; he tried to say something to the contrary but the color rising in his face belied any denial he could invent. “Don’t mind me,” his mother continued, smiling innocently. “I am just getting older, William... I want grand-babies; several of them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Anything else?” her son sputtered, astonished.

“Yes,” Margaret said, opening her purse. “Please take some time off and bring Michelle up to the house sooner rather than later. I would like to get to know her a little better.”

“So would I,” William thought, glancing towards the restrooms. His mother’s bold suggestion triggered oddly dualistic emotions to crop up in his mind, likened to simultaneous offense and appeal.

“I may be able to take a weekend off,” he said to his mother. “But don’t push it.”

Margaret nodded, trying not to smile; her son--though grown and successful--was still very easy for her to read.

“And furthermore,” William continued, commanding Margret’s attention once more; her son furrowed his brow for added seriousness. “If you mention grand-babies or anything of the sort to Michelle I will personally cancel my Christmas plans and offer to work double overtime at my firm past New Year’s.” Margaret hid a grin away.

“Don’t be petulant. I’m an old woman,” she said, primly. “It’s only natural that I want some sweet, little grandb...”

“Michelle! There you are...” William interrupted, loudly. His guest walked up to the table, a little bemused at William’s desperate tone. She was very curious to know what he and his mother were discussing; her date looked positively embarrassed. Margaret, on the other hand, gave her a bright smile.

“William and I were just talking about you, my dear,” Margaret said, sweetly, ignoring her son’s grimace. “I hope you found the restroom clean. You never know if they sanitize things properly.”

“They are very good about cleaning the lavatory, my dear madam,” William said, testily. “I have never seen it out of order.”

“It pays to inquire,” Margaret said, titling her head a little. William contented himself with shooting his mother a glare and standing to go.

“Their hand soap is exquisite,” Michelle said, smelling her hands. “It’s thick and smells like spiced cider.”

“Now, that is my favorite hot drink,” Margaret said, patting Michelle’s arm. “Especially when it’s chilly out.”

Michelle nodded in answer, managing a small smile. The frequent touching was a little different, but she knew Margaret meant well; the elegant woman’s motherly ways bore with them a comfort Michelle had not known in years.

“Shall we?” William suggested; his expression softened a little as he watched the two women. As much as he wanted to avoid his mother’s interference, it seemed heartening--and a little surprising—that Margaret was so easily warming up to Michelle. The other women he’d dated in the past became quickly familiar with his mother’s icy, ‘aristocratic’ side. Sometimes, she’d been downright insulting. Anyone seeing her now would assume she was talking to a good friend, instead of a person she had formally met only an hour ago. His mother's motives for her pleasantries did not escape William but he let it go, for now.

The party of three collected their coats from the front greeter; Michelle shyly thanked the man and told him the meal was delicious. The green-vested man beamed at her.

“Come again lassie... anytime,” he said, giving her another broad wink. Michelle turned around and rolled her eyes, an action which amused William very much.

“So this is why you wear those worn clothes and that floppy hat,” he whispered in her ear. “You have to beat them off with a stick.” Blushing, Michelle shrugged and gave him a half-smile.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “It works while my tin overcoat is being repaired.” William smiled and resisted winking at her himself; he decided that he’d been doing far too much of that lately.

Margaret stood by the entrance, talking to her driver on a cell phone.

“He will pick me up out front,” she told William, shutting her phone with a click. She straightened her hat in the foyer mirror and turned to give her son a quick peck on the cheek; he had to lean down a ways to receive it but did so without complaining. “Thank you for lunch my boy,” Margaret said, looking up at her son affectionately; she turned to Michelle. “And, it was delightful to meet you, Michelle. I do hope you will visit me soon.”

Michelle smiled at her; the older lady's kindness managed to permeate one's soul like balm.

“Thank you,” she returned, with more confidence than she felt. “I enjoyed meeting you as well. I hope you have a safe journey home.” Margret’s smile struck the young woman as  completely genuine.

“Thank you, my dear. Au revoir,” William's mother said, elegantly. William held the door open for her; Margaret stepped out, expertly unfolding her umbrella in one, smooth action.

It dawned on Michelle that she did not have a problem being cordial or sociable; she simply hadn’t met many people worthy of cordiality. Samuel, Mabel, Patrick, William and Margaret made up her entire circle of acquaintances, though she considered William a bit differently than the rest. She watched her companion as he buttoned up his coat, giving room to hopeful thoughts which, normally, she would not have dared entertain. What if he should turn out to be her soul mate?

Considering their positions in life, such a thing was illogical. He was foreign born, a successful lawyer, brought up in wealth and considerable social standing; Michelle was not raised a pauper but she was certainly one now. She first saw him merely by chance, vending sketches on the street. It was by chance his mother saw the picture in the first placer. She'd had a near-manic episode in front of William and his mother, and yet they had just shared a very pleasant meal together. Just a few weeks ago, William was ignorant of her very existence; now he couldn’t stop smiling at her. Michelle shook her head, wondering at life’s great ironies.

William felt Michelle’s scrutiny of him and grinned at her; Michelle returned it; in one hand she clasped her folded umbrella.

“Want to walk me back to work?” William asked; he sounded amused. Michelle nodded, wanting to shrug. How was it that this man could laugh at her shyness but she didn’t feel insulted? Deep down, Michelle knew she wasn’t offended that William found her quirks humorous. It was actually flattering. She smiled up at him.

“You mean I get to glimpse the famed bulwark of legality that is Brownstone & Peters?” she asked, amused. William’s smile was a little strained.

“It is not all that special,” he said, flatly. “The building’s rather old and boxy; the offices within are horribly outdated.” He opened the restaurant door for his date.

The rain had not let up, but it failed to damped Michelle’s spirits; her feet felt light walking by William once again. His comments about his place of work intrigued Michelle and she felt compelled to further the subject.

“Have the owners of your company ever thought of renovating?” she inquired; she held her umbrella up with one hand, her other arm linked with William’s. Her blue-eyed companion shrugged a little.

“Er... the idea had been tossed about a lot lately,” he admitted. “Problem is it would take a million to properly remodel the place. I’m only a junior partner, but from what I’ve heard come down from the top, Mr. Peters wants to see a little more revenue from our branch before investing such a considerable sum into aesthetics.”

Michelle looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Maybe your firm could have a sale,” she said, smiling. “That would raise some eyebrows... and money.” William gave her a half-smile.

“A sale, eh? As in washing cars or tables of baked goods?” Michelle softly at his tone.

“Ha... as if they could,” she said. “I doubt your fellow legalists would even know how to wash a car.”

“Legalists? Now that‘s just silly,” William returned, smiling. “Still, you might be right about the lack of manual labor. I, however, do wash my own car. It’s an Aston Martin. No teenager making $8.00 an hour is going anywhere near it.”

“I’m sure you wash it yourself,” Michelle said, smiling widely.  “No, I’m talking about a sale of services; you know... a two-for-one hostile takeover deal.” Her voice took on a bright, advertisement tone. “The first restructuring is free with purchase; firings not included. Fine print has not been tested on animals...”

William laughed; the young woman was quite convincing as she rattled off her little suggestions. He suddenly imagined someone presenting such ideas to the board; the ensuing looks of disbelief on such stoic faces would be priceless. He smiled down at Michelle. The fun in her bright eyes seemed almost tangible.

“You’re quite the little improv-comic,” William told her. “Ever perform at a comedy club?” Michelle wrinkled her nose.

“I have not,” she said, with conviction. “You’ll not find me on a stage. Definitely not my forte.”

“Aw, now... you’d sing me a song if I asked, wouldn’t you?” William queried, smiling. Michelle saw he was teasing her.

“Well, I can sing 'It’s a small world after all'. Want to hear that?” William shook his head at her.

“Minx,” was all he said.

They walked a ways in silence, comfortable being near one another. Michelle thought over William’s pet name for her; even having a pet name was kind of flattering. She would not have considered herself in the ‘minx’ category but William had a way of subtly drawing her from her shell; when he baited her, she found herself bantering back and liking it.

“Your mother is very nice,” Michelle said, after a short pause. William grinned and looked at her sideways.

“You’re serious?” he joked. Michelle made a face at him.

“You are fortunate to have a kind mother,” she replied. “Mine was like that. They try hard to make your life better, in their own way.” Sobering, William looked at Michelle's face a bit more closely.

“I was sorry to learn of your parents, Michelle,” he said, leaning a little closer to her as they walked. His companion looked at him searchingly for a moment.

“I don’t remember telling you about them,” she said, puzzled. “Oh... right. You had a PI ‘investigate’ me.” She said the last bit with a small smile.

William shrugged.

“Yes, well... I wanted to know if you were ‘for real’, as you Americans say,” he explained. Michelle squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“It’s OK…” she said. “I have nothing to hide.”

“So I found,” William said, affably. “Although, I was curious about something... have you no family at all?”

“Ouch,” Michelle thought, closing her eyes. William felt her wince and instantly regretted the question.

“I’m sorry to ask...” he began. Michelle gave him a half-smile.

“Please don’t worry about it. I’m not upset,” she explained. “It just seems so corny talking about my life. I really don’t want to be pitied.”

“Corny or not, I really want to know,” William said, soberly. Encouraged by his interest Michelle took in a slow breath. It seemed refreshing to have someone ask her direct questions, apparently spawned of a genuine interest. Michelle decided to tell him all that he'd care to ask her about.

“I have an uncle,” she said, finally.

William appeared somewhat baffled by her answer.

“An uncle. Just one?” Michelle nodded.

“My Uncle Oscar,” she explained. “He's my father’s older brother.”

“Oh,” William answered. He walked a few steps before speaking again. “I didn’t see him in the report.” Michelle bit her lip.

“I’m not surprised,” she said, heavily. “He and dad argued or something a long time ago, when I was about ten. Dad said he changed his last name in college, something to do with being mad at his father. I haven’t seen him in years. I do know he used to travel around the world a lot; sometimes he’d bring us gifts and things from other countries, I mean… until he didn’t come back anymore.”

“I suppose it would be silly to ask if he died,” William commented, after a short pause. “It sounds as if you don’t really know what happened to him.”

Nodding, Michelle concentrated on the pedestrian immediately in front of her. The entire topic teetered on an emotional precipice, for her. Still, she wanted William to know more about her, and this was a big part of why she was alone.

“He sounds like a bit of an eccentric,” William remarked.

“I suppose that would be an accurate description,” Michelle said, slowly. “He helped construct skyscrapers; a foreman of sorts, or so my parents told me. He was building one in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia the last time he visited us. I remember he brought my mother and I each a bright-blue, silk scarf. My dad said that he and Uncle Oscar had a ‘disagreement’. That’s when he stopped visiting. I was still in high school.”

“Must have been a bloody big disagreement,” William put in.

“Yes,” Michelle said, shrugging. “All I know is that he didn’t respond to the letter I sent about my parent’s accident, and I didn’t see him at the funeral.”

“I see.” William’s statement was full of understanding. Just listening to Michelle talk, he felt nearly overwhelmed with sadness. He’d had a similar burden in having to direct his own father’s funeral. The urge to help Michelle pulled on him stronger the more she spoke.

“You know...” the young woman said, quietly. “Even though he wasn’t around too much, I don’t think I have forgiven him completely for disappearing. If he’s still alive, I mean. How can you be so angry as to ignore your own brother’s funeral?”

“A grudge is an ugly thing, Michelle,” William remarked. “It can’t really be explained unless you know firsthand what happened. Your Uncle must have had his reasons.”

“True,” Michelle said, frowning. “It still hurts that my remaining family member is nowhere to be found.” William nodded.

“I agree with you there,” he said.

Looking up at William, Michelle grinned.

“Well, since I can’t hire Sam Spade to check you out, maybe you could tell me a little more about yourself.”

“Ask away, sweetheart,” William said, flashing her a grin.

“Alright... what made you reside stateside?”

“I interned at Brownstone & Peters’ London office after University. A position opened up here in an area I seem to have a knack for: corporate contracts, take-over bids, that kind of thing.”

“Ah,” Michelle said, smiling. “Modern-day legal piracy.” William gave her a side-long look and grinned.

“You’re not far off,” he told her. “I’ve been closeted away there for six years now; sometimes they let me out for meetings and things but mostly its just piles and piles of paperwork to look through.” Wanting to show an interest in his work, Michelle  searched for something intelligent to say.

“So, you look for loopholes?” she suggested. “Trying to find anything that will get a better deal for your clients, right?” William seemed unenthusiastic about this entire subject, but he brightened visibly at Michelle’s comment.

“That’s right,” he said, smiling looking down at her. “Anything that improves the client’s chance is appreciated, but also I hash out the fine points, so to speak: which staff goes where, who gets the Axe, who stays at what salary and all the mundane, impossibly tedious details needed for today’s corporate take-over.” William closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his forehead.

“You need a break, don’t you?” Michelle said, softly. William flashed a ‘Don’t Worry I’m Fine’ smile at her.

At the mention of vacation the notion of taking a long drive to Vermont together floated up in William’s mind; though the biting air made a picnic impossible, he suddenly wanted to know if Michelle would even consider going. Despite their rather  recent acquaintance but seemed to be a strangely strong bond growing rapidly between them, more so than a mere physical attraction. He enjoyed every moment of their time together.

In William's mind, the hope of her becoming part of his life begged to be thoroughly investigated. Looking over at Michelle again, he decided to take the plunge.

“I do hope you’ll consider Mother’s offer, Michelle,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. “I could use a break and I wouldn’t mind at all if you came along with me to Vermont.”

“Wouldn’t mind?” Michelle thought, disappointed. So, he wouldn’t mind taking her... but did he want her to go?

“Of course, if you’d rather not, there’s no pressure,” William continued.

Something in his voice made Michelle pause her inward musing; a slow realization blossomed as analyzed his words and tone.

“He’s worried I’ll say no…” she thought; her eyes winded a little at the idea. For all William’s well-dressed, confidant demeanor Michelle saw that--like herself--he could fall victim uncertainty, even nervousness. The knowledge comforted her, somehow. Seeing a more human attribute in the man she walked with enabled trust gain a stronger foothold within her. Turning her head, Michelle looked up at William; his eyes regarded her expression intently. The marked uncertainly in his gaze surprised Michelle. Taking a deep breath, she mustered all her bravery.

“Would you like me to go with you?” she asked. “I mean, you… personally.”

For a few seconds it seemed to Michelle that her heart failed within her; she knew William wasn’t trying to be cruel with his pause but the moments appeared to stretch out longer with each passing second. Finally, he smiled; it was the quick, warm smile Michelle already admired.

“Is that why you hesitate?” he queried, his eyes twinkling. “You don’t think I wanted to take you with me?” He sounded merrily incredulous, as if he’d gained some imperative piece of information and was puzzled by it.

“Well, no one wants an obligatory guest...” Michelle began. At this, William laughed out loud; he ran a hand through his hair.

“Michelle Gregory,” he said, sounding vastly amused, “There is no one on this planet I would rather drive to Vermont with… or anywhere else, for that matter. Will you accompany me and--dare I say--put up with my questions?”

Michelle broke out in a smile; a look of relief crossed her face.

“I’d love to,” she said. “And for the record I like your questions.”

“Do you?” William asked, with a grin.

“You have such a pleasant voice,” Michelle explained, shyly. “I think you could get away with asking just about anything.” Biting her lip, she suddenly wished she hadn’t said the last bit.

“Really?” William said, lifting an eyebrow at her. “I’ll have to bear that in mind.” At this, the young woman retreated into the recesses of her umbrella.

Walking forward, Michelle wondered at the wisdom of agreeing to spend hours alone with William in his car, driving to another state. Certainly they were going to visit his kind mother and would be staying at her home, in separate rooms... but, still. Glancing sideways at her companion, she saw his confidence had fully returned; a content smile dressed his face as they strolled forward. They ambled in the rain for a few minutes in happy silence.

“Here we are,” William said, at last. Looking up, Michelle saw the edifice of an old fashioned, medium high-rise office building, clad in the familiar gray concrete and large, tinted windows. William led them under an awning, out of the way of the foot-traffic. “My offices are on the 23rd floor.”

“It’s impressive,” Michelle said, smiling up at him. They were standing only a foot apart, but it seemed like a comfortable amount of space. William grimaced.

“Sure, it is,” he said. His choice of words made Michelle wrinkle her nose.

“Oh, please don’t say it like that.” she said. Puzzled, William looked down at her.

“Say what... like what?” he asked, looking confused. Michelle laughed, softly.

“Sure. You can’t say it like an Englishman… it’s an American word.” William gave her a wry grin.

“Perhaps I should have said ‘surely’,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Uh... no,” Michelle said, clearing her throat. “You can say it, but you have to say it like a used car salesman. Like this, sheewrrr.” As the young woman intoned the word, William immediately imagined a man selling cars in some dusty lot. He laughed.

“Point made,” he said, licking his bottom lip quickly. “I would like to have your room number, if you don’t mind so I can call you about a date.”

Michelle smiled; her eyes were bright with mirth.

“A date? We’ve just had one.”

William leaned down, stopping just inches from her ear.

“We’ll have more, believe me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His breath warmed Michelle’s ear momentarily. She willed herself not to blush; she failed. William noted her rosy face with satisfaction and drew away, a little. “A date for our trip, Michelle,” he explained, looking down at her eyes.

“Oh,” Michelle said, feeling stupid. “Right. Um... Room 203.” She was having trouble making complete sentences and mentally kicked herself. “It’s only hot air, for crying out loud!” she silently remanded herself.

Michelle let go of William’s arm and took a step back. “Won’t you be late for work?” she asked, slipping her hands into her coat pockets. Grinning knowingly at her, William took off one of his gloves; he reached up and tucked a stray piece of Michelle’s hair behind her ear. His fingers were very warm.

“Want me to call you a cab, Michelle?” he asked, stepping close to her again.

“Uh... no thank you,” his companion stammered. “I am a fairly accomplished walker. I feel like getting some… uh, exercise.”

Allowing himself a last look into her eyes, William nudged her arm softly with his elbow.

“Off with you, then,” he said, affectionately. “Or, I’ll not be getting any work done. You are far too... distracting.” He wanted to say desirable... exquisite; even those adjectives still didn’t cover it but she definitely distracted him. Not that he minded.

“Thank you for lunch, William,” Michelle said, nudging him back lightly.

“Anytime, Michelle,” he answered. “I will see you later.”

“Bye.”

Michelle forced herself to turn around and walk away; even her feet seemed to be saying: ‘Stay! Stay with the gorgeous man with blue eyes!’ Shivering with a whole host of foreign emotions, Michelle slowly made her way down the packed sidewalk in a sort of blissful trance. William wanted her to go with him to Vermont! He was flirting with her. Not too much, but definitely flirting. Warmed by these thoughts, Michelle walked on, enjoying the moment tremendously.

William watched her go; her face seemed alight with some purely innocent joy.

“If you only knew what I was thinking half the time, you’d run,” he thought, wryly. Would she? He wondered about her. Michelle flirted like a timid, little sparrow and seemed painfully naive to some of his suggestive remarks. Then again, he had been making her blush almost constantly. He silently admitted he liked doing that, most of all. Passing through the building’s revolving door, William walked to the familiar corporate elevators. Alone in the lift, he meditated on his date with Michelle; she was not far from his mind at any time of the day or night lately.

As he stood in the elevator, William wondered of Michelle’s serene exterior harbored an entire, inward bottle of passion hidden away for later use; he longed to find out. Even being near her sometimes made it necessary to clench his jaw and think of something unpleasant to avoid certain discomforts... especially when she smiled.

“Dammed unprofessional,” William muttered; he missed Michelle already. “Room 203,” he said. Just knowing her room number brought him comfort.

The doors of the elevator swept open, revealing the receptionist’s desk. The middle-aged woman behind it was a rather irritable sort, with stiff, bleached hair and a matching personality.

“Mr. Peters and Mr. Johnson want all the department heads in the main conference room,” she snapped. From her sour attitude, William guessed the woman had missed lunch. Nodding, he changed direction towards the executive hall.

“Ah... William,” Mr. Johnson called out to him as he entered the large room. “Take a seat.” William did and fixed his employer with an unemotional stare.

Though large, the main conference room was little more than a box with a table in it. Besides the whimsical, antique windows, whoever decorated this place had no imagination whatsoever. The short, portly man before him sat at the head of a long, polished table that had been painted black; it always made William wince when he saw it. What a waste of perfectly good wood to simply paint over it.

“Peters will be a minute.” Mr. Johnson was speaking again; he drummed his fleshy fingers on the table in a bored fashion. “I hear you’ve been finishing up the Morton-Viece thing.”

“I have, sir,” William responded. Mr. Johnson attempted a smile; the result was a lopsided sneer. William wished the man could see himself; he looked like a clown that had suffered a stroke.

“Great, great... I hadn’t heard about it for awhile until today; some junior associate said you were handling it,” the man droned on. “So, been on vacation lately?” William resisted rolling his eyes. He detested small talk, especially before meetings, but this obvious, vague drivel was intolerable. Honestly, how did the man become a lawyer? William kept his thoughts to himself as the man rambled on about going fishing in Virginia. It occurred to William that he didn’t really know what Mr. Johnson did at the firm.

“Sir?” William interrupted. “I will be taking next weekend off; I’ll bear fishing in mind. I do have a few hundred pages of the Morton-Viece merger to go through today.”

Mr. Johnson nodded.

“Oh... yeah. How’s it going?” he inquired said.

“Well, right now... it’s not,” William responded, managing to keep his face straight. “I am sitting here.”

“Oh, right... uh... great,” Mr. Johnson said, with little effort. “Here’s Peters.”

William turned to see the senior partner walk through the door, followed by several of the junior partners. Despite his poor choice in part choice in business partners, William had some respect for Mr. Peters. The man was a brilliant litigator who’d used his turn-the-screws-on-witnesses approach towards merger deals, ending up with a few devoted clients and an international company. The man’s original partner, the respected A. M. Brownstone had died some years ago; heart attacks were common among lawyers. It was rumored Peters took on Johnson as a silent partner merely for some additional capital.

“Alright, sit,” Peters boomed out, his forehead lined in a permanent scowl. “As you know the rumors are true about the upcoming Warthall-Poller venture; they want us to negotiate the same deal as Morton-Viece but they want 2/3 of the staff gone. Montgomery...”

“Sir,” William looked his boss square in the eye, over the long expanse of the table.

“Hammer out the final details on Morton-Viece and courier it over before end of business today. Copies on my desk by four,” the man barked.

“Yes, sir,” William said, his face blank. Mr. Peters was not angry; he snapped at everyone, even on good days. The firm’s senior partner doled out a few more jobs and was about to adjourn the meeting when the newest junior partner spoke up. William couldn’t remember his name.

“What about the rumors of Felix Maclane...” the young man said, nervously; he hushed up as he encountered Mr. Peters’ expression. The boss gave the man such an icy glare that William wondered if his boss was going to leap over the table and throttle the inquirer.

“That son-of-a-bitch won’t trouble us,” Peters said, stiffly. “Sometimes rumors are just rumors. Brownstone built this company; I’ve worked here since I was twenty. It’s mine now and no one’s taking it from me.”

William sat forward, interested; he looked over at Johnson. The man shuffled papers aimlessly, looking at the table. Mr. Peters promptly ended the meeting and the partners scattered.

Catching up with the man who’d spoken up in the meeting, William introduced himself.

“Caleb Grenell,” the man said, shaking William’s hand.

“What was all that business about Felix Maclane?” William asked as they passed a water cooler. “Is he a new client?” The junior partner’s eyes bulged a little.

“You don’t know?” he asked, his voice incredulous. “Felix-Maclane Inc. is a legal firm, like this one, only bigger, with more offices and more clients...”

“I get the idea,” William interrupted. “I’ve been buried in my office the last six years with my nose in one contract after another. Sometimes I miss the news.”

“I guess...” Grenell said, getting a cup of water. “They’ve made a name for themselves lately by taking over legal firms and firing nearly everyone. Three already, just this year; they hostilely takeover corporate takeover specialists.”

“Sounds like poetic justice,” William mused aloud, looking at the nearby window. “Peters seemed unnerved at the mere mention of them.”

“He should be,” Grenell said, with conviction. William looked back at him, interested. Grenell continued; “My brother works for our accounting firm and he says our revenue has dropped dramatically since Brownstone kicked the bucket. If Felix-Maclane takes over, they’ll downsize to bare-bones… we’ll all need new jobs.” Grenell nodded at William and hurried off down the hall. William walked to his own office, deep in thought.

Reaching his corridor, he glanced at Mabel, his middle-aged secretary; she nodded at him over her typing.

“Two courier deliveries for you, Mr. Montgomery,” she quipped, inclining her head slightly towards the IN box.

“Thank you Mabel,” William said, picking them up; he scrutinized the labels and grimaced. More changes to the merger contract. “I’ll need the courier service in the lobby by three o’clock; the final contract will be ready to send over by then, if I can just get it done. See that I’m not disturbed.”

“Yes sir,” Mabel answered automatically, still typing. Pushing open his office door, William closed it swiftly behind him. Walking over to the windows, he opened the blinds and watched the rain drizzle down for a moment; he puts his hands in his pockets.

A bit of sharply-folded paper poked his finger; he drew out the little origami bird Michelle had made. It looked a little crinkled but still graceful. Smiling, William turned it over; just thinking about Michelle brightened his mood. Walking to his desk, William moved a stack of papers and placed the bird down right where he could see it. Filling his coffee cup, he sat down resolutely to work, pausing now and then to look at the little bird and smile.

MICHELLE WALKED happily down the dirty sidewalk, not noticing the trash or the people who bumped into her with rude remarks. If cloud nine existed, she felt close to stepping on its surface. As she headed in the direction of her hotel, Michelle didn’t know quite what to do with herself. For the first time in years, she had not gone out to sell her drawings; here she was, ambling down the street like anyone else, but with nowhere to go. It did not matter; wings seemed attached to her heels and she floated despite gravity, despite the grim faces around her and in spite of all the moody feelings that hovered in the dark skies above.

A trip; it had been far too long since Michelle’s last journey out of the city. Walking slowly, she spied the side street leading towards the Good Will Pausing, she looked down at her clothes; it was the one nice, unstained outfit she possessed besides the pink gown. Biting her bottom lip, Michelle hovered by a bus stop sign, wondering if she could part with more of her precious dollars for ‘trip’ clothes. It seemed a bit extravagant but Michelle wanted to look nice for William and for Margaret; she did not want to bring shame to them or to herself by the want of a few items of clothing.

A dozen or so other people browsed through the Good Will aisles. Having decided to ‘shop’ Michelle put aside her frugal reservations. Her last date had been at senior prom; her ‘escort’ that night was as shy as she and they barely exchanged six words all night. Instead, they danced… a lot, and had a considerable amount of fun doing so. There was no need for speaking at a dance. He’d given her a chaste peck on the cheek; the boy certainly never inspired the emotions in her that William did and yet, she felt safe with her new-found interest. Soon, she’d get to go on a trip with him, to get to know his family better. The feelings accompanying such thoughts felt mildly exhilarating, as if she was about to dive out of a plane… but with a sturdy, trusty parachute.

Not in any hurry, Michelle dreamily perused the racks of used things; it looked a rainbow array of wealth to her. She was not looking for anything in particular, but hoped a wonderful outfit would jump out at her... figuratively speaking. A dark-red housecoat caught her eye; she felt it. Silk. Michelle was almost afraid to look at the tag.

“Six dollars,” she murmured. “Not bad.” For six dollars she could have a robe to be ‘suitable’ in. Margret’s home, Michelle knew, was sure to be a place where one should look proper, at the very least. The robe went into her basket. Michelle found some other useful items, including a pair of leather walking boots, garnet-red velvet jeans, a creamy pullover fleece and a long, deep green dinner dress and a gray woolen suit-dress. These, she felt would prove useful even after the trip.

Lingering in the used book section Michelle suddenly felt like someone was watching her. Pretending to ignore it, she looked for the nearest exit; spying a door nearby, she stole a glance toward the offender. A man in his late fifties stood about fifteen feet away from her, scrutinizing her face intently; his face struck Michet. She stared at him, her mouth open.

“Michelle.”

The man said her name but she didn’t move. Tears began to form in Michelle’s eyes but she blinked them away.

“Uncle Oscar?”

The man stepped closer and clasped her hand in a secure hold. It was not a threatening action, but one of relief. Still a little stunned, Michelle studied his face; she knew it well even after all this time. He towered over her much like William did, but the man’s face was aged, tanned and stocky; his hair seemed grayer than she remembered but his eyes were unchanged, a keen, warm gray. Her uncle smiled and stepped forward. Michelle let him hug her briefly.

“I’ve been trying to find you,” her uncle stated. His voice sounded stiff, but the sincerity in his face jabbed at Michelle’s heart; her brows drew together and she felt perilously close to crying.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Dad and Mom...”

“I know,” her uncle said, putting a hand on Michelle’s shoulder. “I was out of the country for several years... um... why don’t we get some coffee? This isn’t a great place to sit and talk.” Managing a weak smile, Michelle nodded.

“Just let me get these paid for and we’ll go,” she said, quietly; she paid for her items as her uncle stood nearby.

A few minutes later they sat in a nearby coffee shop. Michelle ordered cocoa; her uncle asked the man behind the counter for black coffee.

“You’ve really changed,” Oscar said, after they sat down. “I know that’s obvious but it was so strange to see you all grown up, standing in a Manhattan store.” Michelle laughed.

“The Good Will is hardly haute couture shopping,” she said, smiling. Her uncle returned her smile.

“I figured you’d be at one of them,” he explained. “I remember your mom used to go there. I kind of staked out the stores around your previous address. It was my last resort to find you.”

Michelle sat forward and looked him in the eye.

“If I may, sir... where have you been?” she began. “My father said you two had a fight but he wouldn’t say what about or why. Mom just figured it would work out between you. She said you were very busy.” Oscar’s expression sobered at her words.

“It was a bit more than just ‘busy’,” he said, seriously. “Your dad and I... well, we just stopped speaking for awhile. Back then, my work was easy to lose myself in. I had government contracts overseas, rebuilding bombed buildings, remodeling embassy compounds... that sort of thing. One country’s government where we were working kind of, well… imploded. All westerners and Americans were evacuated, but not all of us made it out in time. My crew and I were hid for weeks by a few brave families until we could make the border and fly out.”

Michelle looked at her uncle wide-eyed.

“I don’t remember seeing any of this on the news,” she said, slowly. Oscar grinned.

“Well, you wouldn’t have… bad for PR,” he said.

“So, you found out about the funeral when you got back in?”

Oscar rubbed his forehead, nodding.

“Yeah,” he said, heavily. “I heard you’d gone on to New York and I tried calling, but you weren’t listed; went by your address but the landlady said your lease had expired; she didn’t know where you’d gone. She did have your cat, though.” Michelle beamed.

“Really?” she said, joyfully. “I am so glad she still has him. I miss him.”

Oscar looked at his niece’s face carefully. This was the girl he remembered; he saw her mother’s lovely smile shining out.

“I got as far as your employer, uh… Johnson and Black,” he continued. “... but you just up and disappeared the last two years.”

“About that... I wasn’t fired justly,” Michelle put in; she didn’t know why she bothered explaining that, but for some reason it was important. Her uncle smiled.

“I figured that,” he said. “So why go underground? Did they threaten you?” Michelle snorted.

“Hardly,” she said. “They blacklisted me. No accounting firm would hire me; it was the only thing I had been schooled to do. I looked for other jobs but nothing else came up.”

“Nothing?” Oscar returned, gruffly. “Come on, surely there were jobs in restaurants and things like that...”

Michelle looked at him narrowly. She guessed that he suspected she thought herself too good for that kind of work.

“I hate to disagree with you, sir, but there were not.” Michelle was careful to keep her tone respectful; he was her uncle, after all. “It may have been some time since you looked for work in New York, but there are five people for every job. Believe me, when my lease came due I would have taken anything to keep my apartment. And, not that you’d know this, but I did work in a restaurant as a server for two years, during college.”

The man across the table from her seemed satisfied with her answer.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Your dad didn’t want to talk with me, either, you know. He and I were both were to blame, not just me.” His voice seemed gentler as he said this.

“I know,” Michelle said. “I still missed you. Especially when you were all I had left.” She reached forward and touched her Uncle’s hand briefly. He gave Michelle a half-smile.

“Yeah,” he said, heaving a sigh. “Death separates like nothing else.” He looked at her closely. “You were probably too young, but do you remember Jeanie... your aunt?”

Surprised, Michelle shook her head.

“You’re married?” she asked. Oscar smiled, sadly.

“Was. She died when you were about five or so,” he explained. Michelle closed her eyes, trying to remember that far back.

“I do recall you bringing someone over once... um... she had long, black hair. She let me braid it.”

Smiling a little, Oscar nodded.

“That’s right. I’m surprised you remember. She and I were married just three years; she was pregnant and there were complications; she started hemorrhaging after only three months and they couldn’t stop it in time.” Michelle covered her mouth with her hand for a moment.

“Oh, my word…,” she managed to say. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, heavily. “Well, I had my work, you know. It’s complicated stuff; easy to get entrenched in and forget the world exists.” Michelle looked at her uncle; she realizes that was probably why he didn’t visit much after Jeanie died; her presence alone would have caused him grief, seeing how his child has died and his wife as well.

“I can understand that,” Michelle said. “These last three years I’ve drawn pen and ink pictures and sold them on a corner in Midtown. That’s what I do.”

Oscar sat up a bit straighter and stared at his niece.

“You’re kidding,” he stated. Michelle shook her head.

“It pays the bills,” she declared. “I’m not ashamed to be looked down upon. I still make my own living.” Oscar leaned forward, interested.

“So, where do you live?” Michelle smiled. Once she was done explaining her housing situation, her uncle was smiling as well.

“Well, I’ll be...” he said, scratching his head. “Even your dad would approve of that.”

“I think so,” Michelle said, happily. It felt almost sublime to talk to a family member again; she could see a lot of her father in him though she did not say so. William was Michelle’s favored choice for company but having her uncle back bolstered her confidence even more. “So, what have you been up to, Uncle?”

Leaning back against the seat, Oscar heaved a sigh.

“Well, I sold the construction company and focused back on my law degree; I opened a firm, then more of them,” he said, shortly.

“You’re a lawyer?” Michelle inquired, smiling. “I would never have guessed that.” Grinning, her uncle nodded.

“Yep. That’s what my competitors though too, until I started buying up their shares and folding their companies into my corporation. Got over forty offices now, in four countries.” He folded his arms over his chest.

Michelle looked at her uncle with a new respect.

“So... mainly, your law firm takes over other law firms?” she asked, attempting to understand his work fully. Oscar nodded.

“That’s about it,” he replied. “Of course we take on additional clients here and there to represent in takeover bids, that kind of thing.”

“That sounds like what William does for a living,” Michelle said, not realizing she’d said it out loud.

Immediately, her uncle was all ears.

“Who’s William?” he asked, looking at her keenly. At this, Michelle blushed and Oscar knew exactly who ‘William’ was.

“Um... I guess you could say he’s my boyfriend,” Michelle said, not really knowing how to explain it. She supposed they were an item, though not officially. “I met him weeks ago but we didn’t go out until yesterday, at the Monet showing; we ate dinner together and really hit it off. I had lunch with him and his mother today.” Oscar considered this information for a minute.

“Guy moves fast,” he commented. “Artsy type, huh?” Michelle made a face.

“Not really. I suppose he was there just to be there, like most people would be. He’s a lawyer.” Michelle saw her uncle scowl. “But, he also makes furniture... he has a shop full of tools; it’s his hobby.”

Oscar leaned forward and grimaced at the counter; their drinks still hadn’t come.

“Could we get our damn coffee already?” he said loudly towards a man in a green apron. Michelle hid a smile in her glove. “The service here is unacceptable.” Oscar sat back and regarded Michelle again. “So... a lawyer who can make furniture.” He scratched his chin. “He can’t be all bad. You like him, huh?” Michelle gave him a bright smile.

“Very much,” she said, with conviction. “I think Mom and Dad would have loved him. He’s English and very proper.” Oscar rolled his eyes in a comical fashion.

“Of course they’d have liked some highfalutin limey.” He picked up a paper napkin and blew his nose. “So, where does this guy work?”

“Brownstone and Peters,” Michelle answered.

At this her uncle brightened, visibly.

“Really?” He rubbed his chin for a few seconds. “That’s interesting.”

“I’d like you to meet him sometime,” Michelle suggested, hoping he’d want to. Her uncle smiled at her reassuringly.

“You bet,” he agreed. “I’m going to be here for awhile. I came here to find you, but stayed to grow the company. My main office is about six blocks that way.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Michelle shook her head in disbelief.

“That’s so... weird,” she said at last, her eyes wide. “You were close by all this time.” Oscar smiled at her.

“It’s a small world,” he said.

A timid, young girl in a green apron cautiously brought their cups to the table, looking at Oscar as if he was about to sprout fangs and devour her. Michelle’s uncle took the cups from her.

“You can go,” he told the young waitress, who scampered away. Oscar cast a warning glance at the counter, where the man glared back at him.

“Send the lamb out, eh?” Oscar mumbled into his coffee. Michelle heard it, though and smiled.

“So, where do you live in the city?” she asked.

“I don’t,” her uncle answered. “I live in Brooklyn. Take the subway in.” Michelle was impressed but not surprised. Her uncle seemed to be a common-man’s hero; of course he’d live in Brooklyn... and take the subway.

“You’re smart,” she accoladed. “I usually walk. The traffic around here is something dreadful.” Oscar grimaced.

“Wouldn’t be caught dead in it,” he agreed. “I’d take a helicopter first.” He leaned forward a little. “Where can I get a hold of you? Do you have a phone?”

“Oh, yes. The hotel will ring my room. 203,” Michelle told him. Oscar whipped out a small address book from his back pocket and wrote in it. Michelle saw he was writing with a silver Parker fountain pen; she knew it at once, for her former boss had one just like it. She remembered the man telling her it was a gift, but the giver had paid over $1000 for it.

“203...” her uncle repeated, more to himself than anyone. Looking up, he put the pen and the little book away. “No email?” Michelle shook her head.

“Shamefully, no,” she said. “The hotel has WiFi but you have to have a computer for that to work. You can leave messages for me, though, if I’m out.”

“Everybody has email now,” Oscar said, grinning. “I have seven different accounts to check.”

“I hope that’s more fun than it sounds,” Michelle said, smiling back. “Just to let you know, I will be going out of state for about a week, sometime very soon. William’s mother invited us to visit her home for an apple festival, in Vermont.”

“Huh… sounds serious.”

Looking at her uncle in the eye, Michelle chose her words carefully. The last thing she wanted was a vigilante relative threatening William to stay away.

“I’d rather it be serious, than not,” she said, softly. To her surprise, her uncle smiled, broadly.

“That’s a good attitude to have,” he said. “Just watch yourself with him. I’m sure your dad and mom raised you to be a good, smart girl. So when are you going?” A little surprised at the compliments, Michelle gathered her thoughts.

“Um... I don’t quite know,” she admitted. “William was going to try to get a weekend off from work, and then call me with a date to leave; apparently he hasn’t had a vacation in some time. I haven’t, either.” Oscar nodded.

“I’ll give you a ring then and maybe we can get some lunch or something,” he offered. “I don’t want to lose contact with you again. This is my card; it has my number, my address and my cell number on it. Call anytime, for anything. I mean it.” He fixed her with a stern look but Michelle could see there was humor in his eyes. She smiled.

“I will. Thank you.” Michelle took the card from his hand and held it a moment before putting it in her inside pocket. “I promise to let you know if I move again.”

“You look well, did I tell you that?” Oscar said, suddenly. “You have your mom’s smile.” Michelle felt her eyes mist at his words. “I’m glad you don’t look like your dad very much; he was an ugly kid.” His words made Michelle laugh; her uncle chuckled a little along with her and they both felt as if something heavy had lifted between them.

Oscar looked at the clock.

“Well, I gotta go,” he said, standing up. He took a lid from a nearby shelf and popped it on top of his coffee. Michelle did the same with her cocoa. She was glad he wasn’t the type to just throw the unfinished beverage away. “Got people to fire… companies to buy.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Michelle returned, smiling. “I’m going to go home and do laundry.”

“I hire that out,” Oscar said, twitching his mustache. “Always hated doing laundry.” Michelle wondered if she should hug him, but he forestalled her by shaking her hand.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, looking at her with a sort of squished expression. Michelle thought his eyes looked a little watery. He was a tough, hard-working man; not the type to cry. Michelle was touched at the display of emotion apparent on his face. “And call me if you need anything… really,” the man continued.

“Thank you,” Michelle said, squeezing his hand briefly. “I am so glad you kept looking for me. I am sorry I didn’t try as hard to find you.”

“You did what you could,” Oscar said, plaintively. “No one can ask more than that. Get on home now. This place isn’t really safe, you know.” Smiling, Michelle nodded.

“I will, Uncle. It is good to see you again.” She let him open the door for her and returned his wave; he walked away, heading up the street. The Waldorf lay in the opposite direction, so Michelle set out once again toward home.

Already elevated by William’s presence earlier, her happy demeanor shone out even more brilliantly. Family! She had a close blood relative again; it was a rather tiny family, but one nonetheless. Her uncle was not dead after all; he’d been looking for her and wanted to be a part of her life. He was very much a down-to-earth kind of man, which Michelle preferred in a relative, if at all possible. At least she could go to him for advice if she needed to.

Walking through the front doors of her hotel, clutching her Goodwill bag, Michelle pondered her uncle’s cautionary words about William. She thought about it in the elevator and all the way to her room. She put her uncle’s card on the antique desk where she could see it. The sight of the thin, white rectangle laying on the wooden surface felt exceedingly comforting.

As Michelle washed her newly purchased clothes, she pondered what sort of signals she was giving William, weighing those that he gave in return. She trusted him, she decided; she wanted a serious relationship with him. His actions and questions led her to believe that he was serious in his intentions as well; why else would he want her to meet his mother… to visit her house? It told her that William wanted to get to know her well but didn’t want to scare her off.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the wall-mirror, Michelle saw a wide smile on her face. William seemed to effect her life for the better, and she appreciated that most. Above all, Michelle hoped she did the same for him.

The phone rang as was putting away her purchases. Michelle stared at the phone, bewildered; it usually never rang. Perhaps her uncle was testing the line. She picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she said uncertainly.

“Ah.... you’re there.” It was William. He sounded both relieved and happy to hear her voice. “How’s Thursday?”

“Thursday?” Michelle asked. “Oh, for the trip. This Thursday?”

“Is that too soon for you? I couldn’t get a whole week off. Have to be back at work Monday, I’m afraid.”

“No... no, Thursday’s great!” Michelle responded. “Thank you so much.”

“For what, sweetheart?” William asked. Michelle could hear amusement in his voice.

“For calling,” she replied, grinning. “I have not had a call in over a year.”

There was a small pause.

“You’re joking,” William said. Michelle laughed softly.

“Nope. Wasn’t sure if I remembered how to use it.” She heard William’s warm chuckle on the other end.

“Well, that surprises me, I must say,” he said. “This is a bit sudden, but would you like to eat dinner with me? Here at my flat? Alfred’s making lamb stew and it’s simply delicious.”

Michelle felt a bit unprepared for his invitation; dinner alone at his apartment? She didn’t know what to say. Would it give him the wrong impression if she said yes? “You don’t have to sweetheart...” William continued.

“Oh... I’d love to,” Michelle said, firmly. “I... just don’t want to barge in on your privacy.”

Another pause ensued. In the silence Michelle wondered if she’d offended him.

“Has it occurred to you that I might actually enjoy your company?” William asked. His voice seemed a little strange. Michelle closed her eyes and made a face at the wall. “Certainly over spending an evening with only my aging valet to talk to.”

“Please don’t be offended,” Michelle said, quickly; she did not wish to convey to William the wrong reason for her  hesitation. “I am sorry... I rely on myself a lot and I push people away. It’s a problem and I’m trying to deal with it. There’s no other place I would rather be than with you.”

The last bit tumbled out before Michelle could stop it; her face reddened and she bit her lip, wondering if William would snicker at her. To his credit he did not, or at least did so quietly.

“You don’t have to worry about me giving obligatory invitations, Michelle,” came William’s voice at last; his tone sounded softer. “I don’t do that. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to see you. I ask for exactly what I want.”

“Good.” Michelle let out a breath of relief. “I’m glad you are that way. It’s rare, so let me get used to it. I do learn quickly.” This time William chuckled.

“Yes, well you are doing rather well, having just been out with me.”

“Indeed,” Michelle returned lightly. “You’re very demanding of my time.”

“So, you’ll come for dinner? Shall I send a cab for you?”

“I can get a cab. I’m not destitute and ... if you protest I’ll take the subway.” Michelle had no intention of doing that at night… but William didn’t know that.

“You’ll do no such thing!” William sounded genuinely alarmed. “At night… are you insane? I know you think you’re quite independent but...”

He stopped talked as he heard Michelle’s soft giggles over the phone.

“Why... you little minx,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “You had no intention of taking the tube, did you?”

“Nope,” Michelle said, smiling. “But it’s nice to know you care. Oh!” She saw her uncle’s card sitting on the desk. “I saw my Uncle today!”

“Pardon?” William asked, not sure if he’d heard right.

“You know, my uncle. I was telling you about him, my Uncle Oscar.” Michelle could not keep the enthusiasm from her voice. “He found me as I was coming back to the hotel; he’s been looking for me these last two years at least. We had coffee and caught up...”

“Wait a minute,” William said; he sounded dubious. “Your uncle... that you haven’t seen in years... you just happened to see him, today?”

“Yes, it’s amazing, I know but... I am so glad. I have family again William! I can’t tell you how important that is to me right now.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Michelle sounded so happy William did not want to bring up obvious suspicions, just yet. “How did that go?”

“Really well,” Michelle answered, smiling. “I’d forgotten how much he looks like my father. He sold his construction company years ago. He’s a lawyer now; he has several offices.”

“Really? That’s interesting...”

Michelle let out a small chuckle. William sounded very curious.

“That’s exactly what he said about you,” she informed him.

“Did he? You told him about me. Hm.” Michelle thought he still sounded dubious. “Well, that is amazing, Michelle but I am very happy he found you. Did he see you in the hotel?”

“No. He remembered that I favor the Good Will and had been staking out the local ones hoping I’d show up. That’s where he saw me.”

“The Good Will? What were you doing there?” Michelle rolled her eyes a little.

“Shopping,” she said. “I figured I’d need something more than this outfit if we were going to go visit your mother next week.”

The ensuing pause was very long.

“Don’t get me wrong, love… but, the Goodwill is hardly the place to go for proper attire. Mother isn’t arrogant or anything but you deserve to dress better than that.”

Surprised, Michelle let me mouth hang open a little. She collected herself quickly.

“You didn’t seem to mind where I purchased my attire at dinner,” she said, her voice taking on an unusually brisk tone. “Were you ashamed to be seen with me then? What about today?”

William sensed he’d made an error.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said, firmly. “I’m just saying you should let me take you shopping...”

“No, thank you,” Michelle said, perilously close to tears. “I would never use you that way. I’m not ashamed of my appearance. It’s clean and neat. Anything more is just... extra.”

“That’s a nice ideal Michelle, but that is not how the real world functions!” William’s voice sounded flat. “You are a sweet girl but perceptions do mean something. You were lucky to find that gown and the coat but I’m not taking you to my mother’s in shabby, thrift-store clothes. It’s not proper.”

Tears threatened to show themselves in Michelle’s eyes. A feeling of shame washed over her, however, lending her momentary calm.

“Please don’t trouble yourself.” She tried to say it coolly, but her voice grew more unsteady by the second. “I am certain you could find someone else higher up in society that would make you look better.” The phone slipped out of her hand, bouncing on the carpet. Michelle knelt down, trying to keep from sobbing out loud. She groped for the phone receiver and quickly hung it up. Something precious was slipping away from her and it couldn’t be stopped.

Blindly, Michelle made her way over to the shower and turned it on. Disrobing quickly, she stepped into the hot stream of water and sat down, her head bowed onto her knees.

Staring at the phone in his hand William blinked, wondering what the hell had just happened. Setting the phone down on his desk, he stared at the wall; it occurred to him that he’d just told a girl who made her entire living selling drawings on a street corner that her clothes weren’t good enough to be seen in. Only an arrogant ass would say that. Michelle had looked fantastic last night; she certainly knew how to dress. He couldn’t keep his eyes to himself half the time... and his mother, well, she’d loved Michelle immediately.

“What have I done?” he said, out loud. The heavy sounds of pelting rain outside made for a lonely answer. Reaching for the phone, he re-dialed the hotel’s number and asked for room 203. No answer. It rang and rang; William tried again, same result; six more times and still Michelle did not pick up. “Bollocks!” William exclaimed, tossing his phone down onto his desk. He got up and paced around the office, trying to calm himself. He halted by the window, raking his hand through his hair. As if to compliment the situation, the clouds outside looked dark and threatening. “I’m an idiot,” he muttered, going back to his desk.

Pressing the intercom, the irritated voice of his secretary came through.

“Sir?” Mabel was never in a good mood; neither was he at the moment.

“Get me a florist on the line!” William barked. “A good one… and hurry.” He didn’t let her reply but paced until the call came through. Michelle’s last words came back to him; she’d sounded on the verge of tears. Her words repeated themselves in his mind: “someone else higher up in society”.

William knew he didn’t want someone else; he wanted Michelle.

“THANK GOD for boiler systems,” Michelle thought, with a sigh. Leaning back against the shower wall, she let the steaming water pour over her. Closing her eyes, Michelle imagined she was back in Denver at a certain hot springs; it has been her favorite place, a large pool where hot water cascaded down in a fountain, cooling off just enough to be bearable and infinitely relaxing. “Minus the smell of sulfur...” she mused, wrinkling her nose. Michelle tried to think of anything other than William but soon melancholy feelings overwhelmed her. Sniffling, she rubbed conditioner into her hair.

“Oh, grow up,” she told herself.

Thinking over William’s words, she considered their meaning carefully. What did he say that wasn’t true? Certainly she tried her best to dress appropriately; even William had acknowledged that fact. Perhaps she had been used to lesser things for so long she didn’t see how shabby they really looked. There was a time that she had worn sharp dress skirts and crisp business jackets. It was true her things were used.

Still, Michelle thought William’s objections to her favored shop sounded overly elitist; his mother hadn’t said a word about her clothes. William had cast her several rather appreciative glances throughout the day. Michelle knew she was a bit naive but even so she was able to recognize attraction. William didn’t exactly hide his thoughts, either.

Maybe it was just the idea of getting clothes at the Good Will that had so repulsed him. Michelle reasoned that he was probably brought up with the finer things and now he most likely bought things selectively from very good stores. She had no such luxury... surely William could see that. Perhaps they were just too different. That thought made her tear up again and she sighed. Eventually, Michelle shut off the water; she was starting to feel spent and sleepy. She slowly dried her hair and brushed it, sitting cross-legged on her bed in her favorite yoga pants and Stanford camisole. Michelle had never done yoga, but the pants were so comfy she wore them anyway. Feeling depressed, she picked at a ball of fuzz on the surface of her pants.

“Shabby,” she whispered. Biting her lip, she got up. The silk robe she bought hung on the back of the door. Fingering it, Michelle managed a small smile. This was a good robe; a quality item, though a little used. Rich folks must have used things they like enough to keep around. “I bet even William has an old t-shirt he throws on when no one is around,” she thought. Thinking about him hurt, so she stopped.

Moving swiftly, she straightened up her room, made the bed and hung up her towel. Spraying a little apple blossom spray in the room she hopped into bed, reveling in its warmth and comfort. As Michelle reached up and switched off the light she glanced at the clock; 4pm. Early, even for her.

“Ah well...” she said out loud. “At least I won’t have shabby dreams, sleeping in one of the most prestigious hotels in the world.” She smiled bravely but tears glistened in her eyes. Closing them against the dark, Michelle marveled at how many tear one was able to cry out. “I didn’t know I had that much water in me,” she thought. Sighing again, she turned over.

It seemed to Michelle that she was just drifting off, when a soft knock came at her door. Lifting her head from the pillow, she squinted in the dark at the door. At first she thought she’d imagined it; the knock came again, louder. Flipping on the light, Michelle got up, drew on her robe and peered out the peephole. She was instantly awake. Standing outside her door was William, looking agitated and pale.

Unlocking the door, Michelle slowly drew it open, wondering what to expect. William looked surprised at her appearance.

“You were asleep?” he asked, his brows drawing together. “I am sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep… yet,” Michelle replied, softly; she kept her hand on the doorknob. She did not dare look William in the eyes. Instead, she studied his shoes; they had raindrops on them.

“Look, Michelle... I...” William had practiced various apologies during the whole way over; none of them were right. “Please pardon me for speaking to you that way. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry.” The words just came spilling out. “Bloody hell,” he thought. “I went to Cambridge. Is that the best I can do?”

To William’s surprise Michelle covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Dropping the flowers, William stepped forward and folded her into his arms. They stood several moments in the doorway as Michelle cried against William’s coat.

“You’re... sorry?” she mumbled, trying to get a hold of herself. “You were right. My clothes are kind of shabby. Maybe I live in a Utopian dream world...”

“Hush,” William said, gently. “Don’t say such things.” He tried to look at her face but she turned away into his shoulder. He struggled not to smile; her sniffles were adorable. Digging in his pocket for his handkerchief William brought it out and held it up to Michelle. She gazed at it a second and pushed gently away from him.

“No, thank you,” she said, quietly. “I have tissues in here.” Michelle disappeared inside her room but left the door open. William took that as a good sign; he collected the fallen roses from the landing and let himself in.

Stepping inside he was impressed with the comfort of Michelle’s room, despite its miniscule size. The whole room would fit nicely in his guest bathroom, but it looked very neat and homey. He could faintly smell apple blossoms again. Michelle emerged from her tiny bathroom, looking a little better; her fingers fidgeted with the sash of her robe.

“Sorry for my casual attire, but I wasn’t expecting company.” she said, looking at the floor. William felt like a complete monster.

“I’m not surprised,” he said, smiling in spite of the situation. Michelle looked lovely, her soft hair a little messed from bed; a long blood-red robe flowed around her giving off a sweet, Capulet appearance that William found very attractive. He cleared his throat. “You probably had me for some cad who wouldn’t dream of coming over here directly to apologize.”

Michelle looked to be on the verge of tears again. “Sweetheart,” William said, softly. “Please don’t cry. I am sorry for losing my temper... Michelle.” Tenderly, he wrapped his arms around Michelle’s waist, touching his forehead to hers. She still wouldn’t look at him. “I’m not ashamed to be seen with you, love,” he said, his voice firm, but gentle. “You are an extraordinary woman and you’ve heaps of taste. I was merely trying to point out that if you had the means, you would not be shopping at the Good Will, now would you?”

Michelle bit her lip. As much as she wanted to stand tall and shout: 'Yes I would!' she knew better. Any girl would rather shop at Dolce & Gabbana than the Good Will, if given the choice.

“Probably not,” she admitted, sighing. Summoning her courage, Michelle looked right up into his eyes. “I just... I don’t want you to buy things for me, William. I refuse to be that kind of girlfriend.”

William appeared momentarily taken aback, and then he grinned. The expression in his eyes warmed as if a fire had been lit in them. Michelle almost felt afraid from the intensity of his gaze, but wondered what had inspired such a look.

“So... you agree, then?” William asked, looking at her closely.

“Agree to what?” Michelle asked with caution. William chuckled and leaned a little closer to her; she could feel his breath on her face. He smelled really, really good, she noticed.

“To be my girlfriend,” William answered, softly. He perused her face and enjoyed seeing a blush creeping up her neck.

“Oh that,” Michelle said, looking at her hands. “Of course. Why else would you be here?”

Standing so close to the young woman, William was struggling valiantly with the desire to kiss her; he had yet to taste those inviting, sweet-looking lips of hers. However, this place was hardly appropriate, especially with her already in night-clothes, with her hair all loose and touchable; he especially noticed the word 'Stanford' stretched tightly across her chest. Funny how he’d never thought that word particularly sexy, until now. William forced himself to step back and put his hands into his coat pockets.

“You know, until I met you I didn’t realize how buried in work I was,” he admitted, trying a new subject. A soft look came into Michelle’s eyes at his words. “Near obsessed with it, really. You've given me a reason to step outside the office.”

A realization hit Michelle and she glanced at the clock.

“That’s right... you must have left work early,” she said, a little awe in her voice. William grinned.

“Haven’t done that in six years,” he admitted, looking at her. “And… what on God’s green earth are you doing going to bed at...” He glanced at his watch. “4:30??”

Michelle shrugged.

“A lot of reasons,” she stalled, looking at the floor. “I was tired.”

“Please come and eat dinner with me,” William said, clearing his throat. “I promise I won’t bite.”

Michelle was about to refuse but her stomach made a gurgling noise; a slight one, but William heard it. “Ah... you didn’t eat yet, did you?” he said, in an admonishing tone. Michelle stepped back from him a little and folded her arms over her breast. She thought his voice sounded a little too victorious.

“I have food, see?” she said, gesturing towards her desk. Looking over, William saw an apple sitting on top of a composition notebook. He looked back at Michelle with raised eyebrows. “Fruit is food,” she defended. William gave her a grin that said otherwise. Michelle felt defeated but she wasn’t willing to relent just yet.

“Michelle cannot live on fruit alone,” William said, folding his arms to match her stance. He could be stubborn as hell if he wanted and this little slip of an American girl, though very pretty and sweet, was not going to sway him. Not one bit. “Now, are you going to get dressed,” he continued, looking down at her from his six-foot psychological advantage, “Or must I drag you out of here in your robe and bare feet?”

Michelle looked at him with wide eyes.

“You wouldn’t!” she said in a disbelieving tone. William lifted an eyebrow at her. Michelle sprang into action; she opened her door and made motion for him to exit. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’ll just be three minutes.” William smirked and moved out the door, pausing just outside.

“Only three?” he teased. Michelle narrowed her eyes at him.

“You can time me,” she said and closed the door.

“If you don’t come out I’ll fetch the manager,” came William’s muffled words. Michelle snorted as she opened her armoire.

Determined to impress William she pulled on the new, velvety soft blue jeans and a long-sleeved dark red top; it had a feminine cut. Hopping up and down she put on thick, speckled wool socks and over them her brown leather boots, glad she'd polished them only hours before. Whipping a brush through her hair, she put on lip gloss and a little mascara before buttoning up her blue coat and putting on the beret and gloves. Glancing at the clock Michelle smiled; only two and a half minutes had elapsed.

“Ha!” she thought. “How ‘bout THEM apples.” Michelle’s eye fell upon the roses; they lay on her bed--a little hidden by her comforter--looking like a pale pink pile of perfection. Scooping the soft blossoms up Michelle loving held them to her face, inhaling the scent. Oh, it had been so long.

As Michelle opened her door William pretended to consult his watch.

“A record for women worldwide!” he announced with obvious enjoyment. Michelle chuckled at his words as she closed her door. “An improvement over the robe,” William continued. “You look... nice.”

Glancing at his face Michelle saw he meant it.

“Thank you, sir,” She held up the roses. “And, thank you for these… they are loveliness incarnate” William smiled; he leaned down close to the young woman’s ear.

“You’re supposed to keep those here,” he whispered.

“I’m aware of that,” Michelle returned, clearing her throat a little. “But, I do not have a vase.” She accented the word ‘vase’ very heavily in a way that would make any aristocrat proud. “Besides, they probably would look lovely on Alfred’s dinner table.”

“Yes, they would,” William agreed. He offered Michelle his arm. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Shall we?” Michelle linked her arm with his.

“Yes. We mustn’t keep Alfred waiting.” In the elevator Michelle unknowingly tortured her companion by fully enjoying the roses.

“These are just beautiful,” she said. Closing her eyes, she inhaled rapturously, the petals brushing her face.

“Bloody hell...” William thought, trying to ignore her sweet expression. “She’s not even aware of what she does to me.” He determinedly studied the elevator buttons.

Reaching the taxi outside Michelle surprised William by turning and putting her arms about his neck.

“Thank you,” she told him with shining eyes. “For the flowers, the advice... for coming here... everything.” She gave William a small kiss on his cheek and jumped into the waiting cab. Smiling a little William ducked into the taxi and shut the door.

“TriBeCa... Westyn Terrace,” he told the driver.  The cab took off.

William leaned contentedly back next to Michelle. Her innocent kiss and gratitude effectively quelled his rather lustful thoughts, for the moment. Once more he felt happy to just sit beside her. Michelle, on the other hand, hid her face in the roses. She was a little surprised at her own boldness. William didn’t seem to be offended, however.

Looking at the man out of the corner of her eyes, Michelle used the moment to study his profile.

“I’ve never actually eaten lamb stew,” she said, after a few moments. William turned to her with a smile.

“Really? Alfred will be enthralled at an untried palette.”

“I hope he won’t wrinkle up his nose at me and ask ‘what the cat dragged in’,” Michelle said uncertainly.

William laughed. He laughed so hard his side ached.

“Good heavens, Michelle,” he wheezed, “You say the most amusing things.” He wiped his eyes, a broad grin upon his face. “Alfred is not a snob. That’s a very outdated stereotype, you know. He’ll adore you, don’t worry. I shouldn’t wonder if you began regarding him as a surrogate grandfather.”

“He sounds almost as agreeable as you,” Michelle said, with a smile. Eyes twinkling, William pretended to scowl.

“I’m agreeable?” he hazarded. “Agreeable... hm.”

“Agreeable is good,” Michelle said, chuckling a little. “There is a severe short of agreeable people in this city.” Michelle looked down at her hands and fidgeted a little. As true as her words were, she knew that the adjective did not do William justice. Intrigued by Michelle’s bashful expression, William leaned down towards her.

“Agreeable... and what else?” he asked, his voice dropping lower. The young woman’s deep blush confirmed his suspicions. He leaned closer. “Come on, Michelle... what am I besides agreeable?” Squirming under William’s intense gaze, Michelle prayed for a distraction.

“Uh... I don’t want to inflate your ego,” she answered, quietly. William snorted.

“Unfair,” said he. “You’ve managed to avoid answering the question while appearing to have my interests in mind.” A smile was all the answer he got.

The Westyn Terrace building matched closely what Michelle had envisioned: a tall, luridly expensive building of town-homes, complete with the affluent people who could afford to live there. Michelle could not resist teasing William about paying a hefty amount of rent. Her ‘date’ surprised her by revealing that he owned his home, as well as the one above it.

“I had to make sure the floors immediately above me had a little old lady in a wheelchair as a tenant,” William explained to her, as he helped her from the cab. “My first apartment had young people above me and I never got any sleep. Besides, owning the space I get double the storage for my workshop.” Michelle took his arm.

“I would so enjoy seeing your wood shop,” she told him. “I love the smell of fresh cut wood.” Hearing this, William smiled down on her affectionately.

“So you shall.” He was very pleased she wanted to see his hobby. He found solace in it, as well as in her company. Having the two together would be interesting. “I bought the two homes to make a little money off living here, seeing as it necessary,” he said as they walked up to the doorman.

“Smart move,” Michelle said, nodding. “I hear town-homes have really gone up in value the last few years. I know when I was looking for a cheaper loft, there were none anywhere.”

“Except in Jersey,” William said, smiling. Michelle gave a little laugh.

“Now, now... everyone picks on Jersey.”

“Mr. Montgomery,” the doorman said, letting them in.

“Thank you, Hawkins,” William returned. Hearing the man’s name, Michelle stifled a giggle.

“I hear he has a treasure map,” she whispered, when they were out of earshot. William’s mouth twitched. He narrowed his eyes down at her.

“He's quite touchy about that, actually. Apparently all he gets at Christmas are pirate hats and fake treasure maps.”

Inside William’s building they crossed a large, echoing lobby; black granite floors and a rather stark design made it look more modern than the Waldorf, though comparing the two Michelle favored the warmth of her hotel’s lobby far more.

“The décor’s a bit cold,” William told her as they neared the elevator. “They let a half-drunk Japanese gentleman have his way with the color scheme.”

“That explains all the gray and black,” Michelle replied, wrinkling her nose. That got a deep chuckle from William. The elevator had a type of butler in it, the kind that pushes the button the occupants. Michelle had to suppress a laugh at the laziness of the tenants.

The doors opened at the 16th floor. William led Michelle out into a wide carpeted hallway. His was the first door on the left. Michelle stood and admired the door’s carved wooden facade while William entered in his code.

“Entrée,” he said, holding the door open. The rooms beyond invoked a feeling of pleasant surprise in his guest.

“Wow,” Michelle said, simply. By the looks of the lobby Michelle expected a typical bachelor pad: black leather furniture, a chromed bar, animal print and a giant shark aquarium. William’s home was a far cry from that... it actually looked homey. Certainly, the spaces were high and opulent but that walls were painted a muted, warm tone to counteract the space. Polished wood floors set off the walls' hue nicely, with gray cotton rugs tastefully placed here and there. Black and white photos hung on the walls and here and there stood a live ferns, the green fronds waving slightly in the rooms air currents. Natural light poured in from huge windows along one side of the apartment, gave the entire space a soft, pleasant glow.

“Wow... as in you like it?” William inquired, noting her scrutiny.

“It’s so comfortable,” Michelle said, smiling but also looking a little puzzled. “I admit... I was expecting a bachelor pad but, this feels like a home.” William grinned from ear to ear.

“I don’t think anyone could come up with a better compliment, Michelle,” he said, looking quite pleased. William took his guest’s arm and led her into the room a little more. “I had the place gutted and redone for that reason alone. I wanted a haven to return to each day, not some warehouse echoing of loneliness.” He saw Michelle still had her coat on. “Here, let me take your coat and I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Oh, silly me,” Michelle said quickly. She unbuttoned her coat and slipped it off, taking off her gloves and hat and stuffing them in the pockets. “I can hang up my own coat, you know,” she said, lightly, looking up at William. He had an odd look on his face.

William sucked in a breath when Michelle removed her coat. He mentally took back everything he’d said about her clothes; her fitted, deep red shirt looked uncommonly well. The faded jeans she wore fit her like a glove. Aware of Michelle’s gaze on his face he scowled.

“I’m certain you are able to hang up your coat,” he said, gathering his thoughts back from the sultry, inappropriate corners they had immediately flown to. “You’re a perfectly capable person, so relax.” He turned and hung her coat on one of the curved hooks on the wall. “Come with me.”

Taking Michelle’s hand, William led her around his domicile. The entry, office and living room (or ‘den’ as William called it) all flowed into each other, cleverly utilizing the space with built-in shelving and hidden closets. The ceiling looked about sixteen feet high, Michelle reckoned. She noted a few pieces of framed artwork. Her host stopped in front of one of them.

“I thought you would like this one,” he said, softly. “It isn’t Monet, or anything, it’s...”

“Sisley,” Michelle said, her eyes wide.

“That’s right,” William said, admiringly. “You know your impressionists.” Michelle pointed at the painting. “Um... that’s, uh... not a print.” William smiled.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Oh my stars,” Michelle said, weakly. “I’ll try not to breathe on it.” William laughed at her awed expression.

“It’s alright,” he assured her. “Look all you like.”

Though not one of Michelle’s favorites, the painting pictures a pleasant scene peeking out a grove of trees a sun-drenched, hillside village.

“Beautiful,” she whispered. “Makes you want to go to that spot, bring a picnic lunch and never leave.” William looked at it as well, standing close beside her.

“That sounds quite nice, actually,” he agreed. Closing his eyes, he could almost see them doing just that, picnicking in the French countryside; maybe she’d wear her pink dress. Leaning towards Michelle ever-so-slightly, William could smell the sweet perfume of her hair, as well as her signature scent.

Reluctantly, William opened his eyes.

“Shall we sit down?” he suggested; he suddenly felt the need to put a little space between them. Michelle kept her soft hand in his.

“I’d love to,” she said. William looked at her; the smile on her face was pure and simple. Inwardly cursing his excitable anatomy William led the way back to his den.

Michelle felt drawn to the living room the most. The couches therein looked utterly inviting. Stuffed with feathers they seemed to silently beg one to sit. One couch was long and wide, with a shorter loveseat adjacent, arranged in an ‘L’ shape facing the huge windows.

“Please sit,” William offered, indicating the long couch.

“I see where you spend a good deal of your time,” Michelle said, smiling up at William.

“Guilty,” he confessed, deliberately sitting away on the love seat. Michelle sat on the end of the other couch closest to William, sinking down with a contented sigh.

“Oh... nice,” she breathed. “This is what my dad used to call a 'nap trap'.” Chuckling, William sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“That is an accurate description,” he said, smiling at the floor. He did favor stretching out on that couch; his geust had pegged that right off. However, William really wanted was to sit over there with her, maybe even cuddle. Definitely cuddle. Looking over at her, reality stayed him. It was imperative that nothing make Michelle uncomfortable, even though he was; very much so. He studied the floor in a vain attempt to think of something other than his naively luscious guest.

“You have a pleasant home, William,” Michelle said, softly.

William’s sudden discomfort did not escape her. She did not know whether she was the cause, or something else. After their mild fight earlier, Michelle figured he would speak up if she did anything improper.

“Thank you,” William answered, looking at the wall. Clinking sounds emanated from a solid, double French door on the other side of the room. Michelle lifted an eyebrow at the sounds.

“Alfred,” William said, by way of explanation. He glanced up at the clock. “He should be nearly finished.”

“You mean Alfred actually exists?” Michelle teased. “I was beginning to suspect you had your very own invisible six-foot rabbit.” William snorted but a grin soon followed.

“You must like old movies,” he teased. “You’re lucky I’ve seen 'Harvey'.”

“When insomnia hits at 2AM, it’s either watch old movies or start a drinking habit,” Michelle defended.

“Touché,” William said flatly. He could tell their normally robust conversation was waning; he knew it was his fault. This self-imposed contact deprivation of his was darkening his mood. William was also aware that Michelle sensed something amiss, but there was nothing he could really do about it.

“If I go over there I would not ever want to leave her side,” William thought, looking over at Michelle. Bad idea. She was rubbing the back of her neck, gazing out the windows; the sunset colors illuminated her face and neck. Feeling his heart speed up a little, William leaned back and closed his eyes. “Relax,” he told himself. He longed just to take off his shoes; his right toes felt a little pinched.

“You need a dog to bring your slippers and the paper.” Michelle's gentle voice lightly interrupted his thoughts.

“What a darling,” William thought, smiling a little. “She’s trying to cheer me up.” He was being a terrible host and reprimanded himself accordingly.“N ot pets allowed, I’m afraid,” he said at last, opening his eyes and regarding Michelle. She sighed, a little sadly, William thought.

“A pity,” said Michelle, looking at her slender boot. “When I moved to the hotel I had to give away my cat. He was the finest feline to ever walk the planet.”

Not much one for pets, William was nonetheless interested; another aspect of Michelle.

“Why the ‘finest’?” he inquired.

“He was such fun... but severely austere and devoted. He cleaned himself incessantly. He was prone to fits of rage, which he took out on one of my lamps.” William smiled at these outlandish descriptions; Michelle’s expression, however, was completely earnest.

“Let me guess his name... Monet?”

“Napoleon,” Michelle answered. William laughed.

“How appropriate,” he said, smiling. “Moody, loyal, raging... perfect.”

“Though... my Napoleon did have a weakness,” Michelle went on. “Easily distracted by string.”

The fondness in her voice drew William’s eyes to her, in spite of his better judgment; the red shirt she wore put a nice glow on her face; she was lost in pleasant memories, a small smile on her lips. William looked away.

Michelle was jolted from her reverie when William abruptly stood up. Puzzled, she watched he moodily rearranged magazines on the low coffee table.

“Would you like to meet Alfred?” he asked; his voice sounded a little strained.

“I would,” Michelle replied, reluctantly standing up from the couch.

“This way.” William walked ahead of her towards the white French doors. As Michelle followed him, she wondered about this change in attitude. Maybe he hated cats... perhaps one had scratched him badly as a child. Maybe she talked too much. Since William wasn’t explaining himself Michelle was left to guess, something she absolutely loathed.

The pleasant aroma of herbs and roasted lamb greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. A piano concerto filled the air. The kitchen looked immense to Michelle, with its white tile surfaces, stainless steel fixtures and deep-cherry wood floors. Fresh herbs hung in bunches from the ceiling among spotless copper pans. A white-haired man--in immaculately pressed clothes--stood at the far end, stirring a large copper pot on a huge stove; a white bistro apron was tied around the man’s waist in a precise fashion.

“Alfred,” William called, over the music. The man turned, wiping his hands on a dish-towel. Immediately Michelle liked him; his face indeed looked grandfatherly but seemed to have “propriety” written all over it. He took in Michelle with warm brown eyes. As he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled. He glanced over at William.

“I am glad you are home, sir,” he said. His voice sounded unusually crisp for his age. “Dinner is nearly complete.”

“Excellent. May I present Miss Michelle Gregory. Michelle, this is my valet, Alfred Walters II.” He introduced the valet with a comical flourish of his hand. Michelle had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. She looked at Alfred.

“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” she said softly. Alfred smiled at her again; his eyes twinkled with something Michelle couldn’t quite make out, but it seemed favorable.

“Charmed, my dear,” he said, amiably. “I trust Master William is playing the host well?”

“He is, thank you,” Michelle replied. “It smells delicious in here.”

“Yes… you have a novice tonight, Alfred,” William said. “Michelle has never tasted lamb stew.”

Alfred beamed.

“My dear girl,” he said. “I am truly sorry that you have been deprived of such a pleasure for so long.” His gallant tone made Michelle smile.

“I know,” she acquiesced. “Being a Gregory, too.”

“A fine, Scottish name,” Alfred said, still smiling. “For shame... no lamb stew. Well, off with you both; as charming the company you are impeding my progress.” He turned back to the copper cot with a smile. Michelle let William lead her out of the kitchen.

They stood in the living room by the wall of windows, looking out on the buildings below.

“He likes you,” William said, after a minute. Alfred’s warm manner made him realize how brusque he was being with his guest. “Enough,” he said under his breath. Michelle heard it, however; she wondered what he was talking about.

“Work on your mind?” she guessed, sitting back down on the couch. “Or, do you just hate cats?” William looked over his shoulder at her, looking puzzled.

“Hate cats? Why would you ask that?”

“Well, ever since we talked about mine you’ve been brooding,” Michelle explained, quietly. “I wondered if you had bad cat memories, or something. They can be pretty mean sometimes.” William stared at his guest for a moment and then chuckled. Sighing, he moved over to the smaller couch once more.

“I do not dislike cats,” he stated, sitting down. “I dislike... formality.”

Michelle sat silent for a moment. She smiled.

“Well, there’s no need for formality in your own home,” she said, in her soft way. “Here… I’ll start.” She quickly unzipped her boots and stowed them discreetly under the coffee table. She sat up and gave William an expectant smile. Blinking, William did not know what to say at first.

“It doesn't matter,” he thought, smiling. “It’s my bloody house.” Slipping off his loafers William got up and sat by Michelle, draping his arm across her shoulder.

“Much better,” he said, looking down at with a fond expression in his eyes. Michelle smiled at him briefly. She decided to let his arm remain. Anyone else she would have shaken off but William was just…different. She knew he could be trusted.

The view from their perch on the couch proved spectacular. Shifting colors bent by the setting sun glanced off the gray buildings, painting a slowly evolving picture. Michelle leaned her head on William’s shoulder, feeling very content. William felt her relax and smiled to himself.

“This is good,” he thought, leaning his head to rest on Michelle’s. He allowed a quiet sigh to escape his lips.

Some minutes later Alfred emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. Looking around, he spied the top of William’s head, just visible over the top of the ridiculously overstuffed couch. Approaching with a cautious step Alfred came up behind the couch and leaned over it a little. The sight below made him smile. His employer was fast asleep, cozily snuggled up against his guest; Michelle was peacefully sleeping as well, her head on William’s shoulder. Alfred chuckled at their stocking feet.

“Ahem,” he coughed, politely. “Ahem.”

William’s eyes flew open; he looked up at Alfred, blinking. His valet stood tall behind the couch, smiling in a fatherly way. “Dinner, sir,” Alfred said. “Unless you want it cold.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” William said, bringing up his arms in a deep stretch. Beside him, Michelle stirred at the movement; her eyes were still closed. Leaning down, William kissed her gently on the forehead. The young woman’s eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on William’s face. She smiled at first, but grew instantly bashful; she sat up quickly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry...” she apologized biting her lip. “How long was I asleep?” William smiled at her apparent dismay.

“Not long,” he said. “Don’t be sorry; I fell asleep as well. It felt rather good to get a short nap, actually.”

“I see,” Michelle said, relaxing. “So, it’s OK if the host does it too.” Still smiling, William drew his fingers lightly over her hair.

“That’s the general rule,” he said, looking at her. His voice dropped lower as he spoke. Michelle liked his more sonorous tone so much; he sound of it stirred something in her and she longed to draw a little closer to him. William likewise allowed himself a perusal of Michelle’s eyes. He wanted very much to be alone with her.

Alfred’s discreet cough broke their mutual gaze.

“Dinner is served,” he announced, cheerfully. “Lamb Stew a’ la Walters.” Blushing, Michelle stood and got directions for the ladies room; she escaped towards it, fanning her warm face with her hand. In her absence, William pushed the dinner cart from the kitchen to the small dining room beyond and transferred the large soup tureen to the table.

“I’m not senile yet, you know,” Alfred objected, arranging the spoons.

“I know that,” William returned. “I just don’t want Michelle knowing how truly useless I am around here.” Alfred smiled and spent a moment polishing the silver ladle with a cloth.

“You are remarkably comfortable with her, sir,” he commented. William nodded.

“I like her,” he said, simply.

“That is quite clear,” Alfred stated, glancing at William from under his brows. “Honestly, I have never seen you remove your shoes while company is present.” William looked at him. “Don’t 'get me wrong', as the Americans say. It’s about time you met a nice girl. I hope you keep her.” Smiling, Alfred swept back into the kitchen, leaving a stunned William staring after him.

“At least he didn’t say anything about grandchildren...” he muttered.

“Alfred has grandchildren?” came a voice behind him. Turning, William beheld Michelle entering the dining area.

“Ah... er... yes... well...” William stuttered. Hopefully she didn’t hear anything else. “Did... you find everything alright?”

“Yes.” Michelle grew serious. “My whole apartment could fit in your restroom.” William laughed.

“Yes, well... my lavatory is rather small,” he said, teasingly. Narrowing her eyes at him, Michelle crossed her arms.

“You’re lucky there’s nothing to throw at you easily at hand,” she said.

“Now, now... you know I’d just chase you and toss you onto the couch,” William countered. “I bet you’re ticklish.” Michelle’s eyes widened a little.

“Horribly,” she said, warily. “Don’t even joke about it; it’s a terrible affliction.” William laughed at her and pulled out a chair.

“Sit. I’ll behave,” he promised. Smiling, Michelle complied; she draped a napkin across her lap as Alfred appeared with a basket of fresh bread; he sat down on one side of Michelle and William sat on the other. Michelle felt glad that Alfred was eating with them; the apparent importance of class distinction proved to be another baseless stereotype.

The dining room looked elegant despite the simple décor. A gorgeous, solid wood table of square design dominated the space; its size seemed just right for four people to eat comfortably. Running her hand over its smooth, red-hued top, Michelle caught William’s eye.

“One of yours?” she asked, smiling. At her words, William’s eyes grew bright.

“Yes,” he said, giving her an affectionate smile. The fact that Michelle recognized a custom-built table impressed him. “One of my favorite pieces, actually. I couldn’t find a table the right size for this room.”

“So, you made one,” Michelle returned. She felt the wood with appreciative fingers. “It is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” William replied. “I am flattered you noticed it.”

Michelle looked up at Alfred. The man handed her a hot bowl of stew in a heavy soup-plate. Taking it with both hands, she smiled at him, setting the plate down in front of her. The rich, meaty scent of her mouth water. Michelle savored the first bite. A slight spiciness of fresh ground pepper made itself known, mingli ng well with the bits of braised lamb and soft pearl barley. The early winter vegetables--turnips and leeks--seemed to bring every thing together. Alfred noted her expression with satisfaction and passed her a basket of bread. Michelle swallowed her mouthful and licked her lips.

“You are a magnificent cook, Alfred,” she said, meaning every word. Looking up, William grinned at the pleasure on his valet’s face. “You cook almost as well as my grandmother did.” Michelle went on, reverently dipping another spoonful.

“Ah... a high compliment,” Alfred said, smiling. “No one could hold a candle to mine, either.”

“A triumph, Alfred,” William commented with a nod. “Perfect for this weather.”

“Yes, the air felt like stew this morning.” Alfred stirred his food thoughtfully and ate a little, nodding approvingly. “You’re mother rang, earlier,” he said, to William. “Just after one.”

“Don’t tell me. She wants me to pick up some god-forsaken cheese trinket from Switzerland before I drive up.” By William’s annoyed tone, Michelle guessed that he disliked being used as an ‘errand-boy’.

Alfred gave his boss a look, though it appeared tempered.

“Not quite,” the older man began. “I do not happen to be a cheese trinket from Switzerland and God hasn’t yet forsaken me.” William looked a little sheepish.

“Be glad to have you along, old boy,” he said, smiling. “I didn't think you wished to make the long journey in my little roadster.”

“Nonsense,” Alfred stated. “I used to cram into tiny phone booths and such with my fellow Carpathians back in college, you know. I’ll be fine.”

William snorted a little and glanced at Michelle; she appeared to be chuckling behind her napkin.

“Will there be any room for me,” she asked, smiling at her host. “Or will you have to strap me to the hood?”

“Pfft... my car’s not that small, sweetheart,” William announced, pointing his spoon at her. “You’ll fit in snugly with us. Phone booth, indeed.” Still grinning, Michelle took a bit of bread.

After a few minutes, she mustered up her courage enough to speak with Alfred.

“Margaret told me you’ve been with William’s family a long time,” she ventured.

His mouth full, William chewed a little faster.

“Please... no more bloody stories of me as a darling baby,” he thought.

“I have, Miss Gregory,” Alfred said, leaning back in his chair. “I was his father’s valet until he passed, nearly eight years ago.” Michelle glanced at William; she said nothing but he saw a look of mutual sympathy in her eyes.

“You’re not going to regale me with William’s repressed childhood memories, are you?” she asked, turning back to Alfred. Chuckling, the older man shook his head.

“My dear, grown men dislike very much to be reminded that they were once adorable toddlers dressed in cute outfits,” Alfred stated, laying his napkin on the table. “Judging by his rather pained expression, I’ll just eat and let his memories be.”

Michelle laughed softly and clapped her hands together.

“I am so glad,” she said, merrily, “When we were eating lunch with Margaret I thought he was going to have an aneurysm.”

“I’m right here, you know,” William said, giving Alfred a grateful look. “My mother does far too much tripping down memory lane… with anyone. When I took her to lunch at the Oriental, she actually showed baby photographs to the server.” He gave Michelle a narrow look; she hadn’t stopped giggling. “It isn’t funny,” he stated, returning to his food.

The conversation turned to the proper time to leave for Vermont that Thursday.

“We should get an early start,” William remarked. “Really early. I strongly dislike sitting in traffic.”

“Not too early, sir, if you please,” Alfred countered. “Bear in mind that I am sixty-four.”

“Weren’t you in the army?” William asked, smiling. “Where’s your pre-dawn spirit?” Alfred shuddered.

“Buried deep in my youth, thank Heavens,” he said, grimacing. “No need to bring it back.”

Having finished her food Michelle stood up, plate in hand. Taking the opportunity while the men were engaged in conversation, she disappeared into the kitchen before anyone could object.

“Where’s your dish soap?” her voice floated in from the other room. Alfred rose from his chair and motioned towards the door; with William’s help he brought the other dishes in and waylaid the ‘helpful’ guest at the sink.

“I’m used to cleaning up after myself,” Michelle objected as William led her from Alfred’s domain.

“Yes, and I’m used to eating alone in my office buried under paperwork.” William told her. “You are going to relax ... don’t look so innocent.” Michelle gave him a secretive smile; she obediently sat down on the couch again and looked up at William.

“You’re not going to suggest ‘Boggle’, are you?” she asked. Her voice was light and full of fun. William liked this ‘comfortable’ side of Michelle very much. She was still sweet and a little shy but she looked more relaxed, like she was enjoying herself very much; he marveled at how easy it was to enjoy himself around her.

“I actually enjoy playing Boggle,” he grinned, sitting down beside her. Carefully, he laid his arm on her shoulders. She did not seem to mind him doing that.

“I do was well,” Michelle admitted. “But, you have to have more than two people to play it properly, kind of like Scrabble.” William nodded.

“I bet your family played board games every night,” he said, looking down at her. Michelle smiled.

“Not every night, but we did play them quite often.” She sighed; with William nearby it did not seem quite as difficult to access her memories. “My father adored Scrabble, especially. He could make up the most convincing words, and could relate the supposed meanings so well that it felt like one was risking a lot to challenge him.”

Chuckling, William rubbed his forehead a little with one hand.

“In my elementary school, we were instructed to occupy ourselves in a civil manner,” he informed his guest. “Board games were actually part of the curricula. With Scrabble—for instance--I prided myself on knowing all the ‘X’ and ‘Z’ words.”

“All forty-three of them?” Michelle inquired; her eyes looked bright with mirth.

“Well, it was forty-three more than the other lads knew,” William defended.

There was a long pause. As she gazed out the windows Michelle considered asking William more about his family, but she felt hesitant in doing so; she really did not want to pry, nor make him uncomfortable… but the fact that she knew so little about him seemed glaringly obvious. More than anything, Michelle wanted to know him better, and on a far deeper level than finding out his favorite color or preferred food.

“I take it your family didn’t have a ‘game night’ together,” she said, quietly.

At her remark, William shifted in his seat a bit.

“No,” he said, flatly. “My father was a respected investment banker; he was extraordinarily busy. For him, dinner was a meal taken between 9pm and 2am. I rarely saw him.”

“Oh,” Michelle said, not knowing how to reply to such a statement. She waited a few seconds before speaking again. “I can see it did you good, though… in a way.” William looked at her with his eyebrows raised a little. “I mean,” she continued, “In that you seem to know there is more to life than work, and money, or hiding yourself away pretending other people don’t exist... as you showed me earlier.” Michelle allowed herself to look up into his clear, blue eyes. “I bet you even want to play Scrabble with your own kids... someday.”

Michelle’s earnest words moved her host more than he let show. Inwardly, William felt struck by the thought of children, his children; he imagined cozy nights around a board game, listening to little voices laughing. His throat clenched with an odd emotion… something like longing. Certainly, children changed one’s life; they cried and got sick and needed attention, but the wonderful moments they brought made William silently admitted he wanted to have children of his own. Perhaps they’d have Michelle’s beautiful eyes.

“Definitely,” he replied. His voice dropped very low. “What about you?” Michelle blushed, to William’s delight. Perhaps she was thinking the same things as he.

“Yes,” she answered, softly. “I cannot imagine my life without a family. All money and career aside, it’s the only thing really worth working for.”

For just a moment, William glimpsed a bit of the vast well of loneliness that lay within his guest.

“You never wanted to be a CPA, did you?” he asked, gently. At his words Michelle’s eyes widened, a little.

“No,” she admitted. Her voice was suddenly unsteady. This conversation was moving perilously close to home. “I had a knack for it, but it was always just a way to pay the bills. My heart wasn’t really in it.”

“I gather... that you’re one of those girls who wanted to have a family,” William pursued. “You know… children, keeping a house and all that.” Drawing in a steady breath, Michelle nodded. She was amazed at the man’s ability to extract these things from her. She’d never admitted to anyone what at college had been such an “outdated” idea, being a homemaker.

“Yes... my mother worked for my father, you see, keeping his books from their home-office. I always liked that arrangement, you know. She was always there when I needed her. My father used to joke at parties that he was having a lifelong ‘affair’ with his secretary.” William chuckled quietly at this; his guests’ face seemed to light up whilst speaking of her parents.

“But… that kind of thing takes two,” Michelle continued, shrugging. “I mean, most guys turn pale and run away from the idea of marriage, and children. At least, these days they do.”

Michelle did her best to sound calm as she spoke; she felt horribly vulnerable sitting here next to the man she so admired, confessing her most cherished hopes. “The idea of commuting to an office each day and sitting in a tiny cubicle for eight hours has never once appealed to me.”

Sensing that his companion was a little uncomfortable with this subject, William turned his gaze out the windows.

“Not all men run from marriage, Michelle,” he said. “Just the irrational ones with inferior DNA; survival of the fittest, you know.” His joke broke the awkwardness feeling of the discussion. Michelle let out a soft chuckle.

“Yes,” she replied. “They party until they're thirty-nine years old and realize in horror that by the time they find a girl, marry and have children they’ll be a senior citizen before their first child graduates high school.”

Laughing a little, William nodded.

“That’s probably not far off,” he agreed. He ventured a glance at Michelle, She gazed out the windows. “So, you’ve been waiting, have you? For a nice bloke who won’t run at the suggestion of a family?” Michelle looked at him and nodded.

“I know it sounds very old-fashioned,” she began, “But, to me... raising a family is a life-long career; it’s hard work, sometimes, but the job has satisfying dividends… and a 401k in grandchildren.” Her frank expression made William laugh. She looked ready to bring out a pie-chart.

“That’s a creative way of putting it, Michelle,” he returned, looking down into her eyes. “I have always liked the idea of the lord and lady of the castle. Perhaps, I have been waiting... like you.”

Listening to William, Michelle found herself unable to speak. She did not know if he was talking directly about her, or if she was supposed to say something in reply. Should she shrug, give a half-smile and act dumb? Her mind muddled with these  thoughts, she felt William’s arm tighten around her shoulders; looking up, she saw that he was leaning down towards her upturned face.

As his face drew closer Michelle’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to say something, but William did not give her the chance. Michelle had been kissed once before but it was nothing like this; William seemed to overtake her. Even though he was being gentle, she felt only him. Her eyes closed of their own volition and she allowed him to continue unimpeded. William was not disappointed; Michelle tasted exactly as she looked, sweet. He thoroughly enjoyed the feel of her lips until those nagging ‘discomforts’ came back for another visit.

“The curse of the male body,” he thought, reluctantly releasing her soft mouth. “Just one kiss and I’m a goner.” He gazed at Michelle’s lovely face like one transfixed. Her eyes fluttered open. Encountering William’s gaze, Michelle blushed deeper than any rose; her fingers went to her lips with an awed expression that told William her experience with men was relatively slim. Just that knowledge brought him a large amount of comfort. There was no doubt in his mind that Michelle Gregory just the sort of girl to be the lady of his castle.

“What was that for?” Michelle whispered; her breathless voice sent thrills through William’s brain and he had to concentrate in order to answer.

“To let you know my intentions,” William answered, smiling warmly. A smile crept over Michelle’s mouth.

“You’re intention was to kiss me?” she asked, sounding amused.

Chuckling, William shook his head.

“I don’t want to merely ‘date’ you, Michelle,” he explained, still keeping close to her; he really liked how her hair smelled. “I detest the very idea of modern dating.” He did not release Michelle’s gaze. She returned it fearlessly.

“So, what are your intentions?” she asked. William saw that Michelle looked a little uncertain; the idea occurred to him that she may not know he felt so deeply for her.

“To fall in love with you,” he replied. Sincerity wove itself around each word and Michelle believed him.

“Well, it’s nice to have all doubt removed,” she said, a sweet smile overtaking her features. Her eyes sparkled like gems. “I have the same intentions, William.” Her companion's eyes grew soft at her words. William leaned down and captured her lips again; this time he did not stop his hand from curving around her face.

Alfred stepped into the room and immediately halted his stride. The top of two heads were just visible over the top of the couch. Master William and his guest were obviously very happily engaged. Silently, Alfred disappeared back into the kitchen, to go through the dining room to his own rooms. He thought they were well matched.

“Young love,” he sighed, smiling to himself.

William did not want to end the kiss but felt his control slipping fast. If he didn’t send Michelle home soon, she’d become a permanent resident sooner than he’d planned. Drawing back from her face, William smiled at her demurely closed eyes and flushed face. When her eyes opened, her look of mild surprise gave William a gigantic ego boost. It really was flattering to have a girl react so to a mere kiss. He lovingly caressed her hair before leaned back on his ‘side’ of the couch.

“Ah...” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hate to sound rude, but... perhaps we should call it a night.” Michelle was regarding him with mild wonder.

“Are you… blushing?” she asked. William grimaced.

“A little,” he admitted, standing up; he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s not uncommon. You’ve been doing it all night.” Michelle proved his point by doing so again.

“Yes, but… why would you,?” she asked, vastly curious. “Did I embarrass you?” She was relieved when William grinned.

“No,” he said; he gave Michelle an intense look that warmed her right down to her toes. “I just was thinking that if I didn’t stop kissing you, I’d soon be making love to you right here on the couch.” His voice lowered as he spoke. Michelle’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Perhaps, you’re... um... right. It’s late anyway.” She stood up, a little shakily.

William walked Michelle to the door and helped her into her coat, all without a word. It was as if he was physically suffering. He wanted her to stay, badly; letting her go was extremely difficult. A glutton for punishment, he accompanied her to the lobby and hailed a cab for her. Despite the girl’s protests, he handed the driver a few folded bills before opening the taxi’s door.

Michelle tarried by the curb for several moments. Heartened by her reluctance to leave him, William kissed her on the cheek; he wasn’t about to torture himself with her lips again.

“Thank you for dinner,” Michelle said, softly; her breath showed white in the chill. An empty feeling welled up in her mind, one she could not quite explain.

“You are most welcome, Michelle,” William said, holding her hand tightly. “Anytime... I mean that. Oh, here, I almost forgot.” Bringing out a card from his pocket he handed it to his lady. “This is my cell number and office number, address and everything.” Michelle took the card with relieved look; William was moved by her expression. “I hope you’ll use it,” he added, smiling.

“I will,” Michelle replied. “Thank you.” William kissed her hand and forced himself to let her go.

Turning, the young woman ducked into the waiting cab. She smiled at William through the glass, just as the taxi sped off. Burying his hands in his pockets, William trudged back through the lobby. He opted to take the stairs, just to get his mind off the very appealing idea of hopping a cab over to her place.

The cold air helped, a little. William determined he’d shower in glacial temperatures once he made it back to his apartment. In spite of the various uncertainties that deluged him all evening, William knew that Michelle wanted something very serious with him. As he climbed yet another flight of steps, he turned over in his mind the words she had spoken earlier: “It’s nice to have all doubt removed.”

“Yes, it is,” he said, smiling to himself.

By the time he got back up to his flat, there was a message waiting on his cell phone. It was Michelle.

“I just called to see if it worked,” came the sound of her voice; William smiled at this. “I hope you’ll have me over again; you forgot to show me your shop.” William mentally kicked himself upon hearing this, but Michelle’s message went on. “It’s OK… I just wanted to let you know I didn’t forget and I really want to see it sometime, if you don’t mind. Gosh, I’m rambling... um, goodnight William.”

Shutting his phone William ran his hand through his hair, letting out a short sigh.

“Goodnight, love,” he said, wishing she was there.

CHAPTER FIVE

A chill wind ushered in Thursday morning. Despite the dreary cold William was ready at five AM. He’d spent much of the previous evening talking to Michelle on the phone as they packed; she'd made him laugh often with her quiet and frank manner of expressing herself. He could almost feel her blushes through the phone when he confessed how much he’d missed her.

“You just saw me three days ago,” was her reply.

“Must you rub it in?” he returned. Sitting outside Michelle’s hotel in his roadster, William waited for her to appear. Alfred sat in the passenger seat, mumbling now and then about ‘the ungodly hour’ and the ‘frigid cold’. William was unable to hide his grin. Watching the atrium doors, he drummed his fingers happily on the wheel, whistling some unnamed tune.

A smartly dressed young woman in white and blue swept through the doors carrying a single, brown traveling bag; her uplifted expression made William smile.

“Oh thanks heavens, just one bag,” Alfred said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You brought two, old boy,” William reminded him, his smile widening. Alfred sniffed.

“I’m an old man; I need a lot of layers,” he articulated, gravely. William hopped out of the car, a spring in his step. Michelle stood a little awkwardly by the door, looking around until she spied William; her smile lit up her face. She let him enfold her in a warm embrace and take her bag.

“I am glad you came,” William told her, smiling. Michelle smiled back her answer, liking the twinkle in his eye. Opening his door for her, William folded his seat forward so she could climb in.

“I hope you don’t mind taking the back, my dear,” Alfred said, apologetically. “I’m afraid if I sat there, they’d need a crowbar to remove me. William acted like he hadn’t heard that; he got in and shut the door.

“Not at all, sir. This is such a cozy car,” Michelle said; she  wiggled around slightly in order to put on the seat belt.

“It’s a roadster, actually,” William corrected, grinning at her over his shoulder. “And thank you for not calling it ‘cute’.” Michelle giggle, softly at his words..

“How are you this morning, Alfred... if I may call you that,” she asked of the elderly gentleman in the front passenger seat; the white haired valet looked well-swathed against the cold.

“Miss Michelle--if I may call you that--I am very well,” Alfred answered, with a smile. He touched the brim of his bowler hat at her.

“Cold and grumpy, you mean,” William put in, directing the roadster away from the curb. That got a ‘harrumph’ from Alfred. Michelle smiled; she felt idiotically happy sitting in the car with them, like a little ten-year-old going to Disneyland.

The roads out of the city were unusually clear; those going into the city were jammed, even at 5:15 in the morning. Looking at the lines of cars, Michelle felt deep sympathy for the folks who sat in traffic for hours a day, went to work, then back in traffic again.

“It’s almost better to walk to work,” she mused aloud as they zipped by the static cars opposite.

“You’re not far off the mark there, Michelle,” William put in. “I rarely use the car.”

“Sometimes I take the subway,” Michelle said. “And though it does reek a little, it is such an interesting experience with all the unique faces crammed into such a tiny space, barely tolerating one another's existence.” William laughed.

“A true artist alone can call the subway ‘unique’,” he said, smiling. Michelle studied the ceiling for a moment.

“The faces only have one thing in common,” she said. “No smiles.”

Alfred surprised her by speaking up.

“Yes, well… in my experience, Miss Michelle, the general populace of New York City either has no reason to smile, or if they do... they wish to keep it to themselves, as not to incite jealousy.” Michelle laughed at this. William liked the sound of her laugh; it was feminine and clear, but not too loud.

“That would be sad if it wasn’t so ridiculous,” Michelle said, smiling. “Humans have to express and feel some form of happiness; it’s part of our DNA.”

“Indeed,” Alfred put in. “Otherwise we dwindle down to self-absorbed lumps that feed off our own misery, to the ultimate detriment of society.” William lifted his eyebrows a little at Michelle in the rear view mirror; she smiled back.

“I agree. Can you imagine a world without laughter? ” Michelle asked. “Or Picnics? No eyes sparkling with fun?”

“Heaven forbid,” Alfred said, gravely. “New Yorkers may appear to thrive on stress, but humans must have moments of brevity here and there, lest we go mad.”

Nodding, Michelle sat back. The leather seat of William’s car was comfortable, in spite of the cramped space. It was very cozy and obviously expensive. Polished wood and glowing leather greeted her eyes anywhere she looked, with shiny brass knobs and fixtures.

“This car kind of suits you,” she said, to William. “It’s all polished and proper.”

“Why, thank you, Michelle,” William returned, grinning. “At least you didn’t say ‘compact’ or ‘stuffy’.” Michelle made a face, which William caught in the rear-view mirror; he chuckled.

“Who could call you compact?” Michelle demurred. “You must be at least six feet tall.” William let out a short laugh.

“A little more, actually,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at Michelle and winked. Getting a blush back, he turned to concentrate on his driving once more.

They fled the city. As the Burroughs and suburbs passed by, the road seemed to grow brighter and increasingly more scenic. Flocks of birds soared in the sky, flying away to warmer places; groves of trees pocketed the roadside, dressed in bright red and orange leaves. Fewer cars graced the road with them as the day progressed. Soon, the three travelers found themselves driving along a two-lane country road, winding through endless meadows and orchards. Michelle felt almost entranced by the scenery; just being out with William and the amiable Alfred left her feeling cheerful. Her host drove with quiet steadiness; muted classical music played in the background. Alfred preferred to read but gave up as the road became more winding.

Michelle stole glances at William often, debating on whether or not she should say something. The lack of conversation was pleasant in itself, but she wondered if she was being impolitely hermit-like by saying nothing at all. Encountering William’s eyes in the rear-view mirror every so often, Michelle blushed at the subsequent winks he sent her way. Smiling, she continued to enjoy the view out the window.

Around noon the roadster rolled into a quaint little town which boasted a small, country-style café; it looked humble but well-kept and harbored several patrons within. William parked in front and helped Michelle out. Alfred unfolded himself from his seat, wincing as his back popped audibly.

“Are you alright, old boy?” William asked, grinning. Alfred shot him a narrow glance.

“I shall be after a short rest, thank you,” he quipped. Michelle patted the elderly man’s shoulder.

“It looks very comfortable inside,” she suggested. Alfred gave her a smile.

“It does. Let’s hope they have loose-leaf tea.”

The diner was quaint and nearly full of locals; they chose a corner booth and a waitress appeared immediately. William ordered the eggs Benedict, explaining he’d skipped breakfast. Michelle saw someone eating a pastrami sandwich on rye that looked delicious and ordered the same. Alfred questioned the waitress intently on how the café’s tea process and was obliged to follow her into the kitchen to inspect it, himself. When the man was out of earshot, Michelle turned an incredulous glance toward William.

“I had no idea tea was such a big deal,” she said. William chuckled at her bewildered expression.

“Everyone has a particular bend, Michelle; a 'passion for process', if you will. Alfred’s is the proper selection and brewing of tea. He’s a master at it.” Michelle remained quiet for a moment before answering.

“I suppose mine is the careful selection of friends and the possible avoidance thereof,” she said, with a broad smile. William gave her a glance of mock-incredulity.

“You don’t say?” he returned, flipping out his napkin.

“I’m curious what yours is,” Michelle said, keeping her eyes locked on William’s face. Her companion grinned, a little sheepishly.

“My clothes,” William admitted. “I like them neatly pressed and stored properly.” Michelle giggled.

“I suspect you have more clothes than I do, William,” she remarked. “But then again you’re a professional... and English.” The last part of the sentence she said under her breath. William glanced up at her, his eyes narrowing.

“Don’t make me come over there and tickle you,” he warned; his eyes held a mischievous twinkle. Michelle’s teasing smile pulled at him, irresistibly.

“Now, now... there’s no need for tha’, sir,” Michelle said, utilizing what she hoped was an English accent.

To her surprise, William pushed his chair back and stood, his hands resting firmly on the table.

“Oh, I think there is,” he said, his voice low and ominous; to Michelle’s chagrin he began to slowly circle the table towards her.

“Tea?” came Alfred’s voice. William turned to find his valet standing behind him, holding a large tray with correctly-polished tea paraphernalia upon it.

“Ahem... yes,” William intoned, casting a narrow look at Michelle; she let out an audible sigh of relief. William chuckled at her expression. “The tea looks splendid, Alfred,” he praised, sitting down again in his chair. Alfred nodded sagely.

“The staff got a free lesson in tea etiquette,” he said, pouring a cup. “Michelle, can I interest you in a cup of Darjeeling?”

“Yes, thank you,” Michelle said, finally standing to take off her hat and coat. Laying them beside her on the seat, she sat back down.

A bit disappointed by Alfred’s interruption, William nonetheless enjoyed watching Michelle remove her coat. It amazed him how she had no idea of her attractiveness to the general male populace; everywhere they were, when Michelle took off her coat it seemed appreciative stares were directed their way. The young woman never seemed to notice. William found himself admiring her choice of clothing himself, never mind anyone else; today she wore dark-red, fitted jeans and a cream-colored sweater that looked like it would be very soft to touch. Michelle looked flushed with warmth and her eyes were bright from their banter earlier; she met his eyes, blushed and then looked quickly away. William resolved to continue his hunt later. Being so close to her and being unable to hold her felt almost painful. To make things worse, he caught just a hint of her apple blossom perfume in the air. William picked up a local newspaper and opened it, attempting to concentrate elsewhere.

Michelle accepted a cup of tea from Alfred with a smile. The flavor if the hot liquid surprised her; it was spicy and fragrant, with just the right strength. The taste of it made one want to nibble the teacup as well.

“Alfred, this is delicious!” she praised, holding her tea with both hands. Alfred smiled on her benevolently.

“Yes, it is amazing what method can do,” he said, plaintively.

“Method nothing,” Michelle remarked, inhaling the fragrance slowly. “This is art…”

“My dear, you flatter me… but, thank you.” Alfred poured his own cup and one for William.

The food arrived son after and conversation halted for awhile. The meal was well-cooked and hearty in typical country fashion; after eating, they sat enjoying some more tea and talking about the surrounding area.

“This looks like a pleasant, little township,” Alfred said. “Charming locals.” William smiled.

“Charming in the way that the café cook didn’t chuck you out of the kitchen?” he asked. Alfred lifted an eyebrow at his employer.

“Not everyone is averse to learning something, sir,” he returned.

“Certainly not,” Michelle agreed. “I hope you’ll teach me your secret to tea perfection someday.”

“Gladly, my dear,” Alfred said. “About how much longer will we be traveling sir?” His voice seemed a little tired to Michelle.

“Another four hours, or so,” William said, leaning back against his chair. “The roads are more scenic than efficient, I’m afraid. But, we should be there in plenty of time for dinner, perhaps even detour to pick up some of those eclairs that you and Mother are so fond of.” At this, Alfred smiled.

“They would be excellent for dessert, sir,” he said, a trifle eagerly.

“Anything would be better than the inevitable Crème Brule that Jean-Claude keeps tossing at us.”

At this William laughed; he looked over to see a consumed expression on Michelle’s face.

“Jean-Claude is my mother’s chef,” he explained. “He and Alfred have a kind of friendly cooking rivalry going, but the Frenchman takes it a bit far.”

“A bit far is correct,” Alfred said, wryly. “I like a good Crème Brule the same anyone, but he’s served it the last six times, out of spite; each time the flavor is more bland. He thinks the English have no imagination when it comes to food.”

“Then, William’s idea of picking up dessert certainly has merit,” Michelle said, quietly. “Give him motivation to impress us.” Alfred lifted his teacup toward Michelle.

“I will drink to that,” he said. William chuckled and stood to go pay the check.

Watching Alfred sip his tea from across the small table, Michelle suddenly felt curious about the man.

“Have you always been a valet, Alfred?” she asked, setting her teacup down. The white-haired man looked over at her with a small smile.

“No my dear,” he said. “I started in the profession not long after I lost my wife. Influenza, you know. It was still a very bad thing to contract, back then.”

“I’m so sorry...” Michelle said, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Nonsense,” Alfred assured her, patting her hand briefly. “It’s obvious William already considers you part of the family, so please do not worry yourself about asking questions. It is quite refreshing, actually, that you wish you know about my life.”

“Thank you,” Michelle said, blushing a little at his comment William’s consideration of her; she felt extremely flattered by the inference and hoped it was true.

“If I may, what was her name?” she asked, feeling a bit more comfortable.

“Helene,” Alfred said, a soft look coming into his eyes.

Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he produced a watch; opening it, he carefully held it out enabling Michelle to view the inside of its lid. Leaning forward, Michelle found herself looking at a faded black and white photograph. In it a slender woman sat on a small, striped divan, her back very straight; a little boy of about three in a dark suit stood next to her and tiny little girl in a frilly, white dress sat on her lap. In spite of the woman’s rather severe posture, her face was soft, kind and very pretty. Michelle found herself smiling back at the photograph.

“She’s lovely,” Michelle said, looking at Alfred. He looked at it as well, his eyes growing slightly misty.

“Yes, she was,” he said, quietly.

“Did your children survive the... influenza?” Michelle asked, praying that they had.

“Oh, yes. We sent them off to live with my brother and his wife in the country, when the first outbreak started. My wife was a nurse, you see; caught a particularly virulent strain at the hospital. The children were almost out of school when she died.” He pointed to the boy. “That is Peter; he’s forty-four now, with a wife of his own; a very nice girl, too. They have two children; the eldest would be about your age, I think. My daughter Patricia is also married, to a fairly decent chap. She’s a very good mother; she and Charles have four children now. Little Abigail is the youngest, and quite my favorite.”

“Wow. Six grandchildren,” Michelle said, impressed. “What a wonderful family. Do you see them often?”

“Yes, well not as much as I’d like,” Alfred admitted. “Ever since we moved to the United States, I only see them once a year. It’s difficult to fly so far at my age.”

“I guess so,” Michelle said, sympathetically. “I guess being a valet is a fairly good living, though.” Alfred nodded, putting away his watch.

“Yes, and you get room and board with it, though I still own my old house; it has good tenants in it now... but, someday I’ll retire there. Master William matches my retirement contributions, but that is fairly standard in Great Britain.”

Michelle wondered when Alfred would retire; he seemed about the age most people thought about it. Would William hire a new valet? Alfred watched Michelle’s face with a smile.

“I don’t plan on retiring until Master William gets married,” he said, forestalling her question. “Only then could I be certain he’s well taken care of.” Michelle kept herself from blushing, barely.

“I suppose you get pretty attached to the family, then,” she said, fiddling with a table napkin.

“Yes, my dear. Especially when they get attached to you,” Alfred commented. The elderly gentleman saw William making his way back to the table. “It appears we are about to embark.”

“Will you be alright?” Michelle inquired, picking up her coat. Alfred chuckled.

“Don’t worry about me, Miss Michelle. I’ll be fine,” he assured her, moving to stand up. “As Master William stated some days ago, I was once in the army. The mind remembers these things even if the body has long forgotten. I’d be more worried about you, packed into the rumble seat like so much baggage.”

Michelle giggled softly at his words.

“It’s very comfy back there,” she protested. “I get to stretch my legs out on the seat.”

“What, a whole two feet? I’m jealous...” Alfred sniffed.

“Shall we be off then?” William inquired, gaining the table. Michelle nodded at him and stood to go, sliding quickly into her coat. She stopped when William put a ten-dollar bill on the table, looking at her closely.

“I know you’ll do it anyway, so you may as well get it over with,” he said, grinning. Smiling, Michelle bent down and folded her origami bird; Alfred chuckled over it and stated that it was a clever way to leave a tip. Michelle smiled at the man and then turned to address William.

“Thank you,” she told him. “Although, you could have let me pay the tip; you rushed off to get lunch and I wasn’t able to...”

“Hush,” William said, touching the tip of her nose with his fingertip. “I’m driving; therefore you get absolutely no say in the ‘who-gets-to-pay-for-the-food’ issue.” Michelle gave him a sweet smile. Her eyes had no fear in meeting his anymore, William noticed; the fact pleased him. He found himself wanting to reach their destination quickly. There were so many things he wanted to know about Michelle, to discuss with her; he really wanted time alone with her but it was not going to happen today, at least. William’s smile reflected his inward thoughts. Michelle seemed to find his grin unnerving and kept giving him uncertain glances in the rear view mirror, much to William’s amusement; he dropped a roguish wink at the young woman. In response, Michelle looked down and smiled. William’s grin did not fade for the entire remainder of the journey.

As dusk fell, the roadster pulled into a small little, touristy village of sorts which, according to the driver, was fairly close to Margret’s home. William parked in front of a brightly painted bakery and ducked inside for a few minutes. While he was gone, Alfred pointed out the window, showing the direction of the town square. It was a little too dark to see anything, though.

“Quite a show, they put on here,” he said. “Almost any time of the day there is something fancy and artistic going on. Weekends are especially busy, but the town profits nicely from the tourism.”

“I guess they would,” Michelle said, looking out the window into the gathering dark. “Why else would they allow common visitors into their backyard?” Alfred chuckled.

“Their backyard? Hardly,” he said, smiling. “They only show that to those in their set, normally. Affluent, wealthy, famous, etc.”

“I see,” Michelle said, seriously. “So, does that mean I’ll be sleeping in the chicken coop?”

At her words, Alfred laughed hard and continued until he started coughing; Michelle had to smack him lightly on the back.

“My dear, you really are amusing,” he wheezed. “Margaret is hardly arrogant; she fairly sang your praises to me over the telephone. She has a true appreciation of the arts and couldn’t care less that you make your living selling drawings on a street corner.”

“Oh. So you knew about that,” Michelle said, softly, sitting back in her seat. Alfred turned to look back at her.

“Yes,” he said. “In my opinion, you have made the very best of a bad situation. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, young lady.” Feeling enormously flattered, Michelle patted his shoulder and said no more. Alfred continued to chuckle to himself, even as William got in the car; the driver held a large, pink bakery box, tied with white ribbon.

“Making jokes about me, eh?” he said, grinning at Michelle. “Would you be so kind, my lady, as to hold this?” Smiling back at him, Michelle took the box and held it securely on her lap.

They drove another five minutes before turning down a wide, landscaped street; it was a gated community. Stopping his car, William showed the two guards his ID and wrote his name in their ledger. The gate moved to let the roadster pass. Michelle squinted in the dark as they drove past long, winding drives that led deep into wooded acres, and vast, sprawling lawns that looked more like personal golf courses. Little lights twinkled from far away, revealed that people indeed lived somewhere out there.

Looking out her window, Michelle leaned back and let out small sigh; her parents and grandparents had been well-off but hardly affluent. Above all she hoped the kind lady she’d had lunch with existed in the same frame of mind as the owner of one of these mansions. Soon, William turned the car under a stone arch onto a subtly lit drive; it looked impossibly straight over the hilly landscaping. Michelle wondered how large an army of gardeners it took to mow the place.

Ahead in the distance, light streamed through the trees, from no less than four stories; it almost looked like William’s mother was having the party of the year. Dread filled Michelle as she stared forward through the windshield.

“Are there... uh... a bunch of people there, too?” she asked, feeling a bit childish; she heard William chuckle.

“Don’t worry, love,” he said, warmly. “Mother likes to keep all the lights on at night.”

“Terrible waste of the electrics,” Alfred remarked.

“Indeed,” William agreed, with a nod.

“It looks like she has a hundred people over,” Michelle explained, sheepishly. “I bet she could fit many more in there.”

“It sleeps thirty-five, I know that,” William said, absently.

“Ah... sleep,” Alfred said, stifling a yawn. “Yes... I’m old and tired.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” William said, grinning. He winked at Michelle in the rear view mirror; she covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“It’s true,” Alfred said, with a sigh. “Here we are, at last.”

The car pulled into a roundabout drive; it circled a large fountain, which itself was surrounded by thick, groomed hedges.

“Hedges? Around a fountain?” Michelle queried.

“It keeps the guests from midnight bathing,” William said, a boyish grin on his face. Michelle smiled.

“It’s a little cold for that,” she said. “It’s lovely... the fountain I mean.”

“Come on, minx,” William said, getting out of the car. He turned to help Michelle out, holding onto her hand.

The feel of her skin pleased him; a keen longing to hold her entered his thoughts. As Michelle exited the car, she looked up into William’s face; shadow hid most of it from her view, as his back faced to the house. A cold, night breeze whirled around them; the light from dozens of windows illuminated Michelle’s face, and the pink box she carried. William’s gaze dropped to her lips; he wanted to taste them, just for a moment.

“A moment? Who am I kidding?” he thought ruefully.

“Are you alright?” Michelle asked, looking uncertain. William appeared to be just staring at her, but she could not make out a single feature of his face. William grinned to himself. Normally, when being stared at a woman would touch her face and ask if she had something on it, yet Michelle just wanted to know if he was all right.

“I’m good, love,” he said, gently. “'Tis cold out here. Let’s get you inside.”  The young woman smiled; her face appeared serene again.

Michelle followed William to the door, knowing there was something he wished to say, but held it inside for some reason. She’d known this since the dinner at his flat. Unable to really read this man yet, Michelle had been over it and over it in her mind as females are wont to do. Hope sprung up again in her, melting into a sort of calm. Michelle knew he would speak his mind to her eventually; he was the sort of individual that did not leave one in doubt for long. The man was just complicated enough to be interesting, yet open enough to ward off suspicion.

William rang the doorbell, waiting with Alfred and his lovely companion by the door; he reached down and took the bakery box from Michelle, all the while regarding her with a heated gaze.

Michelle felt his scrutiny and stared down at her boots; she’d never known a look to incite so many simultaneous feelings in her as William did with his azure eyes; exhilaration, uncertainty, excitement, diversion, bliss and the soft sighs of contentment, not to mention feeling uniquely vulnerable and feminine. Michelle decided she very much liked the enigma that was William and hoped fervently she’d get the chance to figure him out. His silence, now, was especially intriguing; it was as if he was harboring sneaky, romantic plans.

Margaret answered the door herself, holding a slender cup of coffee; her welcoming smile lit up the doorway. To Michelle, the lady embodied the gracious hostess in her cream-colored dress and jacket; she cheerfully greeted them all and motioned them all in, out of the cold.

“I am so glad you came, Michelle!” Margaret said, clasping her guest’s hand. “I hope the trip wasn’t too tiresome.” William smiled down at his mother and handed her the box of baked goods. “Oh, of course I am glad to see you, too, dear,” she smiled up at her son and gave him a fond peck on the cheek. “Ah, I love these pastries; you know that, don’t you? There goes my diet…”

The home appeared to be everything Michelle thought it would be, minus the hundred guests. It was decorated surprisingly simply, in a quaint, English style but still, Michelle could ascertain that everything was enormously expensive. The long, wide staircase to the upper levels took up most of the entryway. Margaret ushered them all into a large sitting room to the right. A smart butler in a gray suit nodded at them and informed them that dinner would be ready in twenty minutes.

“Thomas will take your things up to your rooms,” Margaret was saying, indicating with a gesture of her hand for everyone to sit down.

The ‘parlor’ was delicately furnished with lovely wooden pieces and tasteful rugs. The best thing about the large room, in Michelle’s opinion, was the large, shiny black concert piano up on a slight dais. Her fingers itched to play it; the last time she played the piano after her parent’s funeral, on their old wall-piano; it was the last things she’d done before the house was sold. Her mother had truly loved to play; most evenings in their home had after-dinner music and singing. Especially near the holidays. A lump rose in her throat; Michelle turned to the conversation of the others, blinking the oncoming tears away.

“You cannot be thinking of decorating for Christmas already,” William was saying. Nearby, Margaret held up a garland of some kind; it was a woven garnet-red rope with little crystals dangling from it.

“Apparently I can,” she said, smiling. “The girls informed me that there is an unwritten law where one can begin ‘holiday’ decorating as early as next week; I’ll put up the fall ones for Thanksgiving… and these ones here are for Christmas.”

“...and live animals for new years,” William put in, rubbing his forehead. “Festoon your house with dollar bills for all I care; it’s your house. This is why I never decorate for holidays.”

At his words, Michelle smiled.

“Not everyone decorates,” she said, quietly. “I have not either, since moving to New York.” William looked up at the young woman as she spoke. Her tone was amiable, but he realized the meaning of her words; it occurred to him that she had not had a Christmas, or any kind of holiday in three years. With her parents gone and no family or friends, he supposed the very idea was daunting for her.

Margaret put the garland down in a box at her feet.

“Well, come on… let me show Michelle the rest of the ground floor,” she said, happily. “You probably want to stretch your legs a bit anyway.”

“Indeed madam,” Alfred said, with conviction. William grinned at Michelle and offered her a hand up.

With an easy stroll, Margaret took great pride in showing her guests around her home.

“I have actually made a little money on the side living here,” she said, showing them into an echoing all room. “Two of my friend’s daughters had their wedding receptions here... dancing, dinner, the whole works. They took care of all the preparation and cleaned up when they were finished.”

“Well done, Mother,” William said, rubbing his chin.

“It is a lovely room for a party,” Michelle agreed, looking around. Light sage-colored walls looked well with the burnished red-brown wood floors; several glowing chandeliers hung overhead from a vaulted cathedral-style ceiling. The room itself was mostly empty, save for a couch and an easy chair set up by a large fireplace on the far left side of the room. One wall was almost comprised of glass windows, with glass doors that could be opened outward. A few pieces of exercising equipment stood near the glass wall.

“My physical therapist comes twice a week now,” Margaret informed them, waving at the equipment.

“Did you have an accident, or surgery?” Michelle asked, concerned. Margaret chuckled.

“No, my dear, I merely wish to keep in good shape,” she said, smiling. She guided Michelle gently over to the far right wall, which bore many pieces of art, all framed beautifully and lit with gallery-quality spotlights.

A picture in the middle caught Michelle’s eye. It was her portrait of William, looking a hundred times better in a simple, polished, burgundy-colored wood frame and light gray matting. The beauty of it touched her; her eyes grew a little misty to see her work treated so well.

“I told you it was well situated,” Margaret said; she spoke much like a mother would. The look on Michelle’s face moved the lady greatly.

“It looks so well,” Michelle managed to say. “As if it is cherished; I thank you for that... and for having me here. Your home is simply breathtaking.”

Margaret patted her arm.

“I am honored you came to visit me, dear,” she said, smiling.

“Thank you,” Michelle repeated, giving the lady an earnest smile. “And thank you for not filling every corner of your home with nick-knacks.” Margaret laughed; she had a clear, real laugh… much like William’s. “No, my dear,” she said, smiling. “I’ve not descended into that madness, yet.”

William drifted over to them. He looked from the portrait to Michelle.

“It does look well there,” he agreed. Leaning closer to Michelle, he whispered in her ear. “But it also looked well on the cardboard display, right next to the pretty girl.” Michelle blushed and looked at the floor, managing to draw Margret’s attention by commenting on her lovely flooring.

“Oh, yes...” Margaret said, brightly. “It’s Egyptian wormwood, or so William tells me. Isn’t it nice?” William took Michelle’s arm as they followed her through the hall, studies, the large dining room and finally into the kitchen.

The kitchen was not as big as Michelle feared, but still massive compared to an average middle-class family’s kitchen. It resembled a place an Italian villa may have to cook meals in: wide open spaces and muted earth tones, stone flagged floors with plenty of granite counter space for food preparation. Michelle longed to cook something in this gorgeous place. The chef eyed them from behind a counter; he was about a foot shorter than William, stocky with dark black hair and a white, button-up jacket. No chef-hat sat on his brow, however; instead he wore a dark green bandanna over his hair.

Alfred, in his English-accented French, began arguing with the chef about the tea; at least Michelle assumed it was about tea. William's valet gestured at a small counter across the kitchen with a formal service set up and a long line of tea canisters. After a moment of heated banter the chef picked up a knife, his expression dark.

“Jean-Claude, really...” Margaret said, laughing. “Let him prepare the tea... you know how he is.” In answer the chef began chopping vegetables; he hurled them with force into a nearby stockpot, muttering to himself.

Fairly close to the final counter sat a small, simple table, just big enough to seat six people. Michelle was relieved to see it was all set up for dinner; she was grateful they weren’t using the huge, formal dining room. This seemed much more comfortable.

“Michelle, let me show you your room so that you can go freshen up for dinner,” Margaret said, beckoning to her guest.

“You have her in the pink room, I imagine,” William spoke up. Margaret smiled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said, wagging her finger at him. “Jean-Claude?” The chef looked up at Margaret, his expression softening, a little. “How long?” The man held up ten fingers then went back to chopping. “Excellent; we’ve just enough time. This way, please.” Michelle went with her, following through the hall and up the grand staircase.

As they ascended the young woman admired the smooth wooden banister; she touched it lightly with her hand and let it guide her upwards. Margaret walked in front of her, all the while smiling.

“Again, let me convey how very glad I am that you came, Michelle,” the woman said as they gained the top of the stairs. “It’s been too long since I had such good company.” Hearing this, Michelle was tempted to point out that she was pretty much just a stranger, but refrained. Margaret seemed to glow with an inner happiness and Michelle did not wish to dampen it; this was her house, and the lady could invite whomever she wanted.

The pink room was thankfully not swathed in some frilly, garish pink decor; it was tastefully and simply done with muted, rose-colored walls, wood floors, a light brown rug, taupe bed linens and graceful drapes. The low lighting lent a cozy look to the entire room. A small vanity stood on one wall with unopened hygienic essentials on a tray; a fine wooden armoire stood tall by it. Michelle could see her bag was already on the queen-size bed. Through an open door, Michelle could see a sizable bathroom, decorated with white, gray and faded blue tones.

“Wow,” Michelle said, wishing she could come up with a better exclamation. “It’s huge.” Margaret chuckled.

“I’m glad you like it,” said she. “I trust you’ll be comfortable here.”

“Yes,” Michelle said, nodding. She touched the bed cover briefly. “It’s very serene in here.”

“Good,” Margaret said. “Dinner will be in a few minutes; we’ll eat in the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I prefer it,” Michelle said, earnestly. Smiling, Margaret nodded.

“I do as well,” she said, moving towards the door. “No need to dress up that way. We shall expect your presence downstairs shortly.”

“Thank you,” Michelle said, as Margaret exited; the lady smiled and closed the door after her.

Shaking out her coat, Michelle hung it on a hook located on the wall, by the door. Scratching her head a little, she walked over to her pack and undid the zipper on an outside pocket. Taking out her brush and the bottle of apple blossom spray, Michelle sat down at the vanity. It was an adorable piece of furniture, very feminine in shape and style. The mirror alone must have cost a pretty penny. At this thought, Michelle shook her head.

“If I start scrutinizing the value of everything, I’ll be awake all night,” she thought, smiling. She brushed her hair and smoothed it a little; after using the bathroom she washed her hands and put on a tiny bit of perfume. After applying a little lip gloss she felt amply ‘freshened’. Smiling, she made her way out of the room and back down the wide staircase. William was waiting for her at the bottom; he greeted her with a kiss on her forehead, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I thought you’d get lost trying to kind the kitchen,” he offered. Michelle wasn’t fooled.

“I’m not that brainless,” she said, smiling. “What do you really want?”

Grinning, William reached up one hand and smoothed her hair. It felt very soft; William was grateful Michelle wasn’t the type to use a lot of hairspray; her long tresses were never stiff or untouchable. Realizing his girl wanted an answer, William decided to give her one. He leaned down, kissed her lips then pulled her along with him down the corridor.

“Oh,” Michelle said, blushing. “Well, that is a good reply.”

Whatever feelings of insecurity Michelle harbored around Margaret, they vanished during dinner; lady did her utmost to make her feel at home. The conversation was open with an easy flow; William added bits of humor here and there and a few cerebral objections. The petulant chef even joined them to eat, though he made a great show of sitting far away from Alfred. The man bristled just a little when the latter made comments about the strip steak being slightly overdone. Margaret laughed it off and spoke a few words to Jean-Claude in French.

Listening to them, Michelle wished she’d taken French lessons after all; she resolved to someday soon. It seemed to be a handy language, especially in this circle. After dinner Margaret served coffee herself, playing the hostess with ease. Michelle’s admiration for the matronly woman grew and she spurred herself to answer questions and comment when looked at.

The clock struck ten. Michelle hid a yawn in her hand. The company was good, but she normally was in bed by now.

“Well, it is getting late… I’ll just head up to bed, myself,” Margaret said, to William. “Just to let you know, Michelle, we eat breakfast at eight sharp. There is an alarm clock on your night stand, if you wish to set it.”

“Thank you, Margaret,” Michelle returned, smiling at her. The lady paused and looked at her young guest.

“You know, Michelle, when you say my name it sounds lovely,” she said, smiling back. “I’ve always disliked my name. But your accent gives it just a hint of beauty.” Michelle smiled at this; she never considered herself having an accent, but she supposed and Englishwoman would think so.

“It’s a great name,” Michelle remarked. “Like Margaret Thatcher, or Princess Margaret.”

William’s mother laughed, lightly.

“I am flattered you know they exist,” she said, smiling. “Thank you, my dear. I’ll let you turn in now. Oh, er…. if you cannot sleep or wake early, there is a large reading library four doors down from you on the right. Large, arched doors; you cannot miss them.”

“I adore looking at personal libraries,” Michelle said, feeling a little more awake. “The variety of tomes always reflects the taste of the owner.”

“Feel free to peruse it, my dear,” Margaret said, smiling at the young woman’s enthusiasm.

“Thank you for your kindness, Margaret,” Michelle said, gratefully.

“Nonsense, my dear. Sleep well. Goodnight.” The lady of the house took her cup to the sink and gracefully left the room.

Michelle stood up, feeling both tired and excited. This was such a strange situation for her to be in. Almost constantly, she expected to wake up and find this all a dream. Michelle was fairly certain it was not but still, she wondered if the fates were just sporting with her and one day she’d wake up still on her street corner, pining fruitlessly after William.

Almost immediately she felt his eyes on her face.

“I should turn in as well,” William commented, standing to go; his eyes never left Michelle. He fervently hoped he’d get a chance to make out with his pretty girlfriend a little before bed. As if sensing his plans, his valet stood up, too.

“As should I,” Alfred announced, smiling. He saw William’s chagrined look and chuckled to himself.

Michelle earned a few points with the chef by thanking him shyly for the dinner, emphasizing its delicious properties. The man beamed and captured her hand, kissing the back of it devotedly. William made a face at the man but Michelle’s surprised expression made his smile return. Blushing, Michelle got her hand back and turned to William and Alfred.

“I guess I’ll say good night to you then,” she said, biting her lip. “The trip here turned out very pleasant, I thought.” William stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking impatient. He wanted everyone to disperse and go to sleep, except Michelle of course.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said, instead. “It was one of the better car trips I’ve taken up here, for certain.” His eyes held a look Michelle liked very much, somewhere in between gratitude and desire.

“I second that,” Alfred said, ambling towards the door. “Far more riveting company than usual.” Hearing this, William snorted.

“I was going to say the same thing, old boy,” he said, grinning. “At least you didn’t bring out a crossword puzzle this time, causing us meaningless agony over pop-culture terms.” Michelle giggled softly as she followed them out of the kitchen. As she ascended the stairs, she glanced back at William, wanting to give him a proper goodnight kiss but not daring to in front of everyone. Some things she still considered very private.

An hour later, Michelle lay on the ‘pink room’ bed, looking up at the canopy; despite the comfortable surroundings sleep eluded her. Her clothes were already hung in the armoire. She already succumbed to the lure of the shower; the hot water had felt divine, the soap smelled of sandy beaches, the hot water relaxing... but there was just something about being in a strange place that Michelle was having a bit of trouble settling into; she missed William. The idea of the library nearby appealed. Maybe just a look...

“William’s probably asleep by now,” she thought, sitting up. She hopped out of bed, restlessness driving her actions. A mirror on the back of the bedroom door reflected Michelle’s outfit: pajamas, and not even proper pajamas at that but cream-colored yoga pants and her Stanford camisole. Slipping on her robe, Michelle glanced at the clock. 11:05; surely everyone would be asleep. The house had been silent for some time.

Opening the door, Michelle looked up and down the dim hallway; neither a sound nor sign of anyone presented itself. Walking barefoot towards the library, Michelle felt slightly envious of their ability to drop off into the arms of sleep so easily. Four doors down, she found an ornate set of doors, taller than the others; they formed two halves of an arch just as Margaret had described. The doors opened silently on thick hinges. As she entered the room Michelle stopped, drawing in a sharp breath. Stretched out on a cozy-looking sofa lay William, asleep. An open book lay on his chest. Michelle tarried by the door, not willing to wake him, but wanting a goodnight kiss nonetheless. Stepping back, she reluctantly began closing the door behind her.

“Don’t go, Michelle,” came the sound of William’s voice. Michelle smiled; she opened the door again but stayed on the threshold.

“You looked so peaceful… I didn’t want to disturb you,” she explained. William closed the book and stood up. Michelle gripped the door handle, suddenly feeling silly in her pajamas and bare feet.

“You’d never disturb me, love,” William said, smiling slowly. He was favoring her with one of his intense gazes. Michelle stepped back a little.

“I should... go,” she said, giving a weak smile. “To.. uh.. sleep.” William grinned, his eyes alight. In two steps, he reached her side and pulled her into the room with him; reaching over Michelle’s shoulder, he shut the door.

“You came here because you couldn’t sleep,” he said, his tone low. “I’ve been reading here only in the hope that you’d show.” Standing close to Michelle, he wrapped his arms around her. Looking down into her eyes, William was moved by the uncertainty he saw there. “I’m not going to harm you, Michelle,” he said. Michelle smiled a little.

“I know. Just... no tickling, OK?” she replied, nervously. William laughed.

“It’s that bad, eh?” he asked, amused. Michelle nodded, looking sheepish. “Well, I make no promises,” he said, suddenly releasing her. “Besides, you deserve a good tickling...” Michelle’s eyes grew wide at William’s tone.

“You wouldn’t dare....” she countered, backing away from him. William grinned.

Walking down the hallway some moments later with a glass of milk, Alfred heard laughter and shrieking coming from the library. Opening one of the doors, he peered in and then laughed at the sight before him. Michelle was perched on top of large armoire, shaking her head and grinning at William; he in turn was pointing at the ground.

“Get down here, you little minx,” William said, smiling. “I’ll call a truce, for now.” Alfred shook his head.

“I would ask but I think I do not wish to know,” he remarked, smiling. William crossed his arms over his chest.

“She’s quicker than she looks,” said he.

“He started it,” Michelle countered. “He was trying to tickle me; most unfair.”

Aiming to end the ‘war’ William turned around to get a chair. When his back was turned Michelle nimbly leaped down and ducked behind Alfred for protection.

“She’s a veritable lemur, sir,” Alfred intoned, trying not to laugh. “Perhaps, though, Miss Gregory wishes to turn in, as we all do.” He gave William a remanding glare.

“Perhaps so,” William assented, sobering a little.

“In which case I shall bid you both 'good night',” Alfred said, stifling a yawn. He waddled off, leaving Michelle in the hall; she looked warily at her boyfriend. Hands in his pockets, William leaned against the library door jamb regarding Michelle with a soft expression.

“I’m starting to like your barefoot-pajama-housecoat look,” he remarked. Michelle blushed, but kept her distance.

“I’m going to ignore that,” she said, softly. “And bid you goodnight, since I didn’t really get to earlier.” In one movement, William stepped forward and caught her in his arms again; his speed rather surprised Michelle.

“You’re not the only dexterous person around here,” William told her. He turned them both around; Michelle felt the library door behind her back. Looking up, she searched William’s eyes. “I have so many things I want to tell you, love,” he said, softly. “It’s just too early to say them.”

William thought his words sounded extremely lame... and vague, but they honestly represented his thoughts. He’d been toying with the idea of proposing to Michelle for quite a few days, in spite of their relatively new acquaintance, especially since thoughts of her kept him awake at night and facilitated the necessity of frequent cold showers; more so than at any other time in his life. However, the look of trust Michelle regarded him with made William push down his desires once more.

“Soon she’ll be mine,” he thought. Michelle observed that her companion inwardly battled with something and smiled reassuringly.

“I bid you goodnight, Sir William,” she said gently, her eyes bright. “I hope you sleep well.” William was thinking of kissing her on the forehead but Michelle surprised him by standing up on her tip toes and giving him a real kiss. William returned it, holding her tightly; he felt his newly re-enforced dam of resolve fast slipping away.

Breaking apart from her, William pushed away from the wall.

“Ah... perhaps we should say goodnight, shall we?” he said, his normally steady tone a bit faltering.

“I thought I was saying ‘goodnight’,” she said, smiling. William favored her with a look that said otherwise.

“A goodnight like that can lead to good morning rather quickly, Michelle,” he informed her, smiling. At this, his companion blushed. “So... good night?” William realized how difficult this was, even for him. This girl was unlike any other he’d ever met.

“Goodnight, William,” she replied, softly; she turned and walked to her room.

Against his better judgment William watched her every move until her door closed, cutting her off from his view. Running his hand through his hair, he trudged down the hallway to his own room, an expression of undisguised misery on his face. As he passed Alfred’s door, he heard it shut, very quietly. William chuckled. The fatherly valet was fast becoming their chaperon.

“Not such a bad idea,” he thought, once alone in his room. He turned the shower on, setting it on ‘cold’.

In her room Michelle collapsed backward on the bed, feeling absurdly like a teenager with a crush. Giggles came bubbling up and were effectively quelled.

“Honestly,” she said, to herself. “They are just kisses...”She smiled up at the ceiling. “Wonderful kisses,” she thought, closing her eyes. Michelle quickly slipped under her covers; a feeling of safety washed over her, mixing well with the affections William had inspired in her. She drifted off to sleep, wondering what William had wanted to tell her.

CHAPTER SIX

At 7AM Michelle’s eyes flew open. Somewhere beside her, a small alarm clock played classical music; the dark room felt unfamiliar and smelled of lavender. After a moment, Michelle realized where she was; she slipped out of bed with a secret smile; she wanted a shower and then to quickly dress. There was no way she could sleep in; excitement flooded her and she felt had to move about in some sort of productive manner.

The shower itself appeared quite modern one in design with a round, clear surround and a curved, hinged door; it was the kind of shower that left one feeling completely exposed while washing. Michelle wished she could put a towel over the top of it but the near-invisible wall went all the way to the ceiling. Her shower was quick though, with the bathroom door security locked. The night before, she’d discovered new bottles of conditioners and shampoo, as well as lovely, richly-lathering soap; it all smelled of the ocean and of sunny, sandy beaches. Clean and dry Michelle opened the clothes armoire and took out the light-gray wool suit-dress.

Lifting the hanger, she spied a garment-steamer hanging on the back of the armoire door. Amused at its presence, Michelle plugged it in and spent a few minutes figuring out how to use it; she’d seen it done on infomercials. To her surprise the gadget really did work, almost as if she’d had her clothes professionally pressed. It ironed out the creased her white cotton blouse as well. As she put the steamer away Michelle felt a little silly spending so much time on her clothes; she had to admit that William’s words about her clothes being ‘shabby’ still rankled with her a little.

“I think this will prove him wrong, again...” she said, biting her bottom lip. She dressed quickly; looking in the mirror, she thought the shirt and gray jacket were a little low cut but it did look classic and stylish. The A-line skirt reached down almost to her ankles. Digging in her pack, Michelle found some thick gray tights and put them on, along with her dainty, brown boots. She’d brought a simple garnet-red scarf just for this outfit; winding it around her neck, she tucked the ends out of sight. Her hair she did in her usual way, down with the front pieces pinned neatly behind her ears. Not wanting to spend much more time, Michelle hastily put on mascara and lip gloss, leaving her makeup at that.

Surveying herself in the mirror, Michelle nodded.

“I don’t look ‘homeless’ in this,” she thought, smiling. Unable to put it off anymore, Michelle crept to the door, slowly turning the handle.

As soon as she opened the door she saw William; he was leaning on her door frame, apparently waiting for her to emerge.

“You’re all dressed,” he said, grinning at her.

“So are you,” Michelle returned, smiling back.

“It was so quiet in there, I thought you were asleep.” William said, not moving from the door. Michelle crossed her arms.

“I didn’t know if anyone else was up,” she replied; her smile broadened. “But, a good morning to you.”

William’s eyes took in Michelle’s appearance. The young woman looked very well; he silently took back everything negative he’d ever said about her clothes. She looked like a sweet debutante, fresh from Vassar.

“Good morning,” he returned; he lifted Michelle’s hand and kissed her warm, soft palm. Her skin smelled quite alluring; a slight grimace crossed his face.

“Are you OK?” Michelle asked, seeing his expression.

“Er... yes,” William said, giving Michelle a quick grin. “I’m glad you’re up early.” Michelle was not convinced but let it go; she took William’s arm and walked beside him down the hall. An idea occurred to her on the way down the stairs; she turned to William, with a smile.

“I have… a suggestion,” she said, her eyes bright with mischief. William beheld Michelle’s expression and raised an eyebrow.

“What have you in mind, minx?” he inquired, unable to stop smiling.

When Jean-Claude breezed into Margret’s kitchen some minutes later, he spied Michelle and William standing together by the stove. The young woman had an apron tied around her waist; she grated nutmeg into a pot as William stirred it.

“What is this?” the chef murmured, suppressing a smile. The two looked like a fetching couple, standing together and cooking. He let the door click shut behind him. At the sound, William turned and saw Jean-Claude approaching.

“It appears the lion has returned to its den, my dear,” he said to Michelle. The chef scoffed, crossing his arms.

“This is not my den, Mister Montgomery,” he said in broken English. “My kitchen takes up my entire house, with a little room for sleeping, eh?”Michelle gave the chef a smile.

“Bonjour, m’sieur,” she said, softly. Jean-Claude smiled back and took her hand, giving it a brief kiss.

“Cher mademoiselle,” he said, with obsequious flair. William hid his laugh in a cough; Michelle’s baffled expression was hilarious. Leaning between the two, Jean-Claude sniffed loudly over the pot; he grabbed a spoon and tasted the oatmeal, making discerning faces as if the thick liquid inside was lobster bisque. Behind the chef William rolled his eyes; Michelle saw it and stifled her giggle in a dishtowel.

“Bon,” the Frenchman said; he shut off the flame and sprinkled in a minuscule amount of salt.

The kitchen door opened again; Alfred ambled in, going directly towards the tea ‘station’. He and William exchanged greetings and Michelle smiled at the elderly valet. Jean-Claude grunted and began ladling the aromatic oatmeal into wide, wooden bowls. Michelle helped William set out place mats, napkins and silverware; early morning light streamed in the large windows onto the table and chairs. Michelle walked up to the windows, looking out onto the misty morning scene; she wanted to walk the estate groves more than eating, but held her piece. William saw her glancing wistfully out the window and smiled. He crept up behind her.

“You want out, don’t you?” he said, quietly in Michelle’s ear. She started and then smiled at him over her shoulder.

“You’re sneaky,” she said, turning back to the view. “I do wish to walk outside a bit. It looks so beautiful out there.”

“Well...” William began. “I suppose I could be prevailed upon, under strong persuasion, to escort you on a walk after breakfast… though trekking about the brush is not my favorite pastime.” Not turning around, Michelle smiled at the window.

“You could always sit for another portrait,” she suggested, holding back a laugh. “I bet your mother would love one of you in a suit of armor...”

“Why, you little minx!” William whispered fiercely; he glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. “That’s blackmail...” Michelle looked at him over her shoulder, biting her lip.

“You said strong persuasion,” she told him, unable to keep the glee from her voice.

CALM AND clear, the chilly Vermont air surrounded the two pedestrians. William glanced down at Michelle as she strolled beside him, her hand snugly in his. The trees and fall colors enthralled her, evidenced by the expression on her face, but William noted Michelle’s natural serenity seemed to temper it. She enjoyed things with a happy, quiet demeanor, a feature of character William admired very much; he detested chatty people.

“Still,” he thought, smirking, “It is so much fun to tease her.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” William asked his companion. Michelle looked up at him, smiling.

“Is that a trick question?” she answered; her eyes sparkled with fun. William returned her merriment in his own gaze.

“You are never boring to talk to,” he said, earnestly. “You don’t know how glad I am to have met you.” Michelle dipped her head shyly and smiled.

“The feeling is mutual, William,” she said, glancing back up at him. Ahead, William saw the ‘lake’, as his mother affectionately referred to it; it was really nothing more than a large pond; it teemed with wild birds in the warmer months.

“There’s a pretty spot here through these trees,” William said, pointing towards the water. “Shall we hike over to it?”

Michelle looked up at him, her eyebrows raised.

“Hike? Um... this is fairly flat ground; ever been to the Rockies?” she inquired, sweetly. William snorted.

“Oh, come on,” he said, pulling her towards the pond grove. Smiling, Michelle followed along with him; they wound their way through a thick area of slender aspen tree trunks; the yellow, dried leaves carpeted the ground in thick layers. After a minute, they stood on the shores of the pond. Beholding the scene, Michelle’s smile spread from ear to ear.

“How lovely...” she said, clapping her hands. Indeed it was; the slim white aspen trunks all around the water made a striking picture against the flaming red maple leaves behind. The water cast red reflections all over its gently moving surface, here and there dotted with a floating leaf. Michelle felt herself enveloped in a warm embrace and looked up at William.

“There it is,” he said, looking down at her affectionately. “I was wondering when your sweet, excited look was going to break through.” Michelle blushed.

“Oh, so that’s why you were giving me the ‘sideways scrutiny’,” she said, stepping a little away from him. “Here I thought you were just checking me out.” William grinned.

“Well, that too. Hang on... ‘sideways scrutiny’?” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “Where do you come up with these phrases? Do you lay awake thinking them up or do you spend all your spare time in comedy clubs?”

“Spare time? Pfft...” Michelle said, crossing her arms defensively. “Spending over two years drawing people on a Manhattan corner would give even you a sharp sense of humor.” She looked pointedly at William; there was a slight challenge in her voice. He grinned back at her.

“Now see here,” he said, stepping closer. “... the English have a fine sense of humor. You’re asking to be tossed into the leaves and tickled mercilessly.”

“Oh sure, avoid the subject by directing your vague national rhetoric my way… followed by the inevitable empty threat...” Michelle said the phrase quickly, with a huge smile. Inwardly, she prepared to run.

“Vague... rhetoric... what?!” William sputtered, momentarily stunned by the young woman's response. He was surprised again when she took off running… and laughing. It took him a full two seconds to dart after her, his face that of a schoolboy chasing a girl across the playground.

Just about to enter the mudroom, Margaret heard someone enter the room from the outside; more like bursting in, accompanied by panting and laughter. Opening the door somewhat cautiously Margaret smiled as she saw Michelle sitting on a bench. The young woman held her sides, trying to catch her breath. The elderly lady smiled affectionately at her guest; she looked quite transformed all rosy with exercise and her eyes bright with fun.

“Well, my dear,” Margaret said, coming fully into the room. “I would ask if you are alright but I can see you are. William is on your heels, I assume?” Michelle nodded, still trying to breathe.

At that moment William burst through the door. Not expecting to see his mother standing there, he started, lost his footing on the loose rug and slid into the wall, landing on his rear in a rather undignified manner. Pointing, Michelle laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bench. Hiding a smile in her hand, Margaret faked a cough.

“Are you alright, my boy?” she asked, her face twisting a little. At her side, Michelle was desperately trying not to hyperventilate. William looked so embarrassed. She covered her mouth with her gloves and tried to stop laughing.

Disentangling himself from the throw rug, William stood up with a red face.

“I’m fine,” he said. “We were... ah... racing.”

“Indeed?” Margaret said with a perfectly serious expression. “Who won?” Michelle threw up her hand, still unable to speak.

“More like who started it...” William grumbled brushing leaves off his shoulder.

“Well,” Margaret said, going back to the door. “If you both have had enough sport, I hope you will a company me into town. There are some people at the gallery I’d really like Michelle to meet. The car will be out in front in about ten minutes, I should think.”

With this Margaret walked out, closing the door behind her. She made it into the pantry before sinking down onto a crate and laughing until she cried. All the rest of her days, Margaret never forgot the sight of her very proper son slipping across the floor, ending up on his posterior. Jean-Claude opened the pantry door to find her still giggling a minute later; he soon heard the whole story.

Michelle wanted to escape out the door as well, but was too winded to immediately flee the scene. Feeling unbearably warm she undid her top few buttons of her coat and took off her hat. Warily, she met William’s gaze as he leaned back against the mudroom cabinets. The intense look in his eyes made her skin warm up even more.

“You think you're clever, don't you?” he asked in a low voice. Still trying to breathe normally, Michelle gave him a quick smile.

“Your face... priceless,” she managed to say. An amused exhilaration showed in her eyes, making them shine like stars.

“So was your answer, sweetheart,” William returned. Then he smirked at her; Michelle’s eyes grew wide. William never smirked; her smile faded. Pushing off the wall, William walked over to where Michelle sat. He towered over her, his eye glinting with something sexy and dangerous. At least, Michelle assumed it was a dangerous/sexy glint; she’s never seen such a look in his eyes before. Never mind the tingles up her back and arms it created. Bending down, William sat down next to Michelle on the bench; his eyes never left her face. Snaking an arm around her waist, William drew her close to him and leaned down until his lips hovered right above her ear.

“Do you honestly think you’re going to get away with that?” he whispered; his warm breath flitted across Michelle’s ear. Her lips parted to let in more air; she was finding it difficult to concentrate on answering him. Suddenly, the warm air on her ear was joined by William’s equally warm lips.

Closing her eyes Michelle bit her bottom lip and stayed in his arms, unresisting.

“We should go,” William said, drawing back from his girl, grinning from ear to ear. “I believe Mother will come looking for us in a minute.” Michelle opened her eyes and looked at the floor, her hand over one ear.

“If that was your idea of a punishment, you’re terrible at it,” she said, quietly. She glanced up at him with a secretive little smile. Reaching down, William grasped Michelle’s hands and drew her up to him.

“I'll deal with you later,” he said, a strange gleam in his eye. Michelle half expected him to kiss her but he did not. Instead, William led her out to his mother’s white Rolls Royce waiting in the drive and helped her inside. Already seated in the car, Margaret noted Michelle’s deeply flushed face and William confident grin. She smiled and beckoned to them both.

During the ride, Michelle looked out the window while Margaret rattled off little bits of information about each house they passed. An actor lived there, Congressman so and so and his family lived there, a famous Russian pianist had a studio up the road. Michelle smiled and tried to listen, but was still fluttering inside from William’s suggestive behavior. At the most unexpected moments, he seemed to throw on a kind of predatory mantle; she could almost imagine him giving a Tarzan yell and swinging off on a vine, or something similar. Suppressing a giggle, Michelle snuck a glance at William. He leaned against the seat across from her, his hat tilted down over his eyes; he appeared to be napping but the smile on his face was anything but sleepy. It spoke of shrewdness, as if he could read her mind.

As if to confirm her suspicions the hat rose slightly and the man gave her a wink before retreating once more beneath the brim. There was something about William that Michelle could not fully comprehend. It pushed Michelle’s curious button, a device all women possess; somehow, she knew that if William and her ever had something lasting and serious, she would never be bored. The thought comforted and calmed her, even to the point of listening to Margaret all the way into town.

The drive proved rather short; the ‘village’ that William, Alfred and Michelle had driven through the evening before was really an affluent little township, filled with specialty shops, galleries, expensive boutiques, restaurants and a large farmer’s market, right in the town square. As promised, the square hosted an apple festival in full swing; bright rose-red ribbons flowed in the chilly breeze from poles where bushel baskets—harboring every kind of apple imaginable--sat stacked and available for sale. In one area, boxes of freshly-pressed cider stood around a large kettle; out of it a fresh-faced girl ladled mugs of the steaming-hot golden liquid. Groups of warmly-dressed people  laughed and talked around fancy outdoor fire-pits, eating steaming apple pie and fritters off china plates and sipping espresso. Craft booths and old-fashioned selling wagons seemed to fill every other available space, but thankfully Margaret wasn’t interested in dragging her guests through all of that.

The car stopped in front of a handsome brick building. Looking out the window, Michelle’s face lit up. Two, wide turret-style short towers stuck impressively out the building’s front, two stories high. She stared at the towers, hoping they did not exist merely for show. The whole idea of a castle and its ubiquitous towers brought on a slew of accompanying thoughts: long gowns, peasants, dancing, singing and troubadours.

“And plague,” she thought sobering. “And outdoor toilets... and violent revolts.”

“Here we are!” Margaret said happily, letting William help her out of the car. “Marcel Gallery of the Arts. My very good friend Sophie D’Angelo is one of the artists and teachers here. She’s quite anxious to meet you, Michelle.” She finished her speech by taking Michelle’s arm and leading her towards the large, wooden door between the towers.

Wondering why this Sophie character wanted to meet her, Michelle felt a surge of emotional insecurity flood her. This hang-out of rich artists was sure to hold more cultured, well-traveled people. Biting her lip, Michelle resolved to say as little as possible. Despite her lack of confidence she felt encouraged by the inside of the gallery. The layout itself was most unusual, a far cry from some weird, echoing room with framed art and spotlights. It was more like a classroom, library, living room, coffee shop and art show... all in one. The very air felt comforting. Somewhere, fresh pastries baked alongside brewing tea.

Margaret released Michelle’s arm as they entered the building and greeted some people that she recognized. While his mother chatted William excused himself to find the restroom; he nudged Michelle a little as he left, winking at her when she looked after him. Michelle smiled after his retreating form. Seeing  that Margaret was busy she wandered around the free-standing bookshelves, feeling out of place.

Looking up, Michelle saw--to her delight--that the towers were not merely for show. Someone had cleverly made them into cozy, hidden reading lofts; these sat high above the gallery floor, accessible via two circular wood-and-metal staircases. One was occupied--evidenced by two pairs of feet of sticking through the railing--but the other appeared empty. Michelle couldn’t resist; she pulled off her coat and walked towards the empty loft staircase, her eyes alight with anticipation.

Stepping carefully on the stair, Michelle climbed up to the small loft. A large, circular window sat in the brick wall right above a comfy, wide reading bench, complete with a thick mat and plenty of sumptuous pillows. Michelle sighed and sat down on the long window seat, sinking back in the pillows. A content smile graced her face; she felt like curling up here with the biggest book in the place and never leaving.

Exiting the restroom William spied his mother. She appeared engaged in an animated conversation with a slightly-balding man William recognized as the gallery owner; he couldn’t remember the man’s name, so he nodded at him from afar. Michelle was not anywhere to be seen. His brow gathered a little, William searched for her around the bookshelves and the seating areas. He was about to go wait outside the ladies room when he heard youthful giggling from above. One of the tower lofts above him held two teenagers, apparently ‘reading’ a large book together; William grinned. In school he’d used that ruse as well. Glancing over at the other loft, William fancied he saw a bit of blue... a familiar shade of blue.

“Of course she’d be up there,” he thought, smiling. “It’s the perfect hideaway for her.”

Up in the loft Michelle knelt on the window-seat, absorbed in looking out the window at the festival below. William crept up silently, suddenly flopping down next to her on the seat. Michelle gave a little yelp and spun around, only to see her grinning beau lying back on the pillows, his hands behind his head.

“You meant to startle me,” she accused, trying not to smile. In response, William pulled her snug up against him, his arm around her waist.

“Guilty,” he said. He didn’t sound the least bit sorry, Michelle noted. “I’ve been wandering around looking for my pretty girlfriend, only to find she’s up here avoiding everyone.” Michelle gave him a half-smile.

“Not avoiding,” she said, gently. “I don’t know any of those people.” She rested next to William on the window seat, laying her head down on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head.

“I know. Mother can get preoccupied with conversation, sometimes,” he explained. “In a moment she’ll be apologizing for neglecting us.” Michelle smiled.

“I like it better up here, with you,” she said. Her voice was very quiet but William heard every word.

“Is that so?” he said, sitting up a little. He looked down at Michelle; she looked so cute among the pillows in her smart gray dress. William noticed her top button had accidentally come undone; he could see just the top of a pale pink camisole and diverted his eyes to the window. “Even though I am just a humorless Englishman with vague rhetoric and empty...” He stopped speaking as Michelle’s soft lips touched his.

Michelle didn’t know what had came over her. One moment she was smiling at William’s handsome face and the next she was leaning towards him. As if guided by some natural magnetism, her hands slid onto his shoulders and she just leaned over and kissed him. It was a small, soft kiss but it took all her boldness to do it. Drawing back, she beheld William’s surprised expression. Her heart sank.

“What have I done?” she thought, feeling dread well up within her. “I just threw myself at him... now he thinks I’m forward or...” Her thoughts rapidly changed direction; William was kissing her so hard she didn’t have time to think of anything more. All she felt was him; he tasted wonderful. The kisses he’d given her before were very gentle compared to this; the fiery passion he exhibited was thrilled Michelle down to her toes. She didn’t resist at all; she kissed him back with her pent-up emotions, sliding her hands behind his head. The feel of his cropped hair slipping through her fingers was wonderful.

On the other hand William knew exactly what he was doing. He was falling for this little slip of an American sweetheart. It was clear she felt strongly about him, and all he wanted was her; he wanted to take her home with him forever. He wanted to give her babies; children with her eyes and smile. He wanted her for his wife. He knew absolutely that this girl was the one for him; they were meant for one another. William knew all these things as he kissed Michelle. He could feel her slender hands caressing the back of his head and it was driving him mad. Forcing himself to stop, William drew away from Michelle’s face; she was flushed and breathing rather rapidly, he noted; so was he. Smiling, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sat up, still holding Michelle in his arms.

Unable to look William in the eye, Michelle rested her head on his shoulder, fighting to control her emotions. She wanted to laugh and cry all at once. Being so vulnerable to another person felt terrifying one hand, but on the other hand she had never felt this alive in her life… nor so sultry. William made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Shall we go downstairs, love?” her companion asked. His voice was so gentle Michelle felt her heart might just slip out of her chest and join with his. There was no way she was going to avoid falling for William Montgomery. She nodded, not really able to make her voice work. “Are you all right, Michelle?” the man asked her, sounding a little concerned. William suddenly felt bad; maybe he’d kissed her too hard. Maybe he scared her.

“Yes,” Michelle’s response came. Her voice sounded small. William turned so he could see her face. She did not look scared or sad, merely thoughtful.

“What it is, love?” he asked; his voice was almost a whisper. Michelle was very tempted not to tell him; what if he didn’t return her feeling as strongly? Certainly that was one passionate kiss, but it was difficult for Michelle to really believe this gorgeous, successful man wanted her. Looking up into his eyes, she saw concern and emotion in his eyes, much more than ever before. Summoning all her courage, Michelle took a deep breath.

“I think... I think that I love you, William,” she said, stumbling over the words a little. At her words, William smiled; it was not a mocking smile or a confident smirk, nor a whimsical halfhearted grin… but a full-on, glowing smile of a man having an once-in-a-lifetime breakthrough. Seeing it, Michelle felt compelled to go on. “I have never felt this way,” she finished, finally able to draw breath again.

William responded to this by tightly embracing Michelle; he held her and kissed her face and forehead gently, not really caring who saw them.

“Oh, Michelle,” he said quietly, kissing her face. “Sweetheart... I feel the same, despite the relative shortness of our relationship.” His words flew right into Michelle’s soul; a few tears slipped out from under her eyelashes, trickling down her face; in lieu of sadness, Michelle felt pure relief. She wrapped her arms securely around William, never wanting to let go.

After a minute, William realized the main matter he wished to discuss with Michelle could not be done here; they needed a private, beautiful setting in which to talk. Besides, his mother would be wondering where they were.

“Michelle, love,” he began. “We should go downstairs. I would rather stay right here with you, let everyone leave and then have...”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Michelle interrupted quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear and blushing. “Margaret will be wondering where we are. It just seemed so cozy up here… I had to see it.” William smiled at her and kissed her hand.

“Yes, you are the type to like this lofty little mouse-hole aren’t you?” he teased, standing up.

“You seem to like it just fine,” Michelle answered, looking up at him with her soft eyes. The look he gave her sent warm shivers up her spine. He picked up his coat, laying it over his arm.

“Yes, well... I could get used to a little nest like this,” he said, in a low tone. “Especially with you here, looking so lovely and entirely unable to escape.” Michelle swallowed and picked up her coat, following William down the staircase.

Margaret found them about twenty seconds later.

“Oh, there you are!” she said, smiling. “I am so sorry I have neglected you both, really I am such a simpleton sometimes...” William gave Michelle a look that said ‘I told you so’.

“It’s OK, Margaret,” the young woman told her. “William was just showing me the reading loft up there.” She pointed up to where they recently had been. Margaret smiled.

“Oh yes, it is a cozy little spot. The young people like to go up there and ‘make-out’, or so I’m told.” She missed Michelle’s red blush and William’s smirk. She took one hand from each of them and tugged them towards the far corner where an elegant lady stood, painting at an easel.

The area had been set up purposefully for artists, with near-perfect lighting and large windows looking out on a sprawling back garden. Though it now harbored winter plants, Michelle could see the garden would be a gorgeous in spring and summer.

“Sophie,” Margaret called, causing the painter to look round. The woman appeared to be near Margret’s age but was aging very well; she possessed exotic features, green eyes, olive skin and lovely iron-gray hair. The woman wore a tailored white smock with a few splashed of paint upon it. She greeted Margaret with a small kiss on each cheek after the fashion of Europeans, and did the same with William. Her eyes rested on their young companion. Michelle hung back shyly. Between this lady and Margaret, she inwardly hoped she would look as good when she reached her fifties.

“Sophie, this is Michelle Gregory,” Margaret said, tugging a little on Michelle’s hand. “You know… the Manhattan artist who drew William’s portrait.” Michelle was instantly glad Margaret hadn’t put ‘homeless’ in here. ‘Sophie’ smiled warmly at Margret’s words, a smile that reached her eyes.

“And what a lovely picture it is!” the lady said, with enthusiasm; her heavy accent spoke definitively of Italy being her country of origin. “I am so glad to meet you at last... you put his soul into that drawing.”

A little surprised by the warm reception, Michelle managed a smile.

“I am very glad you liked it, ma’am,” she said, timidly. Sophie smiled wider, her eyes crinkling.

“A shy, pretty little thing you are,” she said, affectionately. Her eyes darted to William then back at Michelle. “How perfect.” The last part she said quietly but they all heard it. William cleared his throat.

“I see you’re working on another masterpiece, Sophie,” he said, firmly. The Italian lady saw through his diversion and narrowed her eyes at him, still smiling.

“Yes, William, I am,” she acquiesced. “I must paint; for me it is a compulsion. But, a good one, no?”

While Sophie and William conversed, Michelle drifted over to the lady’s canvass. The scene embodied a charming town of clustered villas nestled among olive-tree studded hills. The town overlooked a small, cerulean bay. Smiling, Michelle took in every inch of it; her artistic eye missed nothing. The sure strokes spoke of familiarity, the muted colors of fondness.

“You like it?” came Sophie’s voice; she stood next to Michelle.

“Very much,” Michelle answered, still looking at it. “You love this place.” Sophie’s eyebrows arched a little.

“Yes, carina... I was a little girl there.” The lady seemed to overcome her surprise quickly. “You have some gift to see that.”

“You should have seen her at the Monet showing,” William said, suddenly. He stopped directly behind Michelle and looked at the painting. “She told me right where he’d thrown a tantrum about not getting his lunch.”

Sophie threw back her lead and laughed.

“Yes! I can see that! Monet... very excitable,” she said, shaking her head a little. Putting down her palette, Sophie cleaned her brush quickly she glanced sideways at William and then at Michelle. “A pretty one like you should be married with many sweet babies by now,” she said, casually. Michelle felt her face turn red.

“Ah,” she began.

“I should introduce to you my Luca,” Sophie continued, smiling. “I think you are just his type.”

William’s posture stiffened a little at the suggestion. Luca D’Angelo was notorious for his ability to woo the area women, though his taste did not usually run to sweet innocents.

“Hang on there,” he said, clearing his throat. “She is definitely not his type. Luca likes silicon-enhanced blonds with too much spending money.”

“She is just his type!” Sophie said, placing her hands on her hips. “He just does not know it yet. This carina would be a good, sweet wife for him and maybe I would finally get grand-babies!” William raked his hand through his hair.

“What is it with the grand-babies?” he asked, of no one in particular. “Stop trying to set Michelle up; she's not available.”

Sophie blinked  at him.

“I do not see a ring on her finger,” she said, plaintively. William gave the older lady a look which conveyed several things.

“I’m not engaged, ma’am... but I’m not looking,” Michelle interrupted, still blushing. “Thank you, anyway.” Did they think she wasn’t there? Talking about her getting married and having children. She wanted that, alright but who talked about people like they were a potential daughter-in-law? She wondered if perhaps it was a trait of women over fifty years of age.

Margaret silently took in the scene with a satisfied grin. To her, Sophie was an angel to egg William on like she was; it was just the encouragement he needed.

“Now, now... Sophie, let’s not pester William’s little friend,” she said, pretending to intervene. “Just let us know what time to show up tonight.”

“I didn’t know we were going out for dinner,” William said, turning to his mother. He looked carefully for signs that Margaret was up to something. The fact that he saw none confirmed his suspicions.

“Oh, yes... forgot to mention it,” was Margret’s light reply. William grimaced. “Sophie is having her annual dinner party and told her we’d love to come. Don’t give me that face; I know you’ll come if I drag Michelle there. Don’t worry; I told Alfred to pack your good suit.”

“What kind of dinner party?” Michelle asked, paling a little; she wished she’d brought her pink gown. Sophie beamed.

“Oh… dinner, dancing… you know,” she said, taking Michelle’s arm and walking a few steps. “It is so fun to actually use the ballroom.”

“Ballroom?” Michelle asked, weakly. “Uh, I’m a terrible dancer...”

Sophie laughed.

“Everyone says that,” she said giving Michelle a catlike grin. “You will be a lovely ornament to my table. You will come, no?” Glancing back at William, Michelle saw him slightly nod his head. She gave Sophie a small smile.

“I’d be honored to, ma’am,” she said. The delighted smile on Sophie’s face flattered Michelle very much; she wondered how these people could be so starved for company.

“Call me Sophie,” she said, keeping her hold on Michelle’s arm. Turning to William, the Italian woman fixed him with a victorious smile. “I would like to borrow your little friend for an hour or so, William,” she said. It was more of an announcement than a question, Michelle noted. “Margaret will want to come, I think? We must show Michelle Marcie’s place. She will know what to do with her…”

Not wanting to leave William Michelle thought furiously in order to come up with a good excuse not to go; nothing came to mind. Margaret clapped her hands.

“Oh, yes!” she agreed, dimpling prettily. “Girls only. William, if you need something to entertain himself with, I’m sure I can think of something...”

“That is unnecessary madam,” William said, frowning down at his mother. “I am no errand-boy and perfectly able to occupy myself for an hour.” He emphasized the last part as if they were allowed only an hour. Margaret gave her son an innocent smile, which he didn’t believe. He glanced at his watch. “Very well; I’ll wait 'til two PM, and then I’ll come looking for you.” At this, Sophie and Margaret both giggled which disturbed William a little. “Well, off with you then, I have some things to take care of anyway,” he mumbled.

Stepping close to Michelle he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

“Help me,” she whispered, very quietly. William chuckled.

“Be strong,” he said, kissed her again. “You’ll do fine; just say ‘no thank you’, repeatedly.” He watched Michelle being led away, Sophie on one arm, Margaret on the other; he shook his head, smiling. They’d be nice to her, of that he had no doubt, but he wouldn’t trade places with her for anything in the world. Whistling, he put on his coat and exited the gallery on a mission of his own.

Marcie’s Shoppe turned out to be a gown boutique, boasting actual, armed guards.

“It’s for the patrons,” Margaret whispered, when she encountered Michelle’s surprised expression.

“Oh,” was all the young woman could say. Marcie turned out to be a middle-aged clothing designer, impeccably dressed in a pink silk suit-dress and pearls. While the other women exchanged pleasantries, Michelle looked around. She looked at the long gowns hanging in well-lit alcoves and wondered why they were there. Perhaps Margaret needed a dancing dress. Overhearing Sophie and Marcie’s conversation, she realized they were discussing which dress she should be trying on.

“I already have a diner dress,” Michelle protested. “I didn’t come here to buy anything.”

Sophie and Margaret exchanged a look.

“I am certain you didn’t, my dear,” Margaret said, soothingly. “Sophie and I both wanted daughters to dress up, but fate had other ideas. You’re not going to spoil our fun are you?” Michelle bit her lip, inwardly vexed she could not think up a good answer to that.

“You’ll look lovely, carina; we will take care of you,” Sophie purred, happily. Closing her eyes, Michelle stopped protesting and allowed herself to accept a pile of gowns to try on.

Standing in the beautifully-decorated fitting room several minutes later, the dresses appeared even lovelier. Venturing a look at one price tag Michelle almost passed out and didn’t look again. After trying on and modeling several gowns Michelle spied a dress that stood out from the others. Dyed a deep, rich green it hung on the slender wooden hangar like a silent plea to be worn. Slipping the dress on Michelle felt relieved that it even fit, though ‘fit’ seemed hardly the word; the soft material clung to her upper body right until about mid hip where it fell away into a perfect circle of a skirt. The hem just touched the top of her foot. With the right heels it would look gorgeous.

Turning around Michelle caught a glimpse of herself in the fitting room mirror and let her mouth fall open. She almost didn’t recognize herself; the beautiful gown looked like one that a famous ballerina would wear to a ball. The neckline was a bit dramatic, but Michelle liked it all the same; it sliced down her shoulders in a round circle, kept on by some stiffened material in the decoupage hem. The sleeves fitted tightly until reaching Michelle’s elbow, where the material loosened and ended in a kind of short, plain ruffle.

“Well, come out, dear… let us see it,” came Margret’s voice from outside the fitting room.

Taking a deep breath, Michelle stepped out. Sophie smiled very wide at the sight of the young woman; Margaret clapped her hands.

“Oh, that’s the one!” William’s mother said, her eyes shining. “You look absolutely gorgeous! Such a lovely figure you have, my dear.” Sophie stood and walked around her, reaching out to tug on Michelle’s sleeve a little.

“Yes… it will do very well, I think,” she said, eying it critically. “Can you breathe alright?” Michelle nodded, feeling a bit silly. It felt as if she was playing dress-up; there was no way she could afford this gown. “Yes, you look like a woman in that,” Sophie said, looking satisfied. “Marcie… we like this one.”

Michelle opened up her mouth to object but was interrupted before she could utter a single syllable.

“Now, I don’t want to hear a word about it,” Margret’s sunny voice ordered.

“Does anything rattle this woman?” Michelle thought, her eyebrows rising a little.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Margaret continued, “I still owe you for that portrait. Five dollars, indeed... it was grossly undervalued, in my opinion.”

“A very good piece of art,” Sophie agreed, nodding sagely.

Michelle crossed her arms and put on what she hoped was a severe expression.

“You brought me here knowing I’d protest and you’d put on the motherly guilt,” she accused. The women around her laughed, including Marcie. Sophie spoke up.

“You cannot win, carina,” she said, slyly. “I suggest you accept the dress from Margaret and wear it tonight. You would want to look nice for William… no?” Michelle closed her eyes.

“Unfair,” she said, quietly. The ladies laughed again; their merriment sounded victorious. Michelle sighed and caught a look at herself in the full length mirror. It really was a stunning gown. “I must admit, Marcie, this is the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The designer bowed a little, looking pleased at the compliment.

“I am so glad you like it,” she said. “It is one of my favorite creations.”

“Now it just needs shoes and some jewelry to go with it,” Margaret said her smile radiant. Michelle bit her lip and made a face that the other woman found most amusing.

IN THE township square William wandered among the apple baskets and craft booths, drinking a cup of hot cider. These town folk could really put on a festival, he thought. He remembered how Michelle had enjoyed her sparkling cider--that night at the Monet showing--and resolved to pick up a gallon to take back to his mother’s. As much as he didn’t like being parted from his lady for an hour, he knew it was good for Michelle to mingle and socialize a bit. Sophie’s remarks about Michelle being perfect for Luca rankled with him a little. He resolved to stick by Michelle's side like glue all evening.

As string of nearby shops caught his eye. Handing his empty mug back to the cider-girl, William strolled over to the boutiques. One in particular made him smile. He went in to the door marked ‘Tiffany & Co’. Inside, a short black-haired woman in ebony-rimmed glasses surveyed him with a smile.

“Sir?” she intoned. William grinned a little sheepishly; no use letting her guess why he was there.

“I want to ask the sweetest, most beautiful girl in the world to marry me,” he said, making it quite clear. The woman beamed.

“How refreshing to know exactly what to show you,” she said, still smiling. “This way, sir.”

Several chairs sat around the showroom, robed in black velvet with high tables in between them. William sat down, the sales-woman hovering near him. From out of nowhere, a girl appeared with a tray of espresso. Taking one, William placed a folded bill on the tray.

“Please describe her to me,” the sales-woman said. “Have you bought her jewelry before?” William took a sip of the coffee.

“No,” he admitted. “But, I know her relatively well.”

“I should hope so,” the lady said, raising an eyebrow at William.

“Her name’s Michelle,” he began. “She’s an artist; she likes simple things. She has the most unusual eyes...”

The woman made careful notes as William described Michelle’s hair color and eyes, her skin and her manner. When he was done, the sales-woman looked thoughtful for several moments before disappearing into a back room. She returned with two, large black-velvet cases. Arranging them carefully on the table, she opened them one at a time. Sitting on specially designed holders, ten engagement rings lay displayed in each box, all quite stunning. Leaning forward, William looked at each one in turn; a particular stone winked at him in the soft light and he pointed it out. The woman nodded.

“I thought so,” she said, smiling she put a glove on and selected the ring carefully. Giving William a glove to put on, she handed the ring to him. The band was comprised of platinum shaped in a slender fashion, simple and elegant with no embellishments. What most struck William was the color of the stone; the large gem seemed remarkable in its hue... so very similar to the shade of Michelle’s lovely eyes.

“This is perfect,” he said, looking up at the woman. “I’ll take it.” The saleswoman nodded and snapped the cases closed.

At 2PM exactly William sauntered back into the gallery, whistling. The Tiffany box sat hidden in his coat pocket, like a little bulge of pure confidence. He simply couldn’t believe he’s found such a perfect ring for Michelle. Maybe there was something to this shopping thing. Now, if only his mother could find things so easily. His steps halted suddenly, the tune dying in his mouth. Sitting in chairs before him, sipping tea, sat his mother, Sophie and Michelle, apparently waiting for him. Michelle saw him and perked up immediately, causing his mum to look over. She smiled mischievously.

“Ah, William!” she said, loudly. “I see you decided to join us.”

“Yes,” Sophie said, sipping her tea delicately. “We have been waiting some time for you to show up.” Michelle hid away a smile in her napkin. William looked so funny standing there with his mouth agape. Recovering quickly, the man gave his mother a narrow look and leaned down, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

“I often wondered where I got my thespian abilities from,” he said, sitting down next to Michelle. “Now I know.” Margaret gave a little snort.

“No need to be fractious,” she said, pretending to pout.

Spying a large box and several bags on a nearby chair, William turned to Michelle.

“Are you still in one piece?” he inquired, finding her hand with his. Michelle gave him a shy smile.

“They were very nice to me,” she said, and meant it.

“You see?” Sophie put in, setting her tea down. “We are not as bad as you make us out to be, William.” William chuckled.

“Well, at least there are only four boxes and things there,” he said, smiling. “Five, counting the one in my pocket,” he thought, with satisfaction.

“Yes, well I didn’t bring the larger car,” Margaret stated. She looked up at a clock on the gallery wall. “We really should go, as much as I hate to. I am certain Sophie has things to arrange, and we have things to do.”

Sophie kissed them all goodbye in her warm way, informing them that seven would be an appropriate time to show up.

“Not too early, and not too late,” she explained, waving them off. Michelle thanked her for her advice and kindness but the woman shook her head.

“You are a lovely girl, carina. Tonight try to enjoy yourself, no?” was her reply. Michelle smiled and let William lead her to the doors. Margret’s driver took the various bags and stowed them away properly.

They arrived back to Margret’s home rather quickly. Margaret shooed Michelle upstairs, though the young woman flustered her by taking the bags up herself. William laughed at this, however, and gave Michelle a very American ‘thumbs-up’.

“Oh, you two,” Margaret said, rolling her eyes. “You go get ready dear,” she said to Michelle; she turned to her son. “William you need a shower and a shave.” William grimaced at her.

“Madam, do I tell you how to put on your silk stockings?” he quipped, straightening his tie. Margret’s normally placid brow creased with irritation.

“Certainly not,” she said, primly.

“Then kindly leave my methods and manner of preparing for dinner alone,” William said, firmly.

“Well... goodness!” Margaret said sounding hurt. Michelle laughed quietly all the way to her room.

CHAPTER SEVEN

As small a thing as a ‘dinner’ must be to the affluent people in the house, Michelle felt like she was smack dab in the middle of a fairy tale, only without fairies, or magic. She didn’t dare open the boxes on her bed until she’d showered and dried her hair. A small rack of electric curlers sat on the guest vanity. Michelle wound her hair carefully on the largest rollers.

As the curlers set, Michelle slipped on her robe and walked over to the large dress box, sitting on her bed. She touched the box lid reverently. Marcie’s bright blue logo stood out beautifully on the white lid. Lifting the top off, Michelle unfolded the tissue paper and took out the emerald dress with great care, laying it on the bed. Michelle hugged herself and stared at the gown as if it was some mirage.

“Wow,” was all she said. She turned back to the vanity to finish her hair. Taking the curlers out, Michelle resisted brushing her now wavy hair and sat for about ten minutes, carefully applying her makeup. She chose dark green eyeliner and put on brown mascara, separating her lashes even more with a pin. Opting to wear no lipstick at all Michelle put on just a little of her mint-flavored gloss.

It took a moment to locate the gown’s zipper. It was cleverly hidden in the back under some lovely embroidery. Finally, she slipped on the dress, even managing to zip it up by herself, just barely. Though she wanted to twirl around the room Michelle forced herself to sit down at the vanity again. Arranging her skirts, Michelle considered the best way to do her hair. It would look alright down, but she thought an up-do would be more appropriate. Smiling, Michelle took some bobby pins and set to work.

Fifteen minutes, some gel and about fifty bobby pins later, Michelle emerged from her room, holding her blue coat. She felt slightly wobbly on the high heels, but was glad to be wearing the pretty, green shoes. Looking around, the hall appeared deserted.

“Either they are all waiting for me downstairs or they’re not ready yet.” She hoped it was the latter. Practicing her descent, Michelle slowly floated downstairs using her very best deportment. Her efforts seemed to please the butler, Thomas; he smiled warmly at her and told her she looked well.

“They’ll be down shortly, Miss,” he told her; his voice lent Michelle more social status than she knew was deserved, but she smiled anyway.

“Thank you,” she returned.

Humming to herself, she wandered into the parlor. The large grand piano stood like a silent invitation. “Do you think Margaret would mind if I played on the piano?” Thomas chuckled from by the door.

“No, Miss,” he said. “Please go ahead.” He walked away, not before relieving Michelle of her coat. Michelle ran her fingers over the glossy instrument. Her mother loved to play the piano; when she was growing up, they had a wall piano... not anything like this gorgeous black behemoth. It had been awhile, but Michelle still remembered a soft Debussy piece her mother had loved.

“Thanks for the piano lessons, Mom,” she whispered, smiling. She sat down carefully, trying not to crease her gown. Looking around surreptitiously, she cracked her knuckles and grinned. The keys blazed out white and black, invitingly dualistic in their appeal. “Just like riding a bike,” Michelle said, to herself.

William emerged from his room some moments later, and immediately walked to Michelle’s door. He looked alarmingly well, dressed in Savile Row: a cobalt blue shirt, blue-silk tie with a midnight-black tailored suit. As most men did, he wanted to look well when he proposed to his lady. The Tiffany & Co. box seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket, but he wanted to wait for just the right moment.

Pausing to straighten his tie, William thought he heard the sounds of piano music coming from downstairs.

“Alfred,” he thought, grinning. The old boy couldn’t resist playing the big piano. Knocking on Michelle’s door, he readied a charming smile. No answer. Knocking again, William stood there smiling for another minute until he heard a door open, down the hall. Alfred came out, dressed in a pressed gray suit and deep red tie.

“Evening, Master William,” he said, smiling. “You look uncommonly well tonight.” William raised an eyebrow and looked from Alfred to the stairs. “Thank you… you as well.” He glanced at the staircase, then back at Alfred. “If you’re up here, then who is playing the piano?” he asked. Alfred looked puzzled.

“Maybe Jean-Claude plays?” he ventured. William looked at Michelle’s door. It occurred to him that he didn’t know if she played any instruments. If so, he’d been standing here like a dummy, knocking on the door of an empty room.

“I say, that’s Debussy,” Alfred was saying. He listened a moment. “Not bad. I prefer Chopin myself, though. Shall we sir? I’m certain Miss Michelle will be down shortly.”

“Yes,” William said, half suspecting she was down already. They walked down the grand steps just as Margaret entered the foyer. She looked at Alfred in surprise.

“Oh,” she said, looking towards the parlor. The doors were closed, but the music could be heard clearly. “Alfred, you’re not at the piano?” Alfred looked amused.

“Apparently not, Madam,” he said, smiling. William deliberately walked up to the doors and opened one, quietly.

The piano sat a little sideways as one entered the parlor, so whoever played did not face the doors; anyone coming in the room would see the player’s profile. William stood at the door, not wanting to move. He was not really shocked; he expected Michelle to look good, but he felt rooted to the spot at the sight in front of him. Michelle’s normally pale face held a sweet, rosy expression; her eyes were closed, enjoying the music, her slender frame swaying a little as she played.

Whatever dress she was wearing clung to her like it was a second skin, growing gracefully full around her legs; the sweeping neckline gave away a good deal of her chest and shoulders. Some kind of thread-thin silver necklace graced her skin, along with matching, swirling earrings that managed to compliment everything. William most liked her hair, full of bouncy curls piled on her head in a fashionable way; a few tempting, delicate tendrils draped down. Looking at her, William felt like he’d been socked in the stomach by Eros. To top it off, the lovely music the young woman played swirled around the room like some wispy enchantment.

“What man wouldn’t want her for his wife?” William thought, staring at her. He felt like asking her right then and there.

The door next to him opened. Alfred and Margaret appeared. William’s mother looked at Michelle with delight, smiling as the song ended.

“Oh, my dear girl!” Margaret said, clapping her hands. “You play beautifully…” Hearing voices, Michelle quickly opened her eyes, and then blushed at seeing the small audience grouped by the doorway. She’d hated recitals growing up.

“I didn’t think anyone would mind me playing,” she said, apologetically. Encountering William’s expression, she looked down at the piano keys.

“Mind? Nonsense I didn’t know you could play. Really... I’m so glad someone likes Debussy other than me. Alfred only ever plays Chopin...”

At these slightly disparaging words, Alfred sniffed.

“Chopin is a respectable composer, Madam,” he said, coolly. Margaret patted him on the shoulder.

“I know,” she said, smiling. “... and you play it very well.” Michelle stood up and made her way around the piano to the parlor door. William watched her every move; as she drew closer to him, he saw the rosy hue to her skin. It was difficult to find words but he wanted to say something.

“You look nice,” he said and then winced a little. “Lame, lame, lame...” he silently chastised himself. Michelle however, gave him a radiant smile; her eyes held a soft look.

“Thank you,” she returned. She looked at his suit. “You look incredible... in a good way,” she corrected, biting her lip. William smiled down at her; her shoes made her seem taller, he noticed. The top of her head came just about level with his eyes. It was the perfect height to kiss her, he reckoned.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. Reaching forward he grasped her hand and kissed the back of it, his eyes never leaving hers.

Michelle’s thoughts turned in similar directions; she wondered what in the world she had done to be seen with this gorgeous man. The shirt he wore matched the shade of his eyes, making them even more brilliant. He regarded her with an adoring look she found quite flattering. She wanted to stare into his eyes for hours.

“You look so lovely, my dear,” Margaret said; her eyes appeared a little misty. The look her son gave his guest did not escape her; they made an amazing couple. She was secretly pleased with her handiwork.

Looking at Margaret, Michelle reached forward and gave her a small hug.

“Thank you so much for the dress, Margaret, I...” She began to thank the woman but Margaret waved her off, smiling brightly.

“Nonsense,” she said. “As if anyone should look like you do in that dress; it looks like it was made for you.”

“I agree,” William said, eying Michelle up and down. “I’m going to have to arm myself to keep the men off you.”

Alfred cleared his throat.

“Don’t worry sir; I will assist you in that endeavor,” he said gravely. “No one will harm our lamb.” Margaret laughed and waved towards the foyer.

“Come now,” she said, still smiling. “We don’t want to be late; ‘tis half past six already.” Michelle stepped away obediently, heading toward Thomas; the butler stood by the front entry, holding her blue coat.

“Yes, let’s be off,” William said, gazing at Michelle appreciatively as she stepped carefully across the floor. “I’m starving.” He felt rather warm and loosened his collar a little, walking after Michelle. Alfred and Margaret exchanged a knowing look and followed.

Sophie’s ‘house’ was a good twenty minutes’ driving away. William sat snugly against his ladylove; he spent the whole ride breathing rather heavily on her, something which amused Michelle very much.

“I feel like I am sitting next to the Big Bad Wolf,” she whispered, after a few minutes of this. William responded by leaning down by her ear.

“You have no idea,” he whispered back.“Would you like me to nibble your ear again?”

“Now William,” Margaret said, trying not to giggle. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. “Please refrain from whispering mischievous things to Michelle this evening. I can see it renders her completely unable to speak.”

William flashed his mother a boyish grin.

“Excuse me madam; she looks so comely all rosy.”

“Embarrassed you mean,” Margaret said, trying to look severe. “For my sake?” William shrugged.

“Very well then,” he acquiesced; he dropped Michelle a roguish wink and leaned back, giving her a breather.

“What am I going to do?” Michelle thought, trying to calm her rapid heart-rate. In spite of being rendered nearly tongue-tied, she half-liked the looks that William gave her; she felt like the universe’s Most Alluring Woman under his gaze. Even though it felt a little ungrateful Michelle wished that she and William here alone for the evening, going off to dance and talk somewhere under the stars.

The D’Angelo residence proved even larger than Margret’s, by a good deal; it stood regally at the end of a private drive, soaring seven stories into the night air. Michelle shook her head in wonderment at the size of the place.

“What do they do with all the space?” she wondered aloud as William helped her from the car. “Play polo in the halls?” William laughed at her words, giving Michelle’s hand a squeeze.

“I like not having to worry about you being badly affected by all this,” he said, kissing her hand. “You have a good, healthy world view.”

Michelle looked up at him in the dim lamplight. He actually appeared sincere.

“I believe,” she said, quietly, “... that is the finest compliment I have ever received.” William responded by kissing her face; his eyes expressed a desire to do much more. Instead, he took her arm. Together they walked behind Margaret and Alfred up the gloriously-lit entry staircase. Inside, the party of four followed a somber-looking butler to the ballroom.

Sophie certainly knew how to decorate for a party. The ballroom appeared vastly proportioned, decked out with bright garlands and fabric banners stretched overhead, intertwined with tiny lights, ending around a huge, glowing chandelier. Exquisite music played from some hidden alcove high above the floor. The low rumble of many low conversations and laughter reverberated in the background.

The butler--standing poker-stiff at the arched entry to the ballroom--announced Margaret and Alfred like they were royalty, much to Michelle’s amusement. She smiled until the butler asked for William’s name, and hers.

“Mr. William Montgomery and Miss Michelle Gregory,” the man belted out.

The opulent ballroom teemed with groups of people; some of those standing nearby looked over at the announcements. One lady in a sleek white-and-silver gown swiftly moved over to them like a tall, radiant swan. It was Sophie. As she drew near, the elegant lady smiled at them with real warmth.

“Carina,” she said to Michelle, “You look so very lovely! Se Bella!” She seemed very pleased with Michelle’s appearance. “It is perfect… I am so jealous of your hair.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said. “Your home... the queen of England could live here.”

Sophie smiled and waved her hand around as if it all meant nothing.

“Thank you,” she said grandly. She gave William kisses on his face. “You are all welcome here. Please! Mingle... I will find you a drink, no?” She looked at Michelle.

“Um… I don’t really...” the young woman began.

“I see you have finally started dating women, William.”

A rather dark voice spoke out, from somewhere close behind Michelle. The voice did not seem to be a friendly one. Michelle didn’t dare turn around. William, on the other hand was not intimidated; smirking, he looked over his shoulder.

“Luca, you old gigolo,” he said coolly. “I thought you’d be dead of syphilis by now.”

Thinking a fight was imminent Michelle felt her shoulders tense. Unfazed by their words Sophie started giggling.

“You two are so funny!” she said, smiling. “What a couple of boys they are! They have been making fun of each other for years...” She leaned on Michelle’s shoulder, chuckling; Michelle could tell the hostess had been sampling the wine rather heavily. “Luca, come and meet William’s amore,” Sophie continued, waving someone over.

“Yes... Luca D’Angelo, may I introduce my girlfriend… Miss Michelle Gregory.”

Unable to avoid it any longer Michelle turned around and dipped slightly in a hesitant curtsy.

“Dios,” Sophie’s son spoke smoothly; his voice sounded like chocolate icing pouring over a cake. “William, what have you done to deserve such an angel?” Not looking at the man directly, Michelle put on her ‘polite’ smile; no blush colored her face. The newcomer's self-possessed tone could not inspire even a spark in her. “Her skin looks like pure cream.” Michelle still didn’t acknowledge the man. “She is a shy one, no?” Luca continued, after a pause.

Choosing her words carefully Michelle found that she disliked the man's voice exceedingly; he sounded like an alley cat strutting for females, meowing loudly until someone chucks a boot at it. An odd feeling of confidence made itself felt in Michelle and prompted her to respond.

“And so should I be, sir,” she said, finally looking up. “Seeing as we're strangers.” Luca D’Angelo looked much like Sophie: handsome with dark olive skin and regal features; he possessed dark eyes and light brown curly hair that spilled over his forehead. Michelle guessed him to be about William’s age. His eyes held a mildly surprised look, and then he smiled. Unlike William’s warm grin, this smile oozed  an insincere charm. His dark eyes flashed with something like a challenge. On some women, Michelle supposed that look would work magic, but to her it seemed slimy. Careful not to show her revulsion outwardly, Michelle smiled politely and she threaded her arm through William’s.

“She is clever, too,” Luca said, looking at William. “You lucky bastard... where did you find her?” William chuckled.

“You know I’d never tell you,” he said, smiling. “Nice girls like Michelle have to hide from suave heartbreakers, like you.”

“That is not nice,” the man said, narrowing his eyes at William. “Tell me then...” Luca said, looking back down at Michelle. “Does she have a sister?”

Michelle rolled her eyes at this and looked away, causing both men to laugh.

“The lady is tired of your drivel already, Luca,” William said, grinning. “That has to be some kind of record.” He looked down at Michelle affectionately. “Shall we go eat, love?” Michelle looked up at him, her sweet smile blossoming and lighting up her whole face. Luca saw this transformation and finished his drink in one gulp.

“Completely unfair,” he proclaimed, with a sniff. “You live like a celibate monk for six years and wind up with a goddess.” Michelle wrinkled her nose.

“Hardly, sir,” she quipped; she was careful to keep her tone soft. “A goddess would not have put up with such banal discussion.” William threw back his head and laughed. Luca's flabbergasted expression was priceless. Not much rattled the debonair Italian and he privately savored the moment.

“Come, darling,” William said, smirking. “Let’s sit for dinner; I’m famished.” Sophie materialized beside them.

“This way!” she said brightly. “Dinner is ready now.” She threw her son a warning glance before leading the way across the ballroom floor. Luca followed a little ways behind them, grimacing at his empty glass.

The dining ‘room’ seemed more like a wide hall, separated from the ballroom by a series of graceful, open arches. Michelle liked this design very much. One could eat, talk and watch the dancers all at once. It was much different than a stuffy, formal room. Sophie stopped by one side of the lengthy table and showed them their seats. To Michelle’s dismay, her place card was not by William’s; she was instead seated between Luca and Alfred. Seeing her expression, Sophie laughed.

“Oh, my dear, do not look so chagrined,” she said. “One should never sit lovebirds together; always they make the eyes at one another and say nothing to their other companions.”

In spite of her shyness, Michelle felt obligated to respond; nothing would be worse than being near that Luca character without William to lean on.

“But, some conversation is better than none, ma’am,” she found herself saying. Sophie looked at her with amusement, one eyebrow arched.

“How do you mean?” she asked, smiling. Michelle shifted her feet slightly.

“Not to be rude, but I’m very shy… and well, without William nearby I’d feel so awkward that I wouldn’t say one word.” She managed to say it without her voice trembling; the last thing she wanted to do was seem rude or ungrateful.

Sophie narrowed her eyes at Michelle; her smile grew very wide. She glanced up at William. He appeared to be trying not to laugh.

“She is astute, this one,” the lady said, approvingly. “So, sit with her. Luca will be on her other side.” She reached over and swiftly switched the place cards. Michelle let out a breath of relief and smiled at the hostess gratefully. Sophie nodded and swept off to her own seat.

Normally, William would be worried about bringing a girl around Luca D’Angelo, but Michelle surprised him with her sudden, polite frostiness. William sat down by his emerald green lady, watching as she placed her napkin on her lap with delicate fingers. Feeling his scrutiny Michelle gave him an upward glance through her long lashes, one that nearly made William’s heart skip a beat. Reaching into his coat pocket, he felt the small Tiffany box and smiled down at Michelle.

“You are doing very well, love,” he said, leaning down to speak quietly in her appealing, little ear. “I’m quite impressed.” Michelle blushed, looking very much like herself again.

“I hope I didn’t embarrass you to your adversary,” she whispered back, over the noise of the dining room.

“Not at all,” William said, grinning widely. “He bloody deserved it.” Michelle smiled, her eyes twinkling with fun.

“I didn’t like the look he gave me,” she explained. “You’re the only one who can get away with looks like that.” William took her hand in his.

“I admire you very much, do you know that?” he murmured; he kissed the back of Michelle’s hand.

“I think I shall be ill, watching the two of you,” Luca called, from Michelle’s other side. William chuckled, leaning back to meet the intruder's glare over his girlfriend's head.

“You’re just mad you couldn’t scare up a nice girl to impress your mum with,” William remarked. “Where’s that trust-fund blond thing you brought last year? I thought you two were semi-serious.”

Looking sideways at Luca Michelle felt wariness creep over her.The smile on the man’s face belied the dark things glittering in his eyes. Sophie’s son laughed, however.

“Ah,” he said, running his hand through his curly mane, “I do not remember her name. Charlize, I think. You are right, my friend. I am hopelessly shallow.”

As he spoke Luca looked down at Michelle. Her profile was set prettily against the olive green tablecloth. Leaning back he smiled at her, a grin which grew as the girl turned towards to William.

“My mother tells me you are an artist extraordinaire, carina,” he purred, ignoring the steely look William gave him. Michelle turned to face him wit a guarded expression. Her polite smile appeared affixed to her face like a sticker.

“My name is Michelle,” she said, blinking. “Unless you suffer from poor short-term memory, you should be able to remember that.” The swarthy Casanova lifted an eyebrow at her.

“Is she so icy with you?” Luca said, addressing William. Looking at the table, Michelle bristled inwardly at this. Grinning, William shook his head.

“No, old boy,” he said, sounding vastly amused. “This beautiful girl is as sweet as honey. She’s just a little choosy who gets to taste it.”

Turning, Michelle favored William with a bright smile. He winked at her. Luca mumbled something incoherent into his drink; he sounded defeated, Michelle thought. Studying William, she was very tempted to kiss him, right there in front of everyone but the food forestalled her. Steaming plates and baskets appeared, brought by a perpetual army of servers. A rich smell, woven of several pleasant aromas, filled the hall. Michelle was immediately reminded of what hunger felt like.

William took great pleasure in feeding his date little bites from his plate, and allowed her to feed him also. When she leaned towards him to talk, or let him feed her, he got a grand view of her rather low neckline. Not that he minded, though it took a few stiff drinks to quell the growing discomforts that such a seductive sight caused him. A half hour later, William felt the more human effects of the cocktails and excused himself to the men’s room.

As soon as he was out of sight Luca leaned onto the table, next to Michelle. He watched her eat for a few seconds, wondering at her curious ability to ignore him.

“So, William has chosen himself a girl both clever and lovely; a ‘fox’, as you Americans say.” His words had no immediate effect on Michelle, as far as he could tell. She chewed daintily for a moment, and then wiped her mouth on her table napkin. Luca’s experienced eye took in everything; this girl had grace in her movements and intelligent eyes, but she restrained herself and her words in a very becoming way. He could see what William saw in her.

“I hope I did not insult you earlier, sir,” came her soft voice. She directed her strange, alluring eyes at Luca’s right eyebrow, refusing to meet his gaze. “I am not used to people saying such things to me, and did not find it flattering.”

Luca reached up and ran his fingers over his eyebrow, as if to smooth it. Michelle hid her smile in a small cough.

“Not to worry, carina.” Luca said, smiling seductively. “I can see why the Englishman wants you; you have an inner fire that is most fascinating.”

“Inner fire?” Michelle thought, trying hard not to laugh. “Is this guy serious?” She pretended to be interested in a small piece of quiche on her plate; taking a bite, she chewed thoughtfully, not really knowing how to answer Luca’s statement. “This quiche is amazing!” she thought, cutting a little more. Sophie’s chef was ingenious. Michelle momentarily forgot Luca was sitting there, looking at her.

“You have no answer to that, carina?” Luca prompted, edging a little closer. Michelle looked at him sideways, wiping her mouth again.

“Your statement was rhetorical,” she pointed out, taking care to use a softer tone than she wished to. Unused to such answers from his mother’s guests, Luca persisted.

“True,” he said, eyes sparkling with a challenge. “So, do you have a sister like you?” Michelle lifted one of her eyebrows slightly.

“If I did, I promise that you’d be the last to know,” she said, sincerely. Luca apparently found her answer humorous; he laughed out loud, making Sophie look over from across the table.

The hostess noted Michelle’s annoyed expression and smiled into her champagne. Seated next to her, Margaret leaned over.

“No offense intended, Sophie, but Michelle seems to be fending off Luca very well,” she said, quietly.

“None taken,” Sophie assured her friend, watching the two young people with interest. “It is good for him to see that sweet girls can be just as interesting as the ones who hop from bed to bed.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Margaret said, laughing. They clinked glasses and continued to watch the pair across the table.

“Is William the only man you are pleasant to?” Luca coaxed, refusing to be beaten.

“Be nice to the hostesses’ son.... be nice to the hostesses’ son,” Michelle repeated in her mind, trying not to roll her eyes. Alfred came to her rescue.

“Master Luca... the girl seated to your right is pleasantry incarnate,” the elderly man said, causing Luca to turn a little toward him. “And--if I may be so bold--after listening to her conversation with you, I believe my good opinion of her has trebled.” Michelle smiled at Alfred over Luca’s shoulder, lifting her glass of sparkling cider to him. Luca eyed the aging valet critically. Alfred kept his amiable countenance until Luca smiled back.

“Is that so?” he intoned. “Then, it is me causing this brittle brilliance? I am flattered...” He turned back to Michelle as he spoke, favoring her with a catlike smirk. Michelle rubbed her temples, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Across the table Margaret and Sophie tittered at Michelle’s barely-concealed exasperation. The poor girl looked ready to bolt, but she still held her ground valiantly.

“I just hope William gets his priorities in order soon,” Margaret said. “Six years he’s been here, Sophie! He's nearly thirty!” Her friend nodded sympathetically.

“I am glad you brought her,” Sophie said, smiling. “This charming carina is making Luca madly jealous. I know his competitive nature. Perhaps, soon we will have our grandchildren, no?”

“No... I mean, yes,” Margaret said, giggling at her faux pas. “Here’s to grand-babies!” The glasses clinked again.

Fortunately for Michelle William returned a few moments later. Her look of heartfelt gratitude amused him very much.

“He didn’t offer to carry you off did he?” he asked, sitting down.

“Not yet,” Michelle mumbled, edging her seat closer to his.

“I would take great pleasure in doing so,” Luca stated, having heard their exchange. “Beware lest someone steal her flower away from you.”

Michelle looked askance at the man’s boldness. Her gaze dropped to a nearby steak-knife. William saw her face and quickly scooted the potential weapon away; he chuckled at his normally mild-mannered sweetheart. He knew Michelle wouldn’t resort to violence, but her nettled expression struck him as hilarious. Never before could he imagine a female going after Luca with tableware. He caressed the back of Michelle's dress, hoping his presence would soothe her.

She let out a small sigh and leaned into William’s embrace.

“How are you enjoying dinner?” he asked, quite liking the feel of her hair brushing his chin. The soft curls piled on her head harbored an irresistible charm; she smelled like the air along a breezy bit of coastline, after the sun has set.

“It’s fat with cheese and amazingly good,” came Michelle’s soft answer. Chuckling, William picked up a tiny lasagna-looking hors d'oeuvre, chewing it whole.

“Mm,” he said, tempted to lick his fingers. “You're right. If I ate like this every day I’d end up looking like Winston Churchill.” Michelle laughed softly at the thought of William with a pot belly.

“He’d probably still look fantastic,” she reasoned.

“I recall you once telling me that you knew how to cook,” William said. Michelle glanced up at him.

“A little,” she admitted. “Though not like this.” She waved at the dozens of finely decorated platters, heaped with food.

“I should hope not,” William pronounced. “As good as this is… I prefer the ‘enough is as good as a feast’ approach.” Michelle looked up at him with a smile.

“I agree,” she said, softly. “I’m glad we share at least that attribute.”

William smiled back at her.

“We’re more alike than you know, love,” he told her.

“I’d like to cook for you sometime,” Michelle said, trying to ignore the fluttery feelings William’s nearness invoked. He hugged her a little closer.

“Well, I know you make fantastic oatmeal,” he said, smelling her hair again. “I could do this all day,” he thought. The idea appealed.

“Who can’t make great oatmeal?” Michelle mused loud. William cleared his throat.

“Let’s not talk about that,” he said, sheepishly. “Would you like to dance?”

Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Michelle nodded.

“I’d love to,” she said. “But, be warned; I took a little ballet… but I don’t know if I can even waltz properly.”

Disliking being left out of the conversation, Luca spoke up.

“I could teach you to dance, carina,” he said huskily. Michelle peered over her shoulder with what she hoped was an icy glare. It only made Luca wink at her. She stood up with a ‘huff’; her escort chuckled at her, standing up as well.

“Michelle’s a Gregory,” William said, speaking to Luca. “Scottish name. The women of Scotland are beautifully stubborn and only relent to gentlemen.” Not waiting for a reply, William led Michelle off. She looked up at him, impressed. “What?” William said, grinning down at her. “You’re not the only one who can dish out pithy remarks.” Michelle smiled back.

“I know that,” said she. “I’m just glad you’re on my side.” Chuckling, William led Michelle towards the dance floor. Music flowed beautifully over the room and guests... a sweet, slow waltz. Some of the couples moved as if they'd been born wearing dancing shoes.

“I’m really unfamiliar with all this, William,” Michelle said, apologetically. Turning her to him expertly, William gave his companion an encouraging smile.

“Not to worry, my dear,” he said. “I’d be honored to have you step on my toes.” He succeeded in getting a small laugh from Michelle.

“I’ll try to keep up,” she promised. The lovely music alone lifted Michelle’s spirits but having such a handsome, noble escort as William boosted her confidence exponentially.

To her credit, she did not mar his polished shoes. William led her skillfully around the room, making her look much more an accomplished dancer than she was. In spite of her dancing inexperience, he found Michelle a fluid partner. She soon she was able to follow his lead without awkwardness. Michelle gave him grateful smiles at every opportunity, especially when he deftly swirled her around.

“Did I tell you how insanely good you look in that blue shirt?” Michelle said leaning against his shoulder, when they were slow-dancing. She was not brave enough to compliment William while looking in his eyes.

“Why thank you,” William returned. “This is indeed my favorite ‘insanely-good’ shirt.” At this, Michelle wrinkled her nose; William glanced down at her face and chuckled. “You look so adorable like that,” he told her.

“Like what?” Michelle asked.

“An annoyed kitten,” William answered; he whirled her around again. Michelle could hear much affection present in his; the sound of it warmed her through, as if the dancing had not already.

Over Michelle’s shoulder, William spied a set of double-doors; they were slightly propped open. From prior visits here he knew they lead out into the back garden.

“Want to walk a bit, out back?” he suggested. “It’s a bit chilly but the garden really is nice, even at night.”

“I’d love to,” Michelle replied. “Some fresh air would be just perfect. It’s really warm in here.” Nodding in agreement, William maneuvered them around until they were able to slip outside. He closed the door behind them, hoping it would give people a hint.

The back ‘garden’ looked to be no less than ten acres wide to Michelle; it sprawled away into the darkness. Little path lights allowed guests to stroll as they wished. The lighting seemed purposely subtle, only enhanced by some tiny lights wound around overhead tree limbs. William and Michelle walked in the cold air, looking up at the twinkling stars.

“It is so lovely here,” Michelle said, softly. “Like some mythical palace.” As they walked the noise of the party faded behind them.

“Yes,” William greed. “I wouldn't want to see their electric bill, though.” He pointed ahead of them. A willow tree stood about forty feet away. Each of its drooping branches had been carefully wound with a string of tiny lights, making a large, private dome. “But it comes with an impromptu romantic hideaway.” Michelle laughed at his conspiratorial tone.

“Well, at least I know what you’re up to,” she said, smiling at him. William grinned back, walking forward by her side.

“You have no idea, love,” he thought.

Reaching the willow, he drew back the curtain of lights, allowing Michelle to step inside. There was a semi-circle stone bench to sit on; Michelle turned, slowly, looking at the thousands of tiny lights in awe. If anything could inspire envy of Sophie’s home, this one little portion might.

“Enchanting,” she breathed. “Now this is really inspiring.”

“I couldn’t agree more, love,” William said, looking at Michelle. The dim light made her look like a fine, marble statue magically come to life; her skin looked so tempting he had to swallow some excess saliva. OK, it was drool.

“Most undignified...” William thought, suddenly not caring if it was. Michelle was admiring the lights, moving close to the tree trunk. Touching its gnarled surface lightly with her fingertips, she smiled up, observing the way the branches sprouted out and flowed down like green, leafy water.

“You’re stunning, Michelle,” William said, leaning one arm on the trunk above her; he looked down at the pretty young woman he’d come to think so highly of. Michelle turned to face him; his nearness caused a blush that was visible even in such low light. He was so close she could feel warmth radiating off him on her neck and face, and most of her chest, she noted. William’s face was well lit; Michelle thought she saw a sort of growing excitement in his eyes. She bit her lip.

“Oh, don’t do that, love,” William said, gently. He placed a fingertip on her bottom lip. “When you bite your lip it makes me want to as well.”

Michelle opened her mouth in surprise; William took the opportunity to kiss her. The tree provided good support. Michelle didn’t resist him; he tasted better than any food. There was something about William she craved, like she had been missing him all her life and never knew it until now. She held tightly onto his shoulders, thinking how sweet the moment seemed.

William broke the kiss far too soon, in Michelle’s opinion. He leaned his forehead on hers and took a very deep breath.

“I want you to marry me,” he said. The words hung static in the air. Michelle’s eyes flew open; she stared up at William with her mouth slightly agape. William grinned. “Shocked?” he said, touching Michelle’s face tenderly. “I was going for ‘ecstatic’.” Michelle couldn’t speak. Again, William chuckled. “Surely you can tell how much I care for you, love. I don’t want to be apart from you ever again. I know it’s just been a few weeks but...”

“Yes,” Michelle said, quietly interrupting William’s ramble.

Sucking a short breath, he looked down into her eyes; they looked misty and beautifully bright. “Yes, absolutely,” his lady continued. The smile on her face seemed different than all her previous expressions; she looked both happy and relieved.

“Her smile could light a thousand dim rooms.” William thought, a wave of exhilaration washing through him. “Are you sure?” he asked, with a half-smile. “I can be a bit of a pain, you know. Sometimes a little stubborn and picky...”

Michelle stood on her tip-toes and kissed him, effectively stopping William’s self-depreciating tirade.

“You were made for me,” she whispered; they were the gentlest words William had ever heard. She looked into his eyes with such an earnest gaze William’s lingering doubts evaporated. “I'm certain of it,” she continued. “I don’t just feel it, I know it.”

“Grow old with me,” William said, getting down on one knee. Michelle hand went to her mouth; she was dangerously close to crying. William reached into his pocket. “Be my companion, Michelle Gregory.”

Tears slipped out; smiling through them, Michelle surprised William by kneeling down with him, regardless of her dress.

“Please don’t ever kneel to me, William,” she said, her face glistening with tears. “I’ll never make you do that, not ever.”

“Darling,” William whispered back, hugging Michelle close to him; he sat back and slid her onto his lap. “I will love spending each and every day of my life with you.”

“This may sound silly but… will you give me babies?” Michelle said her voice barely above a whisper and peppered with sniffles. William chuckled, trying to relax the lump in his own throat.

“Definitely,” he whispered, kissing her neck softly. “You have no idea how much pleasure I will take in giving you babies.” His voice almost vibrated with passion. Michelle let her tears flow unchecked.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into William’s shoulder.

After a few moments William turned her to face him a little better; taking out his handkerchief, he wiped her tears away, unable to resist kissing her face as he did so.

“Michelle, you are so lovely,” he said. “But… more importantly, your soul matches your beauty in every respect.” Smiling, Michelle allowed herself a small laugh.

“So does yours,” she said, letting out a sigh. “How else could you want to marry an unemployed street artist from middle-class Suburbia?”

William made a face.

“As if that could really describe you,” he told her. Bringing out the little box from his pocket, he opened it and drew out the sparkling ring. It glittered brilliantly; even the dim, tiny tree lights did it justice. Michelle looked stunned. She stared up at William.

“You planned this,” she stated softly, as if she didn’t really believe it. William grinned, his confidence returning in droves.

“That’s the general idea,” he told her.

Taking Michelle’s left hand into his, he slid the ring onto her slender finger. It was a trifle big, but not by much. William made a mental note to take her by the store on their return and have it re-sized. Michelle stared at the ring in disbelief.

“It’s beautiful... and enormous,” she said, looking back up at William’s face. “It says 'please mug me, I’m married to a tycoon'.” William laughed.

“Silly girl, it’s only two carats,” he said, smiling.

“Wow,” Michelle breathed, looking back down. “Here I thought I was lucky to happen to attract the handsomest man in New York, who happens to have solid gold character and makes me feel...” She stopped herself, blushing. William lifted an eyebrow.

“Please go on,” he said, smiling suggestively.

Biting her lip, Michelle felt she must flee this man with the sexy grin before she embarrassed herself further. She stood up hastily.

“I... think ...uh... maybe we should go inside?” she suggested, her voice unsteady. William stood too, a knowing smile on his face.

“I’ll get it out of you, you know,” he said, kissing her hand.

“I’ve no doubt,” Michelle murmured. “You have a way of making me admit things that no one else could; things I never wanted people to know about me.”

“Oh?” William said, allowing himself to cross into dangerous territory once more. “Enlighten me.” Michelle felt as if she were a vat of chemical rapidly approaching critical mass.

“William,” she whispered, “This is hardly the place to discuss such things.”

William chuckled.

“Darling, you’ve no idea how ardently I feel about you,” he said, sighing. “It’s not just your sweet little personality, or your brilliance, but your more... physical attributes drive me nearly mad.” Michelle blushed down at the pavers at her feet, trying to breathe normally. “They do,” William repeated, pulling Michelle into his embrace. He could feel warmth radiating from her face.

“There you are.” A dark voice spoke up, from outside the lit branches. “Having a moment are we?”

William grimaced. He silently called down a pox on Luca’s head. Stepping back, he drew aside the branches to let them back out of the enchanted little hideaway. Michelle regarded him with a rather dazed smile as she walked beside him.

“Yes, Luca,” William said, putting on his polite face. “I am sure even you can imagine was true love feels like. Michelle has just agreed to be my wife.” Luca D’Angelo’s eyebrows rose significantly.

“I see,” he said, pretending to look crestfallen. William chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Don’t look so down, old boy. Plenty of rich, single women in the world left for you to seduce.”

“Yes, well… maybe I want one of those,” Luca said, pointing at Michelle.  As he spoke he withdrew a cigarette from a silver case; he lit it, drawing the smoke thoughtfully. “Let me be the first to congratulate you.” He addressed this short speech to Michelle, but she was still looking at William.

“He has dimples,” she thought, gazing at the man lovingly. “How come I didn’t notice that before?”

Luca sighed.

“She is in love with you, my friend,” he said, heavily. “My mother will give me no peace now… thanks a lot.” William laughed, feeling a little giddy.

“Anytime,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I want to get Michelle inside out of this chill.”

“I don’t feel cold,” Michelle responded, dreamily. William smiled at her. The ring on her finger sparkled.

“Dios... that’s a big stone,” Luca said, looking at it. He glanced at William. “It cost a pretty penny, no?”

“It matches the color of my eyes,” Michelle said, softy, still looking at William. Her fiance beamed.

“You clever girl; you noticed,” he said, proudly. Michelle smiled up at him, too happy to speak. They walked towards the house, still very much looking at one another. Luca watched them go. He sighed, moodily smoking his cigarette alone in the cold.

Inside the ballroom, not many people were still dancing; groups of people stood around talking, well-re-enforced with champagne. Michelle didn’t care where they walked; it was all a blur from which William stood out sharply. An ethereal smile graced her face, her mind far away.

Margaret saw them ambling along and broke away from her group to greet them.

“There you are!” she said, merrily. “Are you both having a good time?” Michelle looked at William’s mother, her eyes bright.

“Yes,” she said, simply. Margaret clasped her hand in a friendly way.

“I’m so glad, really this place is...”

Something on Michelle’s hand distracted Margaret from finishing the sentence. The elegant lady looked down; she looked back up at Michelle and then over to William, her eyes as wide as saucers. Her son gave her one, short nod and grinned. Margaret squealed.

“Oh, my word!” she said, clapping her hands; her face was the picture of glee. Unable to speak for a moment, she hugged William and kissed Michelle’s face. “My dear girl...” she said, looking Michelle in the eye. The woman actually had tears in her eyes; Michelle felt like crying as well, but not from sadness. To have this affluent, cultured woman be happy to have her as her daughter-in-law was felt extraordinarily comforting. “You sly thing William!” Margaret was saying, dabbing at her eyes with a lace hankie. “I had no idea! Oh, I’m going to go insane! Not really... oh this is wonderful! Have you set a date?”

“Not yet,” William said, grinning at his mother’s emotional display. “But, don’t worry; I wish to make her mine as soon as possible.”

Sophie drifted nearer, drawn by Margret’s strange behavior. She immediately saw Michelle’s ring and smiled, poking William in the shoulder.

“So, that is what took you so long today,” she said. She gave William a kiss on his face and Michelle as well. “Bless you both, How lovely a couple you make. Now only if this has inspired Luca to do the same...” William chuckled.

“I think just meeting Michelle did that,” he said, smiling. “He’s fairly green with envy.” Sophie seemed pleased at this information and wandered off to find her son.

Various people in the room came by, speaking similar congratulations and glasses raised in informal toast; Michelle saw nothing and merely nodded and smiled still reeling from the past few minutes herself. The rest of their time there went swiftly, though Michelle did not remember much of it. She remembered William smiling at her almost constantly. Everything else just didn’t matter. Even Alfred came up and gave her a fatherly peck on the cheek, and shook William’s hand heartily. He looked genuinely pleased.

No one looked more cheerful than William; he fairly glowed with happiness. Michelle thought he was the most gorgeous man on the planet. She climbed out of her daze as their small party drove home; William sat very close to her, his arm about her shoulders securely. Now and then he’d kiss her forehead. No one spoke; words just didn’t seem necessary. The silence itself felt serene and content, almost like a sigh of relief.

Back at Margret’s domicile the lady of the house gave Michelle and William each a hug before gleefully retreating upstairs. Alfred grinned at the two lovebirds, something he didn’t often do.

“I am very happy for you both,” he said; with this, he wandered up to his room, leaving William and Michelle alone in the grand foyer. William looked at his fiancée.

“I couldn’t sleep just yet,” he said. Michelle nodded, still smiling.

“Me either,” she said, her eyes bright. “I feel as though I could play a whole concert... in front of people.” Chuckling, William took her hand in his; the ring looked well against her skin.

“Then play me something, if you will,” he requested. Michelle took his arm and they strolled into the parlor together. Sitting at the piano, Michelle smiled down at the keys, feeling absurdly like a ten year old at their first recital.

The keys felt cool to the touch; a melody began flowing through her fingers and she played, not really thinking about what song she played. William sat by her on the bench, his eyes closed. His lady played quiet, moving piece he listened to often to help him 'unwind' after work. Listening with a slight smile on his face William felt his shoulders relax as Michelle played the soothing, lulling tune; he could smell apple blossoms and hear the faint rustle of his fiancee's gown as she moved. Michelle felt the notes  emanated from her very soul; they seemed to express her relief and happiness more than words ever could.

“I found him,” she thought, “My companion."

The last notes settled on the happy couple like snowflakes. Michelle felt William’s finger slip under her chin; his lips found hers as if by instinct. Reaching up, she slid her arms around William’s neck. It was a move of trust; the significance of it was not lost on William.

Drawing back from Michelle was exceptionally difficult; there existed a few matters he had to discuss with her, sans distractions. She was not his quite yet, at least fully. William saw Michelle watching him with a look he’d seen before on her features, a sort of guileless happiness. Sitting up a little, he took up one of her hands in his; they seemed so small and slim in his own and her fair skin made his seem very tan in comparison.

“Michelle,” William began, clearing his throat. “I have a question for you.” Michelle smiled, adorably.

“Another one?” she teased. William wrinkled his nose, stifling a grin.

“Be serious...” he silently told himself. “Yes, minx. I want to know something.” His serious tone sobered Michelle’s urge to joke with him. “I want to know if you... well... er, want to wear white. On our wedding day.”

The question puzzled Michelle for some moments.

“I think most brides do,” she said at last, tilting her head a little; she knew William was not one for obvious statements. The man next to her seemed to be awfully uncomfortable with the entire subject all of the sudden.

“Well, um… it has occurred to me...” William said with difficulty. “I've suspected for some time that, well… that you are, perhaps, one of those girls that actually can... wear white.”

Michelle’s face turned completely red.

“Oh,” she said, falteringly. “That’s what you meant.” William smiled at her embarrassment.

“Am I right?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Michelle nodded. “Not that’s it s a condition, or anything.” William continued hastily. “I just wanted to know if you want to keep it that way, until the wedding.”

Michelle glanced up at William's face, taking heart at his concerned expression.

“If possible,” she said, giving him a half smile. “I hope you don't mind.” William laughed. Michelle wrinkled her nose at him; she was encased in a tight hug for a moment.

“Silly girl,” William said, affectionately. “I don't. I just wanted to know your preference, my love.” He whispered the words into her hair, making her feel like taking back her previous words. “It’s perfectly fine. Just don’t be angry with me, or depressed, if I seem a little ‘distant’ with you 'til then.”

“Distant?” Michelle asked, curiously. William grinned a little, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

“Well, my love, if said preference is to be a reality, I’ll need to take a more ‘hands-off’ approach to our relationship until we’re married,” William enlightened her. “You have a profound effect on me, sweetheart. Earlier today, I nearly had you in that little reading loft. In public.” Michelle cleared her throat, a little.

“I see,” she said, softly. “And, I understand what you’re saying.” She smiled. “I promise not to ask you ‘what’s wrong?’ every five minutes.”

Hearing this, William looked relieved… and happy. He allowed himself one more kiss and a smile at his lovely fiancée before standing to go. He escorted her upstairs and said a soft ‘goodnight’ at her door. Not wanting to cause William any further discomfort, Michelle smiled at him shyly and disappeared into her room with a swirl of her green skirt.

William sauntered happily down the corridor despite the knowledge that a cold shower was forthcoming; Michelle was his, finally.

“Not even Luca D’Angelo could steal her attention away,” he thought, with satisfaction. In his room, William turned on the shower and began his nightly ritual. Having undressed, he wrapped a towel around his waist and began hanging up his suit.

He was just laying out his robe when a muted shriek came to his ear, then another. They seemed to be originating from the hallway. Yanking open his door, William hurriedly stepped out of the door, oblivious to his lack of formal attire.

To his surprise, his mother stood in the hall in her housecoat and slippers. She shrieked again, pointing at the ceiling. Alfred stood nearby, armed with a broom, evidently trying to hit something small and black above him; it fitted around on the ceiling in erratic circles. A bat. William rolled his eyes.

“All this fuss over a bat?” he said, pointing.

“Get it Alfred!” Margaret called out, wringing her hands. “I hate bats! How on Earth did it get in?”

William snorted. Strolling over to Alfred, he relieved the elderly man of the broom.

“You’ll give yourself a heart attack, old boy,” he said, grimly. “Allow me.” Striding down to the end of the corridor, William threw open a large window. Walking back, he stood next to his mother and Alfred, arms folded. The bat stayed on the ceiling for several seconds, and then flew right out the window.

“They aren’t monsters, you know,” William told them.

About to lecture both of them on the idiocy of fearing bats, William heard the soft sounds of muted laughter; he looked up the hall, towards Michelle’s door. His fiancée stood in the doorway, laughing quietly into her hands. Allowing himself a chuckle at the situation, William wondered if he could blackmail his mother with this later, perhaps if she tried to strong-arm him into something.

After a second or two Michelle straightened up, wiping her eyes. That’s when her eyes caught the sight of William, wearing just a large towel wrapped around his waist. It covered his lower half decently but she couldn’t take her eyes of his muscled torso. She had no idea he was so cut.

“Where does he get time to work out?” she thought. Some strange urge to drool struck her and Michelle bit her lip, blinking. “Look away...looks away...” Her eyes weren’t listening. Michelle reminded herself to breathe.

Sensing her scrutiny, William slowly looked over at Michelle; he grinned when she looked quickly away, her cheeks pink. Still smiling he leaned back against his door jamb and watched her. Michelle hastily withdrew into the safety of her room.

“Stupid, attractive... man,” Michelle mumbled, ending it with a sigh. She ran both her hand through her hair; her face felt like it was on fire. Shaking her head, she made a beeline for the shower. She stayed in the water a long time.

“Nobody has the right to look that good,” Michelle thought, darkly. Turning the cold water on a little more, she grinned in spite of herself. “At least he’s mine.” Giggling softly, she sat and brought her knees up to her chest. “I hope he doesn’t want a long engagement,” she thought.

Across the hall, William returned to his own room. Michelle’s surprise view of him shirtless affected him more than he was willing to admit. She seemed shy but impressed, he thought, smiling. Maybe there was even a spark of desire in her gorgeous eyes; something has made her blush and retreat. Grinning, William resigned himself to the icy streams of the shower, not able to escape thought of his lovely fiancée and what she might be thinking.

“Good heavens,” he thought, letting out an exasperated breath. “I pray to God she marries me soon.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The moment the man stepped through Brownstone & Peters elevator doors, all standing in the lobby knew that he didn’t belong. In a sea of lawyers, he clearly wasn’t. He wore a faded plaid shirt which appeared to have sawdust on it; his feet were shod with paint-flecked construction boots and his legs encased in denim. A red hard-hat perched on his head, the word 'The Boss' written in bold, black marker across the back.

From his mustache to the stained canvas rucksack the man carried, all eyes took in the figure and were inclined to dismiss him without a second thought, but the riveting expression in his eyes provoked a rather universal interest. Hued a keen, flint gray, the stranger’s eyes took in all movement at once like a hawk searching for prey. Moving with purpose the man in plaid walked right up to the wide reception desk. Five men in hard hats--carrying bags of tools--followed him, along with a smartly-dressed blonde woman. The receptionist sat with her back to the elevator.

Spying a little bell, the man in plaid rang it, hard. Startled, the receptionist whirled around. Seeing the crew standing there, she pursed her lips at their unprofessional attire.

“Can I help you?” she said, frowning.

“Yes!” the man in plaid boomed. “I’m here to see Peters. Is his office this way?” He pointed past the desk down a wide corridor. The receptionist’s eyes widened and she gave a short laugh.

“You must have the wrong office,” she said, snidely. “We don’t have any handyman work scheduled.” The plaid-wearing man narrowed his eyes a little.

“I beg to differ, ma’am,” he said, evenly.

“Miss,” the receptionist snapped back. The man in front of her smiled.

“That’s apparent…” he said. A few chuckles came from the crew standing behind him. Hearing the laughter the receptionist glared up at them, flaring her nostrils.

“Sir, do you have an appointment?” she hazarded; her right hand gripped the phone.

“Yeah… I’ve been appointed,” the plaid-wearing man said, nodding once. “I have to say the customer service here is way below par.”

Punching the intercom button, the receptionist cleared her throat.

“What is it, Miranda?” came Peters' irritated voice. “I’m in the middle of lunch...”

“Sir, a construction man is here to see you, with some… people,” she explained.

“What? Who?”

The receptionist looked up at the plaid-wearing man expectantly; she still held the intercom button.

“We’re here to demo an office,” the newcomer said, clearly.

“Demo? Who’s office?”

“Maclane’s office,” the plaid man said, with a smile. The crew of workers behind him exchanged grins.

“Maclane? That SOB isn’t supposed to take over for two weeks!” Peters was yelling now. Hearing the man’s words, members of the construction crew openly chuckled. “Call security and have them escorted out of my building!”

At this, the plaid-wearing man walked resolutely past the reception desk down the corridor; his crew followed, all except the blond lady in glasses.

“You can’t go back there!” the receptionist shouted after the plaid-wearing man. Seeing she was being ignored, she pressed the intercom button again. “They are coming back there anyway sir.”

“Call security dammit!” Peter yelled through the intercom. “I’m not having some dumb-ass construction crew running around my building!”

Nearby, the blond woman in the glasses waited patiently for the receptionist to get off the phone with Security; she held up a clipboard, her pen ready.

“Miranda Kincaid?” she asked, pleasantly.

“Yes?” the receptionist snapped. “What about it?” The blond woman wrote something quickly and ripped it neatly off, holding out a bright, pink form to the puzzled receptionist. The woman snatched it and read; her jaw dropped. “What is this?!”

The elevator door opened and four security guards stepped out into the lobby. The receptionist waved them over.

“Down there, there a man in plaid and a whole pack of construction guys! Peters says get them outta here.” She looked at the blond woman in glasses narrowly. “... And her, too.” The blond woman raised her eyebrows, slightly but otherwise did not appear rattled.

“You have your form,” she said, still sounding pleasant. “Your services are no longer required and are terminated as of this minute.” Two security guards stood behind the blond woman in glasses, looking grimly at the receptionist.

“I’m sorry, Miss Kincaid,” one of them said. “You need to come with us.” Shocked, the receptionist gripped her phone, her knuckles white.

“Listen, you stupid rent-a-cop!” she hissed. “The intruders went that way!” She waved towards the office corridor. “They’re wearing hard hats!”

“I may be a rent-a-cop but I have a taser and a license to use it,” the guard said, coolly “Now, please come with us; we will escort you from the building.” The two guards led her away without a word.

Walking resolutely down the hall, the plaid-wearing man turned into a break-room, his entourage in tow. Two junior partners were standing by the coffee machine, their backs to the door. They failed to notice an odd individual standing behind them as they chatted.

“So, she called me in for a ‘consultation’,” one of them said, smirking. “That was a wild two hours.”

“You billed for it, right?” the other inquired, sipping his coffee.

“You better believe it,” the first man said. Both men seemed to feel the glare of someone behind them and turned. “Can I help you?” asked Mr. ‘consultation’.

“Yeah,” the plaid-wearing man said, looking disgusted. “You’re both fired.” Aside to the blond woman he said, “Get them their pink slips and have Security escort them out.” He swept past the two lawyers, who stood with their mouth agape. One began to object, but stopped as Security approached.

The plaid-wearing man continued his crusade; eight paralegals and eleven junior partners got the Axe, including one young intern whom was playing a fantasy role-playing game on a company computer. Rumors spread like wildfire through the firm; lawyers, paralegals and office staffers alike assembled in the halls and corridors drawn forward--as if by some macabre tractor beam--to face their new boss.

The plaid-wearing man trudged grimly through the firm until a closed door bearing a brass nameplate caught his eye. Halting in his stride, he looked at the door a moment; through a window he could see an older secretary inside, typing at her desk. Opening the door, he walked in. The woman raised her head; she looked at the stranger for a moment, and then continued her typing.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Whose office is this?” the paid-wearing man asked, smiling.

“Mr. Montgomery’s office,” she answered, typing quickly. “Contracts & Negotiation.” The plaid-wearing man considered this information for several seconds; large manila envelopes of papers sat on the woman’s desk; she typed rapidly while looking at a binder of handwritten notes. The nameplate on her desk read ‘Mabel Arken’.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how is he to work for?” he asked. The secretary did not look up.

“Good, sir,” she said, taking out the page and laying it on top of a large stack of typing. “We're both kept extremely busy.” As the plaid-wearing man watched, she put in a new page of blank and began typing once more.

“I see. Is he here?”

Mabel paused in her task; she looked the plaid-wearing man square in the eye.

“He is not, sir. He’s taking his first vacation in six years,” she quipped. “I’m busy because he’s busy. For the work they give him they need four more like him and eight more like me.” She resumed her typing as if her life depended on it.

The plaid-wearing man’s eyebrows rose a little.

“I’m looking for Mr. Peters’ office,” he said. “Would you be so kind as to tell me where it is?”

“Down the hall, ten doors to your right, sir,” Mabel said. The plaid-wearing man smiled a little and left the office, closing the door quietly behind him.

“This way,” he said to his entourage, pointing down the hall.

Spying a conference room, the man in plaid breezed in, stopping just inside the doors. A janitor in a faded blue jumpsuit was leaning over, replacing trash-can liners and saw the strange group enter; he stood up, a waste bin in his hand. Nearby, a woman in an expensive suit sat at the conference table, her briefcase open; she talked animatedly on her cell phone while touching up her makeup. Striding over to the janitor, the plaid-wearing man smiled at him.

“Greetings,” he said. “You the janitor here?”

The maintenance man smiled back and stood a little straighter.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’m in charge of these four floors.”

“How long you been with the company?”

“Six years,” the janitor answered.

“How’s the pay?” the plaid-wearing man wanted to know.

“Not great; I got four kids,” the janitor replied, with a rueful smile. The plaid-wearing man seemed to like his answers.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Bill from Brooklyn,” the janitor said, with pride. The plaid-wearing man stuck out his hand.

“Oscar from Brooklyn,” he responded. They shook hands, grinning. “Well, Bill from Brooklyn... how’d you like to double your pay?”

“You bet your life!”

“Then grab some garbage bags and follow me,” the plaid-wearing man said.

Complying quickly, Bill from Brooklyn let the can he held fall on the floor; it tipped over and noisily rolled on the ground. The lawyer at the conference table whipped her head around, covering the mouthpiece of her phone.

“Would you keep it down?!” she hissed. “Some of us are working here!”

“I’m glad you brought that up,” the plaid-wearing man said. “I’m working too.” The blond lady in glasses moved forward, her clipboard ready.

A few minutes later, Mr. Peters burst out of his office.

“Where the hell’s Miranda!” he yelled, his face red. “Why isn’t she answering the damn phone?!”

“I fired her,” came an ominous voice. Peters turned on his heel and saw the plaid-wearing man standing there. His face quickly transformed from red to gray.

“Oh, Mr. Maclane...” he stuttered. “You... aren’t supposed to take over for two weeks.”

“I decided not to wait,” the plaid-wearing man said, crossing his arms.

“You can’t do that,” Peters said uncertainly; his normal bravado seemed cowed. The plaid-wearing man chuckled.

“You really should read the contract again.” He looked at the blond lady and pointed to Peters. She walked forward, the piece of paper already in hand. Without a word, the plaid-wearing man walked past the astonished Peters, right into the former boss’ office. Security stayed with Peters, already steering him back down the corridor.

Oscar Maclane strode into the large office, right over to the paper-covered desk; sitting down, he put his feet up comfortably on the pile of papers. Taking out a cigar, he clipped it and lit it without ceremony. The crew followed him in and stood around, grinning.

“That was fun, Boss,” one of the men nearby said. “… as always.”

‘The Boss’ sat for a moment, smoking thoughtfully.

“Bill from Brooklyn,” he intoned, looking at the janitor.

“Sir?” The man was all smiles.

“Please feel free to pack up your former employer’s personal stuff in those garbage bags and bring it down to him in the parking garage.”

“With pleasure, sir,” Bill said. He hastily scooped up Peters’ items into the bags and headed for the door, even grabbing the old employer’s coat on his way out.

“Gentlemen...” Oscar Maclane said, suddenly. “This is by far the ugliest office building I’ve ever seen. It has ‘dung’ shui.” Some of the men in his crew chuckled. “Now, listen close. This is what I want to do...”

CHAPTER NINE

Mornings in Vermont seemed to agree with Michelle very well.  When the dawn's light crept into the pink room, she woke up as if shaken. A slow smile spread over her face as she sat up.

“It’s not a dream…” she whispered. She wanted to squeal with delight but did not. “Not good to wake the future in-laws in the wee hours of the morning,” she thought, smiling. Hoping out of bed, she ran to the shower, ready to start the day. Michelle did not know what to expect but knew even the most mundane activity would be bliss if William were near.

Twenty-two minutes later, she opened her door, half expecting William to be hovering outside; not seeing him, Michelle smiled.

“He’s sleeping in,” she thought. “He’s human after all.” The notion pleased her. Ducking back in her room, Michelle wrote a small note on a pad of paper on the vanity and closed the door on it so it stuck out by the handle. Smiling and inwardly giddy, Michelle walked quietly down the hall. Passing his door, she blushed, thinking of the previous night's ‘bat’ incident and William's semi-undressed state. “Don’t go there...” she silently admonished herself.

Downstairs no one stirred; it was still very early. Michelle intended to walk a bit, feeling if she didn’t get out the happy-angst-excitement within, her brain and heart would simultaneously explode. Locating her coat in the foyer closet, Michelle pulled on her hat and gloves; she found a side door out the kitchen that wasn’t locked and slipped through it.

A cold, gray mist greeted her; just enough light tinged the sky that she could make out the brick walking path. Stepping onto it, Michelle trekked along, a wide smile decorating her face. The cold air filled her lungs and calmed her. The brisk pace of her walk slowed to a stroll; she enjoyed the quiet and the mist-shadowed trees. Various emotions deluged her still but the mingling of feelings proved pleasant.

All the words William had spoken to her the previous evening re-played in her mind, especially his little speech at the piano; while Michelle did not like the idea of being physically distant from him, she had to admit it was a courageous thing to say, and so straightforwardly. It was as if he did not want her to be offended and thus carefully explained his reasons. Michelle remembered that he had rubbed the back of his neck quite a bit. Biting her lip, she thought about William with only a towel on and found herself rubbing the back of her neck as well.

“Must walk,” she said to herself. She did so along the narrow path, enjoying how the weak sunlight kissed the very tops of the trees as the sun rose higher. The mist moved strangely as it evaporated, like a slowly writhing dance. Sighing, Michelle moved forward, her eyes bright with her own contented musings.

SHOWERED AND dressed, William stepped out into the hall, whistling. He knew a silly grin graced his face but didn’t care. Deciding to dress a bit more casually he’d donned khaki slacks, a green mock-turtleneck and boots; he hoped to walk around visiting various Vermont sights with Michelle most of the day. A rousing energy coursed through his veins this morning, energy that needed to be worked out. In a positive way, he reminded himself; one that did not involve making babies, just yet.

Walking up to Michelle’s door he spied the note she’d left; his smile broadened as he read it.

“Must get out. Walking on the lake trail. Love you. (That part’s for William if anyone else reads this.)” Chuckling, William took the note and slid it into his pocket. The whole house seemed quiet; what could be better than an early morning walk? William couldn’t think of anything, especially when Michelle was out there, begging to be found. At least, that’s how he viewed it. Smiling, he went downstairs; locating a warm coat, he went out, searching for his ladylove.

The lake appeared deserted. Looking around, William wondered if Michelle had already walked back to the house. Looking up into a nearby maple grove, a bit of blue caught his eye; it was high off the ground... in a tree. William stepped towards the grove, a look of incredulity on his face. As he approached the ‘lake’ shore he could see more clearly Michelle’s form, up in one of the thick branches; she sat about twenty feet off the ground. She apparently hadn’t seen him yet.

“Ahem,” he said, clearing his throat.

At the noise Michelle looked down; she stared at him for several seconds before a smile spread over her lips; the warmth of her expression made its way down through the cold air to William.

“Hello!” she said, smiling. “Sorry... I almost didn’t recognize you without a suit on.” William smiled.

“I could go put one on for you, if you like,” was his response. Michelle chuckled at the idea.

“No way,” she said. “You look great. If you wait a second, I’ll be right down.” She reached over to grab a nearby branch.

“Michelle,” came William’s voice. “Wait there. I'm coming up.” Surprised, Michelle looked down at him; William was actually climbing up to her. She beamed.

“How cute is this?” she thought.

It had been quite a few years since William had been up in a tree. Still, there was something about grasping the large, unbending limbs and hauling oneself upward that was quite satisfying. He managed to get up without incident and perched rather comfortably on a branch right next to Michelle. Finally close to his fiancée, William smiled down at her guileless face; she made a pretty picture in her white hat and blue coat, sitting against the bright, red leaves as they moved in the breeze. Her eyes appeared bright with fun; her nose and cheeks looked pink in the cold air.

“She’s so full of life,” William thought. Just seeing Michelle up in a tree was like getting a shot of adrenaline; he’d immediately wanted to climb up and join her.

“Good morning,” he said.

“To you as well,” she returned. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Like a log,” William answered; the affection is his voice was unmistakable.

The leaves rustled in the chilly breeze around them. The two climbers looked out over the lake for several minutes, watching the wind ripple the surface of the water; several dozen yellow aspen leaves flew onto the water with each gust. The whole scene appeared serene, but alive. It felt like an old way of life was falling away, being replaced with hints and promises of a new beginning.

“When would you like to get married?” William asked.

Michelle looked at him, her cheeks turning a bit pink.

“Tomorrow,” she said, smiling shyly. William chuckled.

“So would I, love,” he said, softly; he found her hand with his. “Realistically, though.” Michelle looked thoughtful for several moments.

“I don’t have anyone really to notify, besides my uncle,” she began. “I don’t have an employer to arrange with. I could probably pack all my things in two hours and move if I had to. I suppose I would only need about two weeks plan the wedding.”

“Two weeks?” William asked, surprised. “Don’t weddings usually take longer than that to arrange?” Michelle smiled at his expression.

“Maybe for Princess Diana’s wedding they did,” she said, trying not to laugh. “I’ve always hoped for a wedding that is beautiful in its simplicity.”

William looked relieved at her words.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, frankly. “So, you want to plan it yourself?” Michelle nodded, smiling. “Thank God,” William said, letting out a short breath. “When my mother saw the ring on your finger last night I could actually see her formulating plans that very second. I was deluged with visions of being dragged to photographers and cake sampling and picking out silver patterns and bridesmaid’s gowns...” He stopped, seeing Michelle laughing into her gloves.

“Please stop!” she begged. “No, no. None of that. Good grief...” She wiped tears of merriment from her eyes. “I meant what I said; beautiful, but simple.”

Making sure he had a secure foothold, William leaned over and wrapped one of his arms around Michelle’s waist. He kissed her face, pausing to smell her hair.

“You are a gem; do you know that?” he said in a low voice. “So, the ceremony… are you thinking of having it in New York? Is there anywhere you’ve always wanted to go? What about Italy?” Michelle laughed; her fiancé’s expression struck her as ‘adorable’. He seemed bent on making her dreams come true. Most of them already had come to fruition, beginning with meeting him.

“Do you have a preference, William?” she asked him, kissing his cheek. Her fiancé shook his head.

“No,” he said, smiling. “Anywhere… anytime would suit me just right. I would like to take care of the honeymoon, however.” Michelle blushed and looked down, biting her lip.

“I have no problem with that,” she said, glancing up at him. William was very tempted to give her as many kisses as he could fit in while sitting in a tree; his warning of remaining ‘distant’ floated back to him and he withdrew reluctantly away from the warm, sweet-smelling Michelle.

“Now, getting back to our plans… is there anywhere you’d like to go for the honeymoon?” he inquired. “Paris? Venice? Just tell me... I’ll find out sooner or later, you know.”

Michelle smiled at her boots for a moment, thinking. No one had ever offered her a no-holds-barred vacation before. Names of locations only heard of clouded together like an impenetrable mass in her mind. As Michelle pondered the question, it occurred to her that William must have been to a great many places in the world already. A honeymoon was unlike any mere vacation; ideally it should be held at a location previously unexplored, for both of them.

“Where haven’t you been?” she asked, looking up at William. He saw through her attempt to change the subject.

“Answer the question, minx,” he said, leaning closer. The look in his eyes invoked an odd feeling in Michelle, and not exactly an unfavorable one; perhaps stalling wasn’t the right tactic.

“Someplace private,” she said, gingerly. “A place where no one would bother us; where we could talk and go walking, you know... like we’re doing now.”

William looked pensive for several moments. He did not think Michelle was being deliberately obtuse, but was hoping for a simpler answer, like Florence or Bali. The subtle point implied by her words did not escape him, however; his lady clearly preferred solitude, though with him; William had no problem with that suggestion whatsoever. In fact, he found it preferable to any other situation that he could think of. He rather disliked crowds of people. Looking up, he found Michelle watching him with an uncertain expression.

“It would be too easy to just say 'Paris' or ‘Rome’...” she continued; her gentle tone caught William's attention. It was clear to him that Michelle did not wish to offend him with her vague answer. “I know you've probably been both those places already...”

William nodded, a slow smile of understanding spreading across his face. Her consideration touched him greatly.

“How about Scotland?” he said. “I’ve actually never been there.” His fiancée appeared momentarily surprised at the suggestion; the bright expression in her eyes told William it was a good guess. “Not in the cities, mind you but there are some charming villages to stay in; we could drive around and walk. Though, it not exactly warm there….”

“That sounds perfect,” Michelle said sincerely. She had not even thought about going to the top portion of the British Isles, but suddenly the idea appealed greatly: cold, clear air outside, a warm fire on a hearth inside where they could cuddle... stormy coastline and long, low hills to walk over. She looked at William; he grinned at her triumphantly.

“Told you I’d find out,” he said. “Your face says it all.”

“You wouldn’t mind going there?” she asked, searching his eyes.

“Not at all,” he said; his tone was one that told Michelle as long as she was present he’d be having a great time. Blushing deeply, she looked back at the lake again.

“I like this,” William said, after awhile. “We should have all our important discussions in a tree.”

Michelle smiled.

“It’s one of my favorite things to do,” she admitted. “It’s kind of juvenile, but if no one’s looking I’ll do it. I love sitting up high and looking out over all the other trees; it’s relaxing and it feels safe.”

“It’s not juvenile,” William said. “In a public park it may not be so appropriate, but this is nice. When I saw you up here I thought it was a fantastic idea; I was immediately compelled to join you.” The earnest tone of William’s words caused Michelle to laugh, softly.

“I’m glad you did,” she said, earnestly. “As nice as it is sitting up here alone, it’s far better when someone you love can share it with you.”

“True,” William agreed. “Well, what do you say we go back?”

“Why; are you cold?” Michelle asked, her voice teasing. William raised an eyebrow at her.

“Not with you around,” he said. He waited for her to blush; it didn’t take long. “I want breakfast, love,” he continued. “Unless you can magically make it appear here, I think we should go ‘rustle up’ something ourselves.”

Michelle took especial pleasure in attaining the ground first.

“You’re slow,” she called up, watching William pick his way down.

“You’re just smaller,” William defended. “You’re able to squeeze your tiny frame through these branches quicker.”

“Maybe I should get you a ladder...” Michelle suggested, biting her lip; her eyes held laughter as she looked up at her man. William gave her a narrow look.

“Maybe you should start running,” he said, ominously. Seeing the look in William’s eye Michelle took his advice, stumbling a bit in her haste to get away. Swinging down to the ground a few seconds later, William smirked at her retreating form.

“Not this time, love...” he murmured.

Michelle could not run as fast as she normally did; laughter hindered her breathing; she halfway hoped she’d see William slip and land on the throw rug again. Rounding the corner of the house, she could see the kitchen door and ran towards it. She only made it a few feet before someone grabbed her from behind; she was lifted up in the air and found herself looking at William’s back. Her fiancé paused, taking deep breaths and smiling as he held a squirming Michelle over his shoulder.

“William!” she protested, trying to catch her breath. “Put me down!”

“Not a chance,” William said, cheerfully. “Ladder indeed... little minx. I am going to carry my prize around the victory circle, thank you very much.”

Opening the kitchen door with one hand, he brought his ‘prize’ in; he walked about a little before setting her down. Michelle was winded and giggling softly; her eyes watered a little but she looked very rosy with the exercise.

“You... unfair,” she managed to say; she leaned against a wall and pulled off her hat and gloves.

“Here, let me help you,” William said, grinning. “You look like you're going to fall over.” Michelle gave a soft snort.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be if someone hadn’t gone all Tarzan on me.” William chuckled. He stood in front of Michelle and proceeded to unbutton her coat. As he did, he had to look down at his hands; he grimaced. His fiancé was wearing that pretty, red shirt again, her fair breast rising and falling as she breathed.

“This was a bad idea,” he thought, concentrating hard on the last coat button. Watching William’s face, Michelle wondered at the slightly pink color suddenly shadowing his neck; he seemed to be uncomfortable. Glancing down, Michelle blushed herself; she saw one of the buttons between her breasts had come undone. William helped her off with her coat and turned away, presumably to drape it over a chair. Taking the opportunity, Michelle quickly buttoned her shirt up to an appropriate level again, feeling embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to overly tempt the guy. William removed his own coat, laying them both over a chair-back.

Turning around, William spotted Michelle walking around one of the kitchen counters, looking for an apron. He noticed her shirt was buttoned up and smiled.

“Smart girl,” he thought, looking at her affectionately. Watching his fiancée, William was struck by how gracefully she moved; she seemed very comfortable in the kitchen. Once, years ago, he’d brought the daughter of a well-respected judge up here to meet his mother; she stayed less than two hours. His mother had made it a point to be as formal as possible; the girl had nearly cracked under her stern scrutiny. In stark contrast, Michelle was walking around his mother’s kitchen, carrying a basket of eggs, humming to herself as naturally as if she were in her little hotel room.

“Do you need any help, love?” William asked, standing on the other side of the counter from Michelle. She sent him a shy smile and looked back down at the basket of eggs. He could see she was still a bit embarrassed from the ‘button’ incident.

“Sure,” she said, biting her lip. “Know anything about omelets?” Omelets sounded good to William.

“Yes, I do. If you hand me the eggs I’ll whisk them,” he offered, giving her an encouraging smile. Michelle did so, feeling a little better. It felt good to cook again, let alone with someone cherished; the atmosphere in the large kitchen was homey and relaxed. Michelle set about to finding cheese and other items in the ‘larder’, as William referred to it.

The smell of cheese and fried mushrooms filled the air. Michelle stirred some browning shallots in a little pan; next to her, William used a spatula to loosen the edges of an omelet that was nearly done. Switching off the heat, Michelle tilted her pan over William’s and watched admiringly as he expertly folded the omelet and slipped it out on a plate.

“OK… I’m impressed,” she said, smiling. William grinned at her; his smiles made Michelle heart race, but she tried hard not to show it. “If I can just keep from drooling over the man I should be alright,” she thought. She busied herself with setting out drinking glasses. William came close, holding a glass jug of a brownish-tan liquid. The label bore a picture of whole apples falling from a tree.

“Oh… apple cider,” Michelle said, smiling brightly; her joyful expression pleased William.

“I thought you’d like it,” he remarked, pouring some of the cider into the glasses. “The flavor should go well with these omelets.”

The door of the kitchen clicked, loudly.

“Once again!” Jean-Claude yelled with his hands in the air. “What? I must get up now at three in the morning to cook for you? Sacre Bleu!” Though his words seemed fierce, Michelle could see the man had laughter in his eyes. It was just a game.

“Terribly sorry Jean-Claude.” William said, smiling. “We just got a bit famished waiting around.” The chef mumbled a few things Michelle couldn’t hear.

“Don’t worry, sir,” she said, gently. “We’ll clean up after ourselves.” The chef smiled at her. He looked at William and pointed to Michelle.

“She has the good manners, oui?” he said. “Bon... likely your food is cooked all wrong.” He stalked over to the table and sat down with them, much to Michelle’s amusement.

Alfred soon joined them, and Margaret not long after. She swept into the kitchen and saw them all sitting there.

“Everyone’s up? Oh, good,” she said, brightly. William and Michelle apparently made the omelets right; Jean-Claude did not complain. Michelle noticed he ate rather quickly, for a chef. She liked her own food very well and savored the apple cider especially. It tasted so fresh, as if one had just that morning plucked perfectly ripe, tangy apples and used them to make this liquid ambrosia. William watched Michelle sip the juice; she licked her lips and smiled at the glass with real enjoyment.

“It’s so easy to make her smile,” William mused, silently. A simple thing like apple cider or a taxi-ride made her eyes sparkle, like she was about to do something really exciting. She climbed trees and sat watching the scenery, completely content. She drew faces and sold them for just pennies, not caring if the work was demeaning. She didn’t lose hope at the prospect of misfortune. She seemed to have the missing pieces of his life, and he knew he provided the same sort of completion for her. Sitting with his family and extended family, William felt that it was right she be here with them; she belonged there. She belonged there, with him.

Michelle felt William’ scrutiny and looked up; their eyes met over the table. His cobalt eyes held a warm look, one that bathed Michelle with numerous fond feelings. From his expression, he looked to be thinking things good and wonderful about them, about her. She gave him a brilliant smile and looked back down at her breakfast.

“What a guy,” she thought. “Thank you God for sending him to me.”

“So, William, what are your plans today?” Margaret inquired, wiping her mouth on a table napkin. Her son seemed to consider the question for a moment.

As wonderful the idea of being alone with Michelle, William wanted to be very careful how things were perceived until the wedding.

“I want to drive over to Dorset and show my fiancée the museum there,” he replied; he ate the last bite of his omelet. Margaret seemed pleased at the idea.

“Oh, a lovely town,” she said, nodding approvingly; she looked over at Michelle. “They have a contemporary art museum there that is very nice; also the houses are so charming… all white clapboard and lamp-posts; very historical.”

William turned to Alfred.

“Perhaps I can prevail upon you, old boy to accompany us. It’s not very far. Wouldn’t be the same without you,” he said, smiling. Alfred lifted an eyebrow at him.

“As charming the company of you and Miss Michelle would be, master William… it would be a bit of a pain to stuff myself back into your little motorcar unless we were returning home.”

“Not even to join the Dorset Cheese Tour?” William inquired; his face was expressionless. Alfred narrowed his eyes at his employer.

“Now, don’t think you can wheedle me with cheese...” he began.

“Fresh farm cheese,” William corrected, laying his fork on his plate. “Chevre, Gouda, the famous Grafton Cheddar...”

Alfred smiled and turned towards Michelle.

“This is a man who knows how to argue,” he warned. “You may count me in, sir.” Smiling, William stood up, taking his plate with him; he looked at his watch.

“A half-hour then?” he suggested. Alfred nodded. William looked over at Michelle.

“I’m ready,” she said, smiling. “It sounds like an interesting day... I’ve never heard of cheese blackmail before.” Alfred and William both laughed at this.

“I am very fond of cheese, my dear,” Alfred said. “Really, it’s a bit of an obsession.” Michelle smiled at him.

“I can think of worse obsessions to have,” she said. “I’m glad you’re coming with us.” Alfred smiled at her and sipped his coffee.

Sobering, Michelle glanced at Margaret.

“I hope you don’t mind us leaving you alone,” she said, apologetically. Margaret laughed.

“My dear, don’t even think of it,” she said, gaily. “Though I am flattered you did. I have so many letters to write; really, I need to work on them for a few hours.” Michelle believed her earnest tone; she felt better about taking off with William for the day. Standing, Michelle helped stack the dishes and moved towards the sink to clean up the pans. Jean-Claude forestalled her, however; he took her by the shoulders and despite her protests pushed her gently out of the room.

“Out,” he said, smiling. He closed the door to the kitchen, leaving Michelle to shake her head in the corridor. William emerged a few seconds later.

“Jean-Claude must like you,” he said, grinning down at Michelle. “He has never cleaned up after anyone before.” Michelle returned his smile.

“He probably just didn’t want me scratching the pans,” she remarked. Chuckling, William nodded.

“There is that,” he agreed. Poking William in the shoulder, Michelle looked up at him.

“Thank you for helping me cook breakfast,” she said, softly. “It made the job very enjoyable.” Her face glowed with a soft gratitude; she looked very touchable.

“It’s a good thing Alfred’s coming with us,” William thought, grimly. “You’re very welcome, Michelle,” he said. He gently nudged her arm with his elbow. “Go get your coat, minx.”

THE SMALL town of Dorset looked just as Margaret described. Michelle liked walking down the old-fashioned streets much more than the museum of contemporary art; the modern, rather withdrawn displays therein did not match the town’s warm atmosphere, in her opinion. The locals, however, seemed very proud of the museum. Much more interesting were the historical homes and various displays set up about the area’s history.

The 'Dorset Cheese Tour', as it was affectionately referred to by the locals, consisted of following a map of local farms, set up in a specific order that cheese aficionados appreciated. It all tasted good to Michelle. The ‘farms’ themselves were set up with seating areas and café-type buildings and were all immaculately clean. The friendly farmers showed off their kitchens and cheese-making facilities with pride and offered delicious scones, quiches, fruit and various wines with the cheese samples. By the time they finished, Michelle felt she would not eat any more for the rest of the week. Alfred was in seventh heaven; he praised the farmers in his decorous way and purchased several of each type of cheese to take back with them.

The rest of the evening eased by calmly in Margret’s parlor; Alfred played Chopin for them and Michelle played Debussy for the hostess. William relaxed, watching the scene; he made a mental note to purchase a piano for his home. Not as large as the concert grand but something his bride could play on when she moved in. The very thought of her living there with him made him smile and--when no one could hear--he sighed contentedly. He mentally rearranged things in his bedroom, though the thought of her clothing hanging in his closet made him chuckle; she had so few things. His ‘side’ of the closet would look packed in comparison. Watching Michelle, he saw her smile at the piano as she and Alfred played a duet; he knew she didn’t want him buying things for her, but William knew a way around that.

“Once she is my wife, she can object all she likes...” he thought, smiling to himself. He chuckled at the thought of her protesting; he’d carry her into the stores over his shoulder, if he had to.

During dinner, Margaret hinted heavily about several wedding planners she knew. Michelle surprised William by speaking up.

“I appreciate that, Margaret,” she said, softly. She looked at the kind lady in her eyes. “But, I have always wanted to plan my wedding, myself. It’s been my dream.” William observed is mother looked near tears at the young woman's words.

“Oh, that is so darling,” she said, smiling at Michelle. “Of course you do. Just let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.” Michelle reached over and lightly squeezed her hand.

“I will, and thank you,” she said, smiling. Sitting across the small table, William admired Michelle’s method of diplomacy very much; if he’d asked his mother to butt out she would have dug in her heels. His fiancée managed to do it without any bloodshed at all. William winked at Michelle over the table, well pleased.

Alfred was even in a good mood, for Jean-Claude brought out a lovely fruit flambé instead of Crème Brule; he actually praised the chef for his creativity. At his words, Michelle smiled down at her plate; Alfred didn’t need to know she had mentioned to Jean Claude earlier the fact she’d never eaten a seasonal fruit dessert made by a professional chef. It was true; the Frenchman had looked askance and promised her a good dessert. Michelle sensed that William knew; he smirked at her knowingly over his plate.

“That man can see right through me...” she thought. The very idea brought her comfort; as the hours went by since he'd proposed it seemed more and more that they were indeed made for one another.

THE PARTY of three reluctantly left Margret’s pleasant domicile the next morning; their hostess did not want them to go but knew Michelle and William both needed to get back to the city. With tears, she bid them fond goodbyes and dabbed at her eye with a hankie.

“Please come back again soon,” she said, earnestly. “I would love to have you visit often. There really is so much to see and enjoy around here.” Michelle hugged her and felt a little emotional herself; she could not have imagined a better future mother-in-law. Their trip back to the city had a little more conversation this time and laughter; they did stop at the same country café. Alfred was very pleased to see the waitress bring out a proper tea-trolley this time and complimented the owner accordingly.

Dropping Michelle off at her hotel, William did allow himself to kiss her several times, not really caring that a few people whistled at them; some tourists even took a picture. Michelle looked up at him with her lovely eyes.

“I’ll miss not being near you,” she admitted. William felt the same emotion keenly, but he smiled at her.

“Just call me when you’re lonely,” he said, “Really, anytime. I’ll be calling you often as well, you know. We’ll see each other soon, for lunch or something, alright?” He noticed his tone sounded slightly desperate but did not care; his tone merely corresponded with the emotions within. Michelle nodded; her eyes seemed a little misty. Her saddened expression tugged a bit at William’s heart; he caught her in a warm embrace.

“Chin up there,” he said, smiling. “I’m not far from you. We’ll be married soon, love. Very soon.” Michelle pulled away and smiled at him with courage.

“Two weeks,” she said, holding up two fingers. William smiled.

“Only two weeks, minx,” he replied. He gave Michelle her traveling bag and waved at her as she disappeared into her hotel.

Back in the car, William drove through the city traffic feeling rather depressed. Michelle’s presence was like a soft beacon of light; he felt its loss immediately.

“I can see you miss her already,” Alfred said, quietly. William smiled a little and nodded. He didn’t really have the heart to speak. “If I may, sir,” his valet continued. “I do not think you could have found better girl to marry. Anyone can see she’s a match for you. I think you will both be very happy.”

“I agree,” William said, at last. “Thank you, Alfred.” The elderly man smiled.

“Anytime, sir,” he said. As they drove home, William considered Alfred's words; he felt comforted by the fact that others saw the bond between Michelle and himself. Although quickly formed, their affection was solid; it wasn't merely a matter of 'feeling' or only an emotional response. William just knew; he knew Michelle was the one for him. There were many ways he could keep busy while he waited for her; his bedroom needed to be slightly arranged for a new bride, for starters. Already, ideas formed in his mind how to accomplish this. It occurred to him he wanted some pictures of Michelle to have and put up. Thinking on these things, William smiled again; his grin remained the whole drive home.

In her hotel room once more, Michelle felt like dancing. Certainly she missed William, almost painfully so but plans buzzed around her head like a swarm of bees. Pleasant bees... dressed in sheer ribbons and pink roses. Smiling to herself, Michelle forced herself to unpack before sitting down at the desk and opening her notebook. Smiling, and laughing softly, Michelle wrote careful notes, occasionally crossing a line out and starting over. It would be lovely, but very simple.

As she wrote, Michelle's eyes strayed to a small business card on her desk; her uncle's card. Laying her pen down, Michelle smiled; he should be informed. Perhaps it was not an immediate necessity, but Michelle wanted to tell someone her happy news. Dialing his cell number, Michelle listened to the ringing with baited breath.

"Speak," came her Uncle's voice. She laughed a little.

"Hello Uncle Oscar," she said, smiling. "It's Michelle."

"Hey there," he said, cheerfully. "How are you?"

"I'm… I’m getting married," Michelle blurted out; she noticed her fingers

There was a pause.

"He proposed?" her uncle inquired. It was difficult for Michelle to read his voice. Was he happy? Did he not approve? She remembered that he'd not even met William yet and calmed herself down.

"Yes," she answered. "And I said 'yes'. I love him." She heard a low chuckle.

"I gathered that," her uncle said. "Well, congratulations. I take it his family's alright with it."

"Oh, yes; his mother, Margaret, is ecstatic," Michelle said, smiling fondly. "I do hope you'll be able to meet William soon."

"Oh, I will," her uncle said. Michelle detected a note of humor in his voice. "Don't worry about that." Michelle felt relieved, for some reason. "We should have lunch," he continued. "How 'bout tomorrow?" Michelle beamed.

"That's sound great," she said sincerely.

"Good," Oscar said. "Why don't you come by the main office tomorrow… say, 11:30 and we'll go from there? The address should be on the card."

"I'll be there," Michelle told him. She said goodbye and hung up, feeling light and surprisingly worry-free. If there were any possible doubts she yet possessed, she knew she could ask her uncle about them. Smiling, Michelle took up her pen again and scribbled away blissfully.

THE MIDNIGHT chime found William still awake. He paced around his dark living room relentlessly, holding a mug of herbal tea in one hand. Normally, he dropped off to sleep around ten o’clock, but tonight he found himself unusually wound with up with doubts. None of them question whether asking Michelle was a good idea. William smiled as he thought about how well the proposal and subsequent acceptance had gone. He did not mind his life changing to accept Michelle into it. The doubts and feelings he experienced now were completely normal, though William did not know that.

"What if she changes her mind?" he wondered, finally sipping his tea. William made a face; he'd walked around so long with it the liquid was no longer warm. Walking into the kitchen he pushed it into the microwave and waited while it heated.

"Will she think I'm a good husband?" he mused, to himself. He thought of having kids around and wondering if they should move, or if this would be a suitable place for children. The microwave dinged and he took out the warm cup.

Walking around his kitchen William wondered if he should offer to help Michelle with the wedding, or if she would be offended by that. "Where would she get the money to put it on?" he thought, frowning. He felt like he should have brought it up during the tree-talk. Michelle had just looked so happy that he didn't want to cast shadows on the moment. Sighing, William raked his hand through his hair.

A small chuckle sounded out from across the room. Turning slightly William saw Alfred standing there, in his housecoat and slippers; a sympathetic smile dressed the elderly man’s face.

"I recognize that look, Master William," he said, kindly. "I wore it too, after proposing to Helene." William gave him a weak smile.

"Tea?" he offered. Alfred chuckled again as he nodded; William got out a clean mug and filled it from the hot water dispenser.

"Have you doubted your husbanding abilities yet?" the elderly man asked, opening a canister; he put a spoonful of fragrant leaves into the steaming cup. "Wondering if she'll jilt you at the altar?" William sighed again and sat down on a bar stool, leaning his elbows on the counter.

"Yes, to both," he admitted. Smiling, Alfred leaned back against the counter.

"Don't think me laughing at your expense, sir," he explained. "It is merely odd how every man goes through this, even if they love their new fiancée ardently. Each and every one of us went through at least one, haranguing night of doubts, questions and 'what-ifs'."

"How long does it last?" William asked, feeling rather juvenile. Alfred smiled.

"Generally, the doubts leave when you say 'I do'," he said in an amused tone. William grinned and drank his tea. "You have a level head, sir," Alfred continued. "I have no doubt you'll treat her well. As for Michelle, she's made of rather tough material to have survived what she has... she is also quite clever and has her humor intact."

"And she’s beautiful," William said, more to himself than anyone. Alfred chuckled.

"Yes, well that doesn't hurt," he remarked. William stood, setting his cup in the sink.

"Thank you, Alfred," he said, earnestly. "I appreciate the advice."

"Anytime, sir," the valet said. "I meant that. I thought you would be the night owl tonight. If you don't mind, sir, I'll just take my tea and head on back to bed."

"Of course," William said, smiling. "Goodnight."

Once Alfred shuffled off, William had to admit he felt much better. Just knowing many other men throughout history had shared his same pains and doubts comforted him a little. Washing the cup, he set it on the drain board and shut off the kitchen light. Ambling back through the den, he paused at his favorite couch; he could almost see Michelle sitting there, alongside sitting with him, snuggling and talking, or laughing. The little scene calmed his mind substantially he headed to bed, hoping to dream of his pretty minx.

CHAPTER TEN

A yellow taxicab pulled up outside Brownstone & Peters building. From the cab emerged a tired-looking William Montgomery. He handed the driver money and turned around. Looking up at the building he steeled himself for yet another day at the office. He was running very late; William hadn’t been tardy for anything since University. The almost-sleepless night caused him to doze right through the alarm.

The night before still very fresh in William’s mind, he walked towards the building. In spite of his tardiness and general sleep-deprived grouchiness, a small glimmer at the end of the tunnel existed; perhaps Michelle would call him at lunch or leave him a sweetly hesitant, rambling message on his cell. Even before stepping though the building door, William was thinking of swinging by her place after work and taking her out to eat at Marie’s. It occurred to him that it was wonderful to have someone to look forward to seeing at the end of the day. Riding the elevator up, William noticed swirls and speckles of white powder on the floor.

“Curious,” he thought.

As the elevator stopped, he could hear the muted sounds of power-tools and voices. The elevator doors opened; William walked out and then stopped, his eyes open wide. The lobby was completely different. The carpet was changed to sleek, dark gray flooring, the walls an earth-toned rust color. A new, modern reception desk stood across the lobby; behind it on the wall a new name hung on the wall in black letters: 'Felix-Maclane, Attorneys at law'.

A blond lady in glasses seemed to suddenly appear beside him.

“Hi,” she said, brightly. “Name please?” William looked down at her.

“William Montgomery,” he said, looking back at the new sign. The woman smiled.

“Oh, yes… Contracts & Negotiation, right?” she asked, holding up a clipboard.

“That’s right,” he said. He looked back down at her. “I suppose the rumors were actually true.” The lady kept her pleasant smile.

“Yep,” she quipped. “Please follow me, sir.” The woman walked towards the reception desk. “I’m Laurel Ecland. Mr. Maclane’s assistant.”

“A pleasure, Miss Ecland,” William said, walking after her. “I suppose the new boss is somewhere around?” Laurel turned and gave him a smile.

“Mr. Maclane is in his office,” she said. “This way, please.” She took off down the hall at a brisk pace. Gripping his briefcase, William jogged after the speedy tour guide, still feeling a bit bewildered.

“First vacation in six years,” he thought. “Three measly days and we now have a new boss... and the whole damn office is being redone.”

Some minutes later, William found himself outside Mr. Peters' old office. There was a new nameplate on a new, polished wooden door; it read: 'Oscar Maclane - Senior Partner'. William smiled, a little.

“The man works fast,” he commented. The blond lady smiled.

“Mr. Maclane will see you now,” she stated, pointing at the door. Thanking her William walked forward, wondering what to expect; he put his hand to the handle and pushed.

The door opened onto a surreal scene. The office itself was not surprising, though its appearance had changed greatly. The room had been enlarged considerably and enhanced with quality wood flooring, rust-colored walls and modern lighting; sleek cabinets and top of the line computers sat along one wall; the windows were larger and let in natural light.

However, the eye-catching portion of the room was not its décor but rather the figure at the office’s desk. The chair was pushed aside and a tall, stocky man stood behind the desk; he appeared oddly dressed, for a senior partner of a law firm; the man wore a green Hawaiian-type shirt and khaki shorts. As strange the man’s appearance, what he was doing as equally weird. Newspapers had been spread out on the man’s desk; Mr. Maclane was busily carving a large watermelon upon the papers with what appeared to be a battery-powered, hand-held saw.

The man wore goggles, which proved to be a wise move; pink liquid splattered up into his face every time he cut into the melon. William walked forward, doing all he could to keep his face straight; he’d never seen anything like this. Every once in awhile Mr. Maclane would glance up at a flat-screen TV on an adjacent wall; a popular cooking show could be seen on the screen; a middle-aged blond woman described to her audience how to carve a watermelon in to a basket for one’s fruit salad.

Looking at the mangled mess on the desk, William could see the ‘basket’ the man had created would probably interest Picasso, but no one else.

“A watermelon sculpture in November...” William mused silently; he watched the man hack off another piece.

“Come in… come in,” the new boss instructed, still watching the television screen. William walked closer; he stood as near to the desk as he dared.

“And now you should have a lovely basket for your salad!” the woman on the TV said, proudly displaying her perfectly cut melon-sculpture. William and the man both looked at the handiwork before them. The ‘basket’ looked positively grotesque; shiny black seeds floated in little pools of pink liquid on the wet newspaper. The smell of melon hung heavy in the air.

The man in the green shirt looked at William.

“Well, I think she’s a little overrated,” he said, jerking his thumb at the TV. Wiping his hands, he pointed a remote at the screen; it shut off without a sound. William studied the man before him, his face expressionless. Appearing stoic was an essential talent in his trade; it had served him well through many a volatile negotiation. Mr. Maclane appeared to be in his late forties; he possessed keen gray eyes and a mustache, dark hair with a little gray in it and an air of confidence that did not seem put on. Looking at the garish shirt, William could see it was not actually green but white, printed with a pattern of small, green limes. The man cut off a large slice of the melon-basket monstrosity. He held it out to William.

“Care for some melon?” he asked. Seeing something in the pink mess, the man paused and picked out a small, white chunk. “Drywall...” he said, smiling.

“Maybe if I were starving,” William thought, eying the melon’s remains. “No, thank you, sir,” he replied, politely. The man put it the piece back on the newspapers.

“You can call me Mr. Maclane,” he said. “That ‘sir’ thing is better off in the military.” He surveyed the watermelon again. “Yeah, it doesn’t look too appetizing,” he admitted, wiping his hands again. Reaching over, he pressed an intercom button. “Bob! Get in here...”

A few seconds later a man in a hard hat breezed through the office door.

“Boss?” he queried; the newcomer stopped short at the sight of the desk and its melon. “What the hell...”

“Hey,” Oscar interrupted. “Take this over to the crew. They might like some… watermelon.” At his words, ‘Bob’ smiled.

“Sure thing, Mr. Maclane,” he said. “I’m sure they won’t mind if it looks like it went through a wood chipper.” He scooped it up into a clean garbage bag, much to William’s amusement. Oscar pointed to the power-tool he’d used on the melon.

“Thanks for loaning me your saw,” he said. “I’m done with it now.” Bob looked askance at the sticky, pink tool on Oscar’s desk; he picked it up with two fingers, his face a picture of distaste.

“I hope you wore goggles, boss,” the man said. Oscar nodded.

“Safety first,” he said. Bob swung the bag of melon over his shoulder and left the office, cradling the sticky, seedy saw in one arm.

“Good heavens,” William thought. “I’ve entered the Twilight Zone...”

“Shoot,” Oscar said, loudly; he picked a watermelon seed off his shirt. “I got a stain on my limey shirt.”

“Pardon?” William said, his eyes narrowing a little. The man in front of him smiled, pulling on the shoulders of his hideous shirt.

“You know, the limes... on the shirt,” Oscar answered. “I like this shirt. Very comfortable.”

“I see,” William said, letting it go. No use getting into a fistfight with the boss over a perceived slur against the English.

“Now, who are you again?” Oscar asked William; as he spoke the man produced a bottle of glass cleaner and began spraying the surface of his desk liberally, wiping it off with a clean cloth.

“William Montgomery; Contracts & Negotiation,” William answered, automatically.

“Oh, yeah,” Oscar sat down on his chair, and put his feet up on the clean desk. William saw that his boss’ feet were clad in a pair of very old penny loafers, worn with no socks. He began to suspect the man in front of him placed somewhere between pleasantly eccentric, and seriously off his rocker.

“Well, Montgomery,” Mr. Maclane continued. “Most of the firm lawyers of Brownstone & Peters have been terminated. Why should I keep you on?”

“There’s no reason to,” William said, quickly. “Not unless you want to keep a hard worker who’s been with the former company for six years, and two years previous at the London office. I’ve written hundreds of contracts and aided negotiations for twenty-seven successful mergers.”

“OK,” Oscar said, he took out a cigar from some unseen drawer and lit it. After puffing out a thick smoke ring, he looked back at William. “Tell you what, Montgomery... most of the offices on this floor are being remodeled, but the ones below are already done.”

“Impressive,” William remarked, truthfully. Oscar nodded.

“Yep. Amazing what you can do with twenty crews of workers,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Less downtime. Your office is being worked on now, I think. Your secretary Mabel moved out the documents Friday. The problem I have is … the janitors are on strike.” William raised one eyebrow, slightly; his boss continued. “The new office furniture downstairs is all dusty, what with the work we’ve done. How about you give us a hand with the polishing?”

About to laugh and protest, William thought he saw just the slightest hint of a challenge in the man’s eyes, and humor. Something in William rallied and despite the ludicrous suggestion, he felt like rising to meet this challenge.

“You wish me to polish all the downstairs office furniture?” he asked, just to make certain he knew what the man wanted. Oscar nodded, not breaking his stare.

“Laurel can find a jumpsuit for you to wear so you don’t get your suit all messed up,” he said. “The polishing equipment is already downstairs in the first office. Think you can handle that?” William looked the man square in the eye.

“Not a problem, Mr. Maclane,” he said, evenly. The ghost of a smile hovered on Oscar’s face for a moment.

“Excellent,” he said. “You can let yourself out, Montgomery.”

“Thank you, sir,” William responded. “Good day to you.” He turned and walked out of the office.

Once the door closed, Oscar chuckled to himself. The boy was definitely upper crust but not arrogant. Picking up the remote again he pointed it at the sound system. A rousing, Latin beat filled the air as Oscar stubbed out his cigar.

“They worked from eight to four...” he sang along, getting out of his chair. “They were in love.... they had each other... who could ask for more?” He moved a little from side to side as if he were dancing with an imaginary partner. “At the Copa... Copa Cabana...” He opened a closet door and took out an expensive suit, still moving to the song.

Down the hall, William heard the music and looked over his shoulder. The man wore shorts in November, penny-loafers with no socks and listened to lounge singers… at work. He didn’t even want to consider the watermelon on the desk issue.

“Perhaps I need a new career,” William thought. Ahead, he spotted Laurel sitting at a sleek new desk. She closed her laptop as he drew near and looked up expectantly.

“Apparently, I am polishing furniture today,” he stated. Mr. Maclane’s assistant smiled.

The secretary did indeed have a spare jumpsuit for him, the kind a janitor would wear. Hanging up his coat in the re-furbished men’s room William had to admit that as much as the new boss appeared to be completely barmy, he certainly could get things accomplished quickly.

“Someone should give him a medal for renovating this building,” he thought, taking off his tie.

Stowing his things in a coat closet, William exited the room and walked down the hall clad in blue denim; he decided to take the stairwell down to the paralegal floor. The downstairs offices were remodeled in much the same fashion as the lobby; the entire effect was modern, businesslike but rather relaxed regarding color and the simple lines. The first office William encountered harbored a table complete with stacks of clean buffing cloths and several cans of polish. One can had a post-it note on it. Picking up the can, William saw the label and snorted. It read “Old English” furniture polish. The note read: ‘God save the Queen’. For a moment, a muscle in William’s cheek twitched; a slow grin spread over his face.

“He can’t get to me that easily,” he thought, narrowing his eyes. Rolling up his sleeves, William set to work.

Oscar Maclane sat at his desk, flipping through a file of papers, once again dressed in proper business attire. Pushing his intercom button, he called for Laurel.

“Sir?” came the cheerful voice of his assistant.

“Is he downstairs?” Oscar inquired, smiling to himself.

“Yes, he is,” his assistant answered. “Polishing away, too. Do you still want me to go meet your niece at the main office?”

“Yeah. I’ll be along shortly,” he replied. “Before you go, route all my calls through my cell. I won’t be back from lunch until 1pm.”

“Got it, sir,” Laurel replied. Shutting of the music, Oscar smiled at the lime shirt as he hung it up. One tacky thrift-store shirt with limes on it, $2; one out of state watermelon, $14.82; the look on his niece’s fiancé’s face… priceless.

AMID A fast-moving crowd of businesspeople Michelle walked briskly in the chilly air, snug in her blue coat. Every few seconds, she looked down at a small business card in her hand. The weekend was over; William was working and things seemed more or less back to normal. Looking at her left hand, Michelle smiled; a slight bulge showed could be seen in the glove’s fabric, right over her ring-finger.

“Maybe not quite normal,” she thought, happily. The young woman continued searching for her uncle’s building. She spied it after a minute, an impressive modern structure with two doormen out front. As she drew near one of them opened a door for her. Inside, the space seemed a little backward; the reception desk was a gray, elongated monstrosity, set fairly close to the doors. The ‘lobby’ appeared almost non-existent. Behind the reception desk hung large glossy, black letters on the wall: 'Felix- Maclane, Attorneys at Law'. Many phones rang in the air; three receptionists sat behind the desk, all answering calls. Michelle waited by the desk for one of them to look up.

An older lady in a smart, brown suit-dress put down her phone and smiled at her in a friendly manner; the smile set Michelle at ease.

“Michelle Gregory to see Oscar Maclane?” she said, timidly. The woman beamed.

“He’s expecting you. Come with me.” The receptionist took out a key-card and came out from behind the desk; she walked briskly past the main elevator. She stopped at a corporate elevator flanked by two security guards. Swiping her card, the woman stepped back as the doors opened. “Go ahead there, dear,” the woman said, kindly. “It stops at his office.” Thanking her, Michelle walked in to the large elevator.

Admiring the polished wood seat, Michelle sat and looked down at the floor; it appeared covered in black granite. Faintly in the background Michelle thought she heard classic rock music playing. She smiled; apparently her uncle wasn’t one for ‘easy listening’ in his elevator.

The elevator doors finally opened; Michelle walked out and immediately felt like she was in a warehouse. The elevator stood by itself as a little box in the huge space. The whole floor was open save for the many support columns. Natural light poured in from huge windows set into the walls on all sides of the room; tall, potted trees stood in between the windows. The floor’s support posts had been fashioned to look like Roman columns. Every thirty feet or so sat large worktables and many chairs, set up in an even pattern throughout the floor.

“There must be a hundred of them,” Michelle thought, looking around. Modern, small colored lamps hovered over each table, hanging down from the ceiling on long wires. It was by far the most extraordinary office Michelle had ever seen.

Voices filled the air; all around the room echoed calm, steady discussions. Around many of the tables grouped people in business suits; some looked at papers, some talked but most sat in front of computers. Freestanding shelves and wooden file cabinets stood in various places; every once in awhile a lawyer would walk over and open a drawer. It appeared to be a giant research facility.

Searching the faces, Michelle did not see her uncle anywhere. Not wanting to walk around or disturb people, she remained where she was. One table nearby caught her attention; a set of blueprints was spread open on top of it. Two men in suits spoke animatedly in turns with three men who did not appear to be lawyers; they wore blue jackets, with the words ‘Felix-Maclane’ written on the back in white letters. One of them shook his head and crossed out something on the blueprints.

A blond woman stood near this group, holding a clipboard. After a moment, she turned around and saw Michelle standing by the elevator. Stepping closer to her, the woman held out her hand and smiled.

“You must be Michelle, Mr. Maclane’s niece,” she said, pleasantly. “I’m Laurel Ecland, his assistant.” The woman stood a little shorter than Michelle; she guessed the blond woman to be about twenty-four or twenty-five. She was very pretty in a crisp, modern way and dressed fashionably in a tailored knee-length business dress; elegant, thin glasses perched on her slender nose. She had on a tasteful amount of makeup on; her curly, blond hair was cut to fall to her chin in bouncy ringlets; it appeared to be naturally blond.

“It is nice to meet you,” Michelle said.

Laurel looked at her face closely.

“I can see the family resemblance,” she said, smiling. “Hopefully you didn’t inherit the unpredictable temper and tendency toward incivility.” Michelle smiled. She liked this lady already. “You uncle’s running a little late and asked me to show you around until he gets here, alright?” Michelle nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, quietly. Laurel smiled and walked slowly forward, pointing out different departments on the one floor.

“I know it looks a little weird in here,” she began, “But the Boss figures we’ve save huge amounts of time not opening doors or running from one floor to another.”

“On the contrary, I like the feel of this place,” Michelle said. “I think the only issue would be trying to concentrate.” They passed a group of people talking loudly, with an occasional burst of laughter. Laurel grinned.

“Nope,” she said, cheerfully. “If it gets too loud, you just slip on your ear-buds and keep typing.” Michelle smiled at this; it seemed quite a relaxed place of business, for a law firm.

Laurel led them over to a less-occupied corner. A sort of sitting area had been arranged there, taking up nearly a quarter of the floor, complete with comfortable couches and chairs, coffee tables, an espresso cart and even a small café, with tables. Several potted trees formed a temporary barrier between the sitting area and the rest of the ‘office’. Sitting on an empty couch, Laurel sighed and set down her clipboard.

“I won’t ever get fat working here,” she said, grinning. “I probably walk several miles a day just on this floor alone.” Michelle smiled at her words and began to take off her coat. Removing her gloves, she stuffed them in her coat’s pockets; unbeknownst to her, the new ring on her finger caught a ray of sunlight.

“Oh, my gosh...” Laurel said, suddenly. She sat up, staring at Michelle’s hand. “Is that real? Holy cow...” Looking down at her hand, Michelle smiled and blushed.

“Oh… my boyfriend, William, proposed to me this weekend,” she explained, softly. She sat down on a comfy chair just opposite Laurel, so she could see her ring better. Studying it closely, her uncle’s assistant smiled. She looked at Michelle with raised eyebrows.

“Impressive,” she said. “Now, is he as great a guy as that ring suggests?” Smiling, Michelle nodded in answer. Sighing, Laurel leaned back against the couch. “Some girls have all the luck,” she said, affecting a sad look.

“I don’t believe luck had anything to with it,” Michelle said, biting her lip. “I just think God is an incredibly good matchmaker. There is no other way to explain how we met.” Laurel’s eyes glittered.

“OK... now I’m really curious,” she said, sitting forward.

OSCAR WALKED up to the café area some twenty minutes later; the girls still sat on couch, talking. Laurel dabbed at her eyes with tissues, wiping away actual tears. Oscar halted, having never seen his spirited assistant cry before.

“Oh, my gosh... that is so sweet!” Laurel was saying. “Is he like the perfect guy or what? He went down on one knee and everything? Wow...” She blinked down at the empty tissue box in dismay.

Michelle looked up and saw her uncle standing close by, with a puzzled expression on his face; she smiled at him and stood up. He looked different in a suit, she decided; very professional; she could see how some folks would view the man as intimidating.

“Uncle Oscar,” she said. Laurel quickly wiped her eyes on her hand and stood too, pretending to study something on her clipboard.

“I hope I’m not… interrupting,” Oscar said, managing a half smile. Michelle kept herself from laughing; it was amusing to see the tall, stern man ill at ease over girly conversation.

“Not at all,” she said.

“She was just telling me how her gorgeous man proposed,” Laurel said, smiling at Michelle. “I need to meet a nice guy like that. I’ll leave you two alone. Take care, Michelle.” Nodding, she walked off with her clipboard in hand.

Oscar looked after her then back at Michelle.

“Must have been some proposal,” he said, raising an eyebrow. Michelle nodded; she held out her hand with the ring on it. “Good grief, that’s a big rock,” her uncle said, frowning. “You’re gonna get mugged for sure.” Michelle held up her gloves.

“I wear these everywhere,” she explained. Oscar nodded.

“Smart girl,” he said. “Hungry?”

“Very much,” she said, smiling.

The walked a few blocks to Oscar's favorite restaurant; it turned out to be a trendy little Italian place frequented by many office professionals in the vicinity. The head waiter spied Oscar as the two breezed in the door and beckoned to the owner. A dark-haired man in his mid-forties jogged forward, dousing both guests with a benevolent smile. Nodding at the man Oscar turned to Michelle.

“Marco… this is my niece, Michelle,” he said, smiling. Marco's smiled grew even wider, showing off very bright teeth.

“Oh... you found her?” he said, enthusiastically. “Wonderful... wonderful!”

Michelle felt like laughing at the man's reaction. Quite a few people knew about her being ‘lost’; it was as if she’d had a phantom family the last two years and didn’t even know about it. “She’s recently become engaged,” Oscar continued. Michelle thought she heard just a hint of pride in his voice; a little sentimental emotion welled up in her.

The restaurant owner looked pleased.

“Good. Good! We will have a special dinner then? A celebration... you should bring him by also.”

“I will,” Michele said; she intended to. She hoped William would like this place, though she did not know if he even liked Italian food.

The owner himself led them though the main seating room; Michelle admired the cleanliness of the earth-toned tile floors and the whiter-than-white tablecloths. All then table were in the small bistro style, high off the floor with tall chairs. A fresh red rose in a thin, silver vase adorned each table; sunlight streamed in from large semi-circle windows set into the wall on three sides of the room. The atmosphere was light and fresh; perfect for enjoying the flavorful carnival that is Italian cuisine. They were not seated there but led up a wrought iron staircase that wound around to a second story and out onto a balcony that had been closed in with windows. A slightly larger table sat in the light; beside it potted rose bushes sat basking in the warmth of the fall sun, well guarded inside from the cold.

“Beautiful...” Michelle said, with her hand to her chest. Marco appeared pleased at her expression.

“Grazie,” he said, bowing slightly. He pulled a chair out for her and snapped her napkin with flair before laying it in her lap. Oscar pulled his own seat and tossed the napkin to the side. He looked up at Marco.

“I’m in the mood for lasagna,” he stated. The Italian considered this a moment.

“There are two,” he began. “One is vegan...” Oscar lifted a disapproving eyebrow. “The other has my grandmother’s handmade anise sausage, mushrooms and artichoke hearts.”

“That’s the one for me,” Oscar said, nodding. “I’ll have it with a doppio malto.” Marco nodded; he looked over at Michelle. She bit her lip.

“I know it must be very common to order this... but I love fettuccine Alfredo,” she said. Marco smiled.

“It is not ‘common’, carina,” he said, jovially. “A dish for which Italian cuisine is famous, no? You like the simple, good things. We have an Alfredo you would die to taste again.” Oscar laughed.

“Just bring us the food, Marco,” he said, grinning. The owner snorted.

“Does she want just water to drink?” he queried, gesturing towards Michelle.

“Have you ever had an Italian soda?” Oscar asked his niece. Michelle shook her head. “Bring her something that would go with Alfredo.” The owner gave a mocking bow and walked off, mumbling something to himself.

“I’ll risk sounding obvious and say you must come here a lot,” Michelle remarked. Oscar chuckled.

“Yeah,” he said, heaving a short sigh. He looked out the windows; the view was mainly of the tall buildings across the street, but one could also watch the people and cars below. “I come up here most; it’s private. I think they keep it for me ‘cause I tip way too much.” He looked over at Michelle; she was watching his face with a steady look in her eyes.

“I can see you want to ask me about something, Uncle,” she said, quietly. “Please don’t hesitate. Too much time has been lost between us to worry about offending one another.”

To her surprise, Oscar burst out laughing.

“That settles it.” he said, chuckling. “I know for sure you’re my niece.” He looked over and saw Michelle’s puzzled expression. “Gregory’s have the gift of frankness. It’s in our blood. Must be a Scottish thing... I dunno.” Michelle smiled a little and then sobered; his words sparked to memory a question that had formed in her mind since her uncle had come back into her life.

“If I may, sir... why did you change your last name?” she asked. Oscar's expression grew more serious at her words; he did not seem insulted by the question.

“I changed it before going into the military,” he answered, after a moment. “My dad didn’t like the idea of his oldest son joining the Marines. Vietnam was a bad word back then, you know. But, I was 18 and hot-headed... so, I had my name changed and joined up.”

Michelle leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands.

“Mom never said anything about that,” she said. “How long were you in the military?”

“Eight years active, four in the reserves,” Oscar replied, fiddling with a table napkin. “Once, I was assigned to guard at the US Embassy in London. Nice gig, no action… but one day a whole crew of contractors descended on the place from the States, doing a complete remodel. They worked like madmen. I’d never seen a project get done so fast. It impressed me and I decided when I got out of the service, I’d like to be in construction getting government contracts.”

“Wow,” was all Michelle could think of to say, at first; her uncle’s past seemed quite a whirl of activity. “So, after the military you worked in construction all those years, and then decided to switch careers again?” Oscar cleared his throat.

“Sort of,” he said, sitting up. “Having to hide from unstable rebel squads out for westerner blood was kind of a wake-up call. I do business now in democratic countries only.” Michelle smiled.

“I think you ought to write your life experiences down,” she said, affectionately. “It would be a riveting action adventure novel... better than Tom Clancy.” Chuckling, Oscar shook his head.

“No way,” he said. “I have all his books.”

Their lunch soon arrived; they could smell it several seconds before it even appeared. Michelle stomach rumbled, making her redden a little with embarrassment. If Oscar heard, he didn’t let on.

“Wow, that’s a lot of food...” Oscar said, as the waiter set down a white platter before him. The plate held a size-able slab of lasagna accompanied by fragrant garlic bread. The drink he ordered earlier turned out to be an Italian beer, which Marco poured with ceremony into a tall, chilled glass. Michelle’s bowl of noodles in white sauce smelled heavenly; beside her plate Marco set a slender glass of a light orange drink, filled with bubbles.

“Apricot soda,” Marco announced with a smile. “Enjoy! I will be back with more bread later.”

“He’s bringing more food?” Michelle asked, looking worried. “It would take me two days to eat just this.” Oscar nodded, looking down at his own plate.

“Don’t worry,” he said, picking up his fork. ”They expect you to take a bunch home.”

“It smells delicious,” Michelle said, inhaling the heady aroma of cheese-enhanced cream sauce.

The food tasted excellent. It took them both about forty minutes to eat only half their food. The fact that they kept talking during the meal probably didn’t hasten matters much. Michelle felt like she’d learned more about her Uncle in the last hour than she had in her whole life. His first law partner, Arthur Felix, had died some years earlier.

“He was a great lawyer,” Oscar said, in between bites. “The guy worked until he was well into his eighties. Taught me a lot about takeovers and didn't mind taking on a greenhorn like me as his partner. When he died, I kept the name of the company the same. Has a nice ring to it.”

“It does,” Michelle agreed. “I take it there are no other partners.” Her uncle shook his head.

“Nope.” Oscar paused to finish off his beer. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

Michelle ate for a minute in silence. Inwardly she wondered about this legal realm her uncle and fiancé were mixed up in. It seemed a rather desperate business, fraught with competition, uncertainty and constant variables. Despite this, however, both her uncle and William were respectable, hard-working men. Perhaps the television-enhanced stereotypes of lawyers were largely unfounded.

“So, you’re getting’ married in two weeks?” Oscar asked, cutting another bite of his lasagna. Michelle nodded, chewing her mouthful slowly; she wanted to have a bowl of these noodles every day for the rest of her life; it was that good.

“Yes,” she said, after swallowing. “I’m planning the wedding, myself; William’s mother has offered to help, but... I really want to do it my way.”

Oscar seemed to consider this a moment.

“So… you’re going to do the whole wedding yourself?” he asked; he looked over at his niece. She seemed perfectly serious.

“I am,” Michelle answered him, meeting his gaze. Her uncle was regarding her with a peculiar expression, like he didn’t believe her.

“I admit I’m curious how you would pay for it,” he said, finally.

Setting her fork down, Michelle looked her uncle in the eye.

“I know my income may not be the greatest but I am not completely destitute,” she said, careful to keep her tone soft. Her uncle’s attitude rankled a little... but she knew he meant well. “The past two years I have not had to pay rent, or utilities; just food and hygienic essentials. I have managed to save a little money, and I want a simple ceremony. Marriage licenses are not that expensive, and there are some clergymen who’ll perform the ceremony for very reasonable rates. I can rent a little kitchen and cook hors d’oeuvres myself. The hotel I live at has some wine I can purchase at about half cost; I have saved the hotel a lot of money with my financial services and I they’ll let me have their reception room very reasonably. I have already spoken with the manager. I know it’s not the best scenario imaginable but it will do just fine.”

Oscar watched his niece through her little oration; her chin lifted ever so slightly and her eyes held a very stubborn look. At that moment, he saw his younger brother’s expression on her face. It was as close to tears as he’d been in some time; though he did not show it. He felt extremely proud of her self-reliance, but there was no way he’d let her do this on her own.

“Your mom and dad would be proud of you, you know that?” he said, suddenly. Michelle was caught off guard by this statement; she was not quite prepared for the emotion that her uncle’s words triggered. Blinking, she tried very hard not to cry. “I know this because I am. Very proud.”

Michelle could not stop one small tear from sneaking out the corner of her eye. She dashed it away quickly.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, softly.

“That’s why you’re going to have a nice wedding,” Oscar continued. “Now, don’t argue with me on it, either; the bride’s family always pays for the wedding and last time I checked we’re still family.” Michelle opened up her mouth to protest, but there was something in his face that said he would not be moved. The gesture was appreciated, however.

“I didn’t expect that,” she said at last. Oscar smiled.

“Exactly,” he said, returning to his food. “I’ll have Laurel pick you up at your hotel tomorrow and you two can plan and shop or whatever. I don’t want to know. Just do it that way you like, OK?” Michelle thought her face would crack with smiling so much. She wanted to jump up and hug the man but refrained; he seemed happy just to be eating.

Excitement welled in her, along with a welcome kind of relief. She had no qualms attempting the wedding herself, but knew it would be better if she had help. The idea of running about Manhattan with the good-natured Laurel planning a wedding sounded like a lot of fun; the lady had good taste.

Marco packed their leftovers in two, neat little bundles, wrapped in brown paper, tied with red ribbon and stamped with the restaurant’s logo. The congenial owner tried valiantly to get them to order dessert... but they refused, politely.

“Oh... I can’t eat another bite, sir,” Michelle explained. “It was so good; I ate more than I should have.”

“Bah! You should eat more, you are so thin, carina,” Marco told her. Oscar laughed.

“You can’t say that about me,” he joked, patting his slightly bulging belly. “I've been eating here too long.” Marco contented himself with wrapping some fresh canolis and securing them to the leftover packages.

“Put them in the refrigerator right away,” he instructed, as he walked off.

“I would weigh a ton if I ate here every day,” Michelle said plaintively. “You must go running or something to work it off.”

“You won’t catch me running,” Oscar said, with conviction. “Hard on the knees. I have a lap-pool. You know... it’s about the size of a large bathtub, sits in the floor; a motor keeps a water current running so you can swim laps without having a huge pool to heat.”

“I see,” Michelle said, impressed. “That sounds like a great way to stay in shape.”

“It beats sit-ups,” her uncle said. He signed his name to the bill and handed it to a passing waitress. Michelle offered to leave a tip but was politely refused.

They said goodbye to the friendly Marco and walked outside. Michelle wanted to walk home; her hotel wasn’t that far and she was used to the distance by now. Michelle turned to her uncle as he stood on the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” she said, meaning each word. “I don’t know what else to say.” Before she could talk herself out of it, she put her arms around Oscar and hugged him. He got over the shock of it quickly and dropped a small kiss on the top of Michelle’s head.

“I’m glad I found you,” he said, sincerely. “I feel bad for having not been there when you needed family most. You did alright, but... I’m just glad you’re not holding it against me.” Michelle did let a few tears out as she drew back a step. Her uncle suddenly appeared a little more human.

Oscar signaled for a cab, and gently directed Michelle into it, not listening to her protests about walking.

“Not if I can help it,” he said, trying to look severe. Getting in the cab, Michelle rolled down the window.

“I really would like you to meet my fiancé, Uncle,” she said, looking up at him. Oscar grinned, a little sheepishly.

“Well, that probably would be a good idea,” he agreed. “I have Friday free for dinner. What about you both meet me here at Marco’s at… say, seven?” Smiling, Michelle nodded.

“That sounds wonderful,” she said, gratefully. “I think you will really like him; he’s a good man.” She rolled up the window as the cab drove off. Watching it drive away, Oscar smiled.

“I hope so,” he said, to himself.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Michelle called William the moment she got back to her hotel room. It rang several times before going to voice mail. She didn’t know the man’s phone was in his briefcase.

“Hello William,” she said, after the ‘beep’; she smiled at the thought of him listening to the message later. “I just got back from lunch with my uncle. He’s anxious to meet you; he has Friday dinner free and wants to take us to this Italian place we went to today. It so good, really the food’s incredible.” Michelle paused, formulating her words; she did not want to leave a ‘brainless' message on William’s phone. “I hope your day is going well; I miss you so much... as if I haven’t seen you in weeks.” She laughed a little at this. “My uncle told me he’s paying for the wedding; I was really surprised at the offer. Actually, it was more like a statement than a question but I am relieved, I must admit. It will still be very simple, don’t worry and no, you won’t be dragged around to look at stuff. I promise. Oh, gosh I’m rambling again. I love you, I miss you. I’ll be here for the rest of the day. ‘Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Michelle it her lip and smiled; she felt like waiting by the phone for his response, but wanted to take care a few details. Dialing the number of the hotel manager, Michelle spent a few moments confirming her request to reserve the reception room; Michelle told Mr. Chan who her uncle was and the poor man nearly dropped the phone in surprise. He informed his accountant/guest that he’d been trying to get Mr. Maclane to hold his business dinners at the hotel with no success.

“I’ll let you have the reception hall for free...” he said, enthusiastically, “... and we’ll decorate it... and throw in catering service, and valet service for your reception if you can get his firm to come here for all their business gatherings. That would be a great account to have.” Michelle inwardly chuckled at the man’s desperate tone. She knew however it would be a large account for him; she planned to ask her uncle about it, just to please Mr. Chan. He really had treated her politely in spite of her unemployed situation; it was the least she could do. Michelle had no intention of taking the free services he’d offered; her Uncle Oscar would probably insist on paying full price, anyway. He was just that kind of guy.

The shower beckoned. Michelle left the bathroom door open so she could hear the phone if it rang. Drying her hair, she thought of the conversation with her uncle at lunch and smiled. Cinderella’s fairy godmother had nothing on Oscar, she decided. The man was calculating and sharp but possessed an admiration of good character and liked to test people. She figured he’d like her fiancé very much; William would certainly be able to respect a man like that. Dressed in her pajamas, Michelle sat down happily with her wedding noted and wrote several more, a sweet smile on her face.

A few minutes after 6pm Michelle’s phone rang; she picked it up at the second ring.

“Hello?” she said happily. A familiar chuckle sounded on the other end.

“Waiting around the phone for me to call, eh?” William asked; he sounded amused. Michelle blushed.

“A little,” she admitted.

“Well that’s a giant boost for my ego,” William said, with a bit of a tired sigh.

“Long day?” Michelle ventured, hoping that wasn’t too obvious; her man definitely sounded spent.

“Indeed,” came William’s reply. “My firm was taken over by a rival company in my absence.” Michelle gasped, but didn’t interrupt. “The whole firm is being remodeled...” William continued, sounding as if he sat down heavily on a chair. “One floor’s already done. Bloody fast work....”

“Wow,” Michelle said, a little awed by the news. “I assume people are working around the construction?”

“Correct,” William replied. “It’s actually a vast improvement; they are really doing a professional job.”

Michelle desperately wanted to ask if a bunch of people had been fired but did not. William was the type to eventually give out the information, if one was patient.

“Sounds like they are doing what your former bosses weren’t willing to,” she said, gently.

“Exactly,” William agreed. “They also fired about half of the staff, trimmed a lot fat and brought in some new blood.”

William’s thoughts turned to his new boss and closed his eyes; he sat in the men’s room still wearing the denim jump-suit. He was no stranger to polishing furniture, having done so to the pieces he built, occasionally. A whole floor of hundreds of pieces was a different matter, however. He felt very tired, sore and sweaty, and yet content in that he’d worked hard. William wasn’t about to give his half-mad employer the satisfaction of firing him over poorly-polished desk chairs.

“My new boss is insane.”

“Insane?” Michelle repeated, not sure if she’d heard him right. William sighed.

“Mildly, but definitely off his rocker.” He briefly described the scene in the man’s office. There was silence on the other line for a moment.

“A watermelon,” Michelle said, quietly. “… On his desk? That’s so… weird.” William chuckled. At least someone else found it odd. He wasn’t sure if his fiancée would even believe him; William almost didn’t believe it himself and he’d been standing right there. “Doesn’t that violate some OSHA regulation?” Michelle continued. Laughing tiredly, William ran his hand through his hair.

“Possibly,” he said, smiling. “But, I think the man can do as he likes in his own office. As I walked away from his door, I could hear him singing along to ‘Copa Cabana’...” Michelle laughed; the sweet sound of her merriment washed over him like balm.

“Wow, what a nut,” she said, smiling. “I hope he didn’t threaten to fire you or anything.” William smirked, leaning back against the chair; it was actually comfortable seat and he was enjoying sitting in it before attempting to wash away some of the grime adhering to him.

“Oh, he definitely inferred it as a real possibility,” William said, yawning. The prior evening’s lack of sleep appeared to be fast descending upon him. “He had me polish furniture on the renovated floor, all day.”

“You’re kidding,” Michelle said; her voice sounded incredulous.

“No, I am not,” William said, still smiling; he rested his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. “I think it was some kind of test, you know... as if to see if I’d balk at the idea of manual labor.”

Michelle laughed, softly.

“He obviously doesn’t know you very well,” she said, amused. “I've only known you a short while and I know you're far too stubborn a person to resist a challenge like that.” William chuckled, liking the teasing tone of Michelle’s voice.

“One knows another, you little minx,” he said.

“You sound really beat,” Michelle said, sympathetically. “You probably want to go home and sleep on your comfy couch.”

At this, William opened his eyes and sat forward a little.

“Oh, no you don’t...” he said with a grin. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day. I would have to be half dead to put you off; even then you’d have a time convincing me to stay away.”

“If you were half dead, I’d be there taking care of you,” Michelle returned, earnestly. “Alfred couldn’t keep me from helping, either, even with all the lifts of his disapproving eyebrow.” William laughed.

“Sweet girl,” he said, chuckling. “I’m lucky to have you. Let me clean up a bit then I’ll swing by and get you.” Michelle thought a moment.

“Do you want to eat here?” she inquired. “Then we wouldn’t have to go anywhere else. I’ve heard the restaurant here is very good.”

William blinked.

“You’ve never eaten there?” he asked, surprised. Michelle smiled.

“Nope,” she said. “We could go somewhere else, if you don’t like it. There’s a great Chinese take-out window not far from here that I go to all the time; they really have great food. They actually use fresh ginger.”

“The Waldorf has excellent food my dear,” William said, shaking his head in mild astonishment. Two years living at the Waldorf hotel, and she’d never partaken of the food. It occurred to him that Michelle was not the type of person to take full advantage of her situation; instead of milking her connections for all they were worth, she was content with apples and take-out. “Not that I’d mind Chinese, but I think you should eat at the hotel in which you reside… at least once. I went there for a business lunch and with my mother again for tea. You’ll like it very much.”

“Well, alright then,” Michelle said cheerfully. “I’ll get dressed in something other than my robe and bare feet.” Chuckling, William smiled.

“Silly minx,” he said, sighing again. “I shall meet you in the hotel lobby, in about forty minutes.”

“I’ll be there!” Michelle said, happily. She bit her lip and decided to say what she’d wanted to all day. “I love you.” Just saying it made her eyes a little moist. William closed his eyes, a small smile decorating his face. His fiancée's words and gentle voice revitalized his tired brain and body.

“And I love you, Michelle,” he said, meaning every word. Michelle swallowed and bit her lip, smiling wide.

“See you in forty,” she said.

“Yes, you will love.”

Shutting his phone William sat, enjoying the moment for a few seconds. He felt lighter, a little more able to move and function now that Michelle was waiting for him to show. He could imagine the sweet, excited look on her face as she prepared for dinner with him. Unconsciously, William whistled a tune as he got up and ran the hot water. He stripped to his waist and spent a few minutes washing.

“No good showing up smelling of ‘Old English’,” he thought, chuckling; he scrubbed away at his arms and hands with the liquid soap, unaware of his own happy expression.

THIRTY-SIX minutes later Michelle sat on one of the lobby chairs, with a clear view of the door; she wore her gray suit-dress and garnet scarf once more. William seemed to like that particular outfit very well and it wasn’t too dressy; she’d considered wearing the pink gown, but thought it a little much. It was so nice to once again have clothes to look at and ponder which to wear. A little makeup adorned her face; her hair down in her usual manner.

Michelle made a sweet picture sitting so on the beige damask divan, especially with such a happy look of anticipation her face. For once, she didn’t care about how she looked or seeming too eager; she wanted to see William more than anything in the world. Besides, she had a small surprise for him after dinner and wondered if he’d like it; before coming to the lobby she'd paid for a short massage session for William at the hotel’s spa. On the phone, he’d sounded so tired and sore; Michelle hoped he’d like that sort of thing. On the spa brochure she’d seen the masseuse available was touted to be one of the best in the city. She’d been lucky to get a slot, even it was only for thirty minutes.

The door opened and William walked in; his presence made Michelle's face light up. He spotted her immediately; ambling over he returned her smile. Michelle stood up as he came closer. Catching his fiancée in a fond embrace, William stood still for several seconds, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair. He hoped he didn’t smell too bad; if he did, Michelle didn’t notice. She rested her head against his chest and sighed contentedly. Drawing back from her, William looked down into her pretty face and leaned down for a quick kiss.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he told her. From the look in his eyes, Michelle had no doubt he meant it.

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” she said, softly, her tone teasing.

“Minx,” William said, smiling. “I called ahead for a reservation; we can go in now, I think. You’re really going to like the food.” Michelle smiled up at him.

“If you were with me, I’d like anything... even if they served SPAM,” Michelle said; her eyes were bright with amusement. William laughed and offered her his arm.

“I had to eat a whole can of that stuff at university,” he admitted as they walked towards the restaurant. “I lost a poker hand and we were betting dares.” Imagining the scene, Michelle laughed softly.

“I can think of worse dares,” she said, looking up at her fiancé.

“Yes, well, one of the lads had to strip off and run through the halls,” William told her, smiling. “Wouldn’t have been bad if he hadn’t run into the dean; we were roommates with the Dean’s son, so we all got chastised for that one.” Michelle laughed at the notion. She wanted to ask if William had ever had to do anything similar but courage failed her.

The reservation appeared good and a very arrogant Maitre’ D led them to a small, cozy table close to a dais, on which a string quartet played. The room seemed nearly full of patrons; the décor seemed both relaxing and intimidating in its luxury. Michelle found she liked ‘Marie’s’ look better, being more intimate and comfortable, however, she was grateful just to be out with William. Finally seated, she let her fiancé order for them, since he knew what the menu looked like.

“Do you like steak, Milady?” William asked her, smiling. Michelle sat up a little straighter.

“Who doesn’t?” she asked, pretending to look askance. Chuckling, William ordered the fillet mignon with mushroom sauce and a green salad for both of them. Inhaling various scents of good food floating around the room, Michelle looked forward to eating despite the haughty surroundings.

A few people at a nearby table looked their way and leaned among themselves whispered.

“They are trying to figure out who you are...” William whispered in Michelle’s ear as she studied the strangers. “I bet they think you’re a celebrity.” Turning her head quickly towards him, Michelle blushed; she rubbed her ear, biting her lip a little.

“You have to stop doing that,” she said, smiling. “It makes me feel... odd.” William raised an eyebrow at her, giving her a rather seductive grin.

“Really?” he murmured. He lifted his water glass to her. “Here’s to feeling odd.” Michelle smiled and clinked her glass lightly against his.

“I have to come up with a name for you, to favor you with when you tease me,” she said, smiling at him. “A title which embodies the male counterpart of ‘minx’.” At this, William gave a hearty laugh.

“Silly girl,” he said, kissing the top of her head affectionately. “You enrich my life with humor. I’m serious… when you’re near me, I want for no entertainment.” Michelle kissed William’s cheek, her eyes shining with his compliments.

“I have a present for you,” she said, smiling; she fetched a small card out of her pocket and gave it to William.

Flipping it over, her fiancé’s face creased in a slow grin.

“You’re an angel...” he said, looking down into her eyes.

“From what you said on the phone I figured you’d be sore,” she said, encouraged by William’s reaction. “The masseuse is supposed to be pretty good and they had a slot for 8:30. I figured you’d be mostly done digesting dinner by then.” William hugged her to him, touched by the thoughtful gesture. His back and shoulder muscles ached considerably; he’d taken some aspirins but it only dulled the pain a little. How nice it would be to have some of the acids worked out.

“If only I could have her massage me...” William thought before he could stop himself. Wincing, he cleared his throat. “Soon,” he thought, looking down at his lovely Michelle; he kept his arm around her shoulders.

“So, your uncle’s going to assist you with our little ceremony?” he said, trying to clear his mind with another subject. Michelle eye’s glowed with a sort of tempered excitement.

“Yes,” she said, letting out a small sigh. “His help was unexpected but I’m glad, now that he offered.” William smiled.

“I am glad he did as well,” he said, leaning over; he smelled Michelle’s hair again. “Now I won’t have to follow through with my plans to tie you down and make you agree to let me help with the wedding finances.” Her eyebrows fully raised, Michele regarded William closely. He looked halfway serious.

“I would never have agreed,” she said, lifting her chin a little. Grinning, William took advantage of her upturned face and kissed her.

“I doubt that very much,” he said, knowingly. Michelle blushed quite red and drank some of her water.

“Gorgeous, desirable man...” she thought, feeling completely outmaneuvered.

Their dinner was as pleasant as any Michelle had experienced yet; the food was amazing. William, with no small amount of humor, schooled Michelle in the art of cutting a fillet steak properly; she cut one piece wrong just to tease him. Encountering her feigned innocent look, William gave her a rather sultry gaze to which she had no reply. After diner they say in the spa lounge while they waited for William’s slot to come up. An attendant silently deposited a folded white robe and towel on the chair next to William and informed him that the wait was only ten more minutes.

“Well, I should go get undressed,” William said, smiling at Michelle. His fiancées cheeks grew a little pink.

“I should probably go to my room now,” she said, biting her lip. “I have some calls to make anyway.” William grinned; it was so fun to tease his girl. He loved watching that rosy color steal over her fair skin.

“What… you don’t want to stand by, jealously watching the masseuse work on me?” he asked, smiling. Michelle blushed even redder.

“I’m sure it’s not that kind of massage place...” she said, quietly. William laughed, hard; Michelle’s expression was priceless. He hugged her to him and kissed her face several times, landing one on her soft lips.

“I’m teasing you, love,” he said, warmly. “You’re adorable when you blush.” Michelle sighed.

“I suppose you’re entitled to tease me, then,” she intoned softly. William nodded, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Absolutely,” he returned. Michelle stood up and smoothed her long skirt.

“It’s not unwelcome,” she said. William beamed.

“I’ll stow that piece of information away for later use,” he replied. Blushing again, Michelle felt she must flee and soon, before her knees gave out. The man could render her speechless with a single glance.

“Thank you for dinner,” she managed to say. “I had a lovely time with you, as always.” William stood up as well, holding the white robe and towel.

“And, thank you for the massage,” he said, smiling down at her. “It’s really a thoughtful gesture and will be much appreciated.” He leaned down and kissed her fondly on her cheek. “Now off with you, or I’ll make you come with me and get a massage as well. It might be fun to see you on table next to me without your shirt on...” Clearing her throat, Michelle looked down at her feet.

“Goodnight William,” she said, giving her fiancé an upward glance.

“Goodnight,” he said, softly. He watched Michelle’s every step as she left the lounge and disappeared from sight towards the elevators.

“Mr. Montgomery?” a polite voice came from the direction of the spa desk. “They’re ready for you, now.” Ambling towards the waiting staff, William smiled, toying with the idea of taking Michelle for a spa massage on their honeymoon. He thought the idea of them having one together had merit, though he may end up kicked the staff out of the room for a little while. The thought pleased him greatly; a wide grin stayed on his face as he traversed the hotel spa’s corridor.

Up in her room, Michelle hugged herself and softly giggled.

“I sound like a schoolgirl,” she thought, smiling. She hoped William had not guessed how much she had wanted to take him up on his offer; the massage sounded rather seductive the way he’d described it. Even more than before, Michelle knew her life with William would not be boring; she could always look back on these days of wondering and mystery to renew feelings for her future husband.

Comforted by this thought Michelle began her nightly routine, a dreamy smile on her face. Tomorrow, she hoped, would begin the events that would culminate at the day she’d dreamed of having for so long… her wedding. Later, Michelle lay in bed thinking sweet thoughts of the man who had brought brevity and companionship to her once-lonely life.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Michelle awoke to the sounds of someone knocking, loudly, on her door. Blinking, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“Just a moment,” she called out, sleepily. Slipping on her robe, Michelle looked out of the peephole. On the other side of her door stood Laurel, her uncle’s assistant; the blond woman wore a huge smile on her face. Michelle glanced up at her clock; it was 6:15am. Unlocking her door, she opened it.

“Hello!” Laurel sang out in a jubilant tone. In spite of early hour Michelle smiled back. The blond woman’s infectious exuberance rapidly evaporated any lingering drowsiness. Laurel assistant was wore a brown pinstriped skirt, brown leggings, slender boots and sage green turtleneck sweater with an auburn and sage paisley scarf; her good taste in clothes was re-confirmed in Michelle’s mind.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling; she yawned, and hid it behind her hand. “Not to be obvious, or anything, but I believe it is six-fifteen in the morning.”

“Yes, it is,” Laurel said, cheerfully. “We get to eat breakfast downstairs and then we have an early appointment with the folks over at Vera Wang.”

Michelle jaw dropped.

“Vera Wang?” she said, eyes wide. “Whatever for?” Laurel rolled her eyes and chuckled.

“To pick out your wedding gown, silly,” she said, highly amused. “It’s not a tattoo parlor…” She looked closely at Michelle’s stunned expression. “Unless, you prefer another designer?” Michelle managed to get over her initial shock quickly.

“I am certain I can find less expensive places to shop for my wedding things,” she said, quietly, favoring with Laurel an odd look. Did this woman think that money grew on trees? She wasn’t about to treat her uncle’s kindness with such disregard. Laurel’s smile did not fade.

“Mr. Maclane thought you’d say that,” she said, shaking her head; her eyes glinted with a victorious look. “He gave me carte blanche with his personal credit line, which is really enormous...” Laurel’s eyebrows rose for emphasis as she spoke. “He gave me specific instructions that whatever we buy we’re to get the best, but to make it just the way you want.”

Michelle absorbed this information in silence.

“I want beautiful… but simple,” she said, looking Laurel in the eye.

“We can do that,” the lady said.

“Does she ever stop smiling?” Michelle wondered. “Well, maybe just a look, at Vera Wang...” she acquiesced. Laurel beamed.

“This is going to be so much fun! I’ve never helped plan a wedding before, but I always wanted to...” The young woman sounded like a teenager would upon finding out that they are going to vacation in Europe for the summer. “I’ll just go get us a table downstairs in the American Brasserie restaurant. Don’t be long; they start serving breakfast at 6:30.” With a toss of her blond curls, Laurel skipped gaily down the corridor to the elevators. Michelle looked dazedly at the hall carpet for a moment and then turned to go back into her room.

“OK...” she thought, smiling. She had a feeling it would be a very long day, but perhaps a productive one.

Twenty minutes later Michelle stepped through the doors of the restaurant Laurel had mentioned; she wore her gray suit- dress outfit, lightly perfumed with the apple blossom spray. Michelle spied the lady by her sage sweater; Laurel waved her over and beckoned to a nearby server.

“You look so nice!” she applauded. “You can pull off gray better than me, it makes me look pale, but I really like wearing it anyway. What do you want to eat? I’m starving...”

Michelle sat down, smiling at Laurel’s undiminished enthusiasm. Glancing up at the server, she asked if they had Eggs Benedict. They did; Michelle ordered it and a cappuccino. Laurel asked for Eggs Florentine and a latte.

“At least the spinach part of that breakfast is good for you,” she reasoned out loud.

“Indeed,” Michelle said, chuckling softly. She looked at Laurel, wanting to know a little more about her uncle’s trusted employee.

“I’m curious… how long have you worked for my uncle?”

Laurel seemed to appreciate the question.

“Almost four years,” she said, spreading a linen napkin on her lap. “It was rocky start those first few days I can tell you; he likes everything just so. Most employers do, I know, but he kind of piled it on extra thick to test me out.” Michelle considered this information a moment.

“He seems to do that a lot,” she remarked. Laurel nodded, taking a drink of her water. “You prevailed, I see,” Michelle continued. Oscar’s assistant smiled very wide.

“Yep,” she said. “My hereditary cheerfulness was too great a barrier to overthrow.” Michelle laughed.

“You are gifted then,” she said. “It took meeting William for me to come out of my shell.” Laurel smiled at her in a sisterly way.

“What a guy... I’m jealous,” she said. “In a good way, though.”

The women talked about Michelle’s wedding ideas until their food arrived. Michelle brought out her notes and Laurel copied them down in her Blackberry; Michelle was amazed at how quickly the assistant’s fingers worked on the tiny keypad. They had just twenty minutes to eat before they would need to leave for the first appointment.

“There’s more than one?” Michelle queried, taking a bite of egg. The chef here sure knew what he was doing, she noted; even the eggs were fantastic. Laurel giggled.

“Yes ma’am,” she said. “I had all afternoon yesterday to work on this. After nearly three years of finding supposedly impossible things for your uncle on a moment’s notice, I have made some great connections.” Michelle admired the lady’s stamina but had to wonder if Laurel had any kind of life. Those questions could come later, she reasoned. They fairly devoured their breakfast, though they managed to appear ladylike doing so. Laurel asked for the check and refills of their coffee to go.

“We’ll need the caffeine,” she told Michelle.

Outside, Michelle was about to signal for a cab when Laurel stopped her.

“We’re over there,” she said, pointing; a car pulled up by the curb, fairly close by; Michelle followed Laurel, her eyebrows raised. By the curb stood a dark-red Mercedes Benz, with a uniformed driver and everything; another man in a black trench coat hopped out and opened the back door for the ladies. “Drake will get us around much faster than a cab. He’s an excellent driver and knows all the shortcuts. This here is Daniels; he’s going with us to prevent us being mugged,” Laurel said, nodding at the man in the black trench coat. She got in and scooted over for Michelle.

Gingerly getting in the car, Michelle thanked the man as he shut her door.

“Guys… this is Michelle Gregory, Mr. Maclane’s niece,” Laurel introduced. Smiling, Michelle nodded at the two men.

“I am pleased to meet you gentlemen,” she said. The driver, Drake grinned at her over his shoulder. He had a pleasant look to him which spoke of dependability. The security guard, Daniels, also looked back; he had a wide, ready smile and brown eyes.

“I didn’t think Mr. Maclane’s niece would be such a lovely lady,” he said, in a strong Brooklyn accent; he gave Michelle a broad wink.

“None of that,” Laurel said, giggling. “Don’t mind Daniels,” she said aside to Michelle. “She’s engaged, like I told you, blockhead. From what I hear, her man is the most gorgeous, sweetest guy on the planet.” Michelle nodded and smiled.

“I cannot argue with that,” she said. Daniels shrugged and turned forward again.

“Vera Wang first, Drake, on Madison and...”

“East 77th, I know,” Drake said, coolly Michelle smiled. The car took off rather quickly, weaving its way with deft precision through the Manhattan traffic. Michelle clutched her door handle with alarm but forced her face to remain calm.

“Dang it!” Laurel snorted, retrieving her glasses from the back window. “Drake… I’ve asked you not to do that.”

“Sorry, Miss Ecland,” Drake said, smiling. “I saw a hole in the line of cars and had to take it.” Laurel mumbled something under her breath. Michelle laughed softly; she wondered if all the people her uncle hired were such interesting characters.

The sales staff at the Vera Wang flag-store seemed to be expecting them; they drove down an alley behind the store, and were let in a side entrance to a small, secure parking lot. Michelle felt ridiculously like they were being treated as celebrities or something.

“All the duck and cover is hardly necessary,” Michelle said, quietly. Laurel only smiled at her.

“It’s much more fun this way, and you don’t have to wait in line,” she explained. Drake chose to wait in the car but Daniels accompanied them inside.

A tall, thin woman dressed entirely in brown met them; she was in her early forties and wore a black head-scarf and a long, jingly necklace of twisted brass pieces. Michelle thought she looked like a skinny gypsy, but did not say so.

“Miss Gregory…” the woman intoned, musically; her smile had a just little real mirth in it, so Michelle thought she had some promise. “The bride. A lovely bride. Follow me, please.” Laurel and Michelle exchanged a look; Laurel rolled her eyes. Michelle hid a smile and followed after the lady in brown. She led them into a sort of white waiting room decorated with small, black accents.

For an entire hour, Michelle and Laurel watched models parade by in gown after gown; nothing appealed to the bride. It was all a little off-center and bold for her; she was looking for something feminine and sweet… but very simple. Also, the model’s hairstyles were very messy, similar to most of the women characters in ‘Les Miserables’. Michelle indicated to Laurel that she wanted to go. Laurel stood up quickly.

“Well, thank you for your time. Miss Gregory doesn’t see anything she liked so far.”

The lady in brown arched an eyebrow at this.

“Oh?” she said, looking at Michelle as if she had no taste.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said. “It’s all very cold. It may be wonderful design and they are all lovely models but I wouldn’t feel like a bride in any of those gowns.” With that she stood up and followed Laurel out.

Sighing, Michelle sat back against the seat.

“Oh, my gosh... their hair!” Laurel said, collapsing into giggles as she sat down. “They looked like French whores!” Michelle laughed with her.

“I know...” she said, chuckling. “I was mentally singing 'lovely ladies ...Waiting for the customers... Who only come at night'...” That only made Laurel laugh harder. In the front seat Daniels cleared his throat.

“I thought they all looked like walking sticks,” he remarked.

“That they did,” Laurel said, wiping her eyes. She consulted her clipboard and scratched through one line. “OK… next place.”

WILLIAM WALKED into his office building a little early; the spring was back in his step and he whistled as he rode the elevator up. The renovations were nearly complete, as far as he could tell. A new receptionist greeted him politely and asked his name; she looked him up on her computer screen.

“You are in your former office, sir,” she said, smiling. “Your secretary is already in.”

“Thank you,” William responded, heading down the corridor. Mabel actually smiled at him when he entered her part of the office.

“I’m glad he didn’t give you the Axe,” she said, sitting at her new desk; she typed rapidly away on the keyboard of a new computer. The whole office seemed vastly improved, not only in color scheme and materials but the lighting had been improved as well, and there were more shelves for file organization.

“I am equally glad to see you here,” William answered, smiling at her. “He couldn’t find a more hard-working secretary on the Island.”

“You bet your life,” Mabel said, concentrating on her work. Grinning, William made his way into his. He was first relived to see his handmade mahogany desk present. A can of Old English furniture polish sat on its top, along with another post it note. Scowling a little, William took up the note. Reading it, he smiled. The note read: “I couldn’t get rid of such a great piece of furniture. It’s a little dusty, though.” William took out one of his spare handkerchiefs and gave the desk a good rubdown with the polish. Despite the tangy smell of citron oil, it did look better.

William was unpacking some of the old files and sorting them into logical fashion in the new shelves, when his door opened. Turning, William felt surprised by the person in his office, but concealed it. Standing by his desk was Oscar Maclane, though a completely different-looking man than previously seen. This man looked like a serious lawyer; he wore a tailored, expensive suit, proper shoes and had a facial expression that would make a less experienced man shake in his shoes.

“Montgomery,” the man said; his tone held no trace of pleasantry.

“Mr. Maclane,” William returned, matching his glare. After a few seconds of silence, Oscar smiled a little and held out his hand.

“I didn’t get to shake your hand yesterday,” he said. “Welcome to Felix-Maclane.” William put on a polite smile and shook the man’s hand, firmly.

“Thank you,” he responded.

“Good grip,” Oscar said. Letting go William’s hand, he stepped back a little. “I was expecting a soft lawyer’s hand, but you have calluses. Now I’m curious.” William grinned.

“I build furniture,” he said, tapping the top of his desk. “Hobby.”

Oscar’s eyebrows rose up a fraction of an inch.

“Impressive,” he said. “What do you know about Brazil?”

William almost expected a question out of left field from this man; his expression remained unfazed.

“Not much,” he admitted. “Just what I’ve read in books. Never been there.”

“Well, you’re going… today,” Oscar said, evenly. He took a large file from a briefcase and handed it to William. “We have been trying to get clients in Brazil for the longest time,” the man continued, sitting down in a nearby office chair. William flipped through the file while Oscar spoke. “Good business environment, lots of money to be had; several corporations relocated there for cheap labor, etc. I’ve set up a meeting for you; all the details are in the file; I’ve arranged the tickets and visas already. The flight leaves in six hours. Better make arrangements; get to the airport two hours early. The lines and security checks are a real hassle.”

William looked at his boss.

“Visas?” he asked. Oscar smiled. The boy was sharp.

“Bob will go with you as an aide,” he said. “You remember Bob, right?”

“Yes. The man with the watermelon seed-encrusted power-saw, I believe.” William said, looking back at the file in his hands. Oscar chuckled.

“The very same,” he said. “Convince them to sign with us as their legal firm and I’ll keep you on. Try to get some of the company’s subsidiaries to join too.” He looked at William keenly. “Think you can handle that?”

William looked him in the eye and resisted grinning. A silver platter--with a golden opportunity perched on top—had just been offered him.

“I can, Mr. Maclane,” he said, seriously. Oscar stood up.

“Good,” he said. “Details are in the file. Oh...” He stopped and fixed William with a stern glare. “Keep your nose clean down there; I know Rio De Janeiro’s a party-town but I run a reputable firm here. No seedy lawyers and no seedy clients. Are we clear?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Maclane,” William said. He felt no worries there; he had but to think of Michelle and no one else existed. His boss nodded and swept out. Sitting down, William ran his hand through his hair. He’d negotiated mergers and so forth before, but this would be his first solo flight in client procurement. He started to dial Michelle’s number but remembered she as out making wedding plans.

“I hope she gets back before I leave for Brazil,” he said to himself.

Michelle and her new entourage visited two more dress designers before ending up at a boutique called Bridal Accents.

“You have to call to get an appointment to even get the directions to this place,” Laurel informed her as they parked. The store itself appeared to have no unusual outward characteristics; just another office in an office building.

A tall, elderly woman met them at the door with a warm smile; she reminded Michelle of Sophie and the comparison put her more at ease. The boutique’s decor seemed more femininely decorated, in flowing white fabric and rose garlands of various, muted pink tones; here and there stood an elegant mannequin, draped in a white gown. The woman sat down with them on some small, comfy chairs near a window.

“Please call me Amelia,” said she. The woman possessed white hair swept up in French twist; she wore a dove-gray tailored dress. Michelle noticed the wedding ring on her finger and felt a bit more comfortable; it made sense to have someone like her help choose dresses for brides, having been one herself.

“I love your shop,” Michelle said, looking around. “It’s the first place we’ve been to that actually looks like a bridal shop, and not a mens shoe store.” Amelia laughed, softly.

“Thank you, dearie,” she said, smiling. “Now, tell me what you’d like.” She looked at Michelle’s face carefully as the young woman told her what she liked and was hoping to find.

“I just want a white gown that is beautiful in its simplicity… and doesn’t hide the fact that I’m a girl,” Michelle said, all in one breath. It seemed to her that she'd said the same phrase a hundred times already.

Amelia seemed to consider this a moment.

“Come with me,” she said, standing up. Michelle and Laurel followed the older lady back behind the mannequins. Walking through an archway, they came into a large, white room with three walls of mirrors. A wedding-cake style display of bridal shoes sat in the middle, with a few chairs.

“Sit,” Amelia said before disappearing through a small archway to another room. Laurel sat down with a sigh; Michelle looked at all the pretty, dainty shoes on the display. One pair caught her eye and she picked them up; they looked like princess shoes, all white satin. Lovely antique white embroidery dressed up the shoes subtly, with a few clear cut stones here and there; a single, tiny white-silk rosebud finished the shoe perfectly. Hearing a rustling sound behind her, Michelle turned. Amelia stood there with a gown; she looked at the shoes in Michelle’s hands and smiled.

“I am so good at this,” she said, in a satisfied tone. Incredibly, the dress she held matched the shoe Michelle had just picked out. It was a white princess silk-satin sheath gown, with A-line embroidered tulle overlay, empire sweetheart bodice and a chapel train. Michelle was speechless; it was by far the most beautiful gown she’d ever seen, and it was simple. She could actually envision herself in this dress, standing by William at the altar.

“It is a Lazaro,” Amelia said. Laurel gasped a little and smiled very big. “So are the shoes. The gown comes in white and ivory.” She looked at Michelle with a kind smile. “I am guessing you want white.” The young bride blushed and nodded. Amelia looked at Daniels; the man stood nearby, looking at the ceiling with a bored expression.

“She must try it on,” she said, giving the guard a meaningful look. Daniels took the hint and ducked out to wait in the lobby. Amelia opened a door in the wall that Michelle hadn’t even seen and put the gown inside. She stepped into the dressing room and shut the door behind her.

Michelle looked at the dress for a moment, almost afraid to touch it; it looked like it had been made by delicate and fair elves in some secret, moonlit forest. Undressing, she put on the gown with great care. The skirt was not too long in front but had a short train in back like a graceful circle; the back of the bodice was shaped like giant ‘v’ up to the spaghetti straps. The neckline showed off most of her assets, Michelle noticed with a blush. The skirt swept up from its circle base on the floor up a smooth, clean line until connecting with the bodice; the small bodice was embroidered beautifully with the antique white thread over the pure, white-silk fabric studded here and there with a tiny, clear stone. Michelle loved this dress already and she hadn’t even seen herself in it. It occurred to her that this design it would be a bit cold for a late fall ceremony, but she figured that wherever they were, they’d be inside.

The other ladies knew when Michelle stepped out of the dressing room that she’d found her dress. It looked made especially for her; the hue of the embroidery brought out color in the young woman’s skin and the design looked uniquely feminine.

“Oh, my gosh… you look like a freaking princess!” Laurel squealed. Amelia gave Laurel a sideways look that shut her up.

“How do you like it?” the older woman asked Michelle, already knowing the answer. The bride-to-be gave her a dazzling smile. “I thought so,” Amelia said. She took a box from under the shoe display and looked judiciously at Michelle’s feet. “Nine and a half?” she queried, Michelle nodded again.

“You are good,” she said, impressed. Amelia chuckled a little.

“I have been doing this for forty-one years,” she said. Amelia had Michelle step into the shoes. They brought her up so the dress was just floating over the ground. “Perfect,” Amelia said, very pleased. Laurel dug in her planner and handed Amelia a card.

“We’ll take it,” she said. The lady nodded and went over to a small, white desk that almost blended in with the wall.

Standing tall in the slender shoes, Michelle looked at herself in the mirror.

“William will definitely like this,” she thought, smiling. She blushed at the reaction she knew this dress would get. Amelia came walking up behind her.

“Here,” she said, gathering Michelle’s hair gently in her hand; she rolled it deftly and secured it temporarily up in a kind of Roman-style up-do at the top back of Michelle’s head. She produced a plain white ribbon from somewhere and tied it like a headband over the top of Michelle’s head. “There,” she said, looking at Michelle’s face. “It is such a lovely gown that simple accessories are best.”

“I don’t even need any jewelry,” Michelle said, quietly, staring at her reflection; Amelia’s eight-second hairdo made her look like a model.

A knock sounded out at the archway door.

“You may enter...” Amelia said, grandly. Daniels came in, talking on a cell phone.

“Hey, your uncle wants to know... whoa!” The security man halted mid-phrase when he saw Michelle; his mouth dropped open. “Wow... sir, your niece is... wow.” Michelle blushed at the man's reaction and looked at the mirror again. Yes, William was going to love the dress. Laurel snatched the phone from the gaping Daniels and sent him right out again.

“Yes, sir?” she said into the phone. “It’s going very well. She found the perfect dress; she looks like an angel. Yes. No. OK, Mr. Maclane. You got it.” She hung up and smiled at Michelle. “We won’t do too much more today,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to find a dress so soon.”

“I’m not keeping you from something important, am I?” Michelle asked, concerned. Laurel shook her head.

“Nope,” the lady said, smiling. “I’ve just been instructed not to tire you out. He’s just looking out for you.” Nodding, Michelle looked at Amelia.

“Thank you,” she said; her eyes felt a little misty. “It’s just what I wanted.” Amelia smiled, looking down at her own ring. She still remembered how it felt to be a bride.

Three hours later Michelle arrived back at her hotel; they’d placed an order for a bridal bouquet and battery-powered hanging lights, as well as other odds and ends. Laurel and Daniels helped Michelle bring in the gown box. The gown was apparently costly enough to request it be put in the hotel vault; Michelle pressed Laurel for its price several times but the smiling young woman refused to say.

Filling out the form at the front desk, Michelle saw Mr. Chan walking towards her. He authorized her deposit to the vault and signed off on the paperwork. Turning toward Michelle he handed her a piece of message paper.

“Your fiancé has called several times,” he said, quietly. Michelle’s smile faded. “It is not an emergency,” the kindly manager continued, smiling. “He is leaving for a business trip and wishes to meet you for an early dinner at Marie’s. He asked me to arrange a car to take you there.” Mr. Chan took Michelle’s radiant smile as a confirmation. He nodded and gestured a bellhop over. “Take Miss Gregory’s things to her room.”

Laurel stepped up.

“Don’t worry Michelle,” she said, grinning. “I’ll take care of things here. Go see your sweetheart! How romantic...” The lady sighed, causing Daniels to roll his eyes. Michelle thanked both of them; she followed Mr. Chan out the front doors to a waiting limo. It was her first limo ride, but Michelle didn’t really notice. All she could think about was William and that he was going away. He stood waiting on the steps of Marie’s as the limo pulled up; his smile almost lit up the night when he saw her get out of the car. Michelle let him lift her off the ground in a warm embrace.

“Oh, love,” he said, holding her tightly. “It is so good to see you… I’ve so much to tell you. You look so beautiful.” Michelle laughed, softly.

“It must be bad,” she teased. “You’re giving away double compliments.” William grinned at her, leading her up the steps.

“Minx,” he said. “You do look beautiful, though.”

He waited until they were seated and had ordered before telling her his news.

“Brazil...” Michelle stated. She didn’t know what to think. “That’s a long ways away.” William put his arm around her.

“Yes, it is,” he said. “Too far. But, it’s my shot—if you will--at staying employed with this firm. I’ll be back before Friday to meet your uncle, however.” Michelle smiled again.

“Really?” she asked, happily. William nodded. Michelle let out a breath of relief. “That’s good,” she said. She leaned onto William shoulder. “I know this sounds trite but I’m going to miss you horribly.” William chuckled.

“Isn’t it strange,” he said, softly. “… how we were plodding along, wrapped up in our own miserable lives and then we stumble upon one another... and suddenly the sun just doesn’t shine any more if we’re apart.” Michelle felt a bit sentimental at these words.

“You’re not far off there,” she said. “I know it’s unrealistic, but I wish we’d never have to be apart, ever again.” William smiled and looked down into his fiancées lovely eyes.

“When we are married, I will do everything I can to make that wish come true,” he said, sincerely. Michelle leaned up and kissed his face.

“You smell really good,” she whispered. Chuckling, William allowed himself to smell her hair.

“So do you,” he said. “Now, let’s not be sad about me going away, love. Shall we just enjoy our dinner together and leave it at that?” Michelle nodded, drawing a little away from him.

“Good plan,” she said, mustering up a brave smile.

They did enjoy themselves; they talked and laughed over many things. Michelle spoke of her odd day, some of which amused William very much. She left the part about her dress vague amid much blushing, something which tugged at William’s curiosity a great deal. He let it go, knowing he’d find out soon enough. He amused Michelle by telling her of his new boss and his odd behavior, especially his sudden, sane appearance that day.

Saying ‘good night’ was unusually difficult, for both of them, knowing it would be three days until they saw each other again.

“I will call you each night, love,” William said, kissing Michelle fondly outside her hotel. Michelle let him and responded in kind.

“I don’t mind admitting I’ll be waiting by the phone,” she said, smiling. William could see a few tears in her eyes and it clenched at his heart.

“Don’t cry, Michelle,” he said, embracing her tightly. “I’ll see you soon. Chin up?” Standing away a little, Michelle nodded.

“I love you, William Montgomery,” she said, suddenly. William kissed her again and walked to his waiting taxi. Standing by it, he turned to look at Michelle once more.

“Each day, I think to myself that I would ask you to marry me all over again,” he said, looking at her intently. He got in the taxi and closed the door.

The cab drove off but Michelle did not feel completely bereft. The warmth of William’s unfeigned words stayed with her all the way to her room; thoughts of him kept Michelle company, even as she fell asleep.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

In flight to Brazil William had plenty of time to ruminate over his new employer’s rather dark sense of humor. Located in the noisier ‘Coach’ section of the airplane William sat next to Bob from the office. On his other side reposed an old man fast asleep, leaning rather comfortably on his shoulder. Every once in awhile, William brought out his handkerchief and gently wiped the man’s accumulated drool from his suit. Normally, he flew first class as a rule, but... William made up his mind not to complain; there was no way in hell he’d give the new boss the satisfaction. That and the thought of losing his job just before getting married spurred William to keep a ‘stiff upper lip’. Minus the drool and noise, it didn’t seem all that bad.

'Power-saw' Bob proved to be a decent sort of chap; William found the man knowledgeable and easy to speak with on business matters. It turned out that he and Mr. Maclane had met on a particularly difficult construction job in Italy. Bob liked the then-foreman’s work ethic and got a job with him when Oscar started his own company. He didn’t have a lot to say on ‘the boss’ but grinned mysteriously and shrugged when asked; he turned the conversation to family matters. Apparently Bob was happily married with three children, most of who were already in high school.

“It’s great having kids,” the man said, smiling at the tiny, round window beside him. “They get older and like to take care of themselves. When they’re this age, you can send them off to the bowling alley together and they think it’s a great privilege to be trusted so much. Really, it’s just to get them out of the house so the wife and I can be alone for awhile.”

William chuckled at this.

“I see,” he said. “I’ll be getting married myself, in about two weeks.” Bob smiled.

“Congratulations,” he said. “I hope that works out well.”

“So do I,” William replied.

They spent the three-hour flight to Miami mostly talking of business matters. Both Bob and William combed through the file, discussing in hushed voices the best angle to handle negotiations. The potential client was a Brazilian-owned Internet hosting company, one that also provided web design and other e-services. William was taken aback at the company’s financial statistics.

“I had no idea e-business was so large a market in Brazil,” he commented aside to Bob.

The older man nodded, looking at a page of research.

“According to this, Brazil currently hosts forty-one percent of the entire Latin American Internet audience.”

“Good heavens,” William responded, shaking his head. “Let’s see... from the information sent to us, the owner is really only a partner. His wife owns the majority of the shares. I’ve been skimming through the company regulatory forms and articles of incorporation. From what the client wrote down on the query... it appears the partners wish to meld their shares together and hire a new CEO.” He rubbed his forehead for a moment, deep in thought. “There does look to be a loophole where they could do this without board authorization, but it gives one partner all the power prior to the switch.”

“Well, we have a two-hour layover in Miami and another three hour flight into Rio to prepare a proposal for the guy,” Bob said, looking at his watch. Letting out a short sigh, William took out a legal pad and began writing notes. Bob glanced briefly at the thoughtful young man and then turned to the window to hide his grin.

Michelle was folding laundry when her phone rang. Dropping the clothing, she jumped over to the phone and lifted it off with a smile.

“Hello?” she asked, a bit eagerly.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” William said, sounding a little far away. “I’m in Miami. Half the journey’s over.” Michelle closed her eyes to savor every bit of his voice.

“Was the flight good so far?” she asked, not knowing what else to say. There was no real way she could grasp the nature of his work; she knew so little about what he did. All she had been able to understand is he was down there to convince a corporation to sign up his firm as their international legal counsel.

“It was interesting,” William said, with a chuckle. “I don’t mind admitting I’ve never flown coach before. It’s not as bad as I’ve heard.” Michelle smiled at this.

“My only flight was going from Denver to New York, but I flew coach,” she said, smiling. “It seemed alright to me. You’ve made great strides in becoming common.”

“Minx,” William said, grinning. “You’ll be happy to know, then, that an elderly gentleman slept on my shoulder.” Giggling softly, Michelle held the receiver tighter; she could just imagine it.

“Did he drool on you?” she asked, smiling.

“Yes, he did. I am glad I wore a black suit. The prospective clients in Rio will hardly notice, I imagine.”

“I know they’ll love your proposal,” Michelle said, in her quiet way. “You’re so professional and polished. They’ll see your firm is the way to go.”

William smiled, he leaned on the phones privacy panel, wishing Michelle were there.

“Thank you, love,” he said. “I miss you. And no, it doesn’t sound trite.” Michelle laughed softly at his words. The sound of it rang sweetly in William’s ears.

“I think every day that I would accept your proposal all over again.”

Amid the bustling, noisy airport, William smiled.

“You’re adorable,” he said. “There are other people waiting to use the phone dear one, so I’ll make this short. I’ll try to call when I get in the hotel, alright?”

“Please do,” Michelle said, trying to keep any desperation from her voice. “Even if it’s really late; I won’t mind in the least.” A person in line behind William cleared their throat noisily.

“Must go, love,” William said, shooting the offending party a very cold look. He turned back to the phone. “Honestly I’d have brought you down here with me.”

“You can when we’re married,” Michelle said, giggling. William knew she was blushing on the other side of the line. “I’d go anywhere with you.” William laughed.

“I love you, Michelle.” William hung up the phone and was surprised to see more than twenty people in line behind him.

Walking over to the terminal, he saw Bob had secured them two seats to wait out the layover. Sitting down, William didn’t bother trying not to look depressed.

“You wish she was with you,” Bob said, a knowing smile on his face. “Been there.” William nodded in agreement, staring at the green and tan swirling pattern of the carpet. Bob looked around.

“Hey... there’s a Chicago Pizza over there. I say we eat; the dinners on this airline are awful.” William smiled.

“Your remedy for bad airline food is… pizza?” he asked, amused. Bob grinned.

“Well, they have really good pizza,” he said, sagely. “Come on; you’ll feel better if you eat something.” William picked up his briefcase and coat and followed the man. They found a table inside; delicious smells of melting cheese and baking crust filled the air.

“It’s not New York pizza, but it’s not bad at all,” Bob said, placing order for them. The man proved right; William had to admit the pizza tasted well-cooked and flavorful. As far as fast food was concerned, he did not mind eating this.

“Michelle would find this humorous,” he thought, smiling. “Not bad at all, Bob,” he said, genially.

“Mm...” Bob said, with his mouth full of cheese. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Not much pizza in Brazil, I’ll bet.” William smiled and worked on finishing his food.

The last leg of the flight went by quickly; William wrote notes solidly through the whole trip from Miami to Rio de Janeiro international. He conferred with Bob several times and they came up with a fairly decent proposal.

The Rio airport was much like Miami’s, bustling and noisy, but Portuguese dominated the intercom speakers instead of English. The air felt immediately hot and humid, but not overwhelmingly so, being nine o’ clock at night; still, in contrast to the biting cold of New York it was a bit of a shock.

Bob managed to find a taxi and showed the driver a paper with the hotel name on it; the man grinned in a friendly way and nodded. The traffic laws seemed to be the same as those in Italy... they existed merely for show. Several times William thought they were going to get into an accident; the driver seemed undaunted by the prospect of getting into a horribly-disfiguring crash and continued on at his breakneck pace, using the horn almost constantly. By the time the cab pulled up outside their hotel, Bob had used about every swear word in the book and both passengers were sweating profusely. William wiped his brow and got out quickly with his travel bag and briefcase.

The cab driver did not mind their American money and smiled and nodded several times before accepting more people into his cab. William did not envy them; he led the way inside, Bob close behind.

“I sure hope that guy never moves to New York,” the older man said, with conviction. “Here I thought our taxi drivers were bad...” William nodded. Soon they stood by the front desk.

“Welcome to Sheraton Rio,” the young woman in a hotel blazer greeted them, in perfect English. “May I have your reservation number?”

Riding the elevator up to their rooms, William couldn’t help but comment on the nice hotel.

“After that flight, I was expecting a cheap motel,” he said, quietly. Bob laughed.

“Yeah, well... Oscar cuts costs where he can, like most employers,” the man said, with humor. “But this town still has powerful drug cartels that like to occasionally pad their pockets by kidnapping Westerners. Best to keep to the more secured hotels and restaurants. Not much happens at the popular spots.” The elevator opened on the third floor.

“I suppose even the crime lords don’t want to harm the tourist trade, eh?” William remarked, as they disembarked.

“That’s right,” Bob said, smiling. “If you travel in the USA on Felix-Maclane’s dime, though, you’ll more than likely find yourself at a cheap motel.” Chuckling, William bid Bob goodnight and walked off to find his room number.

The room turned out to be a comfortable, little haven, about the size of Michelle’s tiny nook at the Waldorf. It even had a mini-balcony that looked out on a moonlit bay.

“Not bad,” William said. Sitting on the bed, William picked up the phone; he spent a few moments getting through to an English-speaking operator and placed a call to New York. Michelle had apparently not gone to sleep; she answered the phone with a happy enthusiasm that made him chuckle. There was simply no guile in Michelle at all.

“I’m here in the room, sweetheart,” he said, after giving her his room number. William lay back on the bed, tired out with travel. “It’s really very comfortable.”

“I’m so glad,” came Michelle’s soft voice; she sounded a little far away but William could make out every word. “I was worried you'd be in one of those cockroach-infested rooms with the single bulb light hanging from the ceiling, with the noisy fan slowly turning in one corner.”

William laughed, closing his eyes.

“You’ve been at the old movies again,” he said, smiling. “It’s not anything like that, don’t worry.”

“So, a man from the new regime at your firm is with you?” Michelle asked, trying to understand more of the scene. William chuckled again.

“Regime... really,” he said, affectionately. “Yes, my traveling companion is a decent chap by the name of 'Bob'; he’s in a room down the hall. Apparently, he’s been with the Madman for some years.”

Michelle laughed at this; they’d officially dubbed William’s new boss ‘the Madman’ after she’d heard about the watermelon incident.

“We meet with the potential clients tomorrow, at lunch,” William continued.

“I know you’ll carry the day,” Michelle responded, wishing she could come up with something more original to say. “You convinced me, an introvert hermit, to like you… a virtual stranger, and then to fall in love with you, and then agree to marry you… all knowing you less than a month. I think you have the stuff to take on Brazilian business-owners.”

Listening, William wished he could hold his fiancée; her soft words invoked a feeling akin to confidence shot directly into his veins.

“You are the sweetest girl I have ever met, Michelle,” he said, smiling a little. “I have no doubt that convincing you to come with me to dinner that night--at the gallery--was the best piece of negotiation I have ever done.” Michelle felt her eyes grow a bit misty at his words.

“You have a beautiful soul, William,” she said. “Otherwise, I would not feel so comfortable with you.” William thought he heard a sniffle come over the phone line.

“I love you, Michelle,” William returned, sighing. “I’ll return soon, love... please don’t cry.”

“I love you,” she responded.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, hopefully sometime in the afternoon,” William said, smiling. “I don’t know when the meeting will be over. I’ll look forward to hearing your voice.”

“The same goes for me,” Michelle said, dashing away a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Michelle, William said, biting his bottom lip. Something clenched his chest as he hung up the phone; he could tell Michelle was trying hard to sound normal to cover up her tears. The idea that she was lonely and crying somewhere tortured William; at the same time, it felt highly flattering to be missed so much. Sighing, he prepared to take a shower grateful that the hotel’s air conditioning was working.

The following day found Bob and William on a shuttle bus to one of Brazil’s ‘metro’ stations. Rio De Janeiro possessed a large, underground rail system; not as large as the Subway, but at least they could avoid the local taxicabs. They rode the Metro-rail along with an eclectic mix of the smiling, talking locals, businessmen on cell phones, college kids, elderly matrons in black dresses and bonnets and tourists taking pictures. It was definitely a colorful place; just humid… very humid.

“I never thought I’d say this...” Bob said as they climbed the stair out of the station, “But, I miss the New York chill all the sudden.” William chuckled.

“Yes,” he said. “At least it’s hot for only a few weeks a year.” They found the restaurant with little trouble; it was a popular steakhouse called ‘Marius’. It seemed to be a rather modern place, decked out in tan, white and beige colors, with stone floors; rattan chairs and glass-topped tables packed the main floor; these were equally packed with people. Large wagon wheels graced the walls and natural light could come in through tall windows, though presently shades were drawn against the bearing sun.

“Representatives from Felix-Maclane, to meet Mr. Orivera,” William told the hostess at standing behind a podium. She smiled and moved off immediately; they followed her through the crowd, up a curving stair to a large balcony. It had only about a dozen, larger tables but these were packed as well with business folk. This was apparently ‘the place’ for a meeting in Rio. The hostess led them over to far table, where sat a Brazilian man of medium height in a white suit next to a serene-looking, black-haired woman in a red dress.

“Mr. Montgomery...” the man said, shaking William’s hand. William looked back at Bob.

“May I introduce my associate, Mr. Marshals,” he introduced. Bob shook his hand as well.

“This is my beloved wife Marisol,” Mr. Orivera said, smiling at the woman. She smiled back and stood to shake Bob and William’s hands.

“Thank you for coming all this way,” she said, pleasantly; her English seemed a bit halting in its flow, but William understood her just fine.

“Yes, we wanted to come to New York, but the company cannot spare us just now,” Mr. Orivera told them.

“Please to sit down,” his wife said, sitting down herself. “We have heard very good things of Felix-Maclane,” she continued, sipping her fruit drink.

“Yes,” her husband agreed, nodding his head. “Changing our legal counsel will help give new life to our business.”

William and Bob listened politely as the two Brazilians spoke about their company. Apparently, Marisol’s father started the corporation forty years ago, originally buying and selling grain.

“How funny he would find that we now buy and sell the Internet,” Marisol told William. “He would say ‘it is nothing but empty space’.” The Oriveras both laughed at this. After a minute Marisol got up, taking her purse.

“I will be visiting the room of ladies. I will be only a few moments.” She smiled and gracefully walked away.

Once she was out of sight, Mr. Orivera leaned forward, a serious expression on his face.

“You read the information I sent you?” he asked. “You know what I wish to do?” William suddenly felt a twinge of apprehension at the man’s eager expression.

“From what we gathered, you and your wife wish to merge your separate shares of the umbrella corporation and hire a new CEO.” Mr. Orivera nodded, sitting back in his chair comfortably.

“Not quite,” he said, looking at the table. “My wife and I are separating soon, to divorce. Her father left her most of the company shares, so I need to find a way to acquire them and quickly. I would make myself the new CEO.”

William felt his stomach drop. The man before him suddenly changed from a prospective client to a sleazy playboy trying to cut his wife off from her inheritance. His mind whirling, William studied Mr. Orivera for a moment, striving to keep an expression of anger from his face. Inwardly, he reminded himself that he was supposed to be procuring a client; all he really wanted to do was deck the bastard.

Someone at a nearby table seemed to catch the Brazilian man’s eye; turning slightly, William saw three, young women at the table, all giggling amongst themselves. One, very pretty young girl was making eyes at Mr. Orivera. To William’s surprise the man actually winked back at the girl and halted a passing server. He pointed at the girl and laid money on the table, along with one of his cards. The server nodded and swept off.

“They recognize me,” Mr. Orivera said, smirking. “I have great parties; all the young people want to get into my night club.” He lifted his glass to the girls, causing them to giggle again. “So...” the man said, fixing his languid eye once again on William and Bob. “Have you found anything I can use? There is an infidelity clause in her father’s will; maybe we can find someone to pose as a jilted lover.”

“Has your wife been unfaithful?” William asked, careful to keep his tone even. Mr. Orivera snorted.

“No. You find something… I will hire your firm,” he said, smiling at the girls again.

William stood up slowly, his face grim; he towered over Mr. Orivera and snapped his briefcase shut.

“I represent a reputable firm,” he said, his voice ominous. “We will not sign on a disreputable, unfaithful client trying to cheat their wife from her due share of her father’s company...”

At his words, Mr. Orivera sat up and glanced quickly towards the stair; the man clearly feared his wife would hear, if she suddenly returned. William was not finished.

“It will be a cold day in hell before we do business with you, Orivera.”

Hearing this, the Brazilian seemed to snap out of his cowering daze. He hopped up and shouted profanities at William before throwing down his drink and storming out; the man encountered Marisol on the stair and led her by the arm downstairs, out of sight.

William leaned onto the table, letting out a long breath.

“I am going to be unemployed very soon,” he thought, closing his eyes.

“Well, that was interesting,” Bob said; he’d stood up after Mr. Orivera had, in case a fight was imminent. He waved at a passing waitress. “I’ll take a beer there, senorita...” William shook his head.

“It appears we come all this way for nothing, Bob,” he said, trying to scare up a genial tone.

“’Scuse me, gentlemen...” A stranger spoke, from somewhere close behind them.

Turning, William and Bob beheld a slightly overweight wearing an large cowboy hat, seated at the next table; he smiled broadly at them. His accent sounded mid-western; he looked like a stereotypical cattle rancher, complete with a string tie.

“Couldn’t help but overhear that... Brazilians are anything but subtle,” he continued. The other men at his table all chuckled; they were dressed in a similar fashion. The man in the cowboy hat stood up, holding out his hand.

“Chuck Davidson, founder and CEO of Lonestar Construction, Inc,” he said. “That was a fine display of values there, son.” The other ‘cowboys’ seemed to agree, nodding their heads along with the speaker’s words.

“I am pleased to meet you,” William said, shaking the man’s hand. “William Montgomery, Felix-Maclane. This is my associate, Bob Marshals.” Bob nodded and shook the man’s hand as well.

“I’ve heard of Felix-Maclane,” Chuck Davidson said. “Just thought they were another bunch of lawyers. I can’t stand my current firm, I tell you what. They’d sell their own Momma to make a buck.” He scratched his ample chin. “I wanted to smack that fella good, hearing all that; and him making eyes at the girls with his wife gone to the can…”

“Don’t make too much of it, Mr. Davidson,” William said, half-smiling. He found the man’s frank manner of speaking rather refreshing. “That blighter made it easy to refuse him as a client. A real wanker.”

Chuck Davidson laughed.

“I like your style, Montgomery. If you weren’t English you’d make a fine American,” he said, admiringly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” William returned, smiling. Chuck Davidson grinned.

“Why don’t you and Bob there join us,” he said, pointing to two empty chairs. “We ain’t eaten yet and it looks like you ain’t either. This place has the best steak in Brazil, bar none.” Bob and William exchanged a look.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” William said. “We’d be honored to.”

They sat at down and soon struck up a conversation. The men were indeed from Texas, working on contracted projects for the Brazilian government; their current project was a new highway, complete with a bridge over a tributary of the Paraguay River. The four men seated with Davidson were his subcontractors, each an owner of their own specialty service company. By the end of dinner, William and Bob walked out of the restaurant with five new clients, instead of one.

As victorious as William felt, Bob was elated.

“Now that was something!” he exclaimed as he and William rode the Metro towards their hotel. “We have to celebrate! No one’s ever walked into a client meeting and come out on top plus four before. Not at this firm...” William smiled, raking his hand through his hair in relief.

“After Mr. Orivera left, I was a little worried,” he admitted. “I’m grateful for Texan inquisitiveness.” Bob laughed.

“You did alright, Montgomery,” he said, beaming. “Ol’ Maclane will be pissed he wasn’t there to see it.” Even though it was a little early in the afternoon, William let Bob lead the way to the Sheraton lounge.

“Rum on the rocks!” Bob called to the bartender. The young barkeep looked at William.

“Whiskey sour,” he said, leaning against the bar. He allowed himself to laugh at the tumultuous afternoon, shaking his head at the results. “That Orivera is a right bastard,” he said, tossing back his drink; setting down the empty shot-glass, he signaled for another. Bob hurried to catch up, draining his rum and ordered one more.

“No argument there,” he said, with conviction. “I hope he gets malaria.” William laughed and drank his second whiskey. The alcohol calmed his nerves a little. He and Bob joked about sending Mrs. Orivera the card of a divorce lawyer.

As William threw back his third drink, he spied a pretty woman watching him from down the bar. He turned around, suddenly wanting to go back to his room and call Michelle. It didn’t bother him, but he’d forgotten that hotel bars were by and large a ‘singles’ haunt. With a smile, William realized that he didn’t consider himself single anymore.

“Well, Bob we 'knocked one out of the park', as you American’s say.”

“That we did,” Bob agreed, chewing on a piece of ice.

“Hi there.” A sultry voice sounded out from somewhere behind William. Closing his eyes briefly, he turned around and leaned back against the bar. The woman who’d been eying him stood close by, doing her best to emit a beguiling smile. “I think you’re really cute,” the woman continued. “Let me buy you another drink.”

William actually felt nauseous; the sweetness of his shy Michelle was all the more apparent compared with the bar-haunting female before him.

“I’m sorry… what is your name?” he asked, appearing confused.

“Oo... you’re English. My name’s Mandy,” she purred. William fought the urge to laugh; how clever of her.

“Mandy, well… you’re very lovely, but I’m very engaged... and it’s British, not English; ‘English’ is a language.” The woman’s face hardened for a moment, and then she looked at Bob with a smile. The man wisely held up his hand, wiggling his ring finger for maximum visibility. The woman walked off to find her prey elsewhere.

“Well, Bob… I am going to go up and call my beautiful fiancée,” William said, smiling. “As my aide, I hope I can rely on you to contact the office and have the contracts over-nighted to the various head offices for signature.” Bob chuckled.

“You got it, Montgomery,” the man said, giving a mock-salute. “I reckon you’ve earned a few hours off. Remember though, we have to be at the airport tomorrow at 7am.” William nodded, handing the bartender a couple of folded bills.

Upstairs, he related his adventures to Michelle over the phone; she amused him by chuckling at his description of the Texans. She laughed very hard at the woman hitting on him in the bar.

“Hang on; it wasn’t that funny,” William said, scowling at the wall. Michelle kept giggling.

“I would have loved to see her face!” she said, earnestly. “What a great response to a pick-up line.”

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, love,” William told her. “Don’t wait at the airport or anything; I’ll come by the hotel on my way home.”

“You’ll be exhausted,” Michelle said, sounding concerned.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Being near you is the best possible remedy for travel fatigue.” Michelle smiled at her fiancé's words.

“Until tomorrow then,” she said, softly.

“Yes, love. Until tomorrow.”

William smiled at the phone before hanging it up. He missed Michelle terribly; talking to her without being able to hold her felt rather torturous. What if something should happen to her while he was thousands of miles away? He didn’t want to think about that. Sighing, William turned on the shower; he hoped that tonight he’d dream of being in a blossoming apple orchard with certain girl in a pink dress to keep him company.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Michelle waited for Laurel and Co. by the lobby doors. The last two days she’d put in for a 6am wake-up call, just to be ready when her uncle’s exuberant assistant breezed in the doors. All yesterday morning Laurel taken them to a variety of florists, cake makers and finally the Waldorf’s catering liaison, who stuffed them with delicious food samples. When the caterer found out that the groom was British, she showed them a menu Michelle liked very much; quality Beef Wellington, rosemary, olive-oil milled potatoes, sautéed baby artichokes and the famous Waldorf Salad. The caterer knew of just the right wine to serve but made a special note to bring the bride sparkling cider.

Later that afternoon, Michelle had arrived tired and happy to her hotel room; she’d called Margaret with the date of the impending wedding; the motherly lady was anxious to help. Michelle asked her to kindly provide a list of people who’d genuinely like to see William get married, relatives, friends and forth. Margaret was nearly beside herself with giddiness and said she’d get them the list by noon the next day.

Sitting on a divan near the Park Avenue side lobby doors, Michelle smiled; she dressed with care in the pink gown that she’d worn on her first date with William; she hoped that seeing it would cheer him up a bit, when he finally arrived back from Brazil. Running her mind over the last two days, Michelle shook her head at the amount of preparation involved in this ‘simple’ endeavor; one knew automatically that a wedding was a lot of work but the number of people to see and things to be ordered irritated even Michelle’s calm nature. The only blight on her happiness was a rather glaring fact that the Bride’s side of the church was going to be almost empty. Sighing, Michelle wondered if Laurel would have a viable solution to that.

The door opened and the genial Laurel waltzed in, followed by Daniels. Michelle smiled at them; it felt good not to have to do this alone. Laurel brandished her clipboard and sat by Michelle.

“Good morning!” she said, adjusting her glasses. “I'm glad you wore something nice. As I mentioned yesterday, we’re going to take you to a photographer this morning; he’s really very good… very edgy, but in a nice way. He doesn’t usually do weddings but when I told him you’re wedding was at the Waldorf, well, he sounded more receptive.” Michelle smiled.

“I suppose so,” she said, amused. “Mr. Chan confirmed last night for the Starlight Roof room. Amazingly, no one will be using it all that week, so the resident decorator won’t be rushed.”

Laurel nodded, checking things off on her clipboard.

“Great. We’re good on the ceremony and reception; we’re also going to visit two florists and lastly swing by the printer to approve the invitations. Your future mother-in-law is to fax over the guest list for the Montgomery side, right?” she asked, looking up at the bride.

“Yes. By noon she said,” Michelle responded. She looked at Laurel for a moment. “I am wondering what to do about my side of the aisle, so to speak. Besides Uncle Oscar, I’ve no family left and very few acquaintances. I am wondering at the logic of the bride-side and groom-side tradition.”

At this, Laurel smiled.

“You do it just how you like,” she said, kindly. Her eyes appeared to twinkle with some secret joke, Michelle thought. “Mr. Maclane informed me this morning that you do have relatives, mostly in Scotland; they’re distant relatives, but family nonetheless. He could make a special point to invite them, if you’d like.” Michelle blinked, and looking at her hands for a moment; she laughed.

“How odd,” she said, shaking her head a little. “I don’t even know their names. Mom was the one who kept track of distant relatives; she’d send pictures and Christmas cards… things of that nature.”

“Oh, I can help you with that,” Laurel said, holding up a piece of paper. “I’ve got all their names and information here.”

“I suppose they would not object to being flown across the ocean and put up in a very nice hotel,” Michelle said, smiling. Daniels snorted.

“Of course not,” he said. “Weddings mean dancin’ and free food.” Laurel hid her smile and gave Daniels a severe look before turning back to the bride-to-be.

“Invite them,” Michelle said, smiling. “At least it will give me an opportunity to meet them. Strangely enough, William is planning to take me to Scotland for our honeymoon.”

“Nice. Well, that settles it,” she said, writing a few notes on her clipboard. “We should get going. There’s a place nearby we can stop at for some quick breakfast. What do you say?” Michelle stood up.

“Sounds good,” she replied, looking up at the lobby clock; only ten hours to wait until she could see William again.

LAUNGUISHING IN Miami International Airport, William tried to get a little sleep in the plastic airport chair. It was two o’ clock in the afternoon. Bob sat two chairs down, snoring under an open newspaper; the briefcases sat between them in the empty chair. Already the two hour layover had stretch to three. Sighing, William rubbed his temples; all he wanted to do was talk to Michelle. He’d called the hotel already, hoping she’d be there, but was informed Miss Gregory was still out.

“I need to get her a cell phone,” William thought, staring at the floor.

Three newspapers and two issues of Forbes sat next to him on another chair, already read.

“Mr. Montgomery, from Felix-Maclane... please come to the desk,” a voice called out over the terminal intercom. Looking over at the desk, William saw a short lady in an airline uniform standing behind it; she looked around with a worried expression. William stood at the desk moments later. The airline lady smiled at him nervously.

“I’m sorry sir, but your two business class seats have been bumped. We over-booked the flight.” William closed his eyes for a moment.

“Coach is fine,” he said, calmly. The lady looked even more apologetic.

“Actually, we have to put you on the next flight,” the lady said, her voice very small. “And there’s nothing left on it but seats in first class.”

Sighing, William rubbed his temples.  “If it makes you feel better sir, twelve other people got bumped, too.”

William gave the airline woman a look.

“No, that doesn’t make me feel better,” he said, testily. “I’m supposed to be having dinner with my fiancé this evening, in New York. How long will it be until the next available flight?”

“Eight hours,” came the awful words. William felt like ripping the desk in half. He clenched his fists a moment instead; they could almost drive to New York in eight hours.

“Fine,” William said with resignation. He fixed the girl behind the desk with a steely gaze. “But, tell me… what does the airline plan to do about this incredible inconvenience to representatives from a Fortune 500 company? Do you suppose that we have no business to accomplish today?”

The woman quickly called someone on the desk's phone, and spoke in a low voice for a minute. Ending her call, she turned back to William, smiling a little.

“We can offer you half-off on a first class upgrade for the next flight,” she said, timidly. “You could wait in the VIP lounge that way.” William took out his wallet.

“I’ll pay the difference,” he said. “Hopefully, paying you more will ensure we don’t get bumped again.” The woman looked apologetic again but William was not fooled; they’d squeezed an extra $900 dollars out of him and this woman would be putting on the nervous act for the next poor sod. The woman handed him the new boarding passes and two key-cards to the VIP lounge.

Waking Bob, William told him the news; gathering their things, they ambled over to the more comfortable reserved area to wait. Sliding the card through the magnetic lock, William opened the door and stepped willingly into the cooler environment. In spite of the very long wait, at least they could sit somewhere more comfortable.

“Hey, this is nice...” Bob said, impressed. He sat down in a reclining chair, and let out a low whistle. A server appeared from behind some potted palms and offered them cocktails or cold sodas; he took one of the latter. “I don’t know... after this I may lobby for no more coach flights.” William chuckled.

“Coach wasn’t all that bad,” he remarked, still standing. He took cold bottle of water from the server’s tray. “Michelle seemed quite proud of me for joining the ranks of the 'commoners'.”

Bob seemed to find this information interesting; he sat forward and looked at William closely.

“Your family’s real wealthy, right?” he said; he spoke it as one of those statements which is both question and observation. Nodding, William unbuttoned his suit coat and sat down in another chair; no one was in the lounge but them.

“Yes,” he answered. “Better off than the Windsors, at any rate.”

“So, why do you work?” Bob asked. “I mean... I gotta admit that if I didn’t have to work, I wouldn’t.”

William took in a long, patient breath and let it ease slowly out.

“My father, though he wasn’t the most caring of men, did instill in me a very strong work ethic,” he said, staring at the wall. “He considered a trust-fund-playboy as the very worst waste of a man. Having observed some of the other sons of my parent’s friends and how they lived their lives, I have to agree with him.” William drank some of the cold water; it tasted wonderful after hours of lingering in the humid, Miami air. He turned to Bob with a smile. “Besides, if I had not traveled stateside and gone to work at that firm every single day, I would have never met Michelle.”

Bob smiled; it was a warm smile... the kind a seasoned family man would possess.

“Can’t argue with you there, Montgomery,” Bob said. William smiled.

“It’s William, Bob,” he said, taking another drink. “Hopefully, Felix-Maclane will give you a raise and an excellent retirement package, so you won’t have to work anymore in the near future, unless you want to.” At this, Bob laughed and slapped his knee.

“Contracts and negotiation, my ass!” he said, chuckling. “You should go into politics.” William shuddered.

“No, thank you,” he said, with conviction. “That’s an honor I will forego. Right now I want to keep busy until my wedding to the sweetest girl in the world, so we can go on our honeymoon… the first long vacation I’ve had in years.” Bob listened to this, rubbing his chin a little.

“Your honeymoon is one of the best vacations you’ll ever have,” he said, raising his can of soda.

“I’ll drink to that,” William said; they tapped the containers and relaxed in the relative quiet of the lounge.

“If anyone comes in this room...” William said, after a pause. “... I’m going to pester them for eight hours until they sign on as a client.” From the depths of his chair Bob answered with a tired laugh.

MICHELLE WALKED into the photographer’s studio and immediately liked the frank absence of a ‘waiting room’. Laurel was making a call out in the hall, so she felt free to look around. No receptionist and no photographer... as far as she could see. The wide, white room was also devoid of furniture, save for several dozen white candle stands each set up about a foot away from the wall, all around the room. Each stand had an extinguished candle on it. A far corner of the room held a wide cream-colored drop cloth hanging from the ceiling and high-end photographic equipment set up around it.

“I normally only do portraits.”

A man spoke, from somewhere close by. Turning, Michelle beheld an older gentleman standing a few feet away from her. He appeared to be around fifty-five years of age, with very gray hair; he looked a bit thin and pale but had a sparkle in his eye that showed life was yet present within him. He was dressed much like Mr. Rogers in tan slacks, a red, zip-up sweater and sneakers.

“You don’t startle easily,” he said. “That’s good.”

Michelle raised an eyebrow at him and looked smiled politely.

“Well… that’s all wedding photos are,” she pointed out, softly; the echoing room made speaking loudly unnecessary. “Unscripted portraits of those who attend.” At this the man laughed; it was more of a cackle, but not an unpleasant one.

“I like you already,” he said. He handed held out a long, butane lighter. “Would you help me light all these candles? It’s quite a job, as you can see.” Michelle was puzzled by the request.

“Are we taking pictures now?” she queried. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” the man said. “I’m James Torville, by the way.” Michelle took the lighter gently from him.

“Michelle Gregory,” she said, smiling. Mr. Torville leaned his head a little to one side.

“That… is a lovely smile,” he said. “Really nice. I’ll get this side of the room.” He produced another lighter and set about lighting the candles very quickly. The door opened. Laurel entered the room and walked quickly over to Michelle; she saw the slender little man lighting candles and arched a brow.

“Is that Mr. Torville?” she whispered. Michelle nodded.

“He wants me to help him light the candles,” she whispered back before walking over to start on her task.

Lighting the dozens of  candles proved a rather calming activity; Laurel followed the bride-to-be, looking around.

“Bare room,” she commented, quietly. “I hope he agrees to do the photos; I’ve seen his stuff... really good, very real and stark sometimes, but peaceful.” Michelle smiled, continuing her task. Her uncle’s assistant was amusing in her ability to pile as many adjectives into a thought as it could hold. It was an admirable trait, in that one could always tell exactly what the woman thought and liked about any particular subject.

In a short time all the candles were crowned with tiny flames. Mr. Torville aimed a remote at the large windows. They immediately darkened, shutting out all the outside light. In an instant, the look of the room changed completely; the flickering warm light of the candles glanced of the rounded ceiling, back down on their faces, lighting them perfectly.

“Wow...” Laurel said, an awed expression on her face. “That’s brilliant!”

“Thank you,” Mr. Torville said, appearing behind her. Laurel jumped and giggled nervously. “I had the room designed specifically for candlelight,” he explained. He looked at Michelle and gestured the drop cloth.

“Over here please, Miss Gregory,” he said. “I think you are a person who would sit very well.” Michelle obligingly removed her coat and let Laurel take it from her.

“This guy really knows what he’s doing,” Laurel whispered. “Your skin is glowing!” Michelle smiled at her, but felt a bit silly; she hadn’t had pictures taken of her by a professional since she was in high school. Those school pictures didn’t turn out very well, as she recalled.

“Pick any spot,” the photographer instructed. “The camera will find you.” Michelle admired the man’s artistic way of expressing himself.

Though she was not able to see how the soft, flickering of the descending candlelight illuminated her skin, Mr. Torville was quite enthralled with his new subject.

“She looks a fairytale heroine...” he murmured, peering through the camera. “Talk to me about your groom,” he said, loud enough for Michelle to hear. The young woman immediately blushed and smiled, looking down. Snap. A hauntingly beautiful picture resounding with innocent dreams... right off the bat.

“I’ll take the job,” Mr. Torville said, speaking to Laurel. “Just let me know the time and place.” Beaming, Laurel scratched off another line on her clipboard.

A half-hour later they left the studio with warm goodbyes.

“I never thought we’d convince him to do it,” Laurel said, smiling. “Mr. Maclane will be really pleased. He suggested James Torville because he’d seen some of the guy’s work in a magazine article on war veterans. I saw his portrait of Elizabeth Taylor and thought she’d never looked better. Are you hungry?” Michelle laughed.

“Not really,” she said. “I ate a fairly solid breakfast.” Laurel looked around as they gained the street. She pointed at a little café across the street; it looked sunny and flew Italian and American flags from its upper level.

“Oh, they have fantastic gelato over there!” she said, smiling. “Could you manage to choke down some sorbet?” Chuckling, Michelle nodded.

“I’m certain it’s too good to choke down,” she tempered. “Let’s go.” Laurel grinned and signaled to Drake in the car; she joined Michelle for a short walk across the street to the café.

The café embodied all the good sounds and smells of Italian-American light cuisine, complete with a solid row of scrumptious-looking gelato under glass. Soon, the girls were settled at a tiny table by the window, with Daniels at the next one eating two different flavors. Drake surprised them by joining them soon after.

“I like gelato,” he informed them, shortly. Laurel giggled into her napkin while Michelle hid a smile in her hand.

They ate in relative quiet until someone else came into the shop; someone by the name of Luca D’Angelo. Michelle saw him the moment he entered the café; she turned to Laurel and began to ask a question about the florist they were going to see.

“What on earth is he doing here?” she wondered silently. Michelle didn’t really want to know but hoped he’d leave them alone. She was not in the mood for fending off the seemingly unending advances of Sophie’s son. She glanced at Daniels. “He’s armed; maybe I can just ask him to shoot the guy...”

Across the tiny table, Laurel obliviously studied her notes.

“OK... next we’re going to see Ermine over at Le Fleur and...” The young woman stopped mid-sentence and actually hid behind her clipboard. “Omigosh! Who is that?” She peered over the top at the tall figure standing by the counter ordering gelato. Michelle glanced over her shoulder.

“You mean the over-confident predator skulking by the counter?” she asked, coolly, taking a bite of her raspberry sorbet. Laurel gaped at her.

“Are you blind?” she whispered, fiercely. “No! The gorgeous guy standing over there, with the dark curly hair... oh, wow… he could be a model. Definitely.” The young woman sighed, peering over her clipboard again at Luca. Michelle laughed, softy.

“Yes, he could,” she said, smiling at Laurel. “But, a guy like that is used to women throwing themselves at him, trying to get something from him; so, he uses them and tosses them away. He’s an acquaintance of William’s and not a close one. I met him at the party where William proposed to me.”

Laurel stared her.

“He’s the guy who flirted with you all night?” she asked, quietly. By now Laurel knew most of the details of that night, barring the tender ones. Michelle saw the young woman began to look a little less enamored with Luca. “Oh, crap... he’s looking over here!” She busied herself writing some notes on her clipboard and flipped open her cell phone.

Luca did not see the two women at first. He came in here often; he owned this café… well, the bank did, but he was slowly paying it off. He spent a great deal of time here working the tables, trying to find out if the local market was receptive to light, healthy Italian cuisine. Hearing a familiar, soft voice from across the room, he turned and saw William Montgomery’s lovely fiancée--of all people--sitting at a table in the corner. About to walk over he spied another young woman sitting with her, one who gave him bashful glances over her clipboard. She looked very sweet dressed in fashionable business attire, with warm, brown eyes and bouncy, natural blond curls; Luca felt an inexplicable urge to feel those springy curls in his fingers.

“Not bad,” he thought, smiling.

Walking over towards them, Luca noted the strongman and uniformed driver sitting near the ladies. He continued to the table.

“I hope you are enjoying the gelato,” he said. “It is our most popular item.” While the blond woman pretended to talk on her phone, Michelle looked fearlessly up at him.

“Hello, Mr. D’Angelo,” she said, forming a polite, frosty smile. It was a look her father had taught her, one that you’d give to a neighbor whom you know is stealing your newspaper but have no proof. “So, this is your café?”

“Yes,” Luca said, returning her gaze. “I also work here, Miss Gregory.” Michelle peered at Luca closely; the man’s face was a little altered, as if his pride was gearing itself up to be hurt. “I live upstairs, in the apartments.” His expression conveyed an expectation of being laughed at.

Michelle gave the man a real smile. So, the whole suave playboy image was a facade; she liked him better for it. At least he believed in making his own way in the world.

“It’s a very nice café,” she said, turning toward Laurel. “Luca D’Angelo, meet a friend of mine, Laurel Ecland, she’s my uncle’s assistant.” Smiling, Luca looked over at the pretty blond girl again.

“Laurel,” he repeated. “What a beautiful name.” He took up the young woman’s hand and kissed the back of it. The girl seemed speechless; her face rapidly turned pink. “I am charmed to meet you,” Luca finished, with a grin. Michelle smiled into her gelato.

Luca met Daniels and Drake and spent a moment speaking with them on the menu until one of the cooks beckoned.

“I must go,” he said. “We have to prepare for the lunch crowd.” He cast a smile at Michelle; she regarded him with a bit less frostiness and her smile was genuine, yet still distant. The lovely Laurel, however, could not stop blushing; Luca liked this very much and kissed her hand again. “Please return soon, Miss Laurel.”

“I will...” she squeaked out, returning to writing her notes; they looked rather illegible to Michelle but she said nothing about it.

“Perhaps they’d make a good couple,” she thought.

“Shall we go get the florist squared away?” Laurel said, having recovered a little. Michelle nodded. Anything to make the day go faster; she glanced at the clock.

“Just make it ‘til tonight,” she thought, biting her lip. She missed William like oxygen gone from her lungs.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Michelle stumbled into her tiny domicile at 3pm, shutting the door behind her with relief. Room 203 never looked better. As appreciative as she was of Laurel’s help, the woman was relentless with the montage of appointments, lists and ideas. Still, they'd taken care of the florist, approved a decorating scheme with the hotel, approved the guest list and ordered invitations. Initially the invitation printer said they couldn’t go out for a week. Apparently a large payment made that iron fact a bit more pliable; they’d go out in two days.

Michelle immediately went over to her phone. In her hand sat two messages from William, along with a number to call some kind of waiting room that he was apparently in. Dialing the long line of numbers, Michelle held her breath and smiled, waiting. An operator picked up.

“Who do you wish to speak to?” said someone in a banal tone.

“William Montgomery?” she asked, uncertainly. There was a pause.

“Hello?” came William’s warm, wonderful voice. Michelle sighed. It felt so good to hear him speak; she sat down on her bed.

“Hello William,” she said, softly. “I got your messages.”

“I am not ashamed to say I have missed you, to the degree that I may quite possibly go batty,” William told her, sincerely. Michelle smiled; her small measure of bravery tripled.

“I... I cannot go many minutes without wishing you were here,” she said, haltingly. “Though you’d hate going around all these places... I still feel your absence.” Michelle took a breath to calm her nerves. “I hope the days go by very fast until I can call you my husband.”

The last part was really only just above a whisper but William heard it. He gripped the phone and closed his eyes. This girl had his heart. There was no way around it; he was captured.

“Three thousand miles away and she affects me the same,” he thought, smiling.

“I appreciate being let into your confidence, my love,” he said. “Your little ways and words refresh me, you know; even here in this airport, over the telephone no less. That would only work if we are meant for each other.”

They spoke for several minutes on the events of the day. William was interested in their meeting Luca.

“I had no idea he ran a café,” he mused, aloud. “And working there? Extraordinary… I always thought he lived off his family’s money; it appears I was wrong about the man.” Michelle laughed.

“I think he likes my uncle’s assistant,” she said, smiling. “One ogle and the poor girl was tongue-tied.” Chuckling, William relaxed back into his chair. How refreshing that Michelle liked to relate all details to him, even a chance meeting with a ‘cute’ guy. Wherever he went, he knew that he wouldn’t have to worry about Michelle keeping things from him. She seemed almost eager to let him know all that had happened to her. At this point he and Bob were so bored with waiting in the quiet room they’d resorted to watching CSPAN. Bob was fast asleep. So were some of the Congressmen on the screen.

William cleared his throat.

“I am afraid I have some bad news, love,” he began. “They over-booked my flight and bumped both myself and Bob to another flight, which doesn’t leave until eight-thirty tonight.” Michelle sat still a moment with her mouth agape.

“You mean… you have to sit in the airport all day and just wait?” she asked, incredulous. “That’s terrible! They shouldn’t be allowed to bump you…” William laughed softly at the rising irritation in Michelle’s voice.

“It’s not so bad love,” he said. “Well, cancel that. It wouldn’t be bad if you were here to talk to.” He heard Michelle sigh and smiled. “I’m not going to let you talk much longer, sweetheart; this is an expensive call for you.”

“I’d pay every dime I had to talk to you,” she said. “OK, there goes my last dime just now.”

Laughing, William smiled genially at the lounge room wall.

“Minx,” he said. “I guess it means though we won’t be able to meet for dinner. At this rate I should get in well after one in the morning.”

“Wow... that’s such a long wait,” Michelle said, sounding vastly disappointed. “I hope you found a comfy seat.”

“Well, actually...” William began, clearing his throat. “The only seats left on the next plane were in first class. I paid the difference and we get to wait here in the VIP lounge.”

A short pause ensued.

“Oh, I get it,” Michelle responded; her voice suddenly sounded nettled. “Somehow they ‘magically’ bump your seats and all that is left are the far more expensive ones? That’s highway robbery!” Her angered tone amused William very much, though he’d suspected much the same thing.

“Don’t worry love,” he said. “You of all people should know that business expenses are tax-deductible.” At William’s words Michelle mentally slapped herself.

“I feel like an idiot now,” she said. “Of course it’s tax-deductible.” She heard William chuckling and scowled a little. “Well, maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow? I’ll tell whoever I have an appointment with to fly a kite.”

“I’d love to, sweetheart,” William murmured. He could hardly wait until he saw her; he was half-tempted to have Michelle meet him at the airport when he got in, but refrained from suggesting it. Yet, William knew that she would, even at two in the morning; just knowing that fact comforted him a little. “I’m going to get you a cell phone,” he told her. “Then I can talk to you whenever I want. I am starting to dislike the message-taker at your hotel. The tone of their voice is dashed annoying.” Michelle laughed a little at the idea. The sound of her merriment bubbled up relaxation in William like a natural spring of pure, clear water.

“I’ve never had a cell phone, but I would carry it with me everywhere just on the off-chance that you’d call me,” she said; she meant every word. “But I’ll get one myself. No buying me things.”

William did not expect this curve ball. Sitting up, a stubborn look descended on his face.

“Now listen here...” he began, ominously.

“Oh, would you look at the time!” Michelle said, her voice heavily tinged with amusement. “Must go, shower and... uh, meetings... you know.”

“Michelle,” William said, smiling in spite of himself. “Soon you will not be able to say ‘no’.” His voice turned slightly silky, as if he knew he’d won already. “When we’re married, I’ll be able to buy you all the things I want to, and you won’t be able to say a word.”

This particular point had not occurred to Michelle before.

“You were thinking that the whole time weren’t you?” she said, trying not to smile. “Here I was being so valiantly independent and all the while you were just delaying it for when we’re married.” William chuckled.

“You didn’t think I’d concede defeat in my desire to take care of you, now did you?” he responded, in a low tone. “Very soon you’ll be mine. Resistance is futile.”

“Bear in mind that goes both ways, Socrates,” Michelle admonished, playfully. William smiled.

“Goodbye for now, love,” he said. “Go scamper about doing wedding things. However, be sure to rest properly. It isn’t worth wearing yourself out over.”

“I won’t,” Michele promised, smiling fondly at the floor. She held the phone with both hands; the conversation was almost over and she’d have to wait many hours to hear from him again. “I hope you’re able to get some sleep there.”

“Yes, love. It’s comfortable here, don’t worry,” William assured her. “I’ll call you from work tomorrow, probably later… near lunchtime.”

“I’ll make sure to be here after eleven,” Michelle said, firmly. “I know saying ‘I love you’ all the time is considered cheesy but I feel as if I can’t say it enough,” she said, a little quickly. “But, it doesn’t even say convey fully what I feel for you. Gosh I’m rambling... sorry.”

“Stop biting your lip,” came William’s voice; he spoke softly. “I know you’re doing it.” Michelle made a face; he was right, of course. “I love your rambling. It lets me know all the sweet things that are running around your brain.” Michelle laughed, lightly.

“Goodnight, William, since I won’t get to say it tonight.”

“Goodnight, Michelle,” William returned affectionately. “I wish I could kiss you now, my little minx.”

“You and me both,” Michelle whispered. “Bye.” She hung up the phone and spent a moment silently hugging her pillow. A few tears slid down her face but she dashed them away quickly. “No moping,” she told herself. “Keep busy.” Hopping up, Michelle gathered up clothed to be taken to the dry-cleaners and set out to take care of her various errands.

William was able to get a half-hour nap in before one of the servers brought him the phone again. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes hoping to hear Michelle’s voice again.

“This is really going to inflate her phone bill terribly,” he thought, smiling. He’d find a way to pay it.

“Montgomery?” came a gruff voice over the receiver. It was the 'Madman'. Unconsciously William sat up a little straighter.

“Mr. Maclane,” he answered.

“I got Bob’s message about the flight delay. Bad luck, but congratulations on the new client plus four. Impressive.”

“Thank you, sir,” William responded, with a touch of relief. If a little eccentric, the man was a least appreciative.

“I have two new clients in for a possible merger deal tomorrow,” the man continued. “I’ll need you to be there and begin contract negotiation. Be here at 7am for a team briefing.”

The request got William’s ire up a little. Yes, theirs was a cut-throat industry, yet any boss worth his salt was aware of Federal labor laws.

“The plane won’t get in until 2am, Mr. Maclane,” he said, coolly.

“I’m aware of that. Be here at seven.” The phone call was disconnected. William stared at the phone a moment before handing it back to the server. Letting out an exasperated breath, he slumped back on the seat.

“I might as well get some more sleep,” he thought, grimly. William closed his eyes and thought of more pleasant things, namely Michelle.

BACK FROM the laundry room Michelle was just letting herself into her room when the elevator doors opened at the far end of the hall. Glancing towards them, the young woman half-expected Laurel to rush out with another list of things to accomplish; to her surprise her uncle walked out instead, accompanied by a tall older gentleman. Oscar wore a business-suit as usual but the man with him was dressed in full, military uniform, his officer’s cap balanced on his arm. Michelle walked towards them with a smile.

“Here’s the bride now,” Oscar said, smiling warmly at his niece. “Michelle, I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine… Colonel John Orwell of the United State Marine Corps.” Michelle did not know if she was supposed to shake hands or not, so she opted for a small curtsy.

The colonel appeared amused at this and smiled at her; he stood quite tall and possessed a bit more gray hair than her uncle. The friendly look in his eye rather belied the stern appearance of his uniform.

“Charmed to meet you, Miss Gregory,” Colonel Orwell said. “I served together with Oz; long time ago.”

“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” Michelle said, managing to look more confident than she felt; she noticed that such a feat was easier to accomplish, the more people she met. Her uncle spoke up.

“The good colonel is also an appointed marriage officer, registered with the city of New York,” he explained. Michelle looked at the man with understanding; she smiled.

“I take it my esteemed uncle has convinced you to perform our little ceremony,” she observed in her quiet way. Colonel Orwell nodded, still smiling.

“Didn’t take a whole lot of convincing,” he said, genially. “I enjoy performing wedding ceremonies. Anyway, your uncle saved my butt in Vietnam, so I owe him.” Michelle could see this phrase was a joke between the two men.

“I’d be honored if you would, sir,” she said. The colonel turned to Oscar.

“She’s very polite,” he said, grinning. “She must have inherited that from her mother’s side of the family.” Oscar scowled at him.

“Ha ha, Johnny,” he muttered. He turned back to Michelle, who was hiding a grin in her hand. “He can do the ceremony in his white dress uniform, if you’d like that,” Oscar informed her. Michelle liked the sound of his suggestion very much.

“I’d like that,” she said, looking up at the colonel. “However, it is not a military wedding or anything...” Colonel Orwell grinned.

“One of the perks of being an officer is you can where your uniform anywhere you feel like wearing it,” he informed her. Michelle liked the man’s good-natured voice; she could easily see him fitting the role of minister in her wedding.

“I have the marriage license arranged already,” she informed them. “It should be available to be signed the day of.”

“She’d efficient too,” the colonel said, approvingly. “Your man’s a lucky guy.” Michelle blushed a little at this.

“If so, then I am luckier to have him,” she said, quietly. She looked up at her uncle. “Thank you,” she said, with heartfelt gratitude. She meant to say, 'thank you for all you’ve done to make this wedding special for me'. The look that Oscar gave back conveyed understanding. Reaching over, he and gave Michelle a small hug.

“We’ll get out of your hair. I’ll call later to arrange a lunch or something with you, the groom and the colonel here, so you guys can discuss what you want to do for the ceremony.” Michelle nodded.

“That would be great,” she said, smiling. Oscar smiled back at her.

“Go get some rest,” he said, a little less gruffly than normal. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will; thank you,” Michelle answered. “It was very nice to meet you, Colonel.” The officer smiled and bowed slightly at the waist.

As the two gentlemen walked back towards the elevator, the colonel grinned at his old friend.

“You’re getting soft in your old age, Oz,” he said. Oscar gave him a look as they stepped into the elevator.

“So shoot me, Johnny,” he said, darkly. The colonel chuckled as the doors swung shut.

Back in her room Michelle’s smile reached new heights. As more pieces came together, her wedding began to look like n eventual reality. The thought comforted her; she busied herself on the phone, conferring with the woman in charge of decorating the Waldorf’s Starlight Roof room. The lady assured her she was sticking to the simple design Michelle had come up with; she actually approved it as being perfect for the occasion.

With both lists of relatives and various friends, the number of projected guests stood well over seventy; though this number initially stunned Michelle, she shrugged it off; it was important for William’s family and relations to be present. Meeting all those sophisticated people, however, was rather a daunting prospect for her.

“I suppose I must grin and bear it,” she thought. She could do that, for William. Michelle decided to make her groom proud of her that day; she’d smile and greet people and force herself to have normal conversations with many unknown guests. “It will probably do me good.”

Sitting at her little desk, Michelle wrote out more notes on the ceremony and the vows, to discuss with William. She really had no idea what he’d like. Reading them out loud, she felt tears coming on.

“To love honor and obey... for better or worse, in sickness or in health, for richer or poorer, to love and to cherish ‘til death do us part...” A lump welled up in Michelle’s throat; she trembled a the idea of saying such things to the man she loved, simply because she didn’t want to bawl her eyes out in front of the man, let alone the whole room of guests.

Sighing, Michelle decided to practice until she could say them without wavering. She repeated several times the lovely, sincere words that would bind her to her beloved William forever.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

William’s alarm clock rang out sharply at 5:30 am. He swatted at it grumpily, trying to force his eyes open.

“Get up, old boy,” he muttered to himself. Making his exhausted body move, William managed to pick up the alarm from the floor and groped around into he found the ‘off’ button. Rubbing his eyes, William sat up and lurched over to his shower. He hadn’t arrived home until after 2AM… and in an hour and a half he’d be expected at a new client meeting. This was going to be a long day.

A half-hour later, William stood in his kitchen dressed, shaved and a little more awake; dialing Michelle’s number he listened to the ringing, hoping she was awake. He didn’t want to wait a moment longer to hear her soft voice.

“Hello?” Michelle said as she answered the phone. William managed a tired smile; his ladylove sounded so alive... he felt a bit energized just hearing her speak.

“Sweetheart,” he said, sipping some very strong coffee. “I am glad you are already up.”

“You’re back...” Michelle said, gently. William could almost see her bright smile. “Oh, it’s so good to know you’re in the same hemisphere.” Chuckling, William paused and gulped down a little more coffee; he grabbed his coat and briefcase.

“Thank you, love,” he said, leaving his flat. He resolved to talk to her all the way to work. “I’m on my way to work now, so if I lose you I’ll call back. Did I wake you?”

“No… my uncle’s assistant gets here at 6:30 each morning; I have to be up early or she’ll beat my door down.”

“Sounds delightful,” William said, gaining the elevator; he stepped in and nodded to the attendant. “Ground floor please.”

“Ask him for a hot towel,” Michelle said, giggling softly. William snorted.

“Minx,” he said, breaking into a grin. Her laughter was like cool water on a hot day. “I love your humor, darling.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Michelle returned.

They chatted and joked through William’s taxi ride, into the building he worked at, into the elevator and up to his office. Setting his briefcase on his desk, William glanced at the clock. The meeting began in ten minutes.

“I hate to cut our conversation short, love but I have to prepare...”

“What on earth is that?” Michelle said, suddenly. Puzzled by her tone, William smiled.

“What is what? Is there a mouse?” he teased. “A lover’s quarrel in the next room?”

“A strange ringing sound...” Michelle said, uncertainly. “It's coming from the hall.” Listening intently, William could just make it out behind her voice. “I’m just going to see what’s going on.”

Michelle opened her door. Immediately, her eyes stung and she covered her mouth. The top of the hallway was filled with brownish-black smoke and a red light flashed.

“Smoke,” she said, feebly. “There’s smoke everywhere... it’s the fire alarm!” William stopped still; his breath left his lungs for a moment.

“Close your door,” he said, striving to sound calm. “Get in your room and close the door… if there’s smoke in the hall you shouldn’t go out there. Is there a fire escape out your window?” Feeling almost numb with shock, Michelle did as William told her.

“Uh... no,” she said; her voice shook a little as she spoke. “There’s a maintenance shed right under my window… in the courtyard.”

“I’m on my way,” William said, grabbing his coat. His face was a wall of concern; he swept by Mabel, who gave him a pointed look.

“Sir, your meeting...” she began; William ignored her and ran down the hall to the lift. It wasn’t opening; it was occupied. Immediately, William opened the stairwell door and began descending the stairs, two at a time.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” he said, trying to speak clearly while running down stairs. “Open your window. Can you hear sirens?” Michelle complied; it was all so surreal... smoke in the halls of the Waldorf -Astoria.

“Why aren’t the fire sprinklers coming on?” she thought, sliding the bottom half of her window up.

“I can’t hear any sirens...” Michelle said, her voice trembling a little.

“I want you to stay calm,” William said to her. Michelle thought he sounded like he was running. “Don’t go out in the hall...” The phone went dead. Michelle stared at it and hung the receiver up and listened again. No dial tone. Placing it down on the receiver, Michelle saw her engagement ring on the desk and hastily put it on. Quickly, she found something to stuff under the door.

“Michelle? Michelle!” William shouted into his phone. Clicking it shut, he ran down the steps, forcing the rising panic down. He had to get to Michelle. The meeting didn’t even cross his mind.

OSCAR MACLANE sat in his office--high up in the newest branch of Felix- Maclane--flipping through a file on the prospective merger clients; they and their entourage currently waited in the newly-remodeled conference room. The morning news played in the background, but Oscar was only half-listening to it. In the middle of a piece on avoiding traffic, a reporter broke in with a special report.

“This just in,” the woman’s voice said, grimly. “There’s a fire reported at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel...” Oscar whirled around to stare at the TV. “Black smoke is visible; our cameras are en route, but a guest is with us now on the phone... hello ma’am?”

“There’s smoke everywhere!” The strained voice of a woman came into the studio, accompanied by the yapping of what sounded like two small dogs. “Muffy and Tiffy are quite distraught! The whole hall is full of smoke... I’m not going out there! The whole second floor is full of smoke!”

“Again, breaking news, fire at the Waldorf. So far the reports indicate that no engines have arrived...”

Oscar leaped to his feet; his coffee fell to the floor, unnoticed. Running out of his office, he called Laurel on her cell phone.

“Is Michelle with you?” he yelled into the phone.

“No, sir,” Laurel said, sounding worried at his tone. “We’re still blocks away; the traffic is really bad today. Are you alright sir?”

“Don’t go near it,” Oscar barked, gaining the corporate elevator; he pressed the ‘close door’ button several times. “There’s a fire at the Waldorf.”

“Oh no!” Laurel gasped. “I hope Michelle’s OK...”

“Bump my meeting with the new clients,” Oscar ordered, ignoring her. “Tell them anything. I’m on my way over to the hotel now.” Snapping his phone shut, he willed the elevator on faster. When the doors opened, he sprinted across the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. He flagged a taxi down in seconds and hopped in.

William burst out the lobby stairwell moments later and ran out of the lobby much the same way. Not seeing a taxi around, William looked down the road. He could see the traffic congestion was already beginning to back up. There was no way even a cab could get through for much longer.

“It’s only eleven blocks...” he said. Without hesitation, William started running, a determined look on his face. He didn’t feel winded; adrenaline pumped through his veins like liquid fire and spurred him onward. He had to get to Michelle. He hoped she had the sense to get out the window fast, into the courtyard.

“Please God... I can’t lose her,” William silently prayed as he bolted down the sidewalk, avoiding the other pedestrians.

In the cab Oscar drew out a large bill and tossed it at the driver.

“Get to the Waldorf as fast as you can!” he instructed. The cabbie looked at his passenger and then at the money.

“You got it!” he said. They made good time for about five blocks, and then a sea of cars met them.

“Come on!” The driver yelled, leaning on his horn. “Dammit!” Oscar looked around a moment, trying to raise the Waldorf on his cell phone. A recorded voice over classical music told him the lines were busy at this time, but please call back soon. Shutting the phone, he looked around at the traffic; he couldn’t see any fire trucks anywhere. About to get out, he looked out his window and saw a familiar figure dash by, running as if his life depended on it. It was William Montgomery. Oscar watched the young man disappear into the morning pedestrian crowds; the expression on his face looked like something close to panic.

“Keep the money,” Oscar said to the driver, getting out. “I’ll walk from here.”

MICHELLE MANAGED to squeeze herself out of the window just fine; she lowered herself carefully onto the maintenance shed’s tile roof. Crawling carefully over it, Michelle saw several people cross the courtyard below, heading away from the smoky side of the hotel, disappearing through the doors to the Park Avenue lobby. She decided to follow their example. Sitting down, she slid down until she was able to jump down the five or so feet to the courtyard floor. Feeling a bit shaky, Michelle stood up and tried to calm herself as she walked towards the doors. It wouldn’t do to panic. Looking back, she didn’t see smoke coming through her window, but that did not comfort her. She prayed that her room wouldn’t be consumed.

The lobby was a madhouse; guests stupidly grouped around the desk, demanding answers. Michelle couldn’t believe her eyes. What were these people doing standing around arguing while there was a fire going on? Over their heads, Michelle could see Mr. Chan desperately trying to direct people outside. The guests with children already headed out the doors; Michelle followed their example. Slipping past the angered crowd, she gained the doors and the wonderfully fresh, cold air of the outside.

Standing on the chilly sidewalk, Michelle turned back towards the hotel; she could see smoke overhead, coming out one window of the second story; her room was on the other side of the hotel and courtyard and Michelle could tell the smoke here was much heavier than by her room. People stood in groups on both sides of the street, pointing up and excitedly talking; some people looked horrified. Traffic was at a complete standstill on both sides of Park Avenue. Whether it was due to the fire or normal morning rush hour, Michelle couldn’t tell. She stood there on the sidewalk, hugging herself for warmth, in nothing but her pajama pants and Stanford camisole. Oddly, she didn’t feel cold. The shock of seeing the smoke in her hallway numbed her a little, not to mention the group of people inside seemingly oblivious to the danger they might be in. Some other guests stood with her, holding their children close.

Finally, a police car drew up; it forced its way to the curb, its lights flashing. A cop with a megaphone got out, grimacing at the amassing crowds.

“Clear the area!” he yelled through the instrument. “No one but hotel guests, Fire personnel and law enforcement in the immediate area! Get back behind the line!” His partner was already rolling out yellow police tape, blocking the sidewalk off completely in front of the hotel. Some people yelled out insults at the police officer, saying they had to get through.

“Cross to the other side!” the cop called back, tying off the police tape. “You cross this line and I’ll shoot you!”

“Kiss my ass!” someone shouted from the crowd. The police officer shook his head. He looked over and noticed Michelle standing in her bare feet and pajamas looking up at the smoke pouring out the window.

“Miss?” he said, walking over to her.

Michelle looked at him blankly.

“There was smoke in the hallway,” she said; the officer had to lean in and listen hard to hear her in the surrounding noise.

“You’re a guest in the Waldorf?” he asked, looking at her bare feet.

“Room 203,” Michelle said, automatically.

“Here, miss” the policeman said, placing a hand on Michelle’s arm. “You’re cold. You wanna wait in the car here?” Looking back at the hotel, Michelle shook her head.

“There are other guests still in there,” she whispered, wishing she’d brought her portfolio with her. It was irreplaceable. The policeman smiled.

“I’m sure it will be OK, miss,” he said. “The fire department’s almost here. It’s their job to make sure everybody gets out.” Michelle nodded. The cop spoke to the other guests, trying to keep them calm. A few more people came out of the hotel, most of them in robes and pajamas.

“Michelle!” A familiar voice called to her, from somewhat far away. Turning towards the sound, Michelle searched for the one who’d called. “Michelle!” She saw William; he ran towards her, weaving around pedestrians and onlookers. Michelle didn’t even think; she went to William.

William saw his ladylove standing on the sidewalk by a police car with a blank look on her face. Relief flooded him; she was alive and looked unharmed. He called for her and she turned at once, looking for him. Reaching Michelle’s side, William wrapped his arms around her tightly.

“I was so worried,” he said, kissing her face. “Michelle... sweetheart...” He just stood there, holding his fiancée; his whole being felt flooded with relief. The fire appeared to be of small size—not the raging inferno he’d envisioned—however, just the prospect of this beloved being anywhere near a building fire had filled William with the worst kind of dread. “You’re coming home with me,” he stated. “There’s no way you’re staying here.”

“William...” Michelle said, trying to talk. William kissed her hard, effectively silencing her protests.

“I’d say she’s taken care of,” the police officer said to his partner; they stood by the yellow line to keep onlookers at bay. The other officer chuckled; he pointed to a news camera-crew just setting up on the sidewalk, not far away from the couple.

“Yeah... it'll make good television, at least.”

William finally stopped to take a breath; flushed and short of breath herself, Michelle smiled up at him.

“I’m OK...” she said. “I’m OK. Look at you... you’re all winded. Did you run here?”

“There was traffic,” William said, refusing to let go of her. “I couldn’t get a cab. Darling... I was so scared I’d lost you.” Tears welling up in her eyes, Michelle leaned on his shoulder.

“The phone just went dead,” she said. “It frightened me a little, I’ll admit.”

“Did you go out your window?” William asked, kissing the top of her head. Her hair smelled slightly of smoke. William squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about what might have happened.

“Yes,” she said. “I slid down the shed there and onto the courtyard. I found my way to the lobby and came out here.”

“Smart girl,” William said, holding her a little more gently now. “You’re coming home with me. Don’t even try to argue. This place is a firetrap.”

Michelle chuckled at this; the laughter helped release the feelings of anxiety within her.

“I’m certain the Waldorf is not a firetrap,” she said, smiling. “There’s only a little smoke. I bet some idiot just fell asleep with a cigarette, or something.” She rested her head against William’s chest, liking the feel of his arms securely around her. It was better than sitting up in a tree; he felt safe and warm. She shivered, the cold air felt acutely apparent all of the sudden. William felt her trembling; looking down, he laughed.

“Good heavens,” he said, releasing Michelle momentarily. “No shoes? You must be freezing.” He quickly unbuttoned his coat and wrapped it around his fiancée; he picked her up bridal style, enabling her feet to be up off the sidewalk.

“I’m not hurt, William,” Michelle said, quietly. She looked up at him adoringly nonetheless. “I can walk just fine.” Her fiancé answered her with a grin. The look in his eyes declared wordlessly that he’d be keeping his hold on her regardless of argument.

Letting out a resigned sigh, Michelle glanced around at the people crowding around to see the smoke. Suddenly, she spied a familiar face and smiled.

“Uncle Oscar!” she called out, waving at a mustached man in a business suit; the figure made his way through the onlookers towards them. William looked in the direction Michelle was waving at, and saw his boss.

“Uncle?” he said, baffled. He looked as the man returned Michelle’s wave. “That man with the mustache... is he your uncle?” Michelle looked happily up at William and nodded.

“Yes. That’s him, right there,” she pointed right at Mr. Maclane.

Oscar perceived that the gig was up the moment Michelle spotted him. Letting out a long breath he walked forward, just happy to see his niece was all right. That Montgomery chap had got to her first; the young man held Michelle like precious cargo. Smiling a little at the scene, Oscar sobered instantly and walked up to them.

“Michelle, I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, touching her arm. “I heard about the fire on the news and had to come. But...” he looked at William, “... I can see you’re OK.”

Michelle nodded, with her arm still around William’s neck.

“William, I’d like you to meet my uncle...”

“Oscar Maclane,” William interrupted, coldly. Michelle looked up at her fiancé in surprise.

“You know him?” she asked, quietly. William continued to glare at Oscar.

“He is my new boss, love,” he answered. “The Madman.” Michelle felt his grip on her tighten, slightly; she looked at her uncle.

“You’re his new boss?” she asked, incredulously.

“It explains a lot,” William said, with clenched teeth. “Polish the office furniture, indeed…”

Oscar looked slightly uncomfortable with the two young people looking at him in such a manner.

“Look… let’s get a cab,” he suggested, his hands in his pockets. “Michelle can’t stay out here like that; it’s cold. It‘ll be awhile before this mess gets cleaned up anyway.”

As much as William wanted to demand some answers from the man right there, he could see that Mr. Maclane had a point. A news crew had set up nearby and was filming the smoke coming from the window, as well as the crowd standing around watching. Turning towards the street, William made his way through the onlookers and let Oscar hail a cab; he put Michelle in the back and got in next to her. Oscar took the front; he handed the cab driver money and mumbled an address. The cab wove its way into the slightly moving traffic.

Michelle sat by William with a stunned look on her face; she didn’t know what to say. William studied her face for a moment, and then turned his ire to Oscar.

“It’s clear that Michelle had no idea,” he said, coolly “When exactly did you know... Mr. Maclane?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake... call me Oscar,” the man in front said; he gave an exasperated sigh. “I knew since the day I found Michelle; she told me the name of this guy she was seeing and where you worked. I was already taking over Brownstone & Peters... that much was coincidence. I make no apologies.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at William. “I’m her last near family, Montgomery. I had to see if you were good enough for her. You passed with flying colors, so don’t get all bent out of shape.”

“That was you with the watermelon?” Michelle asked, suddenly. “And the lime shirt? And the Old English? That was you insulting the man I love?”

Oscar looked at Michelle and grinned.

“It wasn’t an insult,” he said. “I have nothing against the Brits.” He glanced at William. “Besides… he took it well.” With that Oscar turned forward again. Michelle looked over at William; her man was glaring at the back of Oscar’s head, the muscle in his cheek twitching a little. The idea of her stern uncle testing William’s character by gleefully disemboweling a watermelon in an office suddenly struck Michele as funny. Laughter boiled up before she could stop it. Michelle covered her mouth with both hands; she giggled and giggled, trying to hold the sound inside. William felt Michelle shaking next to him and looked down at her; her face was red, her eyes squeezed shut. She was laughing her head off, and trying valiantly to hide it. Smiling, William started to chuckle in spite of himself; he couldn’t help it. Both he and Michelle laughed out loud, especially when Oscar looked back and raised an eyebrow at them.

“Oscar...” William finally said, still laughing. “You are one strange bloke. Cutting a melon with a saw, on your desk... was that really necessary?”Oscar smiled, though he kept his face forward.

“I always wanted to do that,” he admitted, shrugging.

“I would have loved... to hear him sing... Copa Cabana...” Michelle said, between giggles. Both the young people leaned on each other laughing. Oscar flipped up his collar and scowled at the dashboard.

Blocks away, inside the new branch of Felix-Maclane, two irate CEOs and their myriad of assistants strode out of the lobby elevator, intent on heading towards the door. They’d been put off a very important meeting with hardly any reason, other than Mr. Maclane had important business to attend to. A group of people were huddled around a plasma wall television on the far side of the lobby; the mere presence of the crowd made one of the company owners slow down and look. He called to the other and walked over to see what was going on.

When people group around a TV in New York, it usually means something bad has happened. Quietly, they stood with the others and watched. On the screen was a breaking news story about a minor fire in the Waldorf-Astoria hotel; the fire was being put out, the reporter said but the crowd outside still congregated.

“He’s on again!” one of the receptionists said, pointing with a smile. “There... see I told you... it’s Mr. Maclane!” The CEOs looked where the woman pointed. The screen indeed showed the tall, stern lawyer, looking concerned over a young woman in another man’s arms. She looked worn out and her bare feet dangled above the ground. “That must be his niece. Oh, I hope she’s alright!” The other women murmured their agreement. One CEO looked at the screen, then at the staff. He smiled a little and beckoned to his assistant.

“Re-schedule the meeting,” he said. Nothing more needed to be said.

THE CAB stopped in front of Oscar’s brownstone in a middle-class area of Brooklyn Heights. It was a tall, thin home, four stories high and sandwiched in with a whole row of homes; it was painted a cheerful bright red with white-framed windows. Michelle as happy to see that in spite of his company’s worth, her uncle lived in a normal neighborhood, with plain furnishings and simple decorations. It felt homey but maybe a little lonely.

Oscar had a spare room for Michelle, and said he’d get her clothes from the hotel the next day. Though he agreed it would be better for Michelle to stay with family, William made a point of carrying her into the house himself; he set his fiancée gently on the couch.

“Practicing, eh?” Oscar said, offering Michelle and William sodas. Accepting one, William grinned at the man.

“You had me fooled,” he said, opening the drink. “I would never have guessed that you are her uncle.” Oscar grinned back; he sat down on a nearby easy chair.

“I had to know,” he said, sobering. “I had to know if you were some rich, playboy jerk who was going to play with my only niece’s heart. No offense intended.”

“None taken...” William said, lifting the soda can slightly in salutation.

Michelle looked from her uncle to William; there was an odd calm between them, a sort of accord borne of understanding and, perhaps, even a bit of mutual respect.

“I am glad you two finally met,” she said, smiling. William choked a little on his soda; he smiled at Michelle, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

“Minx,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “He pulled one over on you, too.” Michelle smiled at her uncle.

“I understand why,” she said, quietly. “I appreciate the thought and trouble.” Oscar grinned down at the floor.

“Not much trouble,” he said. “William did the firm proud. Five clients in a single trip.”

“Seven,” William corrected, with a satisfied grin. Oscar raised one eyebrow slightly at this. “Two more in the VIP lounge, sometime around 7pm,” William continued, evenly. “A Manhattan architect and another construction firm. Bob has the information, I believe.” Oscar laughed, rubbing his chin.

“OK, I’m impressed,” he said. He looked at Michelle. “With both of you.” Michelle felt a little emotional at this admission.

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice spoke of many facets of gratitude; one appeared to be towards Oscar, for giving them his blessing.

In a slightly better mood, William looked down at his fiancée.

“Since your uncle doesn’t mind me becoming part of the family, I’m going to insist you come shopping with me, right now.” Michelle, in the middle of taking a drink of her soda, looked up at her man with confusion. Swallowing, she opened her mouth to object.

“The man’s right,” Oscar spoke up. “You’ll need some things to wear until the hotel mess gets cleaned up. Even if I get your stuff here tomorrow, it will have to be cleaned of the smoke.” He favored Michelle with a humorous look, one that said ‘just try to deny it’.

“I suppose he is right, then,” Michelle said, noting William’s assured grin.

“If he’s right then why argue?” Oscar inquired. He turned to William. “I suppose you’ll need the rest of the day off.” The young man grinned; he pushed his hand through his hair.

“What about the new client merger?” he asked.

“Get on out of here,” Oscar said, scowling. “Go get your woman some clothes. There’s a shopping mall down on Kings Plaza; a local cab will know where it is.” William laughed and got up, scooping up Michelle in his arms.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” she politely told her uncle. Oscar smiled.

“I am,” he said. “If you find yourself a good man, then listen to him.” He chuckled at Michelle’s grimace.

“Alright,” she said, with a sigh. “But I go under protest.”

Savoring a small amount of very sweet victory, William carried his future wife down to a waiting taxi, bare feet and all.

“Kings Plaza,” he told the driver. When they were out of sight of Oscar’s house, Michelle gave William a very fond kiss on his face.

“You didn’t have to sic my uncle on me, you know,” she said, pretending to look hurt.

“True,” William said. “Perhaps, dragging you in a store kicking and screaming over my shoulder would be much more fun.” Michelle looked mildly surprised at his suggestion.

“I do not--as a rule--kick and scream,” she pointed out. William smiled and kissed her.

“I know,” he said. “You’re too sweet to act like a spoiled little child.” Michelle smiled up at him.

“You do know why I protest so much, right?” she asked, looking into his eyes. “It's not to insult you... I just didn’t want to even appear to be one of those gold-digging-type women.” William leaned over a little, kissing the top of her head. The smell of smoke had all but left her hair.

“I know, love,” he said, quietly. “I want to you to trust me that I’ll never think of you that way.” Michelle smiled as she leaned on his shoulder.

“Then, I trust you enough to buy clothes for me,” she said; her voice spoke of a gentle kind of trust, one that was slowly blossoming into full on belief. William had no doubt that soon she would trust him fully, even to the point of coming completely out of her shell around him, though part of him would always like her sweet, shy nature. That, he would cherish in his lovely bride.

“I’m honored,” he said, chuckling. “Minx.”

Michelle let out a soft laugh; she was beginning to like that nickname. Or... perhaps it was simply the affectionate way William uttered it. She cuddled up against her fiancé on the taxi's seat, still wrapped up in his overcoat.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Despite the strangeness of seeing a businessman carrying a barefoot young woman in his arms through a shopping mall, everyone that saw the couple smiled. They made an adorable pair and were obviously happy to be there, together. Walking along the wide, polished corridor William spied a store whose name was not unknown to him; it caused a certain kind of grin to crease his face.

“Look darling,” he said, walking towards the shop. “Don’t you need some under-things?” Michelle snapped her head towards the direction William was looking. A few yards away stood the storefront of a well-known lingerie store.

“No!” she squeaked, hiding her face in William’s suit coat. “There is absolutely NO way...” Michelle heard a deep chuckle and ventured a look back; William didn’t even bother to hide his amusement; his fiancée’s scarlet face made him laugh again.

“I’m just joshing you, love,” he said, changing direction. “As your fiancé I’m entitled to tease you, you know. Part of the job description.” Still grinning he headed into a higher-end clothing store. The couple received some odd looks inside, but William ignored them. He glanced at various salespeople until he spied a saleswoman in her thirties, re-folding a shirt on a display; the woman was dressed tastefully, with a decent notion of color and style. William walked up to her.

“Hello,” he greeted, still holding Michelle. “I know this may look odd but my fiancée has temporarily lost her clothes in a small hotel fire. She needs something to get her by for a few days and still look beautiful while running around preparing for our wedding next week.” It was quite a mouthful but William managed it all in one breath.

The saleswoman blinked at him. Michelle gave her a shy wave from her comfortable position. The lady’s eyes took in the large overcoat and Michelle’s bare feet; she smiled.

“Poor lamb. The Waldorf?” she asked, putting down the shirt. William nodded. “They said on the news it was out and that no one was hurt.”

“I can’t get in to get my clothes,” Michelle explained. “They’d all smell like smoke anyway.” The woman smiled again.

“I see. My name is Beryl,” she said. “Follow me, please.” She led William over to the woman’s department and found an available changing booth. “Just sit in here, and I’ll bring you some things to try on. What are your sizes?” In a small voice Michelle told her; she still felt a little reserved around William with some things. The whole lingerie shop suggestion had put in her mind that she’d soon be wearing some of said items around him and/or even less.

Leaning against the wall, William inwardly wondered at Michelle’s pink face; it occurred to him that as simple a thing as shopping was, his fiancée was making an effort to trust him with what she considered a more intimate setting. The blushes on her face, however, were adorable.

“She looked uncommonly well in pale pink,” William said, dropping Michelle a wink from the dressing room door. Beryl the saleswoman closed the door, giving William a pointed look.

“Would you care to see our men’s department, sir?” she asked, looking at his attire with a quirked eyebrow. “Suits are so, passé.”

William cleared his throat. The suit he wore was probably more expensive than the entire men’s clothing line there. He heard soft laughter coming from behind the dressing room door.

“I’ll make a deal with you, William,” came Michelle’s quiet voice. William arched his eyebrow at the dressing room door.

“Oh?” he said, interested.

“Yes,” Michelle cleared her throat. “If you get yourself common pants and a t-shirt, and actually wear them, I’ll... go into the... lingerie store. By myself though...”

Suddenly, the room felt a lot warmer to William. The very idea had him a trifle uncomfortable; he’d only been joking... but this was progress. He smiled what he knew to be a goofy grin.

“You have yourself a bargain my dear,” he said, earnestly. Though he couldn’t see her, William could almost feel Michelle’s blush through the door.

“I’ll take care of her here, sir,” Beryl said, rolling her eyes.

“What is it with men and lingerie?” Michelle muttered. Hearing this, William grinned.

“I’d answer, love but I’d probably get slapped with a harassment suit,” he said, walking away. Michelle snorted, softly. William had no difficulty finding clothes; having been some years on his own, he was quite used to shopping for himself. The T-shirts he tried on were a bit tighter than he liked, but he figured Michelle would appreciate that aspect. He settled on a black cotton tee and khaki pants. Paying for the clothes, he sipped into a dressing room to put them on, so that Michelle could see him in them. He strode back over to the women's section, his suit carefully tucked away in the shopping bag. Ignoring a few batting eyes, William looked around for Beryl; he saw her talking with Michelle, though his fiancée was not facing him. She wore what looked like a long sleeved, dark blue sweater-dress, the hem of which dropped down to about two inches above the knee. With this she wore opaque black stockings that hugged her legs, ending in a pair of black, low-heeled ankle boots. As he walked up, William appreciatively took in her form; he especially liked the stockings and had to file away some thoughts about inspecting them personally... for flaws. As he drew closed, he heard his fiancée debating with Beryl why buying a cashmere sweater was silly when merino wool would do just as well, and for so much cheaper. Michelle saw the sales-woman’s eyes widen at something behind her; she turned, hoping it was William and not armed robbers.

“Oh, my stars...” she thought. She hadn’t expected William to actually go through with the bet then and there, but here he was, walking towards her, looking at her with a very warm gaze. Actually, he appeared to be looking at her legs. When she’d suggested that her man buy a t-shirt, she didn’t know he’s pick a ridiculously tight one. The dark color looked uncommonly well on her fiancé; he pulled off the common clothes as if they were top of the line fashion. “Does he ever look bad?” Michelle wondered, reminding herself not to stare.

“Do I look so strange, love?” William asked, standing in front of his fiancée.

“Not at all,” Michelle said, looking at the floor. “Now you just need a sweater...”

William laughed.

“Jealous already?” he teased, putting an arm around her waist; he leaned down by her ear. “You look amazing. I like you in a short skirt…” Michelle’s pink face turned to red.

“You would,” she whispered, trying to avoid smelling William’s scent; she failed.

“Mm...” her man said. “I especially like those black tights. Very nice...” Michelle bit her lip and took a deep breath.

“Sheesh,” she said, pushing gently away from him. “How do you do that?” William did not let go of her.

“Do what?” he said, with a knowing grin. His lady appeared all flustered and warm; he knew exactly 'what'. Michelle blushed and refused to answer. A small cough came from the saleswoman. William gave Beryl a smile. “Nicely done,” he praised, looking back down at Michelle. “She looks amazing.”

Beryl grinned.

“Yes, she does,” she returned. “She’s all set for a couple days, though she needs some sweaters and a coat of her own.” She handed William his black overcoat. Taking it, William slung it over his arm; out of the corner of her eye, Michelle watched his arm move.

“Wow...” she thought, looking back at the floor.

“Come on,” William said, pulling Michelle gently by her hand to the nearby display of sweaters. “These look nice... pick out four of them.” Michelle looked up into his eyes with surprise.

“One would be plenty,” she said, trying to look resolute. William grinned boyishly at her and she knew she’d already lost.

“Three,” William countered.

“Two,” Michelle said, lifting her chin a little. William leaned down a little, looking into Michelle’s eyes with an oddly unsettling look.

“Five,” William said, his eyes glittering with humor. Michelle smiled.

“None,” she said, resolutely. A deep chuckle resounded in William’s throat.

“Nice try,” he said; turning to Beryl. “She’ll take four.” Michelle stamped her foot, unable to think of a good retort; this was William’s show after all. Laughing, her fiancé kissed the top of his fiancées head. Beryl picked out four different colors, deliberately going to the cashmere display, Michelle noted and took red, black white and brown; she added them to a growing stack of folded clothes over her arm. William’s eyes landed on a display of short, tweed skirts nearby and pulled Michelle over towards it. Seeing them Michelle balked; William just laughed.

“No protests...” he reminded her. “If you complain I’ll go with you into the lingerie store...” Michelle closed her eyes a second, swallowing; she’d have to try another tack.

“I’m not complaining or anything...” she began. “But, I prefer longer skirts; it is nearly winter. Cold weather, and all that?” Narrowing his eyes at her, William grinned.

“Why, you little diplomat...” he said, affectionately. “No sale, I’m afraid. It’s tweed, which I like very much and it’s a short skirt, which I also like very much… being male.”

“Don’t expect me to wear it...” Michelle mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” William asked, sweetly.

“Nothing,” Michelle said, bravely returning his smile. There was no way she was going to let him accompany her into the lingerie store.

“I like that white blouse over there,” William said, leading Michelle over to another display.

Several minutes afterward they walked out of the store, plus several bags. Michelle managed to pick up a couple bags without William noticing; she walked out of the store ahead of him, smiling.

“Minx,” he called after her. “Get back here and give me those.” Michelle chuckled, turning to face him.

“I can carry a few, measly shopping bags, you know,” she informed William; she caught him studying her legs again.

“Gosh you look nice in that,” he said, smiling down at her. “When I’m not with you, you can wear all the long skirts and cute Quaker-ish dresses that you like; however, I rather enjoy seeing a bit more of you.”

“I could get used to him looking at me that way,” Michelle thought, clearing her throat. William definitely made her want to barge out of her little shell and kiss him. Instead, she smiled coyly at him and hoped he’d forgotten about their little bargain.

He had not. Despite carrying the bags, William managed to loop his arm through Michelle’s and drag her over to the pink-trimmed store of provocative ‘under-things’.

“I was hoping you’d forget this part,” she confessed, hesitating by the door.

“Pfft,” William snorted. “That’s like asking a man to forget his name, sweetheart.” Michelle blushed and let William open the door for her.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, smiling suddenly. “I said I’d go in, not that I’d buy anything.” William narrowed his eyes at her.

“Don’t make me come in there with you,” he said, darkly. “I will, you know.” Michelle disappeared inside.

Chuckling, William found a nearby bench and sat down, quite pleased with himself. As men are apt to do, he wondered what his sweet girl was going to look at or try on. Clearing his throat, he looked at the skylight in the high ceiling and whistled a few bars of Moonlit Sonata. He smiled, thinking of Michelle playing for him in her green dress the night he proposed to her. Maybe she’d get some green things in there; or pink. Pale pink. Clearing his throat again, he looked around for a coffee vendor.

Michelle couldn’t help feeling out of place among the rows of provocative 'under-things'; this store made her leery. Luckily, a nice sales rep names Brittany found her and was immediately enamored with her dress.

“Oh, its’ so pretty!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been seeing it on a hanger over there across the way but I like it even better up close. Looks awesome!”

“Thanks,” Michelle said, hesitating. “I’m, um… getting married next week, and I need, uh...” Brittany smiled.

“Say no more,” she said kindly. “I can help.” Michelle knew her size so finding things were just a matter of choosing color and shape; she liked the very pale pink bras and matching drawers the as well as a white set, to wear with her wedding gown. She balked at getting the popular black, or red.

“I just wouldn’t feel comfortable in them,” she told Brittany, politely. The sales girl seemed to understand.

“Well, here are some more earthy colors, rust, camel brown or sage green,” Brittany said; she held one up to Michelle’s neck, then another. “The sage and forest greens are both good on you, and the rust.” Michelle felt the silky fabric and smiled.

“Very nice,” she agreed.

She was out of the store within fifteen minutes. Not seeing William anywhere, she carried the pink-striped box by its pink string handles and saw a nearby bench. Sitting down, she supposed William would return soon. Rubbing the back of her neck, Michelle suddenly felt tired.

“That was quick,” William said, from behind Michelle; his fiancée hopped up, and then smiled nervously. “A little too quick I suspect...” He held out a paper cup of coffee to her. It had milk in it. Not usually a coffee drinker, Michelle appreciated the thought and sipped the hot liquid gratefully.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “And don’t worry; I got more than I thought I would.” William knew from her blush that all was well in the underwear world.

“Good girl,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I’m very proud of you.”

“I should not make bargains with you,” she said, giving him an upward glance and a small smile. “I never thought you’d wear a T-shirt.”

William grinned at her.

“You never said if you liked it or not,” he said, quietly. Michelle blushed.

“You are well aware that you look... gorgeous,” she admitted, sitting down; her face burned. She pretended to be interested in her drink. William’s eyebrows raised a little; he sat down, too.

“Was that a compliment?” he asked, smiling, “Or, a shot at my self-awareness?” Michelle grinned into her coffee.

“You’re a very clever man,” she responded.

“See here, you little minx,” William said, putting the bags on the floor. “I’ll not stand for that.” He leaned over and kissed Michelle’s neck, though doing so made him just as uncomfortable as his fiancée. He drew away from her and pushed his hand through his hair. “How long until we’re married, again?” Michelle fanned her face with her hand; it was a little warm in the mall all of the sudden.

“Uh... ten days,” she said, biting her lip. She looked over at William; he looked a little depressed.

“Ten days too long, love,” he said, looking up her legs all the way to her face. She smiled and took a drink of her coffee. He did the same. “I want you to bring that dress along on our honeymoon. The tights, too.”

“Anything else?” Michelle asked, her heart beating quickly. William gave her a sly grin.

“Yes,” he said, slyly. “The entire contents of this box.” He tapped the pink striped lingerie package. Michelle laughed at his expression; William looked positively mischievous.

“Well, where else would I wear it? The gym?” she asked, chuckling softly. Her fiancé nudged her gently with his elbow, and finished his coffee.

By the time they’d purchased some hygienic essentials, makeup and some hair products, it was nearly lunchtime. They found a buffet-type eatery in the mall food court, one that had a fresh-looking salad bar.

“Eating commoner food and wearing a t-shirt,” Michelle said, munching her salad. “I’m very proud of you.” William grinned at her.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, taking a bite of his own food. It wasn’t bad. It was fresh and not too heavy on the dressing. “I’m rather proud of you as well, love, allowing me to walk all over your little protests.” Michelle smiled into her food.

“They’re very pretty clothes,” she admitted. Michelle looked up at William’s knowing grin. “Well… I am a girl, you know,” she defended.

“Believe me darling, I’m well aware of that,” was William’s answer. Not knowing how to respond to this, Michelle smiled and ate her salad.

OSCAR MET them at the door when they returned to the Brownstone.

“Sheesh... I thought I’d have to send the National Guard out to retrieve you,” he grumbled, “… And, I see you bought the whole mall.” Smiling, Michelle put her bags down inside the entry and pointed at William.

“It’s his fault, officer,” she quipped. “He made me do it.”

“Stool pigeon,” William said, kissing her cheek. “It’s true; I picked out a large amount of nice clothes for her and forced her to accept them. It’s terrible really... I’m a horrible person.” Michelle poked his shoulder.

“I got him to buy an actual T-shirt,” she said, smiling; her comment made William grimace.

“I do possess such a thing already, sweetheart,” he said, folding his arms in front of him. “I’m not a complete snob.”

Oscar chuckled.

“Well you guys look nice enough for the meeting tonight,” he said. Both William and Michelle looked at him confused. “You remember,” Oscar continued, smiling. “I’m officially supposed to meet your fiancé tonight. 7pm. Marco’s.” Michelle laughed.

“Yes, I remember,” she said, smiling. “When should we leave?” Oscar checked his watch.

“Oh, in about two hours; subway will be jammed so we’ll have to wait… with the rest of the common people.”

At this, William smiled and sighed in a long-suffering manner.

“I have ridden the Subway, before, sir,” he said. Michelle kissed his cheek.

“I’m sure you have,” she said, giving the man a sweet smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go up and shower and puts these lovely things away, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Oscar said, sitting down on a slightly worn, red plaid couch. A football game was playing on TV.

“Do you need any help, love?” William asked, as Michelle gathered up the shopping bags. The pink striped one especially caught his eye and he winked at her, causing yet another blush.

Oscar cleared his throat.

“None of that,” he said from the couch. “I’m certain my niece can shower without help.” This time, William’s face turned red; bright red.

“I meant... help with the bags,” he stuttered, looking very uncomfortable. Oscar popped open a beer.

“Sure you did, Sport,” he said. “Sit down and have a beer.” Michelle giggled all the way up the first two flights of stairs, much to William’s annoyance.

“Minx,” he thought, smiling.

Upstairs in the gray spare room Michelle laid out the items from the various bags on the bed; it felt a little like Christmas morning. In the mall she really hadn’t realized all the things William had chucked into the bags, being far too distracted by the sight of him in that shirt. Michelle lifted up a little package of apple blossom soap and body spray; she smiled. He’d put in one or two bottles of lotion marked ‘sensual’, she noticed.

“Well, two can play at that game,” she thought.

Michelle showered using the apple soap and conditioner; after drying her hair she put on the same dark, blue dress and tights, sprayed lightly with the perfume. She tousled her hair a little and smoothed it with much brushing. Smiling at her reflection, she put on dark blue eyeliner and smoky gray eye shadow along with some shiny lip-gloss. Finding the pair of new heels, Michelle put them on over the black tights, bending down to fasten the ankle strap.

Looking over, Michelle saw a bit of white sticking out of one of the remaining shopping bags. Reaching into it, she pulled out a white wool pea coat, looking at it with her mouth open.

“That turkey,” she said, darkly. A smile was not far from her lips, however; it was such a pretty coat. She tried it on and liked how it let just a little of her dress show out below it. Taking it off again, Michelle glanced in the mirror; surprised, she stared at herself. Her makeup seemed a bit dramatic, though no more than most girls wore. It was just a little strange to look in a mirror and see a slightly sultry Michelle looking back at her. Taking a deep breath, she left the room with her new coat.

“I’m ready,” she called out, once down in the living room. William and Oscar were on their respective couches and looked over at her.

“Good heavens,” her fiancé said, looking a little flushed. “Very nice.” Michelle gave him a sweet smile.

“Can I come give you a kiss of gratitude?” she asked, coyly. William drank in the sight of her, rubbing the back of his neck. His face took on a reddish hue, Michelle noticed.

“Bloody hell,” William murmured. Oscar heard him and chuckled.

“I think you’d just torture the poor guy, Michelle,” he said, standing up. “Best to give him a little space while looking as pretty as you do. I’ll get my coat.”

Oscar led them out of his domicile and down the chilly sidewalk.

“It’s only a few blocks to the station,” he said, back to the couple walking a little behind him. “It’s a good walk for me in the morning.”

“Very convenient,” William remarked absently. He was busy gazing down at Michelle as she walked gracefully beside him; she looked so alluring that he was having trouble concentrating. He nearly walked into a pole when Michelle smiled up at him through her lashes. He hovered near her like a guardian all through the Subway ride, something which amused Oscar very much. Michelle felt a few stares directed her way and put her arms around William’s waist and looked up at him adoringly; he exchanged several tender looks with her as the swaying subway bore them under the river, through lower Manhattan and finally to midtown.

Marco--the restaurant proprietor--looked genuinely glad to see them when they arrived. He kissed Michelle’s hand and clapped William on the back, giving them several congratulations on their upcoming marriage. He did not however lead them up to the upper balcony but into a large, corner table in the crowded main room. The room buzzed with the low hum of conversations and periodic laughter. As they waited for their dinner, Marco brought over a quartet of musicians in traditional minstrel dress: two violinists, a guitarist and a mandolin player. The men played sweet, love-strewn pieces from the heart of Italy. The whole dinner environment changed with the music, being relaxed but a little lively as well.

Oscar had three glasses of wine and stood up after dessert, tapping his glass with a fork.

“I want to drink a toast to William and Michelle, may they have a long, full life and a close, loving marriage. May they never be apart, in either soul or spirit.” He lifted his glass and Marco did as well. Oscar managed to take the young couple at his table completely by surprise by belting out ‘That’s Amore’ with Marco in an impromptu off-key duet. Michelle laughed softly to herself during the song and clapped heartily at the end.

William stood up after his boss sat down. He raised his glass to Oscar.

“To the oddest and best relative I could have by marriage,” William said. “May you always be able to do exactly what you want, social confinements and OSHA regulations notwithstanding…” Oscar chuckled at this and drank to the toast with an amused expression. “… And to my lovely bride to be,” William continued, looking down at Michelle; she returned his gaze with her striking eyes and smiling lips. “May our loneliness forever be a thing of the past.”

Michelle smiled up at him, a little emotion rising into her eyes. She held William’s hand as he sat down again next to her.

“I think you’re wonderful,” she said, her eyes shining. “When I met you, I never thought I’d get to call you. Just ten more days, and I can.” William kissed her closed fingers; he looked at his watch.

“Actually, it’s almost nine days more,” he said, in a low voice. “Just over a week, love.” Michelle nodded and leaned against his shoulder. The world seemed to be at a standstill for a few, blissful moments. The couple sat together, simply enjoying the sounds and sights of their quiet celebration.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

For the second time in ten days, Michelle woke up in an unfamiliar room. The gray walls and red-shaded overhead light jogged her memory. Michelle rolled over. A group of shopping bags on the floor met her eye; she smiled, thinking of William. He alone could get away with such a stunt. The pink-striped box stood on a chair like a silent reminder of intriguing times ahead. Michelle threw off the covers, smiling happily. Glancing at the small clock, she decided to shower. It was only 5:30 in the morning, but Michelle’s uncle had informed the previous evening that Laurel and her entourage would stop by his place early to pick her up.

The hot shower relaxed her a bit too much; turning the water briefly to ‘cold’ seemed to remedy this problem. Michelle spent most of the time washing and thinking about the dinner last night; William’s sincere words rang through her mind like the song of distant church-bells.

“May our loneliness be forever a thing of the past,” she repeated, smiling.

After drying her hair, Michelle put on a white, long sleeved t-shirt and found another pair of black tights; she noticed William threw in about ten of them. Looking through the bag, Michelle found the tweed skirt he liked so much and bit her lip. Perhaps she could stop by his office for lunch. It was Saturday, but William was making up the previous day’s ‘vacation’. A smile overtook her face. Modeling the skirt in front of the door mirror, Michelle decided it was a bit short, but not too bad; it did have a crisp, modern look to it. Dragging out the slender black boots, she put them on and laced them up tightly over her ankles. One of the sweaters Beryl picked out for her peeked out of a bag, a cheery, apple-red color. Michelle picked it up and felt stunned at the softness of it; she grudgingly admitted Beryl may have been right about the cashmere verses wool debate.

Stepping quietly downstairs, Michelle did not see her uncle anywhere. She found the kitchen with ease; it was a pleasant though starkly decorated room with black counters, shiny metal fixtures and clean, wood floors. On the counter a coffee maker sat, automatically brewing; the thick smell of it filled the air. Feeling a bit awkward in the strange space, Michelle wondered if she should touch anything; she didn’t want to mess something up or cause her uncle’s routine to suffer. A small white piece of paper on the counter by the coffee maker caught her eye. Picking it up, she read it and smiled. It read: ‘Use whatever you like.’

Oscar walked down the stairs a quarter of an hour later. He buttoned up his gray suit coat, migrating towards the smell of coffee like a moth to a flame. Pushing open the kitchen door, he was greeted by the sight of his niece slipping a tasty-looking omelet on a plate.

“Hello, Uncle Oscar,” she said, smiling; she looked very respectable in her new red sweater. Oscar smiled.

“You like calling me that, don’t you?” he said, sitting on a bar stool on the opposite side of the counter.

“I have a lot of making up to do,” Michelle told him. She poured a cup of coffee and looked at her uncle with an inquiring face.

“Black is fine,” he said, reaching for the cup. He eyed the omelet as he sipped the hot beverage. “That looks good.” Michelle smiled and slid it over to him.

“Shallots and mushrooms with Monterrey jack cheese,” she informed him. “I’ll have you know that I have never heard of a bachelor having shallots in their kitchen, ever before.”

“I like them minced on tacos,” Oscar informed her, taking a bite of the omelet. He looked down at the plate and chewed a little faster. “This is good,” he said, cutting another piece. “I usually do peanut-butter sandwiches or cereal.” Michelle smiled as she finished making the second omelet. She sat a couple spaces down from her uncle.

“Happy to be of service,” she said, taking a bite herself. They ate a moment in a sort of content silence. It occurred to Michelle that any awkwardness she may have felt around her uncle had all but evaporated.

“So, how are the wedding plans going?” Oscar asked, after a few minutes. Michelle swallowed and took a small drink of milk.

“Very well; it’s almost done, really,” she said, smiling a little. “Laurel is amazingly efficient.”

Oscar chuckled.

“Yep,” he said, finishing his coffee. “She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had.”

“I find it very hard to be exasperated with her; she’s always so cheerful,” Michelle continued, her smile growing.

“It’s her secret weapon,” Oscar said, laying his silverware on the plate. “I’ve seen her make even hard-bitten lawyers smile with her never-ending helpfulness.”

Thinking back on Laurel's reaction to meeting Luca, Michelle cleared her throat a little.

“I don’t mean to pry, but do you think she’s happy?” she asked, trying to casual. Oscar looked at her for a few moments.

“You think I keep her too busy,” he stated. Michelle looked him in the eye.

“No,” she said, truthfully. “She chose this job and she has devoted herself to it.” She paused to sip her coffee. “I just hope that when she does find love, she’ll be able to devote herself to that.”

Oscar smiled.

“You mean without abject pressure from her beloved boss?” he asked. Michelle nodded. Oscar poured himself some more coffee. He looked at Michelle. “You know something.” Michelle shrugged a little and stood up.

“Maybe,” she said, smiling; she took Oscar’s plate and hers to the sink. No more was said but Michelle felt she’d prepared him for the possibility of his wonderful assistant falling for a certain café-owning Italian immigrant. Washing the dishes, she smiled, wondering if Laurel had been back to Luca’s café already. There was something very familiar in the gaze those two had given each other; Michelle recognized it immediately. It was the same look William and she had shared that day on the street corner. Thinking of William’s blue eyes, Michelle finished cleaning the omelet pan, a dreamy smile on her face.

Oscar let Laurel, Drake and Daniels in about twenty minutes later. Daniels immediately began sniffing the air.

“Something smells good, Mr. Maclane,” he said, looking at Oscar curiously. The man shrugged and sat down with his newspaper on the couch.

“Michelle made omelets,” he said, sipping his coffee. At that moment, his niece walked into the living room.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling at everyone. Daniels gave a low whistle.

“Aw, don't you look nice, Miss Gregory,” he said, smiling. Michelle blushed and bit her lip.

“William bought me clothes,” she said, folding her arms in front of her.

Laurel giggled.

“I can see that,” she said. “Definitely man-picked clothes. He did a good job, though; you look very fashionable. Really nice.”

“Yeah,” Daniels assented, nodding. Laurel cuffed him on the shoulder and stood by Michelle, her clipboard at the ready.

“OK, we have three appointments today,” she said, flipping pages. “And I have some questions to ask you about your relatives. Do you want to do a meet-and-greet before the wedding?” Michelle thought for a moment.

“It probably would be wise,” she conceded. “We'd be a bit more familiar then for the ceremony. Perhaps, the evening before?” Laurel nodded writing something on her notepaper.

“We should probably have the groom’s relatives there too,” she said. “I’ll talk with Mr. Chan to see if there’s a more cozy reception room at the hotel to use for that.”

“I’d like to do something with Margaret, my future mother-in-law. She’s been wonderfully supportive and accepting about all this.” Laurel smiled.

“How about a spa appointment for you guys?” she suggested. “The morning of the wedding? Pedicure, manicure, hair, facial... that kind of thing. It will calm you down; you’ll be jittery.” Michelle smiled at this frank statement.

“I’m jittery already,” she admitted. “That’s sounds good, but only if you’ll join us.” Laurel giggled as she wrote.

“OK, not going to argue on that one,” she said. “I’d love a good manicure. I’ve hired an usher service to seat everyone properly; you need to choose the music you want to play during the ceremony and the reception.”

“I have a list made out already,” Michelle told her. “It’s in my room at the Waldorf.” Laurel beamed.

“I’m officially your biggest fan,” she said. Oscar folded his paper and stood up from the couch.

“As interesting as this conversation is, I have to go to work,” he said, tossing the paper down. Michelle smiled at him.

“Would you like me to bring your overcoat sir?” she inquired. Her uncle gave Michelle a look; his mouth twitched, slightly.

“No,” he said, trying not to smile. “I’ll get it myself, sheesh... I’d better get going.” He tramped off to the entry closet and made a great show of taking out his thick overcoat and putting it on. “Oh,” he said, looking over at Michelle. “I got these for you and your man. For tonight.” He held up a pair of tickets.

Walking over, Michelle felt both curious and apprehensive; her uncle seemed at times to have odd taste. Perhaps they were tickets to go see that watermelon-smashing comedian. Oscar grinned at Michelle’s uncertain expression; he gave her the tickets.

“International Contemporary Furniture Expo,” she read aloud. She looked up at her uncle and smiled.

“You mentioned he built furniture, so...” Oscar began, but stopped talking when his niece embraced him.

“Thank you!” Michelle said, quickly stepping back from him. She wanted to hop up and down like a little kid, but did not. “What a great idea! He’ll love it.” Oscar chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“I’d better get going or I’ll miss the Subway,” he said; a smile stayed in his eyes. His niece looked genuinely happy to let her man drag her around a convention hall full off weirdly shaped stuff. Shaking his head, Oscar collected his briefcase and keys.

“We’d better get going as well,” Laurel said. “Traffic is going to be awful.”

“When’s it ever not?” Drake asked, speaking for the first time. Michelle smiled as she put on her coat. She could hardly wait to see William and show him the tickets. A furniture expo didn’t sound like too fancy an occasion; it was a chance for her to learn about another side of William.

In the car, a large package wrapped in brown paper and twine greeted Michelle’s eye. Putting it on her lap as she sat down, she looked accusingly at Laurel. The blond young woman smiled in a secretive manner.

“Mr. Torville sent them over,” she said. “They’re copies of the pictures he took of you the other day.” Michelle looked at them and wondered if she should open them.

“I’d like to let William open them,” she said. Laurel smiled.

“I thought so,” she said. “That’s why I wrapped them.” Michelle looked at her sideways.

“Are they nice?” she asked, biting her lip. Laurel nodded.

“Very nice,” she said. “The guy sure knows what he’s doing.”

Looking at her lap, Michelle sighed a little. So much of her life was touched by meeting William; so many good things had poured into existence she knew, because of him.

“Have I made his life as good as he’s made mine?” she wondered, looking out her window.

WILLIAM ENTERED his office earlier than usual. He spent some time at his desk, making a few international calls on his cell phone. The previous night he’d been obliged to assure his mother several times that Michelle was indeed unharmed by ‘the fire’ and the wedding was going to progress without a hitch. Their conversation reminded him to confirm the honeymoon plans. Pacing around his desk, he waited patiently on the line for the manager of a certain estate to come to the phone.

“Hello? Yes. William Montgomery here. I spoke with you a few days ago. Yes. Good. I would like to confirm the reservation. Excellent. Regarding the tower room, I want to make a special request...”

Mabel came in the office a few minutes later. She found William by the window, looking over the street below.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” she said, smiling. “Who’s the lucky girl?” William smiled at her before turning back to the window.

“Mr. Maclane’s niece,” he said. Mabel stopped and looked at William, her mouth agape.

“You’re kidding,” she said.

“No, I am not,” William said, still smiling. “Though, I just found out that rather small fact yesterday.”

Mabel thought this information over.

“I take it he’s OK with it,” she said, plaintively. William nodded.

“Apparently,” he said. “Have those seven new clients been Fedex’d their contracts?” William’s secretary took the change in subject without a blink.

“Yes,” she replied. “We expect the signatures by first thing Monday morning. The whole department is talking about your trip to Brazil.” William chuckled.

“Not a bad trip,” he said. “Bob was an excellent aide. If you would be so kind, please brief me on today’s itinerary.”

As his hard-working secretary rattled off names and numbers, William found his mind wandering; he kept seeing Michelle in his mind... sometimes in pale pink, sometimes in dark blue, her mysterious eyes looking at him as she did last night at dinner, smiling with those sweet lips. Clearing his throat, William made an effort to concentrate on work.

“Just nine more days,” he thought.

A FEW minutes to noon, Michelle sat forward excitedly in the car. They were very close to William’s work; she wanted to take him to lunch. The plan was to meet with the others at Luca’s café, as a surprise. Laurel was not adverse to the idea; at the moment the young woman seemed quieter than normal and her face looked a little pink. Drake drove the car up to the curb; Michelle hopped out, closed the door and waved goodbye to Laurel. Dodging through the sidewalk crowd, she walked into the busy building lobby.

Riding the elevator, Michelle’s smile grew brighter with each passing floor.

“How silly!” she thought. “I saw him just last night.” The doors opened; Michele stepped out, spying the familiar Felix-Maclane logo behind the reception desk. The lobby was considerably smaller than the one at the main office building but the color scheme and comfortable feel was the same; waiting people wearing suits filled nearly every chair. Michelle gave her name to the receptionist; the lady called Mabel, saying Mr. Montgomery’s fiancée was here to see him. Mabel informed the girl to let Michelle back to offices.

Using the receptionist’s directions, Michelle walked demurely down the corridors; she felt a bit awkward in the shorter skirt, not to mention the glances it invoked from complete strangers. As she passed a janitor pushing cleaning cart, he tipped his cap and smiled at her; Michelle pretended to cough in her hand and kept looking for her man. She held the picture package and tickets behind her back. William stood by a coffee alcove with Bob, re-enforcing himself with caffeine. Bob was in the middle of telling William a joke about cheap coffee when the older man’s expression changed and he stopped talking.

William turned, taking a drink of his coffee. He choked; Bob whacked him on the back. Michelle was standing there, smiling at him in her lovely way, her eyes all alight with the thrill of surprising him. She looked amazing; almost too amazing. William wanted to dash into his office, get his overcoat and throw it over his fiancée before she attracted all the bees in the hive.

“I’ve no one to blame but myself,” he thought, coughing a little. “I picked the bloody clothes out.”

“Are you alright?” Michelle asked, stepping forward. William smiled at her.

“I’m fine, love,” he said; he leaned forward and kissed her cheek possessively. He took the opportunity to shoot a few threatening glares at the others standing down the hall.

Straightening up, William looked down into Michelle eyes. “Don’t you look nice...” he said. Michelle’s face took on a slightly pink hue.

“Thank you,” said she. “I was hoping you could join me for lunch.”

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” William teased, touching Michelle’s earlobe. Bob cleared his throat.

“I sure hope this is your fiancée, William,” he said, grinning. The younger man shot him a look.

“Yes. Michelle it is my pleasure to introduce you to Mr. Bob Marshals; the same who accompanied me to Brazil. Bob this is Miss Michelle Gregory.” Michelle smiled a little at William’s formal manner of speaking, but gave a small curtsy.

“I am honored to meet you, sir,” she said. Bob smiled at her.

“The honor’s all mine, Miss Gregory,” he returned. “I can see William here caught himself a beautiful bride. Smiling back at the man, Michelle took William’s arm.

“Let’s stop by my office and get my coat before we head out,” William suggested.

“It was nice to meet you Mr. Marshals,” Michelle said to Bob as they walked away. The man lifted his coffee cup in a small office salute.

Michelle met Mabel; the normally serious secretary gave William’s fiancée one of her rare smiles.

“It has to be a gift.” William thought. “Michelle just has that effect on people.” He opened the door to his office, ushering his fiancée in.

“This is my dungeon,” he said; his dark tone made Michelle laugh. She loved the neatness of the office and the arched, floor-length windows. The desk however drew her; Michelle walked over to it and touched the shiny top lightly with her fingertips.

“Beautiful,” she said, smiling at the glowing, warm wood. “Another William original, I bet.”

William leaned against his closed office door, looking at Michelle. It occurred to William to check and see if his office door locked; he shook his head.

“I can’t get away from these thoughts,” he silently remanded himself, rubbing his neck. “Nine days. Nine measly days... she’s definitely bringing that skirt on the honeymoon...”

“Yes,” he made himself answer. “I’m impressed you can tell; first my table now this.”

Michelle smiled at him.

“It looks loved,” she said. She placed the package she’d been carrying on his desk, and turned it a little, looking at him. William lifted an eyebrow at her.

“What’s this?” he asked, a slight smile hovering over his mouth. Michelle smiled again, biting her lip a little.

“The trick with wrapped packages is that you’re supposed to open them to find out what’s inside,” she told her fiancé; her eyes grew bright with fun. William gave her a sideways look and walked over to his desk. The wrapping paper met a quick end. Inside three framed photographs sat, each the size of a piece of copy-paper; they were encased in some type of clear Plexiglas frame with a metal stand in back. William sucked in a slow breath and smiled. They were beautifully taken pictures of Michelle; she looked at repose in her pale pink dress, her face lit by some ethereal light. One picture showed her blushing and looking down; another looking away, biting her lip in her adorable way and the last smiling at the camera in a way William knew very well. They were only photographs, but he was moved.

“He had me talk about you while taking them,” Michelle said, hovering by his side. “He’s the one who’s agreed to take pictures at our wedding. Laurel found him; a Mr. Torville.”

“He’s bloody brilliant,” William said. “They’re perfect.” He looked at Michelle and embraced her, though briefly. William was not going to tempt himself too much. “I wanted pictures of you to hang at my house. I was just thinking about it the other night.” Michelle glowed at this revelation; she’d guessed right to let William have them. Though she disliked pictures of herself, even she had to admit these were very good.

“I’m glad you like them,” she said, smiling.

“I do,” William said, contemplating them at arm’s length. “I’ll keep one here and put the rest in my den. I’ll have to design a special shelf to hold them.” He was mentally already in his tool shop, fitting slender pieces of wood together.

“Oh, speaking of furniture...” Michelle said, fishing the tickets out of her pocket. “My uncle got these for us, for tonight, if you like.” She watched William as he read the tickets. His smile lit up the room. “My uncle is a genius,” she thought, smiling.

“Contemporary furniture expo... this is marvelous!” he said, looking at Michelle fondly. “I had no idea this was going on… remind me to send your uncle a really good watermelon. We should get going to lunch, if we’re going to be able to eat.”

Michelle smiled at him.

“So... this expo is something you’d actually like to attend?” she asked, following her man out of his office.

“Indeed. I had no idea this was even going on,” William admitted. “However, I am a bit leery of dragging you around a convention center stuffed with furniture all night.”

“No dragging necessary, William,” Michelle told him. “I’d love to learn more about your passion for carpentry. The beautiful things you’ve made speak volumes about how much it means to you.”

William stood still for a moment in the office corridor and looked into Michelle’s eyes; she seemed perfectly in earnest.

“I appreciate your interest, love,” he said, sincerely. “I promise to make it as riveting as possible.” Michelle laughed, softly; she gave William a slightly playful look. They started walking towards the elevators, still looking at each other.

“Perhaps you can tell me right where the craftsman threw a fit about not getting his lunch,” Michelle suggested, getting a smile from her fiancé.

“Minx,” he said, looking at the tickets again. “It’s at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center. Nice place. Ever been there?” He glanced at Michelle; she nodded.

“Yes. CPA convention, believe it or not; right after I was first hired,” she said, smiling. “It’s such a striking building, like a stack of glass cubes, all hollowed out. I don’t remember anyone I met there, or anything I saw… I just walked around staring at the ceiling the whole time.” William laughed.

“Architecture that dramatic does make it difficult to concentrate on the displays,” he said, smiling at her. They slipped into a waiting elevator; as the doors closed, Michelle smiled at the floor, thinking how nice it was to simply be in William’s company, even without conversation; the silences between them was just as intimate as laughter.

The cab left William and Michelle a block from Luca’s café; they walked hand in hand through the chilly air as the weak November sun struggled to break through the clouds overhead.

“You know, I have yet to see your wood shop,” Michelle said; the smile in her voice matched the one on her face. William glanced at her sideways.

“It’s just a bunch of tools and sawdust, love,” he said, smiling. “Bits of wood ends around, cans of stain...”

“A workshop with tools and sawdust?” Michelle said, pretending to be shocked. “You don’t say?”

“You little minx...” William said, narrowing his eyes at her; he could not keep a grin from his face. Michelle peered at him from under her hand.

“I love the smell of fresh cut wood,” she said, putting her hand down. “The idea of making a functioning piece of furniture out of a few planks of wood is fascinating to me, let alone making a beautiful work of art as well.”

William chuckled.

“Well if you put it that way,” he said, squeezing her arm a little. “My favorite part is staining the finished piece; it makes all the facets of a given project visually come together.” Michelle nodded.

“I’m glad you’re partial to cherry stain,” she said, sighing. “I like its warm hue.” She walked next to William, imagining sitting next to him in his workshop, watching him rub stain over a newly crafted table or chair. It was a small idyllic scene; she could almost smell the fresh-cut wood and even almost see the little flecks of stain on William’s strong hands. The imaginary scene left her face with a dreamy expression.

As they strolled towards the café, William watched his fiancée’s face, wondering at the happy look he saw there. He thought back to their meeting in the gallery and how she noticed his calloused hand. She had seemed genuinely interested in his hobby, even then.

“She is so sincere,” he mused, silently.  “It's positively endearing. Is it possible this girl was made especially for me to find?” The idea had merit; what else could explain how they fit so well together?

At that moment, Michelle looked up at him; William’s eyes appeared to reflect her own tender thoughts. Her fiancé gave her the smile she had first drawn.

“I like your smile,” she said. “It’s what made me first think romantic thoughts about you.” The last part she slipped out without really meaning to. A delicate pink color shaded her face and she looked ahead again. She felt William’s warm breath on her ear and her flushed face deepened its hue.

“I would very much like to know all about said romantic thoughts,” he said, quietly. “If you don’t tell me voluntarily, I’ll be forced to coax it out of you.” Michelle had no answer to that; when they reached the café door, she yet blushed.

As he opened the café door for Michelle, William immediately spied Luca. The man sat at a small bistro table with Mr. Maclane’s assistant, Laurel. They were talking and laughing in a friendly fashion; William was surprised at the lack of the usual heavy flirtation in Luca’s manner. He grinned down at Michelle; she returned it with mutual acknowledgment of the scene.

“I think we may have to attend another wedding soon, love,” William whispered to his ladylove. Michele grinned and nodded.

“I think they make a good match,” she whispered back. “But, Laurel’s a nice girl; I hope he won’t break her heart.” William nodded, sobering; he hoped the same. Though his instinct was to slap a warning label on Luca’s forehead, the fact that he worked hard at this café and lived in one of the tiny apartments above lent the man a little more character than previously supposed.

Michelle looked at the pair and saw a look pass between them that she recognized; she’d exchanged similar ones with William… looks that spoke of vulnerability yet permeated by an unspoken relaxation that really could not be explained. Attraction itself was a mystery, but even deeper still was the interest spawned of that certain person, that one… a phenomena which drives both people to want to know more of the other; to find out what makes them who they are.

Luca saw William and Michelle and raised his hand in greeting. Laurel blushed and stood up; Michelle smiled at her as they walked over. William stepped away to speak to Luca.

“Did he like the pictures?” Laurel asked, looking at William. Michelle nodded.

“Very much,” she said, smiling. “I need to send Mr. Torville a note of gratitude; do you have his address?” Laurel nodded, writing something down on the back of a business card; she handed it to Michelle. Luca and William laughed, discussing something amongst themselves. Michelle discreetly studied Laurel’s face; the young woman couldn’t help looking over at the darkly handsome man she had come to fancy. Michelle laughed, softly.

“Has he offered to carry you off yet?” she asked the young woman by her side. Laurel blushed but shook her head.

“No,” she said. “He’s been very nice.” Michelle smiled.

“He must like you then,” she said.

“I hope so,” Laurel said, wistfully. “I haven’t been on a date in a long, long time.”

“You don’t want just a date, do you?” Michelle inquired, quietly. Laurel looked askance.

“Heck no,” she said, with conviction. “I’m not a frickin’ teenager.” Michelle chuckled at her friend's words. Laurel looked over at Luca again. “He’s just so gorgeous. Why would he want to ask me out?”

“You give yourself far too little credit, Laurel the-assistant-of-the-year,” Michelle said; she got a small smile from the blond young woman. “You’re just what he needs. I think his mother would love you.” Laurel looked at her.

“You know his mom?” she asked, timidly. “She’d not a snob is she?” Michelle smiled at her.

“Sophie is the antithesis of snob,” she said. “She's wonderful.” Laurel looked relieved at this information.

William and Luca walked over to the girls.

“I was just asking Luca if he’s planning on showing up at our wedding,” William said, linking arms with Michelle again.

“Were it any other wedding, I would brave all my mother’s disparagement and work my shift here,” Luca put in. “Sunday is our biggest day.” William chuckled.

“Sorry old boy,” he said. “I don’t want to put off marrying Michelle for even one more day.” Michelle gave him a smile that said she agreed with him.

Luca looked down at Laurel.

“Now I just have to find a lovely girl to bring to your celebration,” he said, smiling. Laurel pretended to be interested in her clipboard; her cheeks looked pink. William cleared his throat.

“We should eat; I have to get back to work in forty-four minutes.” He turned to Luca. “What does the owner recommend?”

“The tortellini salad,” Luca said, smirking. William grimaced.

“Preferably something with meat in it,” he returned, leading Michelle over to a table.

It turned out that the café did have something with meat in it; a light, fresh lasagna with an interesting side-salad comprised of seasonal vegetables in a walnut vinaigrette. The café was surprisingly popular; it seemed Luca had hit the area’s market just right with a foreign, health-oriented menu. Luca walked around sporting a short white bistro apron taking orders, smiling and talking with the customers. Laurel watched his every step, though mostly from behind her clipboard.

“That girl’s got it bad,” William observed, quietly, to Michelle. She smiled, nodding in agreement. Looking at William, Michelle bit her lip and arranged her fork on her empty plate.

“I, um... I look at you also, when you’re not looking,” she said, softly. William grinned at her.

“I know,” he said. He leaned forward, kissing Michelle’s cheek. “No complaints here, my lady.”

Though she didn’t want to, Michelle said goodbye to William a few minutes later.

“I’ll see you at my office then, at five?” said he. “We’ll get a bite to eat and then go look at furniture all evening.” Michelle nodded, looking at her adoringly.

“She must love you, my friend,” Luca said, sauntering up to them. “If I was her I’d be bored out of my mind looking at tables and chairs all night.” Michelle wanted to say something scathing in reply to this, but bit it back. William saw his fiancée’s inner conflict and smiled down at her. He liked her consideration of others, though it caused her to be a little less confrontational than she should be. In his world, she’d have stand up for herself a great deal, especially among the societal women. There was time to work on such things later, he reasoned. William remembered her bantering with Luca at Sophie’s dinner party and chuckled; she certainly had no trouble defending herself against lustful advances. He gave Michelle a quick kiss on the cheek; her loving expression made him want to give her a proper goodbye.

“See you at five,” Michelle said; she stood on tip-toe and kissed her fiancé’s face. Smiling, she deliberately walked over to Laurel and Daniels by the door and waved at William. He shot her a narrow look; it was accompanied by a warm grin. Blushing, Michelle made for the car.

“You two seem to be getting along extraordinarily well,” Luca remarked, standing next to William by the front windows. “There is a thing between you… like fun that will not die.” William grinned, watching as his fiancée got into the car outside. Even flustered, she moved with grace and delicate little motions. She looked back as if she couldn’t help it and blew William a kiss, her lips curved in smile.

“She’s my soul mate,” William told him, looking after the car as it drove off. “You only get one.”

“You were lucky to find yours,” Luca said, with conviction. William turned to look at him.

“I see you fancy my employer’s assistant, eh?” he remarked. Luca sighed.

“I don’t know,” he said. “She is very pretty and sweet... but I want a wife; Laurel is married to her career right now, I think.”

William felt as if he could be knocked over with a feather. He stared at the Italian man in disbelief.

“You want a what?” he inquired. Luca laughed.

“Do you think it is so incredible?” The Italian’s phrase was not really spoken as a question. “You are not the only one who wants a family, my friend.” William felt impressed.

“Now I’ll have to take back a few more things I have said to you, old boy,” he said with admiration. Luca shrugged.

“Everyone must grow up someday,” he said. “I just hope Laurel would not mind sharing my life with me. We could have very beautiful children.” The man appeared to think on this point with some depth of feeling; a sly smile crept over his face. William cleared his throat; he didn’t want to know.

“I have to get going,” he said, putting on his coat. “I must admit your café is quite a success. The food’s not bad either.” Luca looked at him narrowly.

“High praise,” he scoffed, folding his arms. “Come back again if you like it so much.” William smiled.

“I will,” he said. “Just don’t break Laurel’s heart. She seems to be a nice girl and Michelle thinks very highly of her.” Luca's eyebrows rose a little.

“I do not break the hearts of ladies,” he said, plaintively. “She is--as you say--very nice. I would like to ask her to your wedding.”

“Surprised you haven’t already,” William remarked, grinning. “Asking a girl out should be second nature to you.” Luca let out an exasperated breath.

“But this girl, she is not the same,” he said, running his hand through his hair in a gesture William recognized. “I do not wish to scare her away.”

William gave an amused snort.

“No chance of that,” he said, chuckling. “The girl’s stuck on you. If she said 'no' I’d be astonished.” Luca appeared genuinely relieved at this information.

“Thank you, my friend. Good day to you.”

“Same here, old boy,” William returned. They shook hands briefly before William left the café.

As the cafe door shut, Luca turned to clean off the table he and Laurel had sat at; as he wiped it down, Luca saw a little, white card on the chair seat, as if it had dropped accidentally. Turning it over, Luca smiled. It was a blank business card; the face held nothing but a hastily scrawled phone number and the letter “L”.

“Perhaps she is lonely, too,” Luca said to himself. He tucked the card into his pocket and continued his work; he smiled and thought fondly of a young woman with bouncy, golden curls and laughing eyes.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Michelle did not think the day would ever come, but it did. William actually ate at a hot dog cart. The event occurred just outside his employer’s building; Michelle walked with him out the doors into the cold, twilight air. The fading sunset colored the very edges of the clouds with park pink tones and purple-gray hues. People swarmed the sidewalk. They hastily moved in a body away from the realm of Work, eagerly seeking various paths homeward. Nearby, a hot dog cart handed out steaming all-beef dogs on seeded rolls. The good, greasy smell of it permeated the air.

“Want one?” William asked, pointing over to the cart. “I know it’s a bit of a rush dinner but we should get over to the expo as soon as possible.” It took all of Michelle’s control not to stare and gasp; it never occurred to her that her sophisticated fiancé would actually eat at a street vendor cart.

“Yes, please,” she said, following him over to the stand. As William ordered, Michelle couldn’t help gaze at him wonderingly. Was he doing it to impress her? No matter his reasons, Michelle was indeed impressed.

“You can stop looking so surprised, you know,” William said, grinning down at his fiancée. “I have eaten a hot dog before.” Michelle smiled, her eyes twinkling with the moving lights of the street.

“I see,” she said. “And I stand corrected... the elitist exterior is merely a facade.” William laughed.

“I should hope so, love,” he said, bending down and kissing Michelle’s cheek. They both enjoyed their quick dinner; it was good. There is just something about hot food on a cold night that makes it even better than normal. Tossing their papers in a waste bin, William signaled for a cab. They waited several minutes before one was available; once they climbed in, William gave the directions for the convention hall. Sitting back, William relaxed a little and closed his eyes. He felt the soft touch of fingertips on his face, right by the corner of his mouth. Looking over at Michelle, he lifted an eyebrow. His ladylove had a paper napkin in her hand; she dabbed his face gently with it.

“Mustard,” she explained, softly. William borrowed the napkin and wiped his mouth off properly. Michelle looked up at him with an amused expression... and a little admiration, William noted.

“If I’d known I could impress you by eating a bloody hot dog I’d have done so several times by now,” he said, grinning down at her. Michelle gave a short, soft laugh.

“It wasn’t just that,” she said. “You just said it as if you did so every day... like its ‘normal’ for you.” William chuckled at this.

“Yes, deep down I’m really just an Average Joe,” he joked, squeezing Michelle’s hand.

“More like an agreeable Joe...” Michelle said; her voice held a teasing note. William cleared his throat and smiled.

“You asking for it, Minx,” he warned. “I’m not beyond tickling you in the cab.”

“I’ll behave,” Michelle said, sitting back again. She smiled down at her hands; her small white-gloves looked well by William’s larger one, encased in its brown leather. William seemed to sense her feelings and took one of her hands in his. It was such a simple action, to take one’s hand, but the gesture bore with it a small comfort, and brief, warm connection willingly made by two people out of affection. Holding hands, albeit a small thing, nonetheless made itself felt in Michelle as slow-spreading warmth in both brain and body. She rode next to her fiancé in a taxi cab, in a large city of bustling people and cars and business; nothing seemed to exist but them and the warmth of their two hands connecting in the shifting dark. The moment implanted itself indelibly in Michelle’s mind.

The convention center appeared as impressive as Michelle remembered; she laughed at William’s suggestion that they should stop and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes just to ‘get it out of their system’. The whole place looked like a building from some space-age futuristic movie, where all walls are clear and bent in fantastic ways.

“I bet it takes a fortune to heat this place,” William remarked as they walk towards the first displays.

“I wouldn’t want to see those electric bills,” Michelle agreed. “But, if it is to house the arts, then expenses are is most likely 100% tax deductible.” Chuckling, William nudged Michelle’s arm a little.

“When we’re married, you’ll have to do the family taxes,” he teased. “Save me a fortune in accountant fees, most likely.” Michelle smiled up at him, pretending to bat her eyes.

“Oh, you sure know what to say to a girl,” she said, the glint in her eye matching his.

“Apparently, I do,” William replied, putting his arm around Michelle’s shoulders.

Strolling so down the aisles of displays, they paused now and then to look at a more interesting, or hideous, piece; Michelle listened as her man described the subtle differences between one design and the next. With some pieces however, no explanation was necessary.

“How can people want these things in their home?” Michelle asked aside to William as they passed what appeared to be an outline of a chair, made from a tank tread looped together. “If a guest sat on that they’d get a terrible surprise...” William chuckled at this; it sounded deeply in his throat.

“Some aspects to contemporary, er… design seem to take on a more artistic approach to furniture,” he told her, smiling. “However, there is a point where the art rather of takes over and function is rendered invalid.”

“But that’s the whole purpose of furniture,” Michelle commented, with a puzzled expression. “It has to be of use or else it isn’t really furniture. Why would I want to buy a chair just to have it sit there and torture tired people nearby with only the appearance of accommodation?”

William looked down at her; warm affection colored his gaze.

“We were more alike than you suppose, love,” he said. “I also despise unnecessary things cluttering up a room. Any real furniture craftsman doesn’t make just a piece of art; they make a useful, working part of the home or office, which is to be both enjoyed and utilized.”

A few displays after, they passed a ‘modern’ style living room which boasted a large, metal ball hanging in its center with twinkling metallic streamers cascading down from it; according to a nearby placard, it was supposed to be a lamp. William and Michelle laughed between themselves at it for some time.

“Can you imagine that at a dinner party?” Michelle said, giggling. “Honey, could you please go disentangle another guest from the lamp? He’s beginning to choke...” William laughed at the imagery.

“Good heavens. I can just see it...” he said, chuckling. “That is the ugliest lamp I’ve ever seen. What a waste of metal.” Michelle held onto his arm and walked, feeling very happy.

They made it through the more modern pieces quickly; William wanted to show Michelle a certain designer he’d come to admire and imitate slightly with his own pieces. The furniture was mostly burnished, warm wood and graceful in the simple lines. All of it was functional; Michelle saw why William liked this hobby. She admired the ability to take a few boards of wood and cut them into such a way... to fit the pieces together just so, with a knowledge passed down through centuries of craftsmen. The result seemed an oxymoron: simple-looking as a table or chair, but also complicated in the many, exacting steps required to achieve it.

William on the other hand felt grateful that his Michelle took a real interest in all this; her artistic eye was able to appreciate the subtle differences he pointed out and she caught on quickly. To his delight, she managed to ask some intelligent questions; his fears of boring her to death evaporated. It felt good to walk around among people like they were an old couple; he left his arm draped across her shoulders and liked how her slender arm held onto his waist. Though William liked walking by Michelle anyway, his reasons for doing so were two-fold: besides just wanting to, he made very certain anyone appreciating Michelle’s beauty knew she was ‘taken’. His sweet fiancée was blissfully unaware of her charms, a fact William found very attractive; however, her naiveté made his job that much more difficult. Not that he found the task burdensome; not in the least.

Across the wide room, a pair of dark blue eyes watched the happy pair. Lowering her eyelids a little, a well-dressed woman in her late twenties gripped her champagne flute tightly. She watched William and Michelle walk around a trendy designer’s display; the two pointed and smiled their heads close together. Flaring her nostrils, the woman tossed her blond hair and began to walk towards the couple, her expensive heels making hardly a sound on the polished floor.

Inspecting a rather grotesque lamp, Michelle made a face; the base was shaped like a dying figure, contorted in agony. William chuckled at his fiancées wrinkled nose.

“Don’t you like it, darling?” he teased. “I was going to buy it for the living room…” Michelle resisted putting her finger down her throat; she looked up at William with a pleading expression.

“I would no more pollute your wonderful living room with that monstrosity of a lamp than I would put up pink, frilly curtains,” she said, earnestly.

“That just means you have no taste,” came a voice from close behind her.

Michelle immediately felt tense; the newcomer’s voice managed to sound both sultry and scathing at once. Michelle knew the voice well, even after two years. It belonged to a particularly nasty person named Cassandra Matheson, a corporate rich bitch if there ever was one, one whom had spearheaded the effort to fire Michelle from her position at Johnson & Black. The woman was a partner in a huge insurance company, and as Michelle found out later, the daughter of a New York justice of the peace.

Turning, she was not surprised to see a tall, gorgeous woman behind her, looking down at her with a sneering expression. Michelle opened up her mouth to say something but William forestalled her.

“Miss Matheson,” he said, his voice chilly all of the sudden. His greeting caught Michelle by surprise; she looked over at him with eyebrows raised. William knew this horrible person? Michelle found that hard to believe. The blond woman saw Michelle’s expression and summoned a smile from somewhere; she directed its beam at William.

“William… how lovely to see you again,” she said, elegantly; she held up a hand to him as society woman are wont to do. Michelle wondered if the woman expected him to kiss her hand.

“Fat chance,” she thought, darkly. William raised an eyebrow at the hand in front of him and did not take her hand, nor did he return her smile.

“It has been a long time,” he said, in a banal tone. The blond woman appeared to be unfazed. She looked down at Michelle from her stiletto-enhanced height; Michelle felt the burning gaze of the woman and tightened her hold on William’s arm.

“Far too long,” Cassandra said, looking back at William. “I have missed seeing you around my apartment. I see you finally found a replacement for me.”

As the woman’s red lips formed the words, Michelle felt as if her stomach had dropped to her feet.

“They dated? Oh, God... please no...” She felt sick. It had to be a fabrication of some kind. Her noble, wonderful William would never have dated such a horrible ice queen of destruction. William felt Michelle wince and glanced at her; the poor girl looked positively ill. He wondered what made her look so; the two women couldn’t possibly know each other.

“Is the girl alright?” More honeyed words emitted from Cassandra. “She looks a little green...”

William didn’t feel so great either; the presence of the flighty, high maintenance witch made him a bit nauseous as well. He’d dated the woman as a favor to a client and was at first mildly impressed with her intelligence and ambition; that small regard soon turned to disgust at Cassandra’s penchant towards deception and manipulation. The fact that her father was a wealthy, respected judge gave the woman an unearned advantage in New York’s high society, and she milked it for all it was worth.

They'd parted on bad terms, right after William took her to meet his mother; Margaret spared no feelings or words in vocalizing her dislike of the haughty young woman. Cassandra’s anger was tempered only by the lure of William’s family wealth and place in society, a fact he still despised her for. William’s instinct was to protect his sweet fiancé from the claws of this she-wolf; he could already see the plans forming in the blond woman’s head. He had broken things off, not her. William knew that Cassandra once harbored a desire to become Mrs. Montgomery. Hopefully, she’d given up on that ridiculous idea.

“My fiancée is fine, thank you,” William said, answering Cassandra’s insincere inquiry. “What a surprise to see you in a furniture expo; who knew you could stand it for more than a few seconds.”

“I adore furniture,” Cassandra said ignoring the insult. “My father is here, you know he loves to peruse...” she stopped, as if William’s first words just then registered. “Your… what?”

William smiled; it was not a friendly grin. His eyes were cold and glittered with something like revenge.

“Fiancée. I’d like you to meet Miss Michelle Gregory.” He looked down at his companion lovingly. Swallowing, Michelle made herself put up her chin and meet Cassandra’s gaze. The woman regarded her with a stunned expression.

“I have met Miss Matheson,” Michelle said, quietly. It was William’s turn to look surprised. “She works for one of Johnson & Black’s clients.” Quickly, William hid his shock and turned back to Cassandra. The well-dressed blond woman had recovered and set her chin in a repulsed fashion.

“So, you’ve gone slumming,” she said, dully, regarding William with narrowed eyes. “What does your precious mother think of that?” Michelle’s eyes went wide.

“Slumming?” she thought, appalled. “Who does she think she is?”

“My mother quite adores her,” William said, smirking. “As I recall she hated you.” Something steely glinted in Cassandra’s eyes but her calm voice belied the murderous look.

“And as I recall, you liked me just fine,” she said, in a sultry voice. “We were awfully good at some things.” Michelle thought she was going to throw up.

“Excuse me,” she said, stepping away from William. “I need to find the ladies room.” She saw a familiar sign and headed towards it quickly.

“Is she pregnant?” Cassandra said, smiling. “Ah. That must be why your engagement wasn’t announced in the paper...”

William looked after Michelle, concerned; at Cassandra’s words he turned back quickly to the blond woman, surprising her with his wrathful expression.

“Hold your tongue,” he said, clenching his teeth. “Don’t you say one more word about her, Miss Matheson. You’re not good enough to even speak to her.” He took a menacing step forward, causing Cassandra to back up a little; her face looked pale all of the sudden. “I pity the unlucky bloke that gets roped into marrying you… you disgusting snake.” With that, he went to find Michelle wondering which way she had gone. Cassandra stared open-mouthed after him. A couple of teenagers passed by as she stood there.

“Burn…” one of them hissed. Flushing red, Cassandra turned on her heel and stomped off, flinging her glass angrily at a nearby trash bin.

In the ladies room, Michelle leaned over the sink, putting cold water on her face.

“What a bitch!” she thought, infuriated. She simply couldn’t believe Cassandra Matheson had made her cry. It wouldn’t have been too bad, just seeing her. Michelle thought she’d have liked to give the back-stabbing woman a piece of her mind, but when she heard William and Cassandra had dated….it was like being kicked in the gut. William didn’t deny that they'd slept together. Feeling her food rising in her throat, Michelle dashed into a stall and shut the door behind her. She hated throwing up, but the idea of that hideous woman touching her beloved man was just too much.

A few minutes later, Michelle felt a little better. Patting her face dry with clean paper, Michelle put on a little lip gloss and smoothed her hair. Opening the stall door she stepped out, only to come face to face with one angry Cassandra Matheson.

“Why you little slut!” the woman spat, her blue eyes snapping. “How dare you presume to even think of going after him? What did you think by getting knocked up gets you a place in society? You’re nothing! Absolutely nothing!”

Michelle’s first instinct was to flee; the woman in front of her looked almost ravenous. Something snapped in the young woman, however, and she stayed where she was. Not many things rattled Michelle Gregory, but this woman had to be stopped.

“I’m actually not pregnant, not that it’s any of your business,” Michelle countered; she used of William’s tricks and made her face and voice appear calm.

“Oh, haven’t used that card yet?” Cassandra sneered. “You’ll use it no doubt when he starts getting bored with you.” Michelle snorted.

“It’s a physical impossibility,” she said, coolly “I can’t be pregnant as I’ve never had sex.”

For a moment, the woman in front of her looked actually taken aback. Michelle took the opportunity to continue. “As for keeping William interested, you can have no useful advice on that subject.” Cassandra turned a mottled shade of red.

“You... you...” she sputtered, looking near the point of violence. Michelle rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know what your problem is,” she said, her voice rising. “But, you can’t get me fired this time. I’m marrying William Montgomery. Whatever fling you two had in the past must have been very trifling, seeing as I’m the one with the engagement ring...”

Michelle suddenly found herself on the tile floor, one side of her face stinging. Cassandra stood over her, her hands balled in fists; anger boiled up in Michelle.

“I should kick her in the knee...” she thought, her eyes narrowing.

The bathroom door opened.

“Right there,” came William’s voice. “The blond one. She’s attacked my fiancée.” At these words, Cassandra’s face grew quite pale. Two security guards entered the woman’s restroom and each grabbed one of Cassandra’s arms.

“Get away from me!” she screeched, struggling. “I’m Judge Matheson’s daughter! I’ll have you arrested! Let go of me!” Her screams did not stop as they half-dragged, half-carried the woman out. Her designer clothes did not look so nice now, Michelle noted.

William appeared over her, pulling her up into his warm embrace.

“Are you alright, love?” he said, tenderly into her hair. Michelle could feel he was tense and angered; she relaxed against him.

“She slapped me,” Michelle told William. “She said...”

“I heard,” he said, interrupting. “The acoustics in this restroom are remarkable… I think the whole floor heard.” he drew back to look at Michelle. A bright red mark stood out upon her fair cheek; his jaw clenched in anger at the sight of it. If Cassandra was a man he’d have gladly decked her. Perhaps it was good the security guards were attracted by the woman’s loud yelling in the restroom. He was about to go in himself when the guards came up to him, asking what was going on.

“Maybe I should learn karate,” Michelle said, gently rubbing one side of her face with her hand. William smiled.

“Perhaps you should,” he said, affectionately. He led Michelle around a fallen trash bin and out the bathroom door. A floor manager was outside, talking with the guards. He saw Michelle and the red, hand-shaped mark on her face.

“Excuse me, but... do you wish to press assault charges on Miss Matheson?” the man asked; William thought he sounded nervous.

“Has she been detained?” William asked, looking at Michelle. His fiancée appeared to be calm and quiet once more.

“Yes, though we haven’t called the police yet,” the man paused. “I admit we don’t want to. Judge Matheson is a heavy patron.” About to object, William was surprises to hear Michelle speak up.

“I won’t press charges,” Michelle said, quietly. “… As long as she’s banned from the building.” The manager considered this option for a moment.

“Done,” he said. “We've actually had a problem with her before, so it won’t be hard to get approval for that. Thank you.” He gave a little bow and walked away, speaking to the guards.

William glanced down at Michelle. She looked thoughtful, and a little too calm, considering the circumstances.

“You could have had her arrested, you know,” he said, searching Michelle’s face. Michelle smiled, just a little; her face still hurt.

“It’s a better punishment to get banned from the center,” she said. “The convention hall then sends a letter to the media about the whole incident, if I’m not mistaken.” At this William laughed.

“You little minx,” he said, smiling. “I’m very proud of you, you know.” Michelle looked over at him.

“For what... getting bitch-slapped?” she asked, a little merriment returning to her eyes. Chuckling, William shook his head. It was just like her to make light of all this.

“No… for sticking up for yourself in there,” he said; William put his arms around her waist. “You have a wonderfully genial personality, Michelle. You’re really very docile, in the most attractive way possible, but sometimes... well, you’ll run in women like that. I’ve seen you be frosty and clever when men try to flirt with you, but I was a little worried about you getting trampled on by the rather nasty women that seem to dominate my social circles.” Michelle smiled.

“How about now?” she asked, smiling. William returned it.

“I’m encouraged,” he admitted. “Some of my relatives are that way and they’ll most likely be at the wedding. If you’re able to hold your own, however, they’ll back off.”

“Or start slapping...” Michelle said, rubbing her face again. William kissed her affected cheek a few times. “Oh... I could get used to that,” she said, sighing. “Feel free to assuage your guilt for even dating that femme fatal.”

William snorted.

“She is the epitome of a heinous ex-girlfriend,” he said, looking into Michelle’s eyes. “One of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made. I didn’t date for years, just because of her.” Smiling back up at him, Michelle felt lighter; even William was prone to a bad decision every once in awhile. It wasn’t like she’d never made a mistake.

“I’m OK with it,” she said, meaning every word. “I’m the one who gets to keep you.” William didn’t bother kissing her cheek this time; she deserved a proper one. One of the guards nearby noisily cleared his throat after a minute; William reluctantly pulled away from his fiancée.

“Shall we go see the rest of the exhibits, love?” he inquired. “Or would you like to get some dessert somewhere? I know of an excellent ice-cream parlor nearby.”

“Yes to both,” Michelle said, smiling. “I’m not going to let that wolverine wreck our evening.” William smiled at her.

“That’s a fairly accurate description,” he said, abounding amused. “She really got you fired?” Sighing, Michelle nodded.

“Her company is the favor-er of illegal loopholes that I told you about,” she said, frowning. “Johnson & Black has let them get away with it for years. By now they must owe tens of millions in back taxes. The IRS investigators are so overwhelmed; it’s easy to imagine how they managed to slip under the radar all these years.”

William looked thoughtful for several moments.

“Someone could tip them off,” he suggested, looking at her sideways. “Someone who knows every detail of their illegal dealings.” Michelle shrugged.

“I thought about it,” she admitted. Looking up at William she searched his profile for some kind of emotional indication; sometimes her man was difficult to read. “I also thought,” she continued, “… that if they were turned in, a lot of people would suddenly be without employment. I wouldn’t want to put anyone in that position, especially when the hardest-working people would be the ones to get the pink slip.”

“You have made a stand already and been terminated for it,” William said, glancing down at Michelle. “Nobody can ask more of you than that. However, to know what is right and not do it is...”

“... I know; the worst cowardice,” Michelle finished, sighing. “I don’t usually agree with things Confucius said, but that particular idiom I remember.” William chuckled.

“I’m impressed you even know who said it,” he said, smiling at Michelle. “Still, they should not be allowed to get away with it, Michelle.” His expression grew serious. “You’ve paid for your moral stand; why not make them pay for their lack of it?”

“The problem here is upon being hired, I had to sign a confidentiality agreement, regarding clients,” Michelle explained, heavily. “Believe me, when I was sitting out there on my street corner day after day, knowing those thieves were still employed and enjoying their good life, I became the #1 proponent of whistle-blowers everywhere.”

Laughing under his breath, William smiled at his fiancée’s drawn brow. Her face was so gently formed that it was difficult for her to look angry and be taken seriously.

“So, my little speech of cowardice was a trifle unnecessary?” William said, his voice teasing. Michelle gave him a small smile.

“No,” she stated. “I like knowing that you care as much for my character as you do in seeing that I am properly clothed.”

“Yes, I do, Minx,” William said. “I am convinced that my worries were unfounded.”

Michelle leaned her head against his shoulder as they strolled. For what seemed the millionth time since she met William, Michelle gave a small, silent prayer of thanks; somehow the hard times she’d gone through did not seem quite so unfair. Her character was tempered by want and her experiences made her grateful for small blessings. This blessing, however, left them all behind; she found her companion.

As a small child Michelle had loved to drive with her father to the store or to get the mail; he loved to listen to a type of country music that he described as “bluegrass”. One particular song stuck in Michelle’s mind and she never forgot the words to the chorus, though she did not know who the artist was or even the name of the song. Its words and lovely melody echoed in her ears many times since then, especially on lonely nights:

“Send me a companion to share life’s troubles and joys;

Someone to hold through the night.

A companion to picture in the frame of my mind.

I wouldn’t mind if I met you tonight.”

Walking by William in the scattered crowd of convention visitors, Michelle felt complete; the longing in that song had somehow been fulfilled and she no longer felt abandoned. This man truly cared for her, mind, body and soul. Only one thing marred her joy; above all things, Michelle hoped she filled the missing pieces of William’s life in the same, complete manner as he did for her.

Cassandra Matheson’s words--though spoken by an unworthy vessel--did manage to plant a little seed of doubt in Michelle’s mind. She glanced up at William, thinking of how much he’d improved her life and could not think of anything equal she’d done for him. She wondered that if, by marrying her, the man she loved would be harmed socially and eventually resent her for it. Michelle knew she’d not be able to endure resentment; not from William.

“I’d rather die a thousand deaths,” she thought, soberly.

“You’re very quiet, love,” William said, after a minute. “Even for you.” Realizing that her thoughts were reflecting upon her face, Michelle looked up at William; his cerulean eyes held a look of mild concern.

“My apologies,” Michelle said. “I was pondering something weighty, which I don’t want to share right now.”

William laughed, and grinned very wide.

“I love your honesty,” he said, admiringly. “Most women would have tried to convince me it was ‘nothing’ or that you were thinking of 'wedding arrangements', or some such rot.” Michelle allowed herself a real smile.

“What’s point in that?” she asked him. “I think you'd be able to tell... I’m a horrible actress.” She felt a soft kiss placed on her cheek and turned to William. He looked at her with such affection Michelle felt it silly to hold on to her fears.

“How could he look at me like that if he didn’t want me for his companion?” she thought. William was a very intelligent man; surely he’d thought of the consequences of them marrying, and of her lack of any social status whatsoever. Maybe he didn’t care; certainly, William had shown that he lived his life as he saw fit. However, he was raised in high society, and wealth. Some things do not change, and this Michelle feared would be their detriment.

“Well… please let me know when you want to discuss it, love. Whatever it is.” William’s voice drew Michelle from her quiet musings. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?” His fiancée met his gaze.

“Yes, I do,” she replied, earnestly. “And I will… after I consider it a bit.” William seemed satisfied with this answer and pointed out a display of armoires to her; he knew she was fond of them.

As they looked at one piece after the other, William glanced at Michelle several times. He had a feeling that Cassandra had said something to her before he’d arrived in time to listen; he’d seen his sweetheart bounce insults off her like water from a duck’s back. Yet, now he could tell something was really bothering her. Michelle was not an obstinate person, however; William hoped she’d let him help her through whatever the problem was. If not, he may have to extract the information from her.

“That might not be so bad,” he thought, with an impish grin.

William saw his fiancée back to her uncle’s Brooklyn home, though Michelle objected. It was far out of his way. As per his usual trait, William did it anyway.

“You’re very stubborn,” Michelle told him, in the taxi. Chuckling, William draped his arm over her shoulders.

“You have no idea, love,” he said. “In a good way, though. I go for exactly what I want and attain it by all legal means, within reason.” It was Michelle’s turn to laugh.

“I see,” she said, smiling. “And what will you want next, once you’ve attained what you want now?” Michelle immediately wished she’d bit back her words. Even in the dark of the cab, William’s eyes glittered with a strange, almost overpowering look. He leaned forward, holding her to him.

“A family,” he whispered in her ear. “I promised to give you babies remember?” Something about William’s tone made Michelle want to get as close to him as possible. William responded by kissing her ear softly and moving down to her jaw line to her neck.

The window between the cab driver and the backseat slid open.

“No intercourse in my cab,” he barked, making William jump back a little. “Get a room for that.” Michelle blushed furiously, and noted her man did as well.

“We weren’t going to here,” William said, sounding nettled. “She’s my fiancée, for heaven’s sake...”

“Whatever pal,” the driver said, sliding the window shut. Michelle giggled softly.

“What a bitter guy,” she remarked. William grunted; he did not sound amused.

“Just because the blighter’s not getting any...” he mumbled under his breath. Michelle did not hear all of it but guessed fairly accurately what William said. Blushing, she looked out her window. Street-lamps lit up her face for a split second each time they passed; her skin looked fair and soft. Looking away, William cleared his throat and concentrated on the small, cracked light fixture on the ceiling of the cab. As much as he disliked cold showers, they did help; he could not wait, however, for the day when he’d never have to take one again.

“Eight days... only eight more days. I can do this,” he thought; he glanced at Michelle. She was worth it. Every discomfort was absolutely worth it. William thought of the honeymoon plans, relaxing back in his seat. “She’ll be so surprised,” he thought, smiling to himself.

They said goodnight in the cab; William braved all forthcoming 'angry driver' comments and give Michelle a long kiss before letting her out. She blushed in the most satisfactory manner and skipped up the stairs with a smile. Giving the driver directions to his building, back on the Island, William leaned back, running over the evening’s events in his mind. He thought of Michelle’s words to Cassandra in the ladies’ room and chuckled. His soft-spoken fiancée had rallied herself nicely, proving she could be the Lady of the Castle just fine… especially when threatened. The thought comforted him and he rode home in contented silence.

MICHELLE COULD not sleep. Several hours of lying on the spare room bed passed but she could not stop from thinking about possibly harming William’s reputation, just by marrying him. Doubts preyed on her; though part of her mind knew William didn’t care about such things, Michelle knew that others did. What if his family had nothing to do with him after their marriage? Margaret was a gem and very accepting, but not everyone could be so. Sighing in frustration, Michelle threw back the covers and drew on her robe. Her uncle had brought her things from the hotel somehow, and they’d all been dry-cleaned.

The long, silk robe felt good and familiar in this strange place. Softly descending the stairway, Michelle went to find a cup of tea in the kitchen; she needed an area to pace around and think.

Some minutes later, Oscar thought he heard noises downstairs and fully awoke immediately. Grabbing his .45 he silently crept downstairs, the gun at the ready. Soft sounds emanated from the kitchen; light shown out from under the door. Remembering his niece, Oscar approached the kitchen door, soundlessly opening it a crack. Michelle was indeed inside, walking around with a cup in her hand; her face appeared troubled. Putting the safety on, Oscar stowed the gun out of sight in the back of his waistband and pushed the door open.

“You alright?” he asked. Michelle jumped in surprise, one hand to her chest.

“You scared me,” she said, smiling. “Yes, I’m' OK.”

“Sorry about that,” Oscar said, grinning. “I thought I had a home invader.” Michelle smiled ruefully and pointed at herself.

“You kind of do,” she said. “I am sorry I woke you.” Oscar put up a hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I could use some tea myself.” Michelle arrested her stride and went back to get him a cup. Oscar accepted the tea gratefully and sat at on a bar stool He sipped the hot liquid, watching his niece walk around in a circle.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you got something on your mind,” he said, trying not to smile. He’d had the pre-wedding jitters himself once; such were not ‘nice’ things to experience. Michelle smiled, continuing to pace.

“I bet that’s fairly obvious,” she said, quietly. “Yes, I am in the 3am ‘clutches of doubt’.” Oscar laughed.

“Well at least I don’t have to guess,” he said. “Your William is a lucky guy to have one of the forthright Gregory women for a wife.” Again, Michelle could not help but smile; she looked over at her uncle and hesitated only a moment before sitting down a couple of seats away from him.

“I can’t help but thinking that William is stepping down several steps--socially speaking--by marrying me… and that eventually he’ll come to resent me for it.” She spilled it all out, knowing her uncle liked to view all the information at once.

Oscar did not answer right away, but sipped his tea for a minute.

“You’re not a girl prone to foolishness, Michelle,” he said, at last. “But, you’re talking like a fool right now.” Michelle felt a little surprised and hurt at his words, but waited for the man to continue. Not hearing an immediate objection and defense, Oscar smiled. Being homeless and unemployed for two years had apparently taught his niece patience… a valuable trait, in his eyes. He leaned forward and looked the young woman in the eye.  “Clearly, the guy likes you,” he went on. “More than that, I think he’s head over heels fallen for you. When a guy feels like that, nothing will stop him... not social status, or money, or anything. You’ll find that most guys have a one-track mind, a stubborn streak if you will; it’s what makes us go after a career we want with everything we’ve got… to toil in the hot sun to pay the bills, or... to go after a girl, when we meet the right one.” His look softened. “He asked you to be his wife, so he’s got honor. He works hard even though he doesn’t have to, so he’s respectable. I heard him speak with you honestly, so why worry about what may or may not happen? If you do that, you’ll just destroy your own marriage with suspicion.” Oscar paused and sipped his tea.

Sitting on her bar stool, Michelle digested this information.

“So, I’m allowing outside influences to determine my future,” she stated. Oscar set down his tea on the counter.

“There’s nothing wrong with listening to outside advice, Michelle,” he said, gravely. “It’s like eating fish; it’s good for you... but you have to spit out the bones.” Michelle laughed, her smile returning.

“That’s not a bad metaphor at all, Uncle,” she remarked. “I understand what you are trying to say. Perhaps I should give William the benefit of the doubt instead of deciding already what he will do, or think.”

“Exactly,” Oscar said. “William comes from a different world, that true, but you two are so much alike in mind and soul it’s almost creepy to watch. Even I can see you guys were made for one another.”

“Until I met William, I did not believe that soul-mates actually existed,” Michelle admitted, drinking her tea. Oscar sighed, a little sadly, Michelle thought.

“They do,” he said, standing up. “Life’s just too short to waste in pondering ‘what-ifs’ and ‘maybes’. Do you love this guy?”

“Yes,” Michelle answered, firmly. Oscar smiled at her quick response.

“Then marry him and don’t look back,” he said. He walked over to the sink and put his cup down in it. “Remember at least this one thing, Michelle; when you marry you’re not one person anymore, but part of another. When you’re his wife, you’ll need to talk with him about these things. Don’t keep them to yourself in some misguided attempt at independence. If you want to be independent, don’t get married. It will just drive a wedge between you, and I’m certain you don’t want that.”

Michelle shook her head.

“I do not,” she said, with conviction. “It’s the whole reason I’m up tonight. I never want him to resent me. I couldn’t bear that.” Oscar smiled.

“Don’t give him a reason to,” he said, sagely. “Then you’ll always be in the clear when ‘misunderstandings’ arise. They will, you know.” Michelle nodded, putting away her own teacup.

“I am aware of that,” she said. “We’ve already experienced a few of those.” Oscar nodded, opening the kitchen door.

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “Life isn’t perfect. But, if you can be honest with each other through troubled times, the good times are that much sweeter for you and can be enjoyed in good conscience.”

At the stairs, Michelle smiled at her uncle with warmth.

“Thank you for the advice,” she said; her face held genuine gratitude. “From the number of poignant things you've said, I can tell you once felt doubt as I do... or something similar.” Oscar nodded.

“Doubts are something you’ll always have to deal with,” he said, plaintively. “But, in marriage doubts are like poison. I’ve just seen far too many couples slowly separate themselves from each other; it was a damn shame every time.” His niece nodded in agreement, and then bit her lip, a look of uncertainty crossing her features.

“I assumed you would....” she began, “But I'd like to ask all the same; would you walk me down the aisle, sir?” Oscar looked at his niece for a few moments.

“I'd be honored to, Michelle,” he replied. Smiling again, Michelle bid her uncle goodnight.

Lying on her bed upstairs, Michelle could not fully explain the wave of comfort she felt. One could go online and get advice from numerous sources about any number of things, but the simple words from her candid, rather unrefined uncle had a deep affect on Michelle. Not only did she feel better, but her mind stopped manufacturing doubts and scenarios to be blown out of proportion. Snuggling deep in the warm blankets Michelle drifted off to sleep, thinking of William’s warm, blue eyes regarding her with both adoration and trust. To her, there remained no better feeling in the world than knowing he loved her.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The week prior to the wedding harbored such mad activity Michelle almost did not notice the passage of time at all. Naively, she thought almost everything for the wedding was taken care of but Laurel soon showed her otherwise. Everything had to be re-approved and rechecked and people re-threatened to show up on time. Airplane tickets were bought for relatives flying in and hotel reservations made. True to Daniels’ prediction, the lure of free air-travel and a Waldorf wedding proved too great for even the most distant relatives to resist, though William’s family made up the bulk of the guests.

The ‘fire’ the famous hotel experienced turned out to be nothing more than a prank smoke-device of sorts, placed in a janitors closet on the second floor. Apparently It was not a device that generated heat but merely a dense cloud of chemical ‘smoke’; teenagers staying with their parents in one of the rooms proved to be the culprits. Mr. Chan, the hotel manager appeared nearly gleeful to put the incident behind him and booked the more expensive rooms being for the up-coming wedding guests.

The number of relatives fairly amazed the young bride; she spent several hours on the phone with Margaret and talking to her uncle, sorting out who was who. Feeling like she was back in school cramming for finals, Michelle made note cards and spent her moments of spare time memorizing names. Laurel giggled privately at the cards but did not mock her.

“I can’t believe I’m related to these people and yet we've hardly ever had contact before,” Michelle told William, as they ate lunch on Friday. They ordered pastrami sandwiches to go and found a bench in Grand Central Station. William favored eating lunch there on occasion… just sitting and watching the multi-hued parade of people bustling by. At Michelle’s comment on relatives, her fiancé laughed.

“You and I share that failing, love,” he said. “I hardly hear from my relatives, save for Christmas. My mother has a large party at her London house and even then I have to think very hard to remember everyone.”

“I hope you’ll whisper hints to me in the receiving line,” Michelle said, sighing. “I’ll have a hard time just remembering my own flesh and blood, and I don’t want to insult anyone.” Chuckling, William took a bite of his sandwich. Of the many things this city was famous for, the very best pastrami sandwiches had to be among the top ten. Beside him, Michelle enjoyed lunch trying to ignore the fact she’d have to skip a meal tomorrow to make up for the calories she now consumed.

Wiping his mouth, William looked over at his fiancée. She delicately licked her lips and her fingertips, completely unaware of what such actions did to her loving man. As if to add to his discomfort, she wore that wonderful little tweed skirt, with a form-fitting black sweater with a zipper running down the front. William forced himself to think of anything other than what was beneath said zipper. He failed.

“Two days,” he thought, taking in a deep breath.

After eating, William revenged himself a little by dragging Michelle into a little store that sold cellular phones.

“It’s more for me, love,” he explained, when she objected. “I really despise leaving messages at the hotel, or worse… with your uncle.” Michelle grudgingly admitted he was right. Besides, she loved the idea of being able to dial his number anytime, anywhere and be able to hear William’s voice. She managed to argue him down from the most expensive phone to the more reasonable range.

“I don’t need a camerafied, web-browsing, photo-shopping, gamer phone,” she said, folding her arms. William laughed at her stubbornness.

“Let me get what I want for you or I’ll get you a silver-plated diamond chip phone like Miss Hilton has,” he warned, grinning at her. Michelle sighed with frustration.

“Fine,” she acquiesced. “Just get some insurance in case it’s stolen.”

“I think you need an iPod, too...” William said, stopping by a display. Michelle’s brow darkened, making her fiancé grin.

“I’d never use it,” she said, firmly. “I have a CD player and I like that just fine.”

“We’ll see,” her man said, taking her arm.

They rode back to his office in a taxicab; most of the time riding was spent programming the phone with various important phone numbers and selecting a ring tone; William managed to get Michelle’s ire up by picking a hip-hop song.

“No self-respecting young lady has ‘Come Getcha Sugar’ as their ring tone,” Michelle said, firmly. William laughed hard at her annoyed expression; he leaned back against the seat. It was so much fun to tease her.

“I know love,” he said, smiling. “It’s hilarious to get a reaction from you. No hip-hop then. Here’s a respectable Debussy piece. What say you to that, my lady?” Michelle poked his shoulder playfully.

“You’re a tease, William Montgomery,” she said, trying not to smile. William lifted an eyebrow at her and gave her phone back.

“I think you like it, Michelle,” he said, in a low tone. His fiancé blushed; no other answer was needed. William leaned over and smelled her hair; the action was fast becoming his favorite pastime. She smelled so good, like faint flowers and her soft, sweet skin. He closed his eyes and sat back. “Well... what are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“Cramming for my final exam on ‘relativity’,” Michelle replied, smiling. “And making sure the decorating is finalized and calling about twenty other people. Really, I had no idea a simple wedding could be so darn complicated.” William chuckled.

“Good luck,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “It will be worth it, love.” Michelle looked up at him lovingly.

“It already is,” she said. “Thank you for the phone, by the way.” William winked at her as the cab drew up in front of his office building.

“It was more a gift for me, love, but you’re welcome,” he said, getting out. “I’ll see you tonight for dinner at my flat. My mother will be arriving around four, I think.”

Michelle nodded at him, slowly.

“I’ll be there,” she said, biting her lip. “I’ll miss you ‘til then.” William gave her a look that told her he thought similarly. The cab drove off, in the direction of the Waldorf. Although the amount to yet accomplish still weighed on her, Michelle felt light; two days and she’d be William wife.

“Mrs. Montgomery,” she said, aloud. “Michelle Montgomery.” The name sounded well; she felt proud that it would soon be hers.

A LITTLE before 4 pm, Michelle walked out of the elevator on William’s town home floor. She carried a bunch of pale-pink roses and gifts for Margaret and Alfred. Knocking on the door, Michelle stood and smiled for the peephole. Alfred opened the door with a grin.

“He really should teach you the code,” the elderly man said. Michelle gave him the flowers and a kiss on the cheek.

“For your table, Alfred,” she said, following him in.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, amiably. “How very sweet of you. They will look quite well alongside the butternut squash and asparagus soufflé, I think.” Michelle smiled and gave him another package.

“And that is just for you,” she said, taking off her coat; she hung it up on the coat-hook while Alfred opened his gift.

“I say... Coulommiers cheese!’ he said, beaming. “Wherever did you find this?”

“A farm outside Paris that produces them has an Internet site; you can order them right from the Web,” Michelle explained, smiling.

“You don’t say,” the elderly man said, impressed. Peeling away the sealant tape, he lifted the lid of the box and gave an expert sniff. His smile widened. “Packed in ash... utterly perfect. I have just the right light Bourgogne to serve with this...” Alfred walked off towards the kitchen, carrying the roses under one arm; as he walked the aging valet smelled the delicious cheese and talked to himself.

“Who’s arrived? Is that Michelle?”

A familiar voice sounded out from the living room. Michelle walked in the den and found Margaret sitting among several photo albums on the long, white couch. The lady stood up smiling, and gave her a warm hug and kissed her cheek; Margret’s eyes were bright with fondness. Michelle felt moved her kind expression.

“You look so well, my dear!” Margaret told her, sitting back down. She moved a large photo album from the couch and indicated Michelle to sit.

“How excited you must be! I know I am and I’m not even the bride.” Smiling at her, Michelle sat down; she took out a small box and gave it to her future mother-in-law.

“It’s just a little thank-you for your kindness,” she said, smiling. Opening the small package, Margaret saw a spa pass for the morning of the wedding. She looked at Michelle with bright eyes.

“What a lovely idea! A spa appointment the before the ceremony…” Margaret read the little card with obvious approval. “How clever to have foot massages and a pedicure right before, to calm our nerves; oh... that sounds lovely!”

“I can’t take credit for the idea,” Michelle said, smiling; she was relieved Margaret liked the gift. “My uncle’s assistant Laurel suggested it as a way to say ‘thank you’; she’ll be joining us that morning.” Margaret patted the back of Michelle’s hand.

“I appreciate it my dear. I’d like to meet this young lady,” she said, smiling at the spa card again. Michelle smiled secretively.

“Uh… is Sophie coming to the wedding?” she asked, casually. Margaret nodded.

“Yes, she has some business to attend to the day before, but she’ll be here in plenty of time; she wants to make sure Luca meets a nice girl at the...”

Margaret stopped talking as she encountered Michelle’s expression. The lady smiled and leaned forward a little. “What do you know?” she inquired, pointing her finger at her future daughter-in-law. Michelle bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“I think Luca has actually fallen for Laurel,” she said. “Please don’t say anything, but Sophie will be very happy; she‘s a really sweet, smart and thoughtful young lady.” Margaret clapped her hands and looked really pleased.

“Oh, now I really want to meet her! I’m so glad. Sophie was beginning to pout with jealousy over my boy getting engaged. She wants grand-babies too, you know.” At this, Michelle blushed.

“Mother...” came a dark voice from behind and above them.

Both women turned to see William standing behind the couch, looking narrowly at his mum. “I warned you about the ‘G’ word, didn’t I?”

“My apologies, my boy,” Margaret said, smiling brightly. “Slip of the tongue, you know.” William snorted and turned his attention to Michelle. She felt her face warm up and distracted herself by picking up one of the photo albums. William’s eyes widened at the sight of it.

“Margaret was just going to show me these...” Michelle started to say. The book was unceremoniously plucked from her hands.

“None of that,” William said, firmly. “These must go right back where they came from.” His mother began to object but William silenced her with a look. Margaret hid a smile and packed the albums away for later use.

Taking Michelle by the hand, William led her into the hallway and gave her a proper greeting. After a moment, he stopped himself and rested his forehead lightly against Michelle’s; they gave into a few seconds of mutual eye-gazing.

“Don’t mind my mother with the whole grand-babies thing, love,” he said, after a moment. Michelle smiled; she did not look offended.

“You don’t seem to mind talking about babies,” she said, softly. And odd look crept into her eyes and William suddenly felt very warm; he narrowed his eyes at his ladylove and grinned.

“I haven’t shown you the whole house, have I?” he asked, his voice very quiet.” You haven’t seen my bedroom.” He stepped back a little and took Michelle’s hand. All of the sudden, Michelle was over his shoulder, being carried down the hall. Michelle’s eyes widened.

“William!” she whispered fiercely. “Put me down!” William answered her with a deep chuckle.

“There you two are,” Margaret said, smiling. “William, what are you doing to the poor girl?”

Reluctantly, William set Michelle down; he noted his fiancée’s red-flushed face with satisfaction and guided her back through the hall to the living room. Margaret looked at him reprovingly. “Now, you can’t tell me you were racing this time,” she said.

“True,” William said, loosening his tie. “If you ladies will excuse me a moment I must go shower and change before dinner.” He winked at Michelle and walked back down the hall to his room. Michelle had never been so tempted to follow someone down a hall. Margaret pulled slightly on Michelle’s arm.

“My dear, I think you’re staring,” she said, kindly. Blushing, Michelle went to sit with her in the living room once more.

They chatted about the wedding plans and the past weeks’ events until William emerged. Michelle did not meet his gaze, but he grinned at her anyway.

“I believe Alfred has a matter to consult you on in the kitchen, my dear madam,” he said. Margaret was not fooled but went anyway, smiling to herself. Flopping next to Michelle on the couch William caught her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap.

“You...” Michelle began to say, but that was as far as she got. William had no intention of letting the moment pass him by. Humans were present in the next room over so he felt fairly secure, but at the same time a bit of stolen moment wouldn’t hurt, he reasoned. He was wrong.

“Bloody hell… it was just a kiss,” he grumbled, gently pulling away from Michelle.

“So much for being distant,” said she, a little breathlessly. William cleared his throat.

“Yes, yes... we all know I said that,” he said, a little cross at himself. He stood up, a bit painfully and helped Michelle off the couch. “Come on... let’s eat something.”

Michelle stopped him.

“You’re very honorable, sir,” she said. William saw in her eyes that she meant it. Squeezing her hand, he led her into the kitchen.

“Two days... just two more days,” William thought, ruefully. If some of his ancestors could wait a year for their brides, then he could wait two miserable days for his.

The food Alfred dished out distracted him a bit; the meal featured fall-orientated dishes prepared with the elderly valet’s signature simplicity. To Michelle’s surprise, Alfred let her help him clean up the dishes afterward.

“I should familiarize you with the kitchen, my dear,” he explained. “I am certain you’ll want to know where everything is.” Michelle nodded readily.

“Thank you... I wanted to ask but, this is still your domain,” she said, wiping a copper pot dry. Alfred chuckled.

“Yes, well... I shall be retiring back to London once Master William is married,” he informed Michelle. “I’ll get to visit my grandchildren often and enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

“That sounds wonderful, sir,” Michelle said, smiling. “Though, I do hope you’ll take a day to come to our wedding.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Miss Michelle,” Alfred said, kindly. “I hear the food will be very good.” Michelle laughed softly at this; she told him the menu. Alfred seemed to be impressed by the choices and complimented her for keeping it simple.

“Some of the best dishes on earth are made of a very few, fresh ingredients,” he said, approvingly. “I do love a good Waldorf salad, I must admit.”

The after-dinner conversation revolved around wedding this and that, especially meet-and-greet for relatives, scheduled for the following evening.

“Really Michelle, you mustn’t worry about my family,” Margaret said, sipping her tea. “They can be snobs but I’ll deal with them if they so much as look at you in the wrong way.” Michelle smiled at her.

“Thank you, Margaret,” she said, her eyes bright with mirth. “I do believe I can handle anyone now.” She felt William’s warm gaze and looked his way; he smiled at her from the other couch. A sort of pride radiated from him and Michelle felt silently emboldened by it.

“All the same,” Margaret continued, “My sister Florence really can be a pill. Her husband’s not a bad sort, but her children... really arrogant, though I hate to be severe on any of my family.” Michelle smiled at the way Margaret enunciated ‘pill’.

“I think my common Scottish relatives will counter-act them nicely,” she put in, smiling. Margaret laughed; her laugh reminded one of a clear, ringing bell.

“Oh yes! They would, wouldn’t they... yes.” She murmured something into her tea, smiling at some inner joke.

After dinner, William finally showed Michelle his workshop. It was a large room, which had once been two, William informed his fiancée; several well-kept machines, saws and tools displayed themselves with a silent pride, and workbenches lined the walls. Everything appeared neat and in order, saved a few piles of fragrant sawdust on the floor.

“I’m impressed with how tidy everything is,” Michelle remarked, walking around; she touched a workbench almost reverently.

“Yes I like things neat.” William responded, smirking. “You ought to expect that by now.” Michelle smiled at him.

“I do,” she said. She saw a pile of already-cut pieces of fine wood; the light wood had numbers penciled on them. “New project?” she said, pointing. William nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. He wanted to put them on Michelle but did not.

“Yes. Let’s head back upstairs, shall we?” he suggested. “I’ll give you a proper tour of the place when we get back from our honeymoon.” Michelle understood his meaning and blushed.

“Good idea,” she agreed, heading for the stairs.

Some minutes later, William walked Michelle down through the lobby and out to a waiting taxi.

“I think these next two days are going to be the longest of my life,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. Michelle smiled at him, patting his arm gently.

“I feel the same way, sir,” she said. “And, I still haven’t come up with a fun little name for you yet.” William chuckled.

“Well you have forty-eight hours to work on it,” he teased her. Michelle gave him a small kiss on the cheek; she did not want to leave, not ever. Necessity and propriety called her away, however and Michelle got in the cab.

As the taxi pulled away, Michelle looked back through the window at William’s form; he stood tall, though his form was dwarfed by the dark building. As hard the act of leaving him, small, sweet promises of what was to come beckoned in Michelle’s mind; the whisperings they sang cause her to smile, and hope.

“Two days isn’t a long time at all,” she thought settling back against the seat. Sighing, Michelle allowed herself to daydream of the way William smiled and how he ran his hand through his hair. Riding toward Brooklyn, Michelle was buoyed up by a sort of anxious happiness, felt only by those nearing the end of their voyage on the Lonely Ocean.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

An unfamiliar sound caused Michelle’s eyes to open. Blinking, she sat up in the gray bed and looked around in the post-dawn dark. On the night stand her new cell phone blinked and buzzed, cranking out a very poor imitation of music. Reaching over, Michelle leaned on one elbow and opened the phone.

“Hello?” she inquired, her voice thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” came William’s voice; he sounded pleased with himself for waking her up, Michelle noted.

“The same to you sir,” she said, lying back down. “Though, I cannot say I’ve woken you as well. It must be 5:30 in the morning.”

“Right you are, love,” William said, his voice soft. “I’m just up myself, having a bit of coffee.”

“I’m just up myself too, having been woken up with Debussy,” Michelle replied, covering her eyes with her arm. “I don’t like this phone already.” William chuckled at her tired tone.

“Just one more day to get through, sweetheart,” he said, gently. “I must say I am very grateful that you planned a morning ceremony and reception. The sooner we get married and get out of there, the better.” Michelle let out a quiet laugh at his words. The moment of wedded bliss was almost upon them, a little over twenty-four hours away.

“Yes. It will be a very nice brunch,” she told him. “Please tell me where we’re going.” William chuckled.

“Not a chance,” he said, vastly amused. “You know far too much already.”

“You haven’t booked us on a whaling ship, have you?” Michelle asked, smiling. She heard a mixture of sputtering, laughing and coughing, sort of like when someone involuntarily spits out coffee.

“Heh, heh... you little minx,” William said, chuckling. “I should know better than to drink anything while talking to you.”

“I’m sorry...” Michelle said, hiding her laugh in her pillow. “Did you ruin your shirt?”

“No,” William said. “I wasn’t really dressed yet. My housecoat will need a wash, though. Whaling ship, indeed. Nothing like that.”

“I guess we’re flying out after the reception then?” Michelle inquired; she was eager to hear more hints about the honeymoon.

“Yes, love,” William said; it sounded like he was pouring himself a new cup of coffee. “We’re going to try a new airline, call EOS. It embarked from JFK and lands at Stansted International, an airport right by my alma mater. EOS touts to be a better way to fly long distances; it will get us there in a little over six hours. From there we’ll take a chartered flight to... well, somewhere.” Michelle made a face. “You’re wrinkling up your adorable nose, aren’t you?” William said, knowingly.

“Yes,” Michelle admitted, smiling to herself. “You know me surprisingly well.”

“Right back at you, love,” her fiancé said, sounding amused.

“It’s 'right back atcha’,” Michelle corrected, chuckling to herself. William snorted.

“Piffle...” he demurred. “I guess I am putting in my last day at the office for a couple weeks, while you’ll be running about putting finishing touches on everything.”

Michelle got up and began undressing; she wanted to get an early start. She did so quietly, so that William wouldn’t guess what she was doing.

“Yep. And getting ready to meet myriads of relatives tonight,” Michelle said, sighing.

“You’ll do fine, my love,” William said, soberly. “I have every confidence in you.”

“I’ll feel certainly feel confident standing next to you,” Michelle said, smiling. “Every single girl in the hotel is going to want me dead once they see you...” Chuckling, William walked back into his room. Opening his closet, he looked at his various suits.

“I feel the same way regarding single men and you, love. On that topic, what are you wearing?” he asked, fingering a gray suit coat.

Silence met the line. “Hello?” he said, puzzled. In her room Michelle was staring at the phone, blushing.

“Yes, uh... I’m here... uh, well, nothing really. I'm about to shower. What a question...” she stuttered. William realized what he’d asked and how her answer fit; he grinned and cleared his throat.

“I meant what you are wearing tonight,” he enlightened his ladylove. Michelle felt like an idiot.

“Oh... um, I am going to get a dress this morning, with Laurel. A gray one, I think. I thought I’d wear garnets with it. You know, for fall.” Michelle rambled nervously, fanning her red face.

William leaned against the wall, an eyebrow raised at no one in particular.

“Let me understand this... you were undressing, while talking to me on the phone?” he asked.

“I was just getting ready to shower,” Michelle said, in a small voice. William closed his eyes and took in a very deep breath. He decided to take a shower himself, a cold one.

“Well, ah... I’ll see you tonight then. Seven, right?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Michelle was very embarrassed but managed to reply.

“Yes. I’ll be there a little early. The Conrad Suite, uh... is the room. Dinner will be light but very good.”

“Sounds good, love,” William said. He wondered if she was still undressed. Hitting his head slightly against the wall he forced himself to think of something else. “I’ll wear my gray suit then, to match your dress.”

“Oh, the one you wore that night at the gallery?” Michelle said, finally smiling. Smiling, William was impressed she remembered.

“The very one,” he replied. He turned on the water in the shower.

“Perhaps I should wear my pink dress,” Michelle said, thinking the suggestion over even as she said it.

“I vote for the gray,” William said, smiling. “It’s appropriate for meeting relations. Besides, I want to keep you in that dress all for myself. Bring it on the honeymoon.” Michelle blushed.

“Sure,” she said. “Anything else?” William smirked, knowing Michelle couldn’t see it.

“Yes. The entire contents of that pink-striped box, love,” he said. “And that tweed skirt.”

“And my black tights, I suppose,” Michelle said, biting her lip; she thought her man was just adorable.

“Definitely,” William said, raking his hand through his hair. “I’m going to hang up now. You don’t know what you do to me, love.”

“My apologies, William,” Michelle said, quietly. “Just know that I love you.”

“I do know it,” William said, smiling. He sighed. “See you tonight.”

“Absolutely,” Michelle replied, warmly. They hung up, though neither wanted to.

By the time Michelle was showered, dried and dressed, she heard the doorbell ring downstairs. Hoping up and down, she pulled her ankle boots on and grabbed her coat. Remembering her makeup, Michelle ducked back into the bathroom and hurriedly put just enough on to be passable. Laurel and the Entourage were already inside when Michelle hopped down the steps.

“You didn’t have to hurry, we’re early!” Laurel told her.

“William woke me up with a call about an hour ago,” Michelle said, smiling. Laurel sighed; her face looked a little pinker and happier than normal. Realization hit Michelle and she smiled again, but wider. “Luca asked you...” she observed, quietly. Laurel nodded, looking very happy.

“How’d you know that?” Daniels asked, looking completely baffled. “How could you possibly know that by just lookin’ at her face?”

“It’s a girl thing,” Laurel said, still blushing. Daniels shrugged and went into the kitchen, looking for food. Laurel turned to Michelle, her face like a child’s would appear after being told they are going to the beach. “I’m so excited!” she said, sighing. “Now we each have to get a dress! You for tonight, me for tomorrow.”

Michelle sighed, she saw her uncle reclining on the couch, reading his morning paper.

“I think some of this just might be tax deductible, Uncle Oscar,” she said apologetically. From behind his paper, Oscar chuckled.

“I only have one niece,” he said. “And, you’re only going to get married once.”

“True,” Michelle agreed, firmly. “I still am very grateful. Had I shouldered all the expense myself, my wedding would not have been anywhere near as... wonderful.” Oscar smiled and folded his paper; he tossed it onto the coffee table.

“I’m glad you’re making it how you want.” he said, looking at his niece. She suddenly appeared very grown up. “Don’t worry about it; your parents would have done the same, if not more.” Michelle smiled her gratitude, wanting to give him a huge hug; she did not, however.

An hour later, the helpful, resourceful and somewhat dictatorial Laurel had the tables turned on her. Michelle confiscated her clipboard and had a salesgirl in the dress boutique pile twenty gowns on the young, blond woman to try on. After twelve more, she finally found a suitable gown in a muted apricot shade to wear and emerged from the dressing room rather tired and irritable.

“I used to think shopping was fun,” she said, scowling at Michelle. Her shopping companion hid her smile in her hand; she handed Laurel her clipboard and asked the salesgirl if they had a long gray dress with long sleeves, in her size. The girl brought back one. Laurel snorted.

“Oh, sure... do it the easy way,” she said, pretending to pout. Michelle chucked softly and went to try it on. It did fit well; the light gray dress was made of linen but with a soft material lining of some kind underneath. The skirt fell in an A-line tube from an empire waist with a slit in back for easier walking; the square neckline looked well, and the long, slim sleeve complimented Michelle’s arms.

Looking in the mirror, she decided it was a reserved, respectable dress but with just enough fun to be elegantly alluring.

“Perfect for meeting The Relations,” she said, quietly.

Laurel liked the dress very much but scrutinized Michelle’s neck closely.

“You need garnets with that dress. They’d be perfect. A choker necklace and short, drop earrings,” she said, decisively. Michelle opened her mouth to object but Laurel snapped her fingers. “None of that… no objections whatsoever; I know what I’m talking about. Do you want to impress William’s stuck-up relatives, or what?” Sighing, Michelle nodded. “Good,” Laurel said, smiling. “Let’s get these gowns wrapped and find a jewelry shop that has garnet chokers.”

It took Laurel about half an hour on her cell phone to locate this phantom piece of jewelry, which she seemed to find so imperative. It happened to be located in a seemly unassuming clothing boutique in the Lower East side. Laurel located the jewelry counter with little problem.

“I’ve been here before,” she said, smiling. “It’s affordable, but they have great taste.”

Michelle let the exuberant, young blond woman drape a couple different necklaces across her skin, and let her chose which one and which earrings. As much as Laurel seemed to like shopping, Michelle was fast growing tired of it all. For someone who liked the going to the Good Will, she felt like she’d accomplished a whole decade’s worth of shopping in just the last two weeks. Michelle tactfully kept this information to herself. By the time they had purchased all necessary evening-prior and final wedding items, it was nearly five o’clock. Battling Saturday dinner traffic was a challenge even for Drake.

Finally arriving at the Waldorf, Michelle spied Mr. Chan hovering by the front counter; he was waiting to show them to the Conrad Suite.

“It is all prepared; hors d’oeuvres and drinks at seven, dinner at eight,” he reported, walking them through a large corridor. “There is a small dressing room off to one side, with a full bath for your convenience.” Michelle was glad of that last part; she thanked Mr. Chan with words only, her arms full of bags. Both Daniels and Drake left to go get their respective dates and get ready for the party. Michelle had made it a special point to invite them; they’d been a little part of her dream coming true and Michelle felt it only right.

“Get in that bathroom and shower,” Laurel said, throwing a bottle of conditioner at Michelle. “The stylist will be here in a minute or two.”

“Stylist? I’m...”

“Yes, perfectly capable of doing your own hair. I know!” Laurel interrupted, smiling. She pointed to the shower. “Shower. Now.” She turned and marched out of the little dressing room. Shaking her head, Michelle smiled and locked the bathroom door after her. The knock on the door came as Michelle was toweling off.

“I’m not dressed yet.” Michelle said, slipping on her robe.

“I know,” Laurel said. “You can’t get dressed with wet hair. There are some robes hanging behind the door, I think.”

“Just you wait until you get married,” Michelle told her, amused. “I’ll make sure what goes around comes around.” Tying the robe securely, Michelle opened the door to find Laurel tapping her foot impatiently.

“While she’d doing your hair, I’ll just shower myself,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom.

Michelle turned and encountered a slender woman clad entirely in black standing by the door; she held a polished, wooden case in hand and possessed an icy glare. Two assistants accompanied the stylist, each holding black bags.

“Are they stylists or mercenaries?” Michelle thought, hiding a smile. The black-clad woman produced a metal chair from somewhere and unfolded it with a flourish.

“Sit,” she said, scowling at Michelle. “Please.” The woman’s follow-up pleasantry helped thaw the air a little. Obeying, Michelle sat still; her hair was immediate sprayed with some rose-scented spray-in conditioner and bombarded with, not just one, but two hair-dryers, and brushes... brushes that pulled. Michelle made a face and squeezed her eyes shut. They were good, but no one is that good.

“One must suffer for beauty,” she reminded herself, silently. The end result was worth it; in about twenty minutes Michelle’s hair was dry and curled.

While the woman in black piled Michelle’s hair up and secured it relentlessly with pins, Laurel emerged from the bathroom in a fitted, dark green dress, a towel wrapped around her head; she was immediately shanghaied into a chair and told to ‘sit’. Michelle bit back her laugh at Laurel’s humbled expression, while the two assistant dried her blond curls.

Even though the evening was merely a meeting-the-relatives informal ‘gathering’, Michelle felt nervous and wanted to look good. William’s relatives most likely already stereotyped her into the ‘pauper’ box; there was no way she was going to make William look bad... at least in appearances. Michelle bit her lip, wondering how she was going to retort back to snide remarks while remaining ladylike; she hoped there would be no occasion for that.

William encountered the stylists as they left the Conrad Suite; they marched out of the doors looking like a row of stern, black ducks. Lifting an eyebrow at them, William entered the room. He had to admit it was a cozy space for a small reception; very tasteful decoration, tables set out for dinner, servers bustling about opening wine and arranging delicious-looking edible things onto trays. He spied Laurel across the room, setting out small place cards. Oscar Maclane’s assistant looked quite nice in her dark green dress; the blond lady smiled at William and immediately looked past him. William smiled.

“Luca will arrive in a few minutes,” he informed her. Laurel blushed and pointed to a small side door partially hidden by a curtain.

“Michelle’s getting her shoes on in there,” the girl said, returning to her task. Stepping over to the door, William rapped on it.

“Enter,” came a quiet voice. Inside the small room Michelle sat on a chair, apparently trying to thread a small strap on her gray, suede shoe into a very small buckle. She had her back to William; he appreciated the sight of Michelle’s leg but walked around so she could see him.

“Need a hand, love?” he asked, smiling down at her.

Michelle jumped at the sound of his voice. Looking up, she smiled, a little nervously, William thought.

“I’ll get it,” she said, looking back down. Adjusting his slacks at the knee, William knelt down and gently pushed Michelle’s hands away. Sliding his hand around the back of her ankle, he located the offending buckle and pushed the tiny strap through via the slightly stronger finger males possess. He took his time, however and felt up a little higher on Michelle’s leg than perhaps was necessary; she made no objection. Her silk stocking certainly felt nice. Michelle said nothing but regarded him with baited breath, her mouth slightly open.

“You look very nice, love,” William said, quietly; he smiled up at her. Michelle swallowed.

“So do you,” she returned, her breath a little elevated. “Calm down...” she thought, blinking. “It’s just a hand on my ankle. That’s all...”

“I think your mother is here... whoa! Sorry…” Laurel said, coming in unexpectedly; she balked and turned to go out.

“It’s alright, Laurel,” William said, getting up. “We’ll join the main room now.” The blond woman nodded and smiled as she closed the door. William held his hand out to the blushing Michelle; she took it and stood up. “You really do look very sophisticated, my dear. I’m impressed.” He fingered the blood-red stones at her throat with a rather obvious admiration.

“Thank you,” Michelle said, trying not to drool over the man and the look he was giving her. “I would kiss you but I don’t want to get lipstick all over you.” William lifted an eyebrow.

“Very well. I will, however, take a rain-check on that,” he said, opening the side door.

Margaret stood in the room already, talking with Alfred in a near corner. Michelle’s uncle also was present. Upon spying him, the bride laughed. Abandoning his business suits, Oscar sported casual slacks and a long sleeved shirt, fashioned in design like one big, bright American flag. One half was stripes and the other stars; William chuckled when he saw it. They joined Michelle’s uncle just as he accepted a glass of wine from an immaculate server.

“That is a fantastic shirt, Oscar,” William said, with approval; he had to admire a guy who’d wear something so garish to a reception, and so unafraid. His relatives were going to love being suddenly ‘related’ to this man, William mused to himself; the idea made him grin. They were all entirely too stuffy, in his opinion.

“Thank you,” Oscar said, smiling. “It’s mighty comfy.” He sipped his drink and looked around. “Not a bad room for a little fiesta. Good wine, too.”

Michelle introduced Margaret and Alfred to her uncle; Oscar seemed a little uncomfortable with all of Margret’s glowing praise of his person and his financial backing of the wedding, but managed to navigate her compliments quite well. Michelle spied Laurel, still across the room, busily inspecting the tables and making a few last-minute adjustments to who sat where. Michelle gently nudged William as Luca breezed through the door; the Italian man smiled at them. Both Michelle and William discreetly pointed over to Laurel.

Luca saw the young woman bustling around the tables, looking reserved and pretty in her fitted forest-green dress. She didn’t have to try very hard to look nice but it showed good taste to dress more dully when a bride was present. He noticed Laurel’s blond curls looked extra bouncy and golden in the warm light of the room.

“Hello Laurel,” he said, when he was close enough to reach her. Laurel smiled and turned, nearly tripping over a chair. Luca clasped her arm to prevent her from falling, giving a low chuckle. “You are looking so pretty tonight,” he said, looking into her eyes. He decided he liked her slender glasses very much; they gave her a deserved air of intelligence, like a hard-working college student; a charming student, with a lovely smile.

“Thank you, uh, yes... well, thanks,” Laurel said, feeling like an idiot. “I would say you look nice too, but I think you know you do.” Luca threw back his head and laughed. He held out his arm to the young blond woman.

“You are honest, which I like,” he said, smiling fondly. “Come... we should meet the others.” Laurel smiled, her confidence boosted a little by Luca’s words.

“One more place card to switch...” she said; she bent down and traded the last cards around. “There,” she said, smiling at her handiwork. She took Luca’s arm, admitting to herself that he did look really, really good.

“You want to do all this for yourself, someday?” Luca said, indicating the tables with his hand. He tried to sound as casual as possible but his calm words belied the intense questions in his eyes.

“No, I don’t think so,” Laurel said, after a moment.

For a brief moment, a look of sadness flitted across Luca’s face. A small dream in his mind started to fade away.

“You are too busy with your job, then… to marry?” he inquired, trying to hide the hurt in his voice. Laurel stopped and looked up at him, surprised.

“Oh, no...” she said. “That’s not I meant. All this wedding ceremony and reception and invitation stuff is so much work that I wouldn’t want to do it for my wedding. I think I’d rather elope, or something much simpler.” A little encouraged, Luca stepped around in front of Laurel, looking into her eyes; his face was so sober and serious Laurel wondered what she’d said, though his expression held no anger.

“So, this job of yours, it occupies so much of your time… do you want to do it all your life?” he asked, his voice very soft. Laurel felt extremely vulnerable; she hated feeling like that. In spite of her reservations, something in Luca’s eyes made her want to reach out and meet him halfway.

“It’s been great, but… well, like Michelle I want a family someday,” she admitted. “I don’t like being lonely.”

Luca gave Laurel a tender smile, one which spoke of secret and wonderful things; she had never seen a look like that from anyone before, least of all directed at her. The man slid one hand behind her neck and leaned down, pressing his mouth gently over hers. The kiss was very short, but it conveyed a clear message. Speechless, Laurel let Luca lead her towards the others, not really caring if anyone had just seen that.

William and Michelle were talking pleasantly with Margaret and Oscar, when a loud voice sounded out in the corridor. The double doors stood open, enabling all in the room to hear every word.

“Where’s the Englishman who’s marrying a Scot?” came a loud voice, in a thick accent. Oscar laughed; he turned towards the door with a broad smile.

“Donnan Gregory, get your sorry ass in here!” he bellowed. In the doorway appeared a tall, well-built man in his late forties, wearing an honest-to-God kilt; he even wore the tall, white stockings and peculiar shoes of a highlander. Beside the newcomer stood a slender red-haired lady in a dark blue gown; she looked old enough to be the man’s wife. Oscar strolled over to greet them, carrying his drink. Michelle was relieved her uncle was somewhat familiar with the newcomers. William tugged slightly on her arm and they moved to join them.

Oscar and Donnan Gregory were engaged in a laughing conversation already. The red-haired lady beside him was joined by three young men, all in dark suits; they looked much like their father, though one had red hair, like his mother. The blue gowned woman looked around and immediately saw Michelle.

“Oh, my word...” the lady said, smiling at Michelle fondly. “You look so much like your mother, my dear, and older than your pictures.” Michelle smiled back, trying to place the woman in her catalog of names. “Maggie Gregory,” the lady enlightened her, patting her arm. “My husband is Donnan, one of your father’s cousins.” She pronounced the kilt-wearing man’s name as DO-nan.

“I am glad to meet you, Maggie,” Michelle said. “I certainly wish I’d kept better in touch with my extended family. This is my fiancé, William Montgomery.” Maggie looked up at William and smiled, taking his offered hand.

“What a lovely couple you make! I thank you both for having us at your wedding,” she said, earnestly. Michelle liked her soft accent very much; it sounded comforting. “It has been some time since there was a wedding in the family... and even longer since we visited the States.”

“Indeed.” One of the young men behind Maggie spoke up; he looked to be a little younger than William. He winked at Michelle with an unabashed grin. “Had we known there were such pretty girls here we would have come sooner.” Michelle kept her snort very quiet; she felt William chuckle beside her. The young man’s mother poked his shoulder and scowled back at the boy.

“Don’t mind them, they’re good boys all of them,” she said to Michelle. “He’s Drostan, my eldest, the middle one’s Maon and the youngest is Roidh.” Michelle gave small curtsy and William shook hands all around. He gave an especially strong grip to the eldest. Drostan matched gazes with him and grinned.

“Your mother was wonderful about sending letters, with pictures.” Maggie said, “You’re so grown up and getting married! Oh... how lovely.” She dabbed at her eyes with a little hankie.

“Actually, we’ll be visiting Scotland for our honeymoon,” Michelle said. “Though William won’t tell me where.” She looked up at her fiancé who quirked an eyebrow at her. Maggie looked at William expectantly. He cleared his throat.

“It’s not far from Perth, in Fife up near St. Andrews,” he said, smiling down at Michelle. “Take that, you little minx,” he thought, fondly. Michelle filed the information away to Google later. Maggie apparently knew something she didn’t, as she smiled very wide and patted Michelle’s arm.

“I’ll not ruin the surprise, but you’ll love it, my dear,” she said.

Introductions were made all around; three more distant Gregory cousins came in with families in tow and were boisterously welcomed. They were pleasant, lively people all dressed nicely; they seemed genuinely happy to be there. Two of the younger Gregory girls shyly wished Michelle and William well for their wedding tomorrow; they giggled and blushed as young teenagers do, looking at William. He rolled his eyes when they drifted off, making Michelle laugh softly. Laurel and Luca politely greeted the Gregorys and then wandered off by themselves again. Margaret saw them and looked over at Michelle, smiling. She and Maggie Gregory seemed to be well matched in conversation skill and were soon were chatting like old friends. Michelle was very pleased at how well everyone seemed to get along.

“Is your family going to show?” she asked her fiancé as they stood a little away from the various conversations. William gave her a rueful smile.

“I am afraid they are the fashionably-late type, my love,” he told her. He was a bit put off by their tardiness, but that would be addressed later.

“If they are too fashionably late, they may leave fashionably 'hungry',” Michelle returned, playing with her glass. Dinner was just about to be served. William seemed to find her statement amusing and smiled to himself.

Oscar walked over to them, with Donnan in tow.

“Michelle, meet my cousin, Donnan Gregory,” he said, smiling. The man clasped Michelle’s hand with a warm, firm grip.

“A lovely girl, you are,” he said, with a broad smile. The man radiated good decent charm and a natural happiness from his clear, green eyes. “Your father visited us with Oscar when they were just boys, a long time ago now. Fair tricksters, the both of them...” Michelle smiled and laughed softly at these words. It was odd to think of her steady, hard-working father as a 'trickster'.

“I am very glad you and your family came,” she said. “I hope your rooms are comfortable.” Donnan snorted.

“Aye, they are; like for a duke and duchess,” he said, smiling again. “Very commodious indeed; my brood will be spoilt staying here too long...”

Michelle saw a movement at the door from the corner of her eye; a regal young woman stood in the doorway, dressed in a glowing, ruby-red gown. Donnan’s three sons nudged each other, grinning. Michelle was a little put off by the newcomer’s audacity. An unspoken rule exists when dealing with clothing and engagements/weddings: do not outshine the bride. Michelle did not know many refinements of high-society manners, yet even she was familiar with this one rule of etiquette.

William felt Michelle’s posture stiffen a little; turning, he saw his cousin, Anne standing in the door and immediately wished she hadn’t come. It was very poor taste to wear something that flashy to an engagement party. Not one for believing in bad omens, William was nonetheless a little insulted by his own cousin’s lack of manners. Her mother had taught her better.

“Did I mention some of my relations are conceited cods?” he whispered to Michelle. She turned and gave him a forgiving smile.

“You did,” she returned. “What will she wear tomorrow? A neon-orange jumpsuit?” William laughed, shaking his head.

“I’ll dump an ice bucket on her if she does,” he promised. “She's my cousin Anne. There’s my Aunt Florence now, and her husband Roderick.” Michelle looked over; an elegant older woman stood by the red-clad girl; she was more tastefully dressed in a deep burgundy dress and jacket. Though her face was similar in form to Margret’s, she looked older and much sterner. Margaret saw her sister’s family and strolled over to them.

“Let’s stay here, love,” William suggested, quietly. “They can come to us.” Smiling up at him, Michelle nodded.

They spent a happy few moments prying into Donnan Gregory’s memories of Oscar and Michelle’s father as young teenagers.

“There was that time we all slipped out of the house after dark and set firecrackers ‘round ol’ MacGill’s garden,” the man recounted, rubbing his chin. “The old boy were in World War II; when we set them off, he awoke thinking the Japs were upon his wee house.” At this Oscar laughed very hard, slapping his knee.

“I remember that...” he wheezed. “He yelled out like a dervish at first, but then it got really quiet. He pulled out a single shot rifle from somewhere and began plunking away at us.”

“Aye, and a good shot too, even after all those years,” Donnan mused. “He winged me in the shoulder and grazed yer father’s leg. An’ here Oscar got away wit’ not a scratch, the lucky sod.” Michelle laughed discreetly into her hand. William was entrenched in the story and didn’t even notice his aunt standing nearby.

“If you are done listening to vulgar stories, William, perhaps you can say 'hello' to your family,” came a crisp voice.

William grinned and turned to look down on his Aunt Florence from his considerable height advantage. He knew she detested that.

“Aunt Florence,” he said, nodding at her politely. “May I present my future bride, Michelle Gregory.” Michelle gave a polite curtsy, and for William sake a smile she would give to him. The woman did not appear sneering, just suspicious, Michelle thought; they regarded one another as if scrutiny would somehow bridge the gap.

“I am very pleased to meet you ma’am,” Michelle said, in her quiet way; she sounded much more confident than she felt. Margret’s sister smiled, just a little.

“Though it was a bit rushed, this wedding, we are glad to be able to attend.” As she spoke, the woman critically eyed Michelle’s stomach. Inwardly Michelle bristled, knowing the woman was expecting to see a ‘bulge’.

“I certainly hope your room is comfortable,” Michelle said, forcing her voice to be warm and calm.

“It is acceptable, thank you,” the woman said; her voice was laced with enough condescension to bring up the ire in any bride. Michelle laughed a little, causing ‘Aunt Florence’ to give her a sharp, questioning look.

“The hotel manager told me that the Prince of Monaco and Princes Grace found that suite ‘acceptable’ as well,” Michelle said, her voice tinged with humor.

A man next to Florence hid his laugh in a cough. Looking at him, Michelle saw he returned her smile warmly. The man embodied mature, British gentry with calm grace upon his gray brow; Michelle immediately liked him, despite his rather icy wife. Grinning, the man clapped William on the shoulder.

“William you sly dog,” the man said, still smiling. “Somehow you managed to convince a fair dryad to marry you, eh?”

“Michelle this is Roderick Jamieson II, my uncle,” William introduced. Michelle accepted the man’s offered hand with a real smile. “He’s one of the better relations.”

“Nonsense, nonsense... welcome to the family, my dear,” he kissed the back of Michelle’s hand. “Roddy, Annie, come meet William’s fiancée.” He spoke over his shoulder to the red-clad girl and her male counterpart; they came forward almost reluctantly.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Michelle said, shyly.

“William,” Roddy said, clasping hands with William. “Long time old boy.” The young man let his eyes drift down to Michelle. “Bloody hell… she’s damn gorgeous,” he said, smiling. “Lucky sod.” The last part he said under his breath. William grinned.

“Thank you Rod,” he answered. “She has a name, you know.”

“Yes, Miss Michelle Gregory, soon to be Mrs. Montgomery,” Roddy said, smiling down at Michelle. “Charmed, ‘m sure.” He looked over at some of the Gregory girls, talking with their families. “Beauty seems to run in the family,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Anne, the daughter, stepped forward and gave William a kiss on the cheek; it left a ruby-red smudge. Without ceremony, William took out a handkerchief and wiped it off.

“Anne,” was all he said. The young woman looked at Michelle with a bored expression. Something in her manner reminded Michelle very much of the evil Cassandra, though minus the driving ambition.

“William... so, it took a pauper to tempt you towards matrimony,” she said, lightly. “I did not expect that.”

“I’m not surprised,” Michelle spoke up; her voice, though quiet, held a surprising confidence. Anne looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “The elite never expect much from the common man, until they are amassed on the front lawn... erecting a guillotine.”

The nearby chatter halted. Anne stared at Michelle, mouth open. William looked down at his fiancée, eyebrows raised; a slow, broad smile overtook his features.

“Bloody hell; she’s a genius,” he thought. Feeling confidence wash over her, Michelle gave a light laugh at Anne’s expression.

“Oh, don’t worry, she said, “You’re fairly safe here...” She pointed over to her relatives. The Gregory relations—who were surreptitiously listening to the whole conversation--grinned at the stunned debutante. “I’ll keep them in check,” Michelle finished, with a smile. Anne worked her mouth into a fairly decent sneer and turned to find something with alcohol in it.

“I can see you and I will become good friends,” Roderick Jamieson said, exceedingly amused. “History buff, eh? Most impressive.”

“I second that,” William said, giving Michelle a very warm look. The moment his uncle turned away, he leaned down and addressed Michelle’s ear. “You are a clever little minx, do you know that? It’s an incredible turn-on.” It took Michelle all of two minutes to stop blushing.

The rest of the ‘gathering’ turned out better than Michelle thought it would; no one was killed, no blood was shed; her little comment about guillotines seemed to rattle the aristocracy enough to actually be civil. Donnan Gregory couldn’t stop laughing about it.

“Oh, I’ll have to use that one; that’s for certain,” he said, approvingly. “That’s the Gregory brain for you. Not so large, mind you but every gray cell alive and kicking.” The dinner proved excellent, comprising of subtle fall-orientated dishes with seasonal vegetables and fresh-baked bread. Drinks and good food seemed to placate William’s relatives and quiet Michelle’s. The after feeling was more conversational and a general bonhomie reigned. The happy couple received many well-wishes for the morrow’s nuptials.

After the last guest said a reluctant goodnight, William found himself alone with his almost-bride as the servers cleaned up.

“Can I walk you to your taxicab, my lady?” he offered; his smile was full of fondness and something like pride. “I’m certain your uncle is out there waiting.” His fiancée nodded; they walked towards the lobby slowly, enjoying a few moments of quiet.

“I hope you’re not too angry with me for scaring the heck out of your cousin,” Michelle said, softly. She had not meant to insult anyone, even the ill-mannered rich girl. William actually chuckled. The warm sound of it made Michelle relax immediately.

“I told you to defend yourself with them,” he said, sighing happily. “You dished back exactly what was served... I’m very proud of you.” Looking down into his fiancée’s eyes, William was glad to see real delight in them. “Admit it, you had fun.” Michelle smiled.

“Yes, I did,” she acquiesced. “The relatives, yours and mine, were not as I feared. They are all capable of civilized behavior and intelligent conversation.”

William spied Michelle’s uncle standing by the door, his coat already on.

“I will part company with you here, my love,” he said, kissing the back of Michelle’s hand. “You look far too lovely to... well, I am certain you can figure out why.” He got one more blush from his sweet Michelle and achieved his silent goal. “Goodnight, my dear one.”

“Goodnight, William,” Michelle whispered, feeling like she was tearing a limb off her off to leave him, though such a  thought occurred to her as being a bit dramatic. “Until tomorrow.”

An hour later, Michelle found herself in her uncle’s spare room, getting ready to sleep. Her traveling bag stood--already packed--waiting by the door. Running her hand over the scuffed, brown leather, Michelle felt idiotically happy, yet anxious. She forced herself to refrain from thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and went to shower. After drying her hair, Michelle settled into her bed, smiling as she thought of what tomorrow might bring.

“Sleep will be elusive tonight,” she thought, though the idea did not bother her. William was worth all the blissful angst in the world.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

4:30AM found Michelle already wide awake. Try as she might the bride-to-be could not fall back asleep. Sitting cross-legged on the gray bedspread, she fingered the claim ticket for her wedding dress; it was still safety tucked away in the Waldorf’s ‘vault’. Glancing at the clock for what seemed the millionth-time, Michelle sighed. Though a somewhat juvenile emotion, she felt keen impatience descend upon her, along with a sort of happy anxiousness.

“In only five hours… I get to put on my gorgeous dress and wait around some more,” she thought; she did not feel nervous now. More like she was on a major sugar high with nowhere to go work it off. Covering her face, Michelle laughed at herself. She’d consumed neither sugar nor caffeine and did not know from whence such energy sprung. Hopefully, it would last.

Another five minutes slowly ticked by. Michelle gave up on the pretense of patience and got on the floor; she did crunches, push-ups and sit-ups until her stomach muscles ached. By the time she finished exercising the clock only read 5AM. Breathing hard Michelle lay on her back, resting for just a moment.

“This is probably my last day in this room,” she mused aloud. Sighing, the bride got up and walked over to the spare-room closet. She chose some simple, comfortable things to wear and packed the rest in a garment bag. That and her travel bag would be accompanying her everywhere today. Undressing quickly, she stuffed her pajamas in a plastic bag and into a side pocket of her brown travel bag. She debated calling William, but refrained. As fun as it would be to wake him, if he’d experienced anything like she had last night, it would be cruel to wake him.

Michelle sat in the hot shower a long time. The water did help calm her down; waves of drowsiness washed over her like a warm, slow-rising tide. She dried her hair very slowly on the coolest setting, brushing it out until it shone.

“There’s something very calming about brushing hair,” she thought. Laughing at herself, Michelle wondered if she could even crowbar the smile off her face. It felt permanently etched there, the result of her deep well of euphoria within. The clock only read 6am as she exited the bathroom; in an hour and a half Laurel would be arriving to pick her; they’d drive to get Margaret and spend a half hour or so at a spa. Looking down at her toes, Michelle wondered if the pedicurists would be repulsed at her home-job. Sighing, Michelle suddenly felt very tired.

“Just a few minutes,” she said, to herself. Sleep claimed Michelle the moment her head hit the pillow.

Laurel knocked on the door five times before she heard sounds from inside.

“Hello?” The bride’s voice seemed full of sleep. Laurel smiled.

“It’s seven, already,” she said, cheerfully. “I do hope you’ve showered.” Michelle sat up on her bed.

“I have actually,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Give me two minutes and I’ll be down.” The short nap did her good, though she yawned a great deal while dressing. Michelle dragged on her black tights and a black skirt, a white shirt and sweater and her black boots. For fun she put on a red scarf, feeling a bit entitled to wear the vivacious color this day. No hue on the light spectrum was brighter than Michelle’s smile; she almost skipped down the stairs, holding her two pieces of luggage. Her excitement grew with each step.

Drake, Daniels, Laurel and her uncle were all downstairs, waiting. Michelle shook her head at them, unable to stop smiling.

“Look at you!” Laurel said, with a misty look in her eyes. “You’re positively glowing...” Michelle laughed.

“With happiness or radiation?” she inquired lightly. Laurel rolled her eyes.

“Har, har... really, you look sweet,” she countered. “Now, come on... we have just enough time to pick up your almost-mother-in-law.” Michelle nodded. She saw Oscar get up from the couch; he looked like he wanted to say something but did not. Michelle decided to help him out.

Walking over to her uncle, she smiled at him with real warmth.

“You made this all possible, you know,” she said, softly; her eyes shone with unshed tears. Oscar frowned, his face twisting a little. There was no way he was trying not to cry. None.

“Now don’t get all mushy on me,” he said, gruffly. “Its my pleasure..” He let his niece give him a hug. He leaned down and kissed Michelle’s forehead; it was a fatherly gesture. Michelle realized he was saying a fond ‘farewell’, in his own way. Wiping her eyes, Michelle gave him a sweet smile and stepped away.

“Well...” her uncle said, smiling back. “You won’t have the name Gregory much longer but I think you’ll like your new one just fine.”

“I will,” Michelle said; she spoke the words like a promise, one her uncle seemed to understand.

“Well, get on with you,” he said, picking up his paper. “You don’t want to be late for appointments on this day.” Michelle shook his offered hand and grabbed her luggage. The bride and her entourage walked out the door to the waiting car.

Nobody made fun of Michelle’s unfading smile as they drove onward. The young bride did not bubble or talk incessantly, throw tantrums or squeal. Happiness radiated serenely from her face as she gazed out the window. Margaret was waiting for them at the lobby doors of William’s building and skipped daintily out to the car as it pulled up; she held a garment bag of her own. The white-haired matron greeted all in the car warmly, but seemed to know more words were not necessary; the entire party rode onward in a sort of calm quiet. Somehow, each felt Michelle’s tempered joy and respected it. After all, there would not be many peaceful moments today, at least until after the reception.

A half hour later, Michelle was seated in a sort of sitting room of large comfy chairs, her feet soaking in some kind of mineral bath; the little basins were built right into the floor in front of each chair. Looking to her right, she saw Margaret was enjoying her foot soak.

“What a clever idea,” the older woman remarked, smiling. “Most relaxing; Laurel, you are a genius.” The young blond woman sat across from Michelle and Margaret, her feet also in a hot basin.

“I’ve actually never been here,” she said. “I should bring my mom here for Mother’s Day.” A young girl in white staff uniform came by and scattered rose petals in the mineral baths. The hot water and the relaxing music playing the background made Michelle’s eyelids feel very heavy. Her lack of sleep the night before weighed in, letting its strong opinion be known.

Laurel looked up at Michelle a minute later, about to ask a question; she stopped and smiled. Getting Margret’s attention via waving, she pointed at Michelle. The bride was fast asleep, her head leaning on one side of the chair.

“How adorable,” Margaret said, quietly. “I do wish I had a camera.” Laurel giggled softly.

“Oh, no... she’d never forgive us!” she said, smiling. “She does look cute, though; like a little kid napping in a big chair. She must have been up a lot last night.” Margaret nodded sagely.

“William was as well, poor boy,” she said, in a quiet voice. ”He had 'the jitters' something terrible. When I left this morning I think he was finally asleep. But, not to worry; Alfred has strong orders to wake him in time.” Laurel smiled, nodding.

Margaret looked at the blond woman carefully a moment.

“If I may, you seem to like Luca D’ Angelo very much,” she said, casually. Laurel bit her lip and nodded.

“I do,” she admitted. She looked at Margaret. “Michelle told me she’d met his mother.”

“Sophie. Yes; she’ll be at the wedding.” Margaret smiled encouragingly at the girl. “You’ll like her as well, I imagine, and even better… I can safety say she'll love you.” Laurel blushed happily, allowing herself a few wistful thoughts of her own.

The hair-stylists came into the room and naturally woke Michelle up as they began taking out her ponytail. She rubbed her eyes, looking a little more refreshed.

“Wow, I’m so rude. Please forgive me,” she mumbled. A staff member brought her a strong cup of cappuccino. Margaret laughed.

“Nonsense, my dear. I am glad you had a little nap. You’ll need it before you leave today.” Michelle gave the elegant lady a grateful smile and drank her coffee.

The stylist listened to Laurel and Michelle as they described what Amelia from the bridal dress boutique had done to Michelle’s hair.

“It was all up in a simple kind of Roman style, with a plain white, sheer band over her head, tied down by the back of her neck,” Laurel said, dreamily. “It was perfect with her gown.” A well-made up stylist stood behind Michelle; the woman opened a wooden case on a table nearby and looked through several compartments; she apparently found what she was looking for and brought out large, ceramic hot rollers. Michelle let the stylist do her work but nervously waited, not being able to watch; there were no mirrors around. The stylist worked quickly; she managed to pile Michelle’s silky tresses similarly to how Amelia had. Instead of a plain wide sheer ribbon over her head, however, the girl found two thin, white ribbons, placed slightly apart. She dabbed a small amount of some kind of weak glue on the back of the ribbons to hold them in place. Laurel clapped her hands, seeing the finished product.

“Oh, you look like one of those girls from Pride and Prejudice!” she said, smiling. Margaret nodded her approval as well.

“Yes, definitely a Regency flavor; very elegant my dear,” she agreed, smiling. “It shows off your neck and face perfectly. I can hardly wait to see how it looks with your gown.”

“William will sure like it,” Laurel said, grinning. Michelle blushed.

“I’ve no doubt he will,” she said, smiling at the floor.

After thanking the stylist and staff, they slipped out of the spa and into Sunday morning traffic. The bridal party made it to the Waldorf in plenty of time, however. Michelle felt quite eager to get her dress out of the vault; with Daniels at her side, she stood at the front counter in the lobby and signed the paperwork. Mr. Chan was summoned to sign off on it. He smiled at Michelle and personally fetched the thick, white garment bag that held her precious gown.

“Many happy returns, Miss Michelle,” he said, smiling at her. “Thank you for the invitation; it was most kind. Work, however impedes.” Michelle smiled at him.

“I understand. Thank you for all your kindness,” she said, gratefully. Mr. Chan smiled and shook his head.

“You have saved this hotel a lot of money,” he remarked. “There will always be a room here for you.” With this he gave a little bow and walked away.

“A very pleasant man,” Margaret said, approvingly.

Daniels held the gown with care, draped over his arms; he and the ladies followed Michelle to the Starlight Roof room, where the wedding and reception would be held. All was prepared within; Margaret and Laurel both gasped and smiled at the sight of the room. Michelle had somewhat followed the décor of Amelia at the Bridal Accents boutique, with sheer white fabric draped down here and there, with just a few pale pink rose garlands. A small, white canopy adorned one end of the room, where William and Michelle would say their vows. The dark roof of the room was lit with hundreds of tiny lights; their light glanced off the chandeliers like sparkling stars.

“Oh, my dear, it’s lovely!” Margaret said, with one hand to her chest. “Really beautiful... and you didn’t overdo it with a bunch of frills.” She nodded several times, looking around.

The chairs for the seventy-plus guests had been donned with white slipcovers; they were arranged before the altar in smooth, semi-circle rows flanking the central aisle. Flowering rose-trees had been set up in white planters on either side of the canopy, completing the romantic look of the room.

“It will all be moved around for the reception, apparently,” Michelle said; she surveyed the room with a dreamy expression. In the corner, a string quartet warmed up their instruments with partial notes and the faint plucking of strings. There was not a thing out of place.

“We should get you dressed, my dear,” Margaret reminded her, gently.

Like the Conrad suite, the reception hall had a small, private room off to one side in which to dress and prepare. Daniels left the ladies to themselves and took off on his own errand, namely getting ready himself. The wedding started in one hour. In the dressing room, Margaret made certain the door was locked and laid out the wedding dress bag on a divan. Laurel collected hers and Margret’s dresses and hung them on the back of the door. There was a privacy screen for dressing behind; Michelle ducked behind it to undress.

It did not matter if butterflies weren’t really able to get in one’s stomach. Michele felt every flutter of each imaginary wing and had to breathe deeply, many times. Oddly, despite the nervousness, she couldn’t stop smiling. Her inner joy seemed to reach an overflow valve as the minutes went by; Michelle bit her lip to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. Taking out her white lingerie she dressed carefully. The strapless bra fit well enough, though it pushed up Michelle’s breast a little more than she would have liked.

“Ah well,” she thought, biting her lip. “William will like that part, anyway.” The idea made her blush. She wore no stockings, having carefully shaved her legs earlier in the 5am shower; she did however put on a half slip and stepped into the delicate bridal shoes she’d picked out at Amelia’s boutique.

“I think I’m ready for the gown now,” Michelle said. “Would you be so kind as to hand it to me?” Margaret unzipped the bag herself and helped Laurel bring the gown over.

“It looks lovely just by itself, Michelle,” the older lady said. “Though you’d look a lovely bride in anything, I’ll wager.” At her side Laurel giggled.

“Yes; you could pull of a white track suit and sneakers,” she said, smiling. Michelle snorted but laughed a little at the suggestion

“That would go over well,” she said. “it would have saved  alto of money having the wedding at a gym.”

Taking the gown from Margaret, Michelle stepped into it gingerly, slowly drawing it up over her hips. She was careful not to mark the white fabric with her hands; her palms felt a little damp.

“I’m already nervous,” she thought, biting her lip.

“Do you need a hand fastening it up, my dear?” Margaret inquired, kindly. Michelle nodded, taking another deep breath. The elegant lady smiled as she zipped up the gown and fastened the two, tiny, white-covered buttons at the top. She stepped back, dabbing at her eyes with a hankie. “Michelle, my dear... I honestly think you’re the prettiest bride I ever saw.” Laurel nodded, sighing.

“You look like Princess Grace... but with more skin,” she said. Michelle laughed, alleviating her nerves a little.

“Yes, more skin,” she said, moving her shoulders back. “I feel nearly half-naked in this.” Margaret chuckled at the young woman’s flushed face.

“Well, it is a stylish kind of bare skin…” she interjected, judiciously. “… But, acceptable on this day, despite the weather. I can say that William will definitely appreciate it, as will every other man in the room.”

Michelle let out a soft laugh. Taking a deep breath, she ventured a look at the long wall mirror. The sight that greeted her eyes caused an almost overwhelming sentiment to well up within her. The girl looking back at her was a far cry from the waif-like, lonely street artist she’d resembled, not six weeks ago. Every little girl wants to look like a princess on her wedding day; Michelle did not have a crown, or train or hordes of guests, servants or a castle but she felt better than royalty. No royal ever felt this happy, of that she was certain. The beauty of finding her soul-mate descended on her like a mist; the day would not end with the sunset, nor would this feeling soon disappear. Certainly, life would not be always as roses in full bloom, but at the very least Michelle had her right companion to work through it all with.

Michelle turned her gentle smile and teary eyes to Margaret.

“Thank you so much for accepting me into your family,” she began. “You’re a beautiful lady. I thought that when you spied William’s portrait that day, on my corner. I wished you would just pass by, I was so ashamed of my appearance.” Margaret looked near tears herself, but Michelle continued. “You welcomed me with open arms and I will never forget that.” Margaret gave the young bride a warm hug, though she was careful of Michelle’s dress.

“My dear girl, if I’d had a daughter I would have wanted her to be like you in every way,” the woman said, gently. “I am just so glad I saw that picture, though I think William would have noticed you eventually. You’re a good, sweet girl; I am certain you and he will be very happy together.” Margaret wiped her eyes and went to dress behind the screen.

Laurel blew her nose into a handkerchief.

“Don’t you dare say anything like that to me,” she said, frowning. “I’m already crying like a pre-teen at a chick flick.” Laughing softly, Michelle gave the young blond woman a hug.

“I think I’ve found a good friend in you, Laurel,” she said, smiling. “You know perfectly well things would not have been done if you’d not been here. I don’t care if it was your job. You did it exceptionally, and you have my thanks.” Laurel sniffed again and looked around for a tissue box.

“You really do look gorgeous in that dress,” she quipped, blowing her nose again.

“I bet Luca sees only you in your gown,” Michelle said, quietly. “It compliments your skin and hair so well.” Laurel perked up at this.

“Really? I wonder if he’s here already...” The young blond woman gathered her dress and ducked into the bathroom. Taking her purse, Michelle dragged a high chair over to the wall mirror; setting her purse on top, she stood by the mirror putting on her makeup, not wanting to sit down and muss her dress.

The sounds of gathering voices slowly grew out in the reception hall. Some minutes later, a soft knock came at the dressing room door. Margaret came out from behind the screen. The white-haired lady wore a long, pale-blue gown with elegant sleeves; she looked a little younger on this happy day. The spa stylist had rolled her hair inward in a kind of reverse crown; she looked very aristocratic, even without the dark blue stones around her neck. Moving to the door, the elderly lady opened it, just a little. James Torville stood there in an old-fashioned suit, and bow tie; a camera danged around his neck. Michelle smiled at him.

“Let him in, please, Margaret,” she said, softly. “This is Mr. Torville, our photographer. Mr. Torville, meet my future mother-in-law, Margaret Montgomery.”

“Charmed,” Mr. Torville said, with a benevolent smile. Margaret won a few points with the man by naming one of the magazines he worked for, saying she’d seen his work. Mr. Torville smiled at her, but his eyebrows rose as he beheld the bride. Michelle leaned forward towards the mirror, putting the last touches on her makeup. She did not notice the man taking pictures of her doing so, nor when she paused and smiled at her reflection. James Torville was adept at going unnoticed; of this he took full advantage for his pictures. Standing by the door Margaret watched the bride carefully put on lip gloss, smiling to herself.

Another knock came at the door. This time it was Oscar.

“Groom isn’t here yet,” he stated. He looked over at Michelle and stared. “Holy...” he began. Michelle smiled and softly laughed at her uncle’s expression. Oscar grinned at Margaret. “At least we don’t have to worry about whether he’ll show up or not.”

“Of course we don’t,” Margaret said, pretending to be miffed. “He’s an upstanding, hard-working British man. He'd never jilt his bride.”

“British or not, no man could resist a fiancée like that,” Oscar said, proudly. “You look beautiful, Michelle.” Smiling, Michelle gave her uncle a kiss on the cheek, trying not to cry. Oscar rubbed the lip gloss off his face, still grinning. “Ok, ok... no more of that. I’ll go see what’s keeping the groom. Most of the guests are here from what I can see.”

“Do you need William’s cell number?” Margaret asked. Oscar smiled, mysteriously.

“Nope,” he said, letting himself out.

Michelle turned and saw Mr. Torville lowering his camera.

“You uncle is correct, in my opinion,” the older man said; his bright eyes shone out with a young light in his aged face. “If I was twenty years younger and the groom didn’t show, I would gladly take his place.” Blushing, Michelle laughed, a little embarrassed.

“I thank you, sir,” she said, biting her lip. She turned to the mirror again to complete her makeup job. When nothing more was to be done, Michelle contented herself with slowly walking around the room until Margaret begged her to sit.

“Really my dear, sit; you don’t want to get sweaty, do you?” Michelle sat down. Arranging her skirt absently, she exuded a calm she did not feel and wondered what William was doing at that moment.

WILLIAM MONTGOMERY up on his wedding day a little tired. Like Michelle, his night had been mostly sleepless. He’d spent most of the late hours putting together and finishing a new piece of furniture, the most complicated he’d attempted yet. It was a gift for his bride. A chilly shower helped wake him better than a double espresso, though he had one of those as well. Alfred brought in William’s tuxedo into his room, newly arrived from the cleaners.

“I believe your bride will have a rose boutonnière waiting for you there sir, as she is.” William chuckled at this.

“Indeed,” he answered. For some reason his hands shook a little as he attempted to put on his cuff links. Taking a deep breath, he smiled. “How silly,” he thought. “Why am I nervous?”

Alfred chuckled a little. At the moment his employer was very easy to read.

“There is no rhyme or reason to it, Master William,” he said, smiling. “The nervousness just happens. I am not aware of one single groom who wasn’t thusly affected.” Sighing, William raked his hand through his hair. The older man chuckled again and laid out William’s jacket. “Are you all packed, sir?” he asked, straightening up. William nodded.

“Yes. It’s all by the door,” he answered.

“I think you’re all ready then, sir,” Alfred said, quietly. William gave his aging valet a brief smile; a little of his confidence returned.

“I am, Alfred,” said the groom. Alfred nodded, well pleased. Nothing more needed to be said.

Alfred ate a little breakfast, though William did not. He knew that if anything solid went into his stomach, it would soon come back out. Instead, William stood by the windows of his living room, drinking coffee and gazing at the misty gray of the early morning. As a nice surprise it did not look like rain. Reaching into an inner pocket, William pulled out the precious airplane tickets for himself and his bride. It occurred to William that he’d never spent this much money in his life--except maybe his car or college education--as he had for the ring, wedding-related things and honeymoon combined. Yet, all of it didn’t matter. William knew he’d have paid a hundred times what he had in order to make Michelle his wife. No one deserved it more.

“She would marry me without a damn penny to my name,” he thought. “I could have been a street musician and she'd still have me.” William smiled at the tickets for a moment before returning them to their hidden pocket.

The groom was nearly late. Along with several other people the cab William and Alfred rode in was held up by a minor fender-bender; it was a good half hour before their cab was directed around the scene. They made good time the rest of the way and fairly sprinted into the Waldorf. Mr. Chan recognized them; flustered, William asked him where the Starlight Roof room was. The man looked him over and had the great presence of mind to hide his laughter. He walked them to the correct corridor himself and let them in the room.

“I say,” Alfred said, looking around approvingly. “Well done.”

William found a smile creeping over his face as well at the sight of the room; if there was lovely place to marry a young woman in, this was it. Several dozen guests were already seated, and above the buzz of voices sounded sweet music. In the corner a string quartet played a slow, light piece. Brahms, William suspected; for some reason his mind wouldn’t concentrate.

“Impressive, eh?” came a familiar voice. Turning his head, William saw Oscar striding towards him in a dapper tuxedo.

“Very,” the groom said. “I’m glad my bride is not prone to overdoing things.” He looked Oscar’s outfit over with a grin. “You look well, sir… though I was expecting an Uncle Sam hat.” Oscar chuckled.

“Don’t tempt me, boy,” he said, appeared genuinely amused. “I couldn’t walk Michelle down the aisle in that.” William sobered a little.

“I do thank you for helping her out,” he said, sincerely. “I would have had to resort to bribery or something equally sinister to allow for her to have a proper wedding.” Grinning, Oscar nodded.

A green-uniformed florist walked up to them at that moment, boxes in hand.

“The groom and bride’s Uncle?” she inquired. Oscar pointed at William.

“Groom,” he said. William laughed.

“Why, thank you, Bride’s Uncle,” he returned, with a grin. The florist smiled and fished out three red roses.

“I have one also for an ‘Alfred’,” she said, looking at Oscar. Alfred smiled.

“What a sweetheart Michelle is,” he said. “I’ll take that, my dear.” The florist wanted directions to the bride; Oscar pointed her in the right direction.

William looked after her, hoping to get a glimpse of Michelle.

“You’ll see her soon enough, Sport,” Oscar said, grinning. The groom looked at him expectantly.

“Have you seen her?” he asked; a very earnest curiosity tinged William’ voice. Oscar nodded.

“She told me to tell you she got her dress at the Good Will,” the man said, smirking. For just a moment, William was tempted to believe him, but the sparkle Oscar’s eyes held a familiar challenge.

“Really?” William remarked, smiling. “That’s wonderful. Michelle would look good in a paper bag.”

A KNOCK on the door made Michelle jump up. She hoped it was someone saying that William had arrived. Margaret pointed back down at the chair and went to the door. It was the florist, with Michelle’s bouquet, and smaller wrist-arrangements for Laurel and Margaret. The florist came into the room, a lady in white shirt and a green apron with her logo on it; she set down long, pale green flower boxes. The delivery boy with her stared at Michelle and winked at Laurel until the florist-woman sent him out. She smiled at the bride.

“I’ve never had an order for apple blossoms as a bridal bouquet before,” the florist said. “I will recommend it from now on; they were such fun to work with.” She lifted out the bridal bouquet with care; Michelle’s mouth dropped open a little at the sight of it.

The white blossoms had just a hint of pale pink hue to them, casting a rosy glow over the petals. Almost immediately the sweet scent of apples blossoms filled the little room. Michelle was very pleased with them; she accepted the flowers almost reverently and inhaled.

“Wow,” she said, smiling at the florist.

“Oh my dear...” Margaret breathed, clasping her hands. “What a wonderful idea, apple blossoms in November.” Laurel emerged from the restroom, and saw the flowers.

“Good, the florist. Oo... the flowers match your dress so well!” she said, smiling. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to get apple blossoms after all.” The florist nodded, impressed with her handiwork.

“Had to send for them from California,” she said. “A friend of a friend grows some indoors.”

“They are my favorite flower,” Michelle said, looking at the hundreds of small blooms fondly. The flowers cascaded neatly over her hand; a pure white, sheer ribbon tied the bundle together. She looked at the florist. “They’re just how I imagined.” The florist smiled and produced a digital camera.

“Can I have a picture for my wall?” she asked.

A cough came from the corner of the room; everyone turned to look at Mr. Torville.

“I will make certain you receive a copy, miss,” he said, lifting an eyebrow in annoyance. “Just leave your card and I’ll deliver it myself.” The florist thought that over and nodded; she gave a card to Laurel and gathered her boxes to leave.

“Oh… the flowers for the groom and my uncle?” Michelle said, suddenly remembering. The florist nodded at her.

“They are already wearing them,” she said. Michelle smiled so wide her face felt it might crack.

“He’s here...” she whispered, her eyes bright. The florist looked from Laurel to Margaret then back to the bride. With a smile, she left the room.

William stood in front of the canopy, feeling more nervous than he ever had in his life. Taking finals at Cambridge was not this nerve-racking; at least then he’d known the answers. Surreptitiously, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling beads of sweat start to form at his brow. The guests still chatted quietly, smiling at the antsy groom. Oscar had disappeared into the side room a couple minutes ago.

The little door opened, but only Margaret emerged. She looked very well; her face almost glowed with happiness. William smiled at her as a tuxedo-clad usher walked her up the aisle. She gave William a kiss on the cheek before sitting gracefully down by Alfred. His aunt Florence and Uncle Roderick and the other relations were already seated. The beaming Gregory’s and a few other people William did not know sat on the bride’s side of the aisle.

Next to William stood the minister, or rather the Colonel, in his white and black dress uniform. It was quite an impressive sight, actually. The door opened again, commanding William’s attention; Laurel stepped out and signaled to the musicians and held up one finger. She walked down the aisle on Luca’s arm. William noticed the Italian had almost magically appeared from somewhere.

“Sneaky blighter,” William thought, grinning. Luca was not one for large crowds, though he could fake it well. They sat down on Michelle’s ‘side’. Luca shot him a grin and a thumbs-up. Chuckling, William set his eyes back on the small door.

One minute later, the string quartet started to play the bridal march. All the guests stood up, effectively cutting off the little door from William’s view. A slight man with a camera circled around the guests, near the door, taking pictures. Some of the women in the small crowd gasped and smiled. William saw Oscar through the parted assembly; on the man’s arm was Michelle, his bride. It took most of William’s self control keep his jaw from dropping.

Momentarily, he was transported back to the moment he first saw Michelle, with her golden-green eyes looking out from under a gray hat, piercing his soul with a powerfully alluring curiosity. William saw a lovely young woman looking at him now, walking towards him, biting her lip and blushing... the images melded into one. Oscar gave Michelle’s hand to William and stepped back, sitting down in the front pew.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, to join together Michelle Erin Gregory and William Alexander Montgomery, in the sight of God and in view of these witnesses...” William didn’t really hear the rest; he was trying not to stare at his bride. He failed.

A strange feeling enveloped him, something both warm and calm. It felt like assurance, knowledge and harmony all rolled into one. Michelle’s slender hand rested in his; she looked shyly up at him through her long lashes. William felt his entire body relax and then all nervousness drained away from him. His bride wore some ethereal gown which looked to be specifically engineered to melt the hearts of men. It was a thing a princess would clamor to be seen in. William looked down into Michelle’s unusual eyes; she gazed back into his lovingly. William could see real happiness there; the young woman actually felt honored to be standing at the altar, with him. Deeply moved, William felt his throat catch a little.

On top of all this he could smell a sweet, familiar scent; he managed to tear his eyes from Michelle for a second and almost lost his composure. His bride was carrying apple blossoms. For a few moments, William was lost in a familiar vision; suddenly, all around them shafts of sunlight glowed. Both he and Michelle stood together in an apple orchard, under a tree; the pale pink blossoms were falling all around them. A minister with shiny medals on his white jacket spoke beautiful sentences, sounding like poetry written long ago. The good colonel asked William a question, though the groom only heard the word ‘ring’. Shaking his head to clear it, William dug in his pocket, producing both rings; a plain, platinum band for himself and the ring he’d proposed to Michelle with. She had not wanted any other than the one he’d chosen for her that wonderful day in Vermont. William slipped it on his bride’s finger.

Looking up, Michelle smiled at William, sending odd thrills racing through his brain. He squeezed Michelle’s hand slightly, slipping her the ring for his own hand. Michelle copied William’s movements; his ring seemed a little small. William grinned as he assisted her getting the cool band of shiny metal over his knuckle. The colonel continued the ceremony; though tempted to smile, he did not. The love-tied couple standing in front of him appeared to be in some other realm.

“Do you, Michelle, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, with all that you are and all that you have, to love and honor him, in the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit?”

“I do,” Michelle said; her soft voice brought William from his trance-like state. The uniformed minister was asking him a long, very familiar sentence; as it ended, the colonel looked at William.

“I do,” he said, smiling down at Michelle. A look of pure delight shone out her eyes right back up at William.

“Then by the power vested in me by God...” The colonel said, grandly, “...and the State of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may...”

William did not need an invitation; he covered Michelle’s smiling mouth with his. He did not hear the Gregorys stand up and cheer, or the general clapping that ensued; he did, however, feel Michelle’s soft arms encircle his neck and her lips as she kissed him back. Michelle was proud of herself for not crying; there were so many emotions swirling around her head and heart she felt her chest would burst. William stood there across from her, holding her hand as if it were a delicate thing, looking at her as if he didn’t really believe she was there.

“It must be the dress...” she thought, smiling. As the minister said the last words, she saw a victorious look enter William’s eyes. He didn’t wait for the man to finish the last line, but he didn’t need to. They were man and wife William was finally hers and she was, undoubtedly, his.

A camera flash filled the air; Mr. Torville smiled through the lens at the happy couple in front of him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

As soon as the servers moved the chairs, the reception embarked onto a small voyage of food, conversation and merriment. The staff set up round tables with white cloths on them along two sides of the room; three candles adorned each one and they twinkled pleasantly, like far-off harbor lights beckoning to weary seafarers. Laurel hastily doled out place cards while servers brought drinks to the guests. The musicians played on, filling the room with Michelle’s favorite piece of music, the first two movements of Beethoven’s ‘Pastoral’.

William did not let go of his bride’s hand nor did his blue eyes often leave her face. Even though he knew they would be married on this day, the groom still felt a little overwhelmed by his good fortune. Not mention being more than a little enamored with his bride and her appearance. Michelle stood like slender, living statue, casting her radiant smile upon all; she gave William shy glances and blushed prettily under his admiring gaze.

“She’s finally mine,” William thought. He repeatedly brought Michelle’s delicate fingers up to his lips, attempting to impart to his bride just a hint of their newly-validated bond. The scent of the apple blossoms followed them around the room as they personally greeted each guest. Several times, William shook his head at the wondrous coincidence of Michelle’s bouquet and his own, long-cherished dream of them picnicking in an orchard.

Michelle introduced her husband to a middle-aged couple; the man, Samuel, turned out to be a security guard here, at the hotel. His wife Mabel gave Michelle a motherly hug and wiped tears away.

“Don’t you look like the prettiest bride I ever saw...” she said, beaming. Michelle smiled fondly at her.

“Mabel and Samuel gave me the ticket to the Monet showing,” she informed William, with shining eyes. At this William shook hands warmly with Samuel and kissed Mabel’s hand.

“Then, I am indebted to you both,” he said, sincerely. “I had been looking for Michelle without any success; I saw her at the gallery that night... and, well, the rest is history.” Samuel nodded his bald head several times.

“Glad to be of service, young man,” he said, as he’d engineered the entire plan himself. “You both put on quite a party.” The hall doors opened, letting in a line of catering staff laden with trays; faint hints of good smells floating on the air. “And I do smell meat...” Samuel finished, looked over at his wife, with a coaxing grin. She smiled, with a little shrug.

“I suppose your doctors won't mind the diet going on hold, for a day,” she acquiesced. “It does smell good, if I say so myself.”

“Hot dog!” Samuel said, smiling and smacking his palms together.

William and Michelle shook hands with each family member before meandering over to the tables; warm congratulations and well wishes floated around the room like a thick, benevolent mist. The bride and groom found their seats, next to Margaret and Oscar, Alfred, and Sophie D’Angelo. Sophie was overwhelmed with the beauty of the wedding, but more so her son’s new found adoration of a sweet-looking young woman with blond curls; Laurel and Luca sat at the next table, their heads close together, with secret smiles traveling back and forth between them. Margaret and Sophie talked in hushed, happy tones, looking first at William and Michelle then over at Luca and Laurel.

“They are betting on who will have babies first,” William whispered to his bride. Michelle's face turned scarlet; she was glad lunch was being served. The looks William constantly favored her with were laden with a manifest passion, and such growing in intensity. It seemed best to distract the man with food.

Michelle’s reception lunch menu seemed universally acceptable; it is difficult to go wrong with a great piece of wonderfully cooked beef, seasonal vegetables and crisp, flaky pastry. William was touched by the British flavor and the fresh, simple dishes. Alfred complimented the caterer several times and even Margret’s stuffy family ate well. The flavors of the braised artichokes and the olive-oil milled potatoes complimented each other beautifully; the more intelligent guests knew it was meant to represent the union they’d witnessed just a half hour earlier. Even the food was in harmony. The quartet took a break as well to eat; a simple Celtic instrumental melody played in the background over the room’s sound system.

Two servers slowly brought in an elegant, white cake after the last artichoke was consumed. The cake stood in six square layers of pure white icing, with a band of deep green icing at the base of each layer; here and there laid a real, white rose with deep-green leaves. Despite its uncomplicated appearance, the cake looked delicious. William helped his fair bride up from her seat; laughing a little, they stood over the cake, facing the guests and cut the first piece together.

They did not smash cake in each others' face, though Michelle accidentally got a little icing on William’s lip as she fed him a little piece; she wiped the icing off with her fingertip, looking up at him with a shy smile. William resisted capturing her finger and licking the icing off, since there were people present. It gave him a few ideas, though; he managed to convey these thoughts to Michelle via surreptitious winks. His bride managed not to blush, barely. A server took their place and sliced off pieces of the cake for the staff to hand out.

The bride and groom did not really feel like eating much; the majority of the lunch was spent looking at each other. Michelle sipped her sparkling cider, her hand in William’s; she kept her lovely bouquet next to her plate. William stopped at one glass of Merlot with the Wellington and a single flute of champagne with the cake. He wanted his mind very clear; it was already muddled enough with Michelle’s intoxicating presence. William honestly couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She sat so close to him he could smell the clean scent of her hair and faintly the flowers she carried. Michelle’s lovely gown did not seem too revealing, since she was a bride; William though it was unequivocally the most alluring thing she’d ever worn. One of the straps on her shoulder kept sliding off her smooth shoulder; when it did, Michelle discreetly slipped it back up into place. Each time she did so William grinned at her. Whether Michelle saw this silent communication mattered not; the groom perceived much from the blushes that appeared on her face.

After consuming his cake with frank appreciation, Oscar stood up and tapped his glass with a fork.

“Thank you all for coming. I want to publicly commend William for being a man of honor,” he began. “Not many guys today want a wife and a family before they’re 39.” A little bit of laughter rippled among the guests at this. Oscar continued on unabashedly. “But... William found a girl he didn’t want to be parted from, one who was worth waiting for and buying a ring for... a girl who said ‘yes’. May your love be honest and lasting. What God has put together, no man can put asunder. To William and Michelle... Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery!”

The names of the bride and groom were hailed repeatedly as the guests stood up, each holding their glass aloft. Nearly moved to tears, Michelle blew a kiss at her uncle. William stood up and shook Oscar’s hand, his face dressed in gratitude.

Easy conversation ensued, while the last plates of cake were eaten. The bonhomie was not unwelcome, however; more drinks found their way into the hands of guests and the air grew livelier. Michelle was amazed how a little alcohol could bring down social barriers between the elitist and the commoner. Roderick Junior talked and flirted with one of the Gregory girls, though her father hovered nearby. His sister Anne, after an unsuccessful attempt to get Luca’s attention, found herself fairly surrounded by the intensely charming Gregory boys; she did not appear unhappy about it, Michelle noticed. William had never seen his cousin blush before and chuckled a good deal at the sight.

Having eaten and rested the string quartet warmed up a little and began playing a rousing waltz. William offered Michelle his hand, standing up; he winked at her a little as she stood with him. Smiling, she shook her head at his subtle tomfoolery and let him lead her out onto the cleared portion of the floor. A few other couples joined them, including Samuel and Mabel; they looked to be having a very good time and clearly loved to dance. As she danced with her husband, Michelle reminded herself that a world of rain, problems, smog, work and tears existed outside this room, but she felt no worry. Intermixed with the pains and toils of life she knew there would be moments of brevity, joy and peace; both would she share with William... the good with the bad. In his arms, Michelle felt light and safe; a simple assurance shone out from her eyes and lifted the heart of her husband. Smiling down at his lovely bride, William knew here stood a young woman who’d experienced want, pain and censure, but had never given into it. He was certain there was nothing they would not be able to endure together.

After a few dances, William stood by his bride somewhat near to the door, talking with Oscar and Donnan Gregory. Oscar, true to his character, had unbuttoned his jacket to reveal an eye-arresting ‘Stars and Stripes’ waistcoat. He wore it well however, and told Michelle he’d opted for it instead of the full ‘Uncle Sam’ outfit. Michelle smiled at him and told him she thought he was a true patriot. Oscar offered to purchase William a ‘Union Jack’ waistcoat; this offer was very politely refused.

Michelle stood with her back turned a little towards the door as she discussed amusing stories of her mother with Maggie Gregory. The bride did not see a tall, blond woman slip into the room, some twenty feet behind. The newcomer wore an expensive, black cocktail dress, which appeared a little rumpled at the moment; she walked with a slight sway, like she’d just stepped off a merry-go-round. Her odd movement caught William’s attentive eye; he stared at the woman, shocked.

“Miss Matheson?” he said, sharply; William’s tone cut through the pleasant atmosphere of the room. All eyes turned towards the unwelcome sound. Cassandra Matheson felt the looks and managed a rather melancholy smile, trying to pull herself from her alcoholic daze. As her blurry eyes encountered Michelle, she seemed to suddenly snap out of it. The young bride looked like all the things she would never be... fair, sweet and happy; Cassandra’s smile faded and her expression hardened to one of fury. Michelle stared back at her, wondering how in the world she’d found them.

“You!” Cassandra snarled. Her eyes narrowed into furious slivers. “You got me banned and humiliated!” William stepped forward to his bride’s side. Oscar and Donnan circled slowly around behind the new mystery guest.

“You did that to yourself, Miss Matheson,” William said, coolly “Society frowns on assaulting people in public.”

“No one invited you here,” Michelle said, warily. “You need to leave.”

“Not yet,” Cassandra spat. “I have a gift for the bride...” She reached into her large, designer purse and stepped forward. Whatever the drunken, misguided woman had planned, she did not get the chance to execute it; Donnan and Oscar had Cassandra by each arm before she could take another breath. They bodily dragged her out of the room, so quickly it almost seemed she hadn’t been there at all. After the door closed, the guests looked at each other, bewildered.

Margaret took a sip of her wine, her face surprisingly calm.

“I knew I didn’t like that girl,” she said, clearly. William gave a short laugh; even Michelle managed a weak smile. Turning to the guests, the groom smiled and indicated the door with his hand.

“Sorry folks,” he said. “Ex-girlfriend.” The men all nodded sympathetically and went back to their various conversations, while the women shook their heads in disapproval. In spite of the tense few moments, Michelle smiled a little into her bouquet at Margret’s critical expression.

William and Michelle did not stay long after that. They did not do the traditional suggestive-search-for-the-garter bit. Michelle did, however, toss her bouquet. Laurel did not catch it, though she did not mind that fact so much. Luca picked up a fallen blossom and tucked it behind her ear, with a kiss. Catching it just didn’t seem necessary; it fell instead to one of Michelle’s younger cousins, who blushed prettily as she received the teasing remarks. Roderick Junior chose that moment to wink at the girl, an action which caused her face to flame even brighter; the girl’s father cleared his throat and glared at the young, British aristocrat.

William hovered by his bride’s side once the bouquet-merriment had died down.

“Our plane leaves in two hours my love,” he whispered to his bride. “We will still have to clear security, though there will be little waiting in line.” Michelle smiled up at him.

“I want to go as well,” she said, quietly. Grinning, William let his eyes take in his bride’s form without trepidation.

“Is your gown comfortable?” he asked; he looked at Michelle with an expression she found difficult to fathom. She nodded.

“Very. Should I change into something else?” she inquired; Michelle was very curious what her man had on his mind. William slowly shook his head; his cobalt eyes appeared a little darker blue than usual.

“Please don’t,” he said, in a low voice. “You look exquisite; I want to look at you so as long as possible.” Michelle’s face took on a very pink hue.

“No problem,” she said, biting her lip. “It’s a soft dress, anyway”

“Is that so?” William murmured, smiling in a way that made Michelle involuntarily shiver. It was a good shiver, however; unduly good. “I’m allowed to think these things about him now,” she thought, smiling mysteriously. William lifted an eyebrow at her but said nothing.

Oscar came back through the doors, with Donnan; they looked very pleased with themselves.

“What a crazy chick,” Oscar said, to William. “Hey, did you know she’s the daughter of Judge Matheson?” William rubbed his forehead, making a face at the floor.

“I did,” he said. “Did she threaten you with being arrested?” Oscar snorted.

“A couple dozen times,” he said. “I called her daddy. Got right in when I said his daughter was drunk and disorderly at the Waldorf. I told him to come down here and get her before the media arrives.” William grinned.

“Good show there, Oscar,” he said, with admiration. “She must have been in the hotel bar or something.”

“What did she have in her purse?” Michelle asked, in a small voice. She hoped to God it wasn’t a gun. Oscar sobered a little.

“A big bottle of black ink,” he said, grimly. “You know… the kind you refill fountain pens with. I think she was going to fling it on you guys, or something.”

“Perhaps she were just goin’ to fill a pen and write you a nasty letter,” Donnan suggested, with a grin. The small party laughed at the suggestion.

Donnan seemed to remember something and pulled a small envelope out of his inner pocket. He held it up and placed it nearby on a small table, which had on it several other gifts.

“For the bride and groom,” he said, smiling. “And I’ll hope you’ll both be visitin’ us at the end of your stay in our bonny land. The address in there, too in the envelope. Be honored to have you.” William shook the man’s hand.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, earnestly. “I am very encouraged in having such pleasant new relatives, especially those whom are not afraid of having a good time.” Donnan laughed; he looked over at the English relatives; they were no longer grouped by themselves but mingling well with everyone.

“Aye. Scottish charisma is infectious,” he said. “Especially with aristocratic types.” William grinned. Michelle cleared her throat a little.

“Seems William’s cousin Roderick Jr. has taken a liking to, uh... Bridget, over there,” she said, momentarily forgetting the girl’s name. Donnan looked, and then turned back to take a drink of his wine.

“Well, if he’s half the man your groom is, I’m sure my brother won’t mind,” he said. The man’s common manner of speaking and inferior social position never dawned on William; he was genuinely moved by Donnan Gregory’s compliment. He raised his glass to the Scot and received a grin back.

A bright, green gift on the table caught William’s eye; stepping over to it, he picked it up. It was simply wrapped in light green, shiny paper with dark green limes printed all over it. William looked over at Oscar; the man appeared to be studying the ceiling intently, though he was grinning. Michelle saw the gift and giggled, walking over to her groom’s side.

“Now, who could that be from?” she asked, quietly. Her eyes sparkled with fun. William set it down, allowing himself a smile.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” he said, looking down at his bride.

“I guess we open those when we get back,” Michelle said, returning William’s gaze. He reached up and traced her ear with his finger.

“We have to go before we can return, my dear,” he said, quietly; his eyes held a familiar, intense look, one that made odd sensations go up Michelle’s spine. “Besides we have a three-hour line through airport security.”

“I’m ready,” she said, smiling with one corner of her lovely mouth. Her one little simple showed in her cheek. William touched it with his fingertip.

“So am I,” he said.

“Then go already!” Donnan said suddenly, making them both jump. “Anyone can see you’re dying to be off by yourselves. We’ll start some proper dances and have good music after you leave.” He grinned at them and stalked off, towards the hotel staffer working the sound system. William cleared his throat.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering Michelle his arm; she smiled.

“I love it when you say those two words,” Michelle said, sighing a little. “Yes.”

Michelle briefly hugged her Uncle and Margaret. Her and William both walked over to wish the other guests adieu. Laurel saw their actions and left the room to find a bellboy; she soon located one fairly quickly and instructed him transport the bridal couple’s luggage out to a taxi. For a minute, Michelle ducked back into the side room; she smiled a little and sighed, looking around. A couple hours ago she’d been standing in this room a single woman. Now, she was married; she felt a little silly thinking of the distinction so, but felt honored nonetheless.

“Mrs. Montgomery,” she said, to herself. Deciding to leave her gorgeous gown on as long as possible, Michelle grabbed her white pea coat and buttoned it up over the dress. Touching up her makeup a little, Michelle took her bags and silently said ‘goodbye’ to the little room.

Out in the reception hall a rousing Scottish reel played on the sound system. Donnan and one of his family members seemed engaged in some kind of dance competition, amid much clapping and smiles by the other relatives. Even William’s relations seemed to be enjoying the sight. It was a good time to go, Michelle decided, before she and William got roped into line dancing, or something. William found her, his overcoat already on and luggage in hand. His pleased smile flooded her with warmth and comfort.

“I’ll not get tired of your smile,” Michelle told her groom. “It has to be one of the never-ceasing charms of a man.”

“Never ceasing?” William asked, amused. “All smiles must end, love.” Michelle rose and eyebrow a little.

“True… but the smile and the eyes do not age,” she said, gently. “So, even when you’re sixty, I’ll be able to look at you and find the man that I see right now.” William gazed at her, more than a little touched by her words. Michelle knew she’d struck a chord in him by saying her thoughts aloud; her husband embraced her and kissed the top of her head.

“I meant what I said to you when I proposed, Michelle... you have a beautiful soul,” William told her. His bride smiled and let him lead her out the Starlight Roof Room door.

Oscar and Margaret, Alfred, Laurel, Sophie and Luca stood on the sidewalk; they threw rice at William and Michelle as they emerged from the hotel’s entrance door. Ducking, Michelle laughed. William grabbed his bride’s hand and raced for the taxi through the shower of little, white specks. Yanking open the door, he let Michelle in then ducked in himself. A hundred little grains of rice flew in with him. Shaking his head, he laughed.

“I completely forgot about that part of weddings,” he admitted, brushing rice out of his ears and hair. Some grains had found their way into his collar, he noticed. Michelle laughed softly at the sight; leaning forward, she picked up some rice from his neck, using it as an excuse to kiss her husband very sweetly and lovingly on his mouth. William did not seem to mind at all. The taxi sped away, with the bride and groom kissing in the back seat.

“Oh, that was the sweetest wedding I have ever seen,” Margaret said with a sigh. Sophie nodded at her, and then arched an eyebrow at Luca. The man ignored his mother and brushed rice from Laurel’s blond hair.

“I would like to cook you dinner at my café tonight,” he said, very quietly. “Please wear this lovely gown; you look so delicious.” The blond young woman felt a bit light-headed under the look Luca gave her; however, she managed to give a tolerable impression of coherence.

“I’d love to,” she squeaked. Sophie looked away from them and smiled at herself. She found her arm suddenly linked with Oscar’s.

“I have half a notion that you know how to dance, pretty lady,” the man said, winking at her. Sophie’s face momentarily turned mottled shade of pink. It had been awhile since someone had spoken to her like that.

“I can...” she answered, a little stunned. Then, she smiled. “I hope you can keep up, sir.” The entire party went back into the hotel, hoping to find the room still intact.

WILIAM HAD never known a taxi-ride to be over so quickly. It seemed he’d just started kissing his lovely bride when they suddenly arrived at the airport. The fact that they’d made out for the entire ride did not escape him; he grinned sheepishly as he paid the driver.

“Have fun there, pal,” the taxi-driver said, grinning at the couple. William snorted and led Michelle into Terminal Four. With a simple gesture he engaged the services of a luggage carrier for the bags. A uniformed young man swept up the luggage and followed them to a modern-looking airline counter.

“Welcome to EOS,” said a young woman with a very pronounced British accent. “May I see your boarding passes?” William handed the papers over. Michelle dug in her purse for her ID and passport. The girl looked up, smiling. “Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery. Let me get a copy of your IDs and passports.” Michelle was impressed with the lack of paperwork but not really surprised. Of course William would have the details hashed out already. Her groom signed the forms and received the little folders holding their tickets and papers. The EOS receptionist directed them to the Emirates waiting lounge just on the other side of a security checkpoint.

William had not misjudge the length of the security line. By the time the bride, groom and their carry-on bags had been thoroughly checked they had a mere twenty minutes before the flight left. Michelle had a little metal in her gown somewhere and she was obliged to removed her coat and let the security personnel wand her. William stood nearby, noticing the male security guard took over and took a little extra time visually inspecting Michelle’s bodice for possible bomb-material. Apparently the bride wasn’t a major threat to the peace and well-being of the masses, so they let her through.

Michelle snorted--albeit quietly--and put on her coat again.

“Cheeky blighter,” William grumbled, narrowing his gaze back at the guard. “He should get a tawdry magazine and look at that instead of other men’s wives.” Michelle glanced up at William, feeling better once more by his side.

“I think one of the privileges of being a husband is you that you are allowed to be jealous of every glance of every other man,” she said, softly; her eyes held an endearing look, one that said she blamed him not. William grinned a little, looking down at his wife.

“Correct,” he agreed, amused at her little speech. “I take it you don’t mind.” Michelle gave him an upward look through her dark lashed that made his mouth go dry.

“Not at all,” she said, licking her bottom lip a little. “Like I said, you’re the only one who can get away with looks like that.” William gave her a full-on grin; Michelle felt a thrill well up in her chest at the sight of it. He was so handsome when he really smiled.

“I’ll be giving you more than looks soon, love,” William thought. He focused his attention on the airline staffer outside the lounge. Once they showed their boarding passes, the man let them through into the Emirates lounge.

“Wow,” Michelle said, softly. “This is a waiting room?” William chuckled.

“Yes it is,” he returned, smiling. “Not bad at all; it looks quite comfortable.”

Indeed it did. The room seemed almost cozy for an airline waiting room, and unusually pleasant with a lowered ceiling; it contained square looking, deeply cushioned chairs and love-seats, many potted palms and dim, warm lighting. There was even a small kitchen with a posh-looking buffet off to one side.

“I’ll bet even Alfred wouldn’t mind flying home on this airline,” Michelle said, glancing at William. Her man returned her gaze.

“You may have an idea there, minx,” he said, smiling. “I think I’ll arrange it as a parting gift to the old boy.”

Michelle and William were not hungry in the least; they did share a bottle of iced tea and relaxed in a more secluded section of seats amid some green palm fronds. Sitting on a comfy chair, Michelle smiled down at her gown’s skirt, touching it’s soft surface gently with her hand. She felt someone looking at her and raised her eyes to William’s. He sat on the couch opposite. His bright, blue eyes shone with an intense look, one that made Michelle both claimed and cherished. She smiled, liking the sensation acutely.

William patted the seat next to him, a roguish smile dressing his face.

“What are you doing way over there, my lady?” he asked. Michelle blushed and bit her lip, just a little.

“I did not know you wished me to hover about you in a clinging way,” she said softly. Michelle could not keep a teasing smile form her face.

“Get over here, minx,” William said, fondly. Michelle complied, though she was not a foot from her groom when he swept her over into his lap.

“Much better,” he said, grinning.

“You meant to do that all along,” his bride accused, pretending to pout. William laughed, holding Michelle’s waist.

“Well, now... it’s not really so bad, is it?” he countered, raising an eyebrow at his ladylove.

“No,” Michelle said, shyly. “Not at all. I like being close to you.”

“Well, thank you,” William said, gently. “There’s no one else I’d rather wait here with, that is for certain.” Michelle gave him a little kiss on his cheek before leaning comfortably against his shoulder. William held his bride close; leaning his head against hers, he closed his eyes, just enjoying the warmth of her skin and scent of her hair.

They sat together in the relative quiet, amid the muted sounds of airport announcements and the shuffling of feet on commercial carpet, waiting to take a plane to the rest of their lives. Though the lounge was just half-full, those patrons whom saw the affectionate young couple smiled, and thought of their own loved ones.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

William and Michelle could not help but attract attention as they boarded the airplane. It was not often that a white-gowned bride and tuxedo-clad groom rode on EOS; the entire plane had just forty-eight roomy seats, mostly filled with business people in suits. Leading his bride down the airplane’s aisle, William felt a few looks directed his way. However, he most noticed those aimed at the fair young woman behind him. He resisted rolling his eyes. It was part of the package; marrying a lovely girl like Michelle meant tolerating the occasional gawker.

Michelle kept her eyes on William’s shoes, not really enjoying the scrutiny; in doing so she was able to fully appreciate the oddity of this custom-built 747. The seats on this flight commanded Michelle’s attention first; even first class seats looked horribly cramped compared to these. Instead of six or eight seats squeezed into a row, roomy berths, just two wide, stood on either side of a single, central aisle. Each berth held a cushy reclining seat, a lot of space and an ottoman to put one’s feet up on. Two berths were set opposite one another with a small entry walkway. Each berth had low, sleek privacy walls around it in case one wished to lie down. Muted shades of gray and soft beige lent the atmosphere a relaxed feel. Michelle had never seen anything like this airplane; she did not dare ask how much a seat was on this flight.

William found their seats; they had two berths together. Smiling, he indicted Michelle to precede him to the window berth. Michelle giggled softly and a mock curtsy before gathered her pretty skirt a little; she passed through the small walkway without incident.

“This is incredible,” Michelle whispered to her husband; she sat down on the recliner while carefully smoothing the dress under her. “I didn’t know a flight like this existed.” William chuckled.

“This is my first trip on it as well,” he told her, sitting down. “It is comfortable, I admit. It has the feel of a Lear jet, but on a much larger scale.” Having never been on a Lear jet, Michelle took his word for it. She peered out the window, trying to dampen the rising feelings of flight excitement. Like most fliers, Michelle did not feel afraid, but more anticipation, and a little privileged. It was fun just to be able to fly somewhere, let alone across the Atlantic. William watched Michelle’s face; the pure enjoyment and appreciation written there pleased him. Michelle had no problem conveying gratitude and feeling it; William hope their children would be like her, able to take simple pleasure in life and be content.

Feeling William’s gaze upon her, Michelle looked up with a smile.

“Thank you,” she said, softy; she leaned on the low privacy barrier between them. “At least I won’t have to worry about being able to talk to you and look you in the face.” William smiled.

“Yes, we shall have to find something to talk about,” he returned. “Other than tonight’s events,” he thought. “I do hope you’ll be able to keep my mind occupied, love.” Michelle narrowed her eyes at him momentarily; she broke into a wide grin and allowed her eyes to take on a vacuous look.

“Oh dear, I’m afraid you’ve married a stupid wife,” she gushed, winding a curl of her hair around her finger. “But don’t you worry... I’ll try real hard though to think of something. Do you like weather? I love weather... rain, snow, sleet, hail, that thunder stuff… you know, that loud noise when it’s not sunny...”

It took William some time to stop laughing.

“Please... stop,” he wheezed. “No more. Good heavens... I’d go mad if I had to listen to such drivel.” He wiped his eyes and attempted to fix Michelle with a stern glare; she smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Minx,” he said, fondly. “You have a wonderful sense of humor, my love.”

“I like making you laugh,” Michelle admitted. “Ever since that night at the gallery, I thought your laughter sounded like some wonderful kind of music.” Her hand rested on the low divider between them; William covered it with his own.

“No one has ever made me laugh as you do love,” he said, looking into Michelle’s eyes. “It’s like having my own personal comedian, though I doubt anyone heard of a comic as lovely as you.”

Michelle smiled.

“Only you could get away with a line like that,” she said, laughing softy. “Anyone else would invoke copious eye-rolling and snickers.” William grinned.

“Snickers?” he queried. “Tosh… no one snickers at me.” Michelle was about to show him that yes, one could very well snicker at William Montgomery but a stewardess came by, politely asking them to fasten their seat belts and prepare for takeoff.

The airplane's interior felt quite warm; Michelle unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it off. William felt a bit warm himself and then glanced around possessively. To his dismay, other passengers of the male persuasion also noticed his bride’s newly bared shoulders and bodice. A couple of them even made pretense of standing up to ‘retrieve’ something from an overhead baggage compartment, in order to get a better look.

William snorted; there was a time when even he, worked to death and flying to meetings, appreciated a gander or two at a pretty passenger. A beautiful girl is a fine distraction away from work. However, he’d never purposefully looked at some other bloke’s wife. Such a thing would invoke heated words, or violence; William shot the offenders a glare over his shoulder. Despite this, a new thought presented itself in his brain, one that appreciated the fact that some men were envious of him. When it came to the battle for Michelle, William was the clear victor. It was not his fault that no one else had noticed the rose hidden among street vendors.

A sly grin slid over his face, inciting much curiosity in his bride. She placed a small kiss on her husband’s hand, mostly to get his attention. It worked.

“Can’t resist me love?” William asked, lifting an eyebrow at her. A sort of victorious glow began to overtake his eyes. Michelle boosted his ego again via a deep blush.

“I can’t resist wondering what made such a look spread over your face,” she said, quietly. William sat back a little and regarded Michelle closely. She seemed curious; William rather liked that look.

“There are many things I love about you, Michelle,” he said; he did not smile, but a fond look overtook his eyes. “One of them is the veritable oblivion you have towards your more attractive qualities, as they affect the general male populace.” Michelle looked thoughtful at this.

“Oblivion...” she repeated, very quietly, though William heard it. He saw that his bride looked uncertain; he sat forward, taking her hand in his.

“It’s a compliment, my love,” William said, earnestly. “You don’t know what some men would give to have a wife that isn’t constantly looking around at other men, trying to impress them. When we go out, I love how you don’t even see the twenty or so blokes checking you out. Believe me… I appreciate that kind of oblivion.” Michelle smiled.

“So that’s what you were thinking about...” she said. William kissed her hand, and her fingertips.

“That and a few other things,” he returned, grinning. He caught his bride’s eye and winked at her. He chuckled softly at Michelle’s signature reaction to his words.

Take-off was uneventful. As soon as the seat-belt light grew dark again, William slipped over to his bride's berth, sitting on the ottoman. Michelle giggled softly at her man’s attachment to her; his desire to be close to her filled her with comfort. The other passengers were forgotten.

Together they explored the little elements of the berth, finding a small, pull-out table that proved very steady when properly locked into place. There was also a flip-up television screen the size of a paperback on the divider wall. Looking through the pamphlet on available movies, Michelle laughed at seeing ‘Hot Fuzz’ listed.

“That was a hilarious movie,” she said, giggling at William’s doubtful expression. “It has a terrible title but it was really good.”

“Hmm...” William said, suddenly feeling a little ‘old’. “You like the newer movies, do you?” Michelle snorted, though softly.

“Not usually,” she said, surprising her companion. “That one was the first good one in awhile. That and ‘The Rundown’. Before that I liked best 'Henry the Fifth’, 'Persuasion' and ‘The Big Store’.”

William almost choked.

“The Big Store?” he asked, grinning. “The Marx brothers? Are you serious?” Michelle laughed a little, biting her lip.

“Uh oh... perhaps you should have known my affinity for them before you agreed to marry me...” she teased. William wrinkled his nose at her, an action which made her giggle even more.

“When I was a lad I thought the Marx brothers were the cleverest people on the planet,” William said, smiling. “I rather like Duck Soup the best.”

“Was that the one where Harpo rode down the football field like Ben- Hur?” Michelle asked.

“The very one, minx,” William said, fondly. “We should rent it and watch it together.” Michelle returned his smile.

“I’m glad we saved all the cheesy dating stuff for our married life,” she said, sincerely. “I won’t do horror movies though… those I absolutely loathe.” William smiled at her.

“I’ll agree with you there, love,” he said. “If you want to be frightened, watch the news.”

William did not think two people could talk for several hours for fun and not run out of conversation, but he was proved wrong; the bride and groom found ample subjects to discuss and did not need to watch an in-flight movie. They did however enjoy a four-course meal, the quality of which caused no small amount of surprise to the bride.  To her, airline food was famous for its anti-appeal, but this meal was very good. It included a poached salmon fillet with a dill-Dijon sauce, crisp bread, a fresh salad with avocados and an citrus dressing of some kind. Michelle had a delicious raspberry sorbet for dessert, though she ended up sharing half of it with William. He did not care for the rather limp-looking crème puff that came with his meal.

“I recognize that pastry from the French Interpol’s 'most soggy' list,” Michelle whispered to her groom. William choked on his water and sputtered a bit into his table napkin. Alarmed, Michelle began to stand up, in order to hit him on the back, but he held up his hand. Another sip of water and he was fine. “I’m sorry...” Michelle said, biting her lip. “I shall pause in whispering my musings to you ‘til I’m certain you are not consuming any liquids.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” William countered, with a wide grin. “I like your little intrepid forays into the realm of comedy.” Smiling, Michelle picked up the table linen and dabbed it gently on William’s hand.

“Water droplets,” she said, shyly. Her soft, low voice sparked several simultaneous thoughts in William’s mind. All of them would have to wait.

“I see,” he said, his blue eyes a little darker. His bride smiled at her plate until the stewardess came to remove them.

The entire flight lasted roughly six and a half hours, a little longer than Michelle expected. The time passed pleasantly however. William spent almost no time in his own berth.

“We could have just shared one, you know,” Michelle teased him. “Saved yourself the expense of two.” William answered her by pulling her onto his lap.

“Minx,” he said, holding her close. He felt anxious to arrive at the airport; they still had another short flight to catch to their final destination. However, sitting here with his arms around Michelle, smelling her hair and watching her smile kept William in a great mood.

Once Michelle was compelled to use the airplane bathroom; expecting a tiny closet to pack her and her dress into, Michelle was relieved at finding larger accommodations. The room provided a fresh-smelling liquid soap she liked very much. Exiting the bathroom, their stewardess walked by and saw her.

“I just have to tell you that is the most gorgeous dress I have ever seen,” the lady said, smiling. Michelle returned her smile.

“Thank you,” she said. She pointed towards William. “We just got married today.” Again the stewardess smiled.

“He’s gorgeous, too,” she said, “You’re lucky.”

“Well, this is the best airline I’ve ever flown on,” Michelle returned, hoping to give some kind of compliment back. “I hope you give business class a real run for its money.” The stewardess giggled at this, and nodded.

“We are. Thank you,” she said. Michelle walked back to her seat, smiling.

William let her by, one eyebrow up in an inquiring way.

“What was that all about?” he inquired, trying not to appear curious. Michelle sat down and genteelly batted her eyes at him.

“The stewardess wanted to know where I got the handsome android and where she could get one, too,” she said, pretending to read a pamphlet. A low chuckle made her look up.

“Android, eh?” William said, narrowing his eyes at Michelle. “You’ve been watching old episodes of Dr. Who, haven’t you?” His bride gave him a soft laugh in answer.

“You’ll never get anyone to confess to that,” she told him.

The airplane landed at Stansted International Airport in the dark. Michelle saw the lights of London approaching through her window. Once the airplane passengers disembarked, the bridal couple said a pleasant farewell to the stewardess.

During the first few minutes in the terminal, Michelle thought she was going to be absolutely unable to understand anyone. Surely these people weren’t speaking English… but another language entirely. It sounded like some throaty, slurred speech, filled with slang that only they understood. Michelle clung to William’s arm, much to his amusement. After a few minutes of listening hard, she was able to pick some of the words out from in the conversations of the other people around them in the Customs line. Both airport security and the customs agents worked with amazing speed; it took the bridal pair less than a half an hour to get through the lines. One customs agent looked at Michelle and murmured at William that he was a ‘dodgy blighter’. Ignorant of the phrase, Michelle assumed it was an insult; William did not look complimented.

The airline released their luggage efficiently; William again had porters carry the bags; he felt a bit preoccupied with Michelle. Arm in arm, they strolled from the entrance doors. Freezing air enveloped them; William was mentally prepared for it, but Michelle shivered a good deal, infinitely glad she’d worn a wool coat. Her thin bridal gown, however, left like nothing at all. They quickly ducked into a shuttle –bus for a ride to a far corner of the airfield. A few charter-flight companies sat out there by large, separate hangars. The frigid air did not dampen Michelle’s spirits; she let William lead her around, speaking to his fellow countrymen in a more familiar manner than she’d seen him exude in New York.

A small, sleek-looking jet sat on the runway; Michelle gasped a little at it.

“It looks like the kind drug lords use to transport their coke,” she said, with a straight face. William burst out laughing.

“Drug lords? What old movie did you see that in?” he inquired, leading her towards the airplane. Michelle smiled sheepishly.

“TV series. Miami Vice,” she said, shrugging. William chuckled.

“You need a hobby,” he said, indicating a short flight of steps up to the jet’s entrance.

“I have several,” Michelle said, over her shoulder. William waited to pursue this line of conversation until the flight had taken off.

Michelle was surprised how loud the engines were compared to the EOS plane. As the jet took off, she saw the beautiful lights of London spread out all around them again, appearing like so many stars fallen from the sky. The pool of sparkling lights drifted slowly away as their jet raced northward.

“So... hobbies?” William said over the noise of the engines; he put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. Michelle smiled.

“Playing the piano perhaps, and let’s see...drawing?” she said, giving William a sideways look.

“... And being a general minx,” her man said, kissing her cheek. “Let’s not forget climbing trees.” He looked at Michelle, his eyes perusing her features; he wanted to memorize every detail of her face. “There is so much we get to learn about each other,” he continued. “I want to know all about you.” Michelle turned her face towards him.

“I have many mundane details to share,” she said, trying not to laugh. “But I’d rather know about you than relate things about myself.”

“I know,” William said, leaning his forehead on hers a little. “It’s far easier to ask than to tell, isn’t it?  Tell you what, I’ll go out on a limb for you, and you do the same and we’ll both dive into vulnerability, together.” Michelle smiled a little.

“OK,” said she. “You seem like you’re worth the risk.” William’s answer to that did not require words.

The flight lasted less than an hour. The sky looked quite dark by the time they couple disembarked from the little jet; no city lights illumined the night sky here. Michelle noticed the air was even more frigid, but wondered if it was merely the wind that made it feel so. William led her towards a waiting car; the warm exhaust from the engine showed up as plumes of white drifting across the car’s headlights. As cold as the air of Scotland felt, overhead was quite a sight to be seen. Stars sparkled everywhere; billions of them… more visible than any Michelle had ever seen. They looked like a tapestry of woven diamonds blanketing the sky. She stood for a moment outside the rumbling car, staring up with an awed smile on her face.

William saw her posture and looked up himself; he smiled.

“They are beautiful, are they not?” he asked, putting his arm around Michelle's shoulders. She nodded, speechless. William bent a little and kissed his bride’s ear. “Come on, love. You’re cold.” he said, gently guiding her into the car. Michelle sat down on the springy seat, looking out the window at the stars again.

“I’ve lived in the city so long I almost forgot what a sky full of stars looks like,” she said, once William climbed in beside her. He chuckled.

“Yes, well I’ve not looked at stars for some time myself,” he confessed. “Birkhill Castle, please,” he said to the cab driver.

“Right,” the cabbie said; the car moved away from the airline at a rapid speed.

Michelle looked over at William with wide eyes. Her fiancé grinned, and shrugged.

“Castle?” Michelle inquired. She looked at him narrowly. “I sure hope that’s a local colloquialism for cottage or hotel.” Her loving man chuckled.

“Well, perhaps it is,” William said, with infuriating calm. “Perhaps it means a really big cottage... made out of stone, with towers.” Michelle gasped, then smiled at him; before she thought better of it, she reached forward and jabbed William’s side a little. Her man bent over a little, before he caught himself. Michelle smiled with a great revelation, her eyes alight. William was ticklish. Her husband straightened up and pretended to be unaffected.

Leaning towards him a little, Michelle smiled sweetly.

“You’re ticklish?” she inquired, her voice very quiet. William heard each word, however; he cleared his throat.

“I don’t know what you are talking... gah!” Michelle’s fingers stealthily found another spot on William’s rib cage; twisting around, William captured her hands. He smiled down on his wife. “None of that, minx.” he warned; he could not stop a low chuckle at his wife’s expression. Michelle looked very happy indeed to have found his weak spot.

“A chink in the armor!” she said, giggling. “I’m so glad you have one...”

William made a face and released her hands.

“If you’re going to start a tickling war, my love, you should bear in mind that you are equally sensitive.” Finishing his threat, William bent down and kissed his bride fondly. Michelle reached up and touched his ear, with light, soft fingertips. William pulled quickly away from her.

“You play unfairly, love,” he said, smirking at her. “Those fingers of yours do strange things to me. No touching until we get to the... er, cottage, with the towers.” Michelle smiled to herself; merriment twinkled in her eyes.

“I wonder what other quirks he has...” she thought; she was suddenly curious to find out exactly how ticklish William really was. “Patience,” she silently told herself.

Birkhill Castle turned out to be a real castle, on an estate... a large estate. Michelle stared out the window as they approached the structure; light poured through the darkness from several windows, including one high up above the rest. She looked at William, and sat back against the seat.

“You rented a castle for us,” she said, quietly. “Wow.” Her husband laughed, mostly at her.

“I’m glad you like it,” William said. “Very private, lots of space to walk around, like you wanted...”

“But, a castle?” Michelle said, tempted to tickle the man again. “I certainly didn’t expect... it’s wonderful.” William smiled; affection shone in his eyes and Michelle felt every iota of it.

“Maybe I wanted you all to myself,” her man murmured “You can’t run from me in a castle, now can you?” Michelle saw William was teasing her but she felt tears start in her eyes.

“I don’t want to run from you,” she said, softly. “Never.” She slipped her arms around William’s neck and kissed his face several times. Closing his eyes, William was infinitely glad they were finally here; his bride had no idea what he’d suffered all day, and these little kisses from her soft lips were not helping. Not at all.

“Here we go, love,” he said as the car stopped under a grand breezeway.

William helped his bride from the car; her awed face was very satisfying to see. Even at night, the place looked spectacular. A thin man in a fine, black wool suit met that at the entrance; the man had a pleasant face but wore a serious expression as if he had much to do and not enough time to do it.

“Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery... I am very pleased to meet you,” the man said; his accent appeared barely Scottish, but he spoke with precise, excellent diction. William shook hands with the man; Michelle got a smile from the man by giving him a small curtsy

“My dear you are a lovely bride, if I may say so. I am Aidan Gainnes, the keeper of the Birkhill estate for the Earl and Countess of Dundee.”

“Earl?” Michelle repeated, softly. Mr. Gainnes smiled.

“The Earl and Countess live here, my dear,” he explained, gently. “They often rent it out when not present, especially during the colder months.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Michelle told him. Indeed it was. The foyer they stood in was literally swathed in beige and warm cream colors, tapestries, glinting lamps and light fixtures and long rugs on the highly polished floor.

“Thank you,” Mr. Gainnes said. “All the arrangements you asked for have been seen to. I know you are anxious to retire soon, so I’ll not take up too much for your time.” William nodded.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, smiling. “My wife and I are a bit tired from our trip.” Mr. Gainnes seemed to find this amusing and hid a small smile in a cough.

“Yes, well... I’ll be off then,” he said; Michelle thought she saw a slight twinkle in the man’s eye. She blushed, knowing full well William was not in the least tired. Neither was she. Mr. Gainnes had more to say; he handed William a little, paper book. “Here is a map of Birkhill and a pamphlet on its history. If you need anything, Allan is in the outbuilding, just to the right of the kitchen entrance; he’s steward here in my absence and walks the perimeter with the dogs at night. Keeps to himself, though. Marcie is taking your things to the master bedroom; she leaves at night, as does the cook, Anna. She comes in at 7am, and breakfast is at eight, sharp.”

“Thank you Mr. Gainnes,” William said, looking at the map for the tower entrance. He didn’t see it right away and looked up again. Mr. Gainnes pointed discreetly to his right, with a smile. William grinned and said goodnight to the man. Once the man left, no sounds could be heard in the large hall, save the popping of a crackling fire somewhere close.

Feeling a sudden tide of nervousness come upon her, Michelle bit her lip and looked around.

“It’s just beautiful in here,” she said, smiling a little. “It feels cozy, even though it is a castle.” William smiled.

“Yes, they didn’t overdo it on the decor, thank God,” William commented. They walked forward a little, pausing to look at a few things. William felt Michelle’s hesitancy now that they were alone; just beyond a particularly large grandfather clock stood a slender door partially receded into the stone wall. Glancing down at the map William grinned.

“Almost,” he thought, looking over at his lovely bride.

“Look, it says they even have a tower,” he said, in an off-handed fashion. Michelle looked up at him, her face alight.

“No way...” she said, smiling very wide. “I love towers.” William buried his laughter with a great effort.

“Really? Let’s go up and look at it, shall we? Then we’ll try to locate our room.” His suggestion met with universal approval on Michelle’s part. They ducked into the door and found a set of circular stone steps heading upward. Instead of torches, little electrical, candle-shaped lights lit the stair.

Taking Michelle’s hand, William led her up the steps; both bride and groom smiled, looking ahead around the never-ending corner.

“This is so cool,” Michelle said, breathlessly. “Pardon the juvenile word, but my vocabulary is on hiatus.” William laughed, glancing back at her in the dim light.

“Silly girl,” he said, fondly. “You made up for ‘cool’ with ‘hiatus’...” Laughing softly, Michelle followed her man blithely onward. William stopped at another small, wooden door. He tried the handle; it opened without a sound. He stepped into the room, drawing Michelle in after him.

Michelle stared at the room, her mouth open a little. She was expecting piles of boxes, or an empty room with a museum-like display... or something. This room was round and small, though larger by far than her hotel room; lit candles in little lantern boxes here and there winked at her from shelves. Their luggage sat on the floor, right by a cozy-looking bed. The bed itself was on the floor, with many colored pillows on it; it reminded the bride very much of the reading nook in Vermont. Michelle put her hand up to her face, smiling beneath it.

“I thought you’d like this better,” came William’s voice. “More than, well, one of the huge rooms downstairs.” Turning, Michelle encountered his blue eyes looking back at her; his face and voice held something like uncertainty. He stood with his hands in his pockets, but very close to her.

“I do liked it,” she said, biting her lip. “Very much.” Her voice was merely a whisper. William thought he saw a tear glimmer in Michelle’s eyes; he reached out and wrapped his arms around her, allowing himself the kind of kiss he’d been avoiding all day. He broke away a minute later, going immediately to the door. Closing the door, William locked it securely.

“No interruptions,” he thought, grinning.

Turning, he found a chair and took off his jacket and tie, laying them over the back of the chair. He felt Michelle’s hand on his arm and looked down at her; though her face was flushed, she seemed very calm.

“Do you want help with that?” she asked, quietly. William grinned.

“I can undress myself, you know,” he said, amused. Michelle bit her lip and smiled.

“I’m aware of that.” she said. Her eyes held something other than laughter, William noticed. “I didn’t ask if you needed help. I asked if you, uh... wanted... help...” Her courage failed and she glanced at the floor.

“I see,” William said; his low tone of voice made Michelle look back up. The look in his eyes brought her bravery rushing back. He leaned down and kissed her, though gently. He did not pull back, however and Michelle felt an overwhelming desire to help him off with his shirt. William broke away and stripped off his shirt, himself. Michelle felt momentarily tongue-tied at the sight. Oh, yes she remembered those muscles. Definitely.

William felt her appreciative scrutiny and grinned. His smile took Michelle’s breath from her lungs.

“I hope most sincerely that your dress has a zipper, and not a million, tiny buttons...” her loving man whispered, his voice a little strained. Michelle felt herself pressed in William’s strong embrace; he kissed her soft, bare neck. “Ah, Michelle... what you do to me!” An emotion stronger than Michelle had ever heard lingered in William’s words; she felt him shudder a little against her.

“Zipper,” she whispered, smiling into his warm shoulder. Her breath came a little faster as William fumbled around with his fingers, trying to locate the phantom fastener; s small giggle escaped her lips. She felt so ridiculous being nervous but here they were, embarking into activities which had always been a great mystery to her.

“This is hilarious,” William chuckled, a little nervous himself. “I’m a university graduate, a lawyer, I’m madly in love with my bride, we’re here in the honeymoon suite and I cannot find your damn zipper.” Michelle giggled, sinking down to sit on the bed. William grinned, following suit. Looking at his bride, he was glad her laughter eased the tension they both felt. “Do you know... that in the little, tower reading nook in Vermont? I wanted very much to see your bare skin against all those pillows.”

As he spoke Michelle sobered, but her small, sweet smile remained. Reaching up, Michelle gently touched William’s face with her fingertips, looking fearlessly into his cerulean eyes.

“You were going to kiss me in the taxi... weren’t you, that first night… after the gallery?” she inquired; her voice was quiet, and calm. William grinned.

“Yes, before that blighter stopped the cab so suddenly,” he said; he touched the backs of Michelle’s hands, holding on to them softly. “Before you, I was always able to control myself. But, you invaded my thoughts and wouldn’t leave... not that I wanted you to. I still don’t.” His bride looked at him with shining eyes.

“That’s very good to know,” she said, softly. “I have something to tell you, too.” William chuckled, bringing her hands to be kissed, one at a time.

“What is that?” he asked, grinning down at her. Taking a deep breath, Michelle summoned her courage, taking a slow breath. The moment fairly demanded a bit of limb-walking on her part as well; she wanted to at least meet William halfway.

“The dress zipper is under the beaded embroidery, right in the center,” Michelle informed him, biting her lip and smiling.

“That, is very good to know,” William said, leaning down to kiss his bride.

Outside the cozy tower room, a cold wind blew fallen leaves in flurries amid dark forms, which in daylight looked of trees and buildings. The diamond stars shone down on the quiet castle, twinkling in the great dance they nightly stepped. The castle itself was shrouded in blackest night, but for the warm, dim light glowing in the narrow windows of the high tower room. The lights there did not go out for quite some time; they did extinguish though, only to be joined by the low sounds of even breathing and the soft sighs of two souls now joined forever in love.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

William Montgomery was in the midst of a wonderful dream. The gist of it entailed meeting a lovely girl, falling hard for her and making her his wife. He smiled in his sleep. A few moments later, his eyes opened, blinking a few times to see clearly. William felt unusually comfortable and warm. Unfamiliar blankets were piled over him. Grinning, he looked over a little to his left. Breathing peacefully on the sheet next to him, laid his bride... still fast sleep. The snowy down comforters above the reposing couple kept out the famous Scottish chill. William propped himself up a little on one elbow and studied Michelle, careful not to expose his bare skin to the biting cold outside the blankets.

The morning light was just sufficient to dimly illuminate the sleeping young woman.

“She looks so content,” William thought, smiling to himself. Michelle’s face fairly emanated serenity; her sweet mouth bore just the hint of a smile. Her groom took a few moments to appreciate her unclothed state, finding said scrutiny raised his body temperature another few notches. He did not mind the discomfort now; his wait was over. Michelle was now his wife.

“My wife,” William said, softly. Those words never appealed so much to him before. Michelle stirred a little in her sleep, moving closer to her husband; cuddling against him, she sighed a little and lay still once more. William chuckled. “You’re adorable, love,” he whispered. Sliding his arm around her warm back, William allowed himself a few more moments of quiet reflection. Just waking up with Michelle next to him, holding her close as she slept made him relax even more. The pre-wedding worries and fears were all forgotten.

Michelle stirred again; her eyes opened but a little at first, then all the way. Expecting a gray, spare room to wake up to, Michelle saw she was snuggled up to one very bar William. Blushing deeply, she fleetingly ran her mind over the previous evening’s events. He’d been very gentle with her, though it was obvious her bare skin had a profound effect on him. The memory made her smile.

“Are you awake yet?” came William’s voice. Pressed against him, Michelle felt his voice more than hearing it; she smiled.

“That depends,” she said, her voice very soft. Her words murmured themselves against her husband’s chest. William sucked in a slight breath; just two, sleepy words from his bride and he was a goner.

“On what?” he said back, trying to concentrate. Michelle giggled, very gently.

“Does being awake mean I have to stop touching you and get out of bed?” she asked, moving her face to she could look at her man in the eyes. Her strange, beautiful eyes sent a shiver through William’s body. His answer to her question was hardly in the negative; it was some time before they got out of bed.

Though Michelle felt very awkward, she got up along with William in the chilly tower room; William seemed to feet her nervousness and turned his back to look for his own apparel. In spite of her self-consciousness Michelle snuck a few glances at him as he put on his clothes; she loved watched his back muscles work and blushed, remembering how said muscles felt under her fingertips. Her husband studied her equally, as she pulled out some clothes from her luggage; he wished they did not need to eat or anything else, other than stay in bed for the entire rest of the day. He noticed she wore her thick black tights and the little tweed skirt; he chuckled to himself.

“Later,” he thought.

They made the bed together. Michelle gasped a little as she pulled off the fluffy down comforters. Several drops of blood stood out in stark contrast on the bottom sheet; William grinned at her.

“Don’t worry about it, love,” he said, fondly. “They expect things like this, really.” Seeing the evidence of his wife’s innocence on the sheet made an odd kind of fire course through William. There was something very alluring about being the only one to have touched his bride. He made a mental note to ask the maid if he could purchase the bed linens. Walking around the bed to Michelle, William held her a moment and kissed the top of her head. Her hair still smelled of the fresh sheets and the warmth of their night together. “If there ever was a turn on...” he thought, smiling.

“It will leave a stain,” Michelle said into his shoulder. William smiled. He hoped so.

“It’s kind of...er ... sexy, actually,” he said, in a low voice. Michelle looked up at him, her face curious. William cleared his throat. “Well, it’s a very special kind of thing, now isn’t it? If it were up to me, I’d cut a little sample from that sheet and carry it around with me.” His bride blushed; William thought it to be the deepest, one yet.

“Oh...” she said, swallowing. Her bashful smile made William grin as well. His wife bit her lip and set about helping him smooth the sheets and fluff the pillows.

Always a stickler for propriety, William was duly impressed that Michelle knew how to neatly tuck in the sheet corners and pull the linens tight. As simple a task as making a bed, the newly joined couple exchanged endearing glances over the blankets, knowing they’d be able to work together so the rest of their lives. As much as he liked a neat bed, William was very tempted to mess it all up again.

A narrow wooden door in the great hall opened slowly; two faces peered out, smiling.

“I think the castle is still sleep, my lady...” William whispered. “Let’s slip out while we still can. I’ll carry you away from this tower to my own kingdom.” Michelle stifled her laughter; she put her hand to her chest in dramatic pose.

“But sir... my father will not forgive me for eloping with a stable boy...” she whispered back. William gave his bride a grin, over his shoulder.

“Stable boy, eh?” he said, “I am no stable-hand, milady. I am the evil Duke’s handsome cousin, of course. You can see my white horse right out that window...” Michelle wrinkled up her nose.

“The Duke’s cousin? That means we’re related... ew.” William grimaced at this, making Michelle laugh. The ‘Duke's handsome cousin’ grabbed his bride’s hand.

“Oh, come on, Minx,” William said, leading Michelle out the tower door. “Let’s use the map and find the kitchen. I’m starved.”

“Right behind you,” his lady said, repressing her urge to snicker. “Ok, first to the kitchen for some food, and then we can elope to your kingdom...”

The cook appeared to know that the guests would not be making the eight o’ clock breakfast deadline; the stout, middle-aged lady smiled a good deal at the young couple as she brought out their breakfast tray. She set it on a small table by the windowed breakfast nook and left, chuckling. Michelle and William sat down close together, facing the windows. The tray contained a simple meal of the wonderful Scottish oatmeal and cream with fresh fruit. Michelle immediately noticed a difference between this oatmeal and the flat American type; it was smaller and hardier, but possessed a more pronounced flavor, similar to toasted almonds.

“Oh, I like this,” Michelle said. “This kind of oatmeal contains no mushy properties whatsoever.” William chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“Yes, well the oats grown here are a different variety altogether, love,” he said, smiling. It was good, for cereal. “A bit hardier, so to speak. We can purchase some to take home, if you like, in the village perhaps.”

“There’s a village?” Michelle asked, taking a bite of her food.

“Yes, a quaint one, even,” William teased. “Though, it’s more of a township than a village.”

“Only if you were playing trivial pursuit would you need to know the difference,” Michelle said, smiling at her man. William snorted.

“Listen you...” he began. Michelle leaned over and kissed him before he had the chance to speak. She smiled at William as she drew away; her husband was not put off.

Reaching forward, he wrapped one arm around her back, dipped her down a little and kissed her properly. Letting her back, up William cleared his throat and went back to his breakfast. Michelle giggled her face pink.

“As I mentioned once before,” she said, “... if that’s your idea of punishment, you’re terrible at it.” William chuckled.

“Every action had an equal and opposite reaction, love,” he said. Michelle smiled.

“And, which one was that?” she asked, sweetly. William looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“You’re asking for it, minx,” he said, trying to hide his grin. Michelle returned to her food, smiling down into her bowl.

THE WEATHER cooperated with an outing after breakfast; the gray clouds almost let the sun break through; well-clad in warm layers, Michelle and William walked over the low hills towards the local ‘township’. The cold, clear air filled their lungs and brought on a red-cheeked kind of energy; they walked briskly, discussing some of the surrounding land’s history. Michelle was enamored immediately with the landscape; even in November, the ground was green with grasses and sage-colored moss; most of the trees were evergreens and a few trees still held their glorious fall colors.

When they reached the little town Michelle was again assailed with a near-indecipherable language; her facial expressions--when trying to return even a simple greeting--amused William very much. The locals spoke a murderously-accented English, well peppered with Gaelic words and phrases; William found it difficult to navigate as well, but hid it a little better than his bride. In spite of the language barrier, the bride and groom did enjoy themselves, and looked in the little shops and markets with interest. Michelle managed to distract William away from buying anything, or thought she did. Her man noted everything she looked at and resolved to return later.

They rounded out the morning at the local pub; Michelle loved the low-ceiling and warm feel of the building. It wasn’t nearly as formal as William’s lunch retreat back in Manhattan; locals talked noisily around open tables on benches and laughed out loud. Men sat at the bar and drank a pint of ‘brew’ together; two people sat in one corner, playing fiddles, trying to out-do one another in melodic complexity. Michelle sat on a bench next to William, looking around with bright eyes.

“I’m glad we came to Scotland,” she told her loving man. “It’s invigorating and friendly here.” Glancing upward, she found William looking down at her; his eyes held such affection that she wondered what he was thinking.

“You are such a gem, Michelle,” he said, softly. “Not many girls would be happy with such simple things as you are.” Michelle smiled.

“I thank you, sir but I hardly consider a castle simple,” she returned, her eyes twinkling. William nudged her shoulder a little with his.

“You know what I mean,” he said, grinning.

“I do,” Michelle told him. “And, I cannot take full credit. I’m not happy just by the surroundings, but because I’m here with you.” William smiled proudly and leaned down to kiss his bride; he did... and not just a little.

Someone nearby cleared their throat after a moment. Looking up, William saw about half the patrons were grinning at him and his young wife.

“Be y’ newlyweds perchance?” a nearby man, clad in a thick, white sweater asked; he smiled broadly at them. Michelle blushed and bit her lip, causing a general chuckle to go up around the room. The man who’d spoken to them stood up, lifting a pint glass.

“To the unknown groom and his bonnie bride!” he said, merrily. Others lifted their glasses as well and drank to the toast, afterward laughing heartily at some unseen joke. A few of the locals came up to talk to them, and introduced themselves. Once the charming town-members found out Michelle and William were staying at the ‘Castle’ for a week, they took it upon themselves to sit down and inform the new guests of the lengthy history of the place and of the family. Michelle sat forward, riveted by the information, noting the expressions and facial features of those around her. She was already formulating drawings in her mind to copy down later onto her sketchpad; William listened with her, his arm draped over his wife’s shoulders. He noted, with immense satisfaction that Michelle did not notice the winks coming from the bar, via some indigenous young men.

The family of Dundee, as it turned out, attained their notoriety via one of their ancestors, one who held the banner for William Wallace at the Battle of Stirling, and then again for Robert the Bruce at the battle of Bannockburn. This apparently earned the family the title henceforth of standard-bearer and peer of the realm, as well as other titles and lands. The pub-goers seemed quite proud of their heritage-by-association. They seemed to genuinely like talking with strangers and sharing a little bit of their culture.

Taking a longer way back, William led Michelle on a slow stroll through the wooded estate grounds, through arched pathways covered in dormant vines.

“This would be gorgeous in the spring,” William stated, walking arm in arm with his bride. “Perhaps we should come back when it’s greener and less chilly.” Michelle leaned her head against his shoulder while they walked.

“I like the cold air,” she said, softly. “Maybe it’s because I grew up in Denver but it makes me feel energized.” William smiled down at her a moment; she looked serene.

“True. Also, the cold makes one want to go cuddle by a nice, warm fire... indoors,” he said, offhandedly. Michelle smiled, glancing up at him.

“There is that,” she agreed. William concentrated on getting back to their temporary home a little quicker. Michelle felt his pace quicken and hid her laughter. She did not mind in the slightest;  she felt rather faltered  in being wanted.

As they walked briskly down the back garden paths, Michelle took in the view of the castle before them and sighed.

“What a beautiful place,” she thought. Perhaps she envied the Lord and Lady of the estate their home; just a little bit.

“I would love to draw this place,” she said, more to herself than anyone. “This view right here is the best, I think.”

“I saw you brought your sketch-pad,” William said. “You should sit out here maybe tomorrow; it’s supposed to be a little sunnier.” Michelle gave him a small grin.

“I may sketch you into it on the battlements... directing men in fending off Viking invaders.” William laughed at this imagery.

“Minx,” he said. “I’m flattered you see me as the brave protector.”

“I do,” his bride answered, regarding him lovingly. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re cute, either.” William grimaced.

“I detest the word ‘cute’,” he said. “It is what people use to describe puppies or bunnies. But, thank you, love. You alone may use that word around me.” Michelle let out a soft giggle.

“Perhaps, I should swap ‘cute’ with ‘attractive’,” she said. “Or, devastatingly handsome... irresistible...”

“Now you’re talking,” William said, grinning at her. In one, quick move he picked Michelle up and carried her onto the back patio and through the glass French-doors.

Michelle squirmed a bit in his grasp, smiling and blushing. She hoped none of the estate staff saw them; not that she'd seen them at all... the staff seemed to know to keep out of sight. It was nice to have such a large place to themselves.

“Please let me down, sir,” she requested, softly. “I... um, wish to find the hot shower,or a bathub...” William considered this suggestion for a moment.

“You want a bath, eh?” he remarked, changing direction. “I think I  may know just the thing…” They walked a minute down a large corridor hall to an ornate,double door. “Alright. Here’s the main bedroom that we’ve use of, if we want. According to the map, it has a fairly large bathroom.”

Main bedroom indeed; Michelle stared around the huge room with the equally massive canopy bed and elegant furnishings adjacent.

“Good grief... I’d be afraid to sleep here,” she said, feeling a little uncomfortable. William nodded in agreement.

“I like our cozy little tower room much better, love,” he said. “It just lacks a bath.” While the bedroom seemed overly opulent, the adjoining bathroom presented a much more inviting face; it boasted light-gray tile and dark-green accents, with candles. In the middle of the room stood a long, deep standing tub; the sight made Michelle want to bathe in it immediately. Fresh towels hung nearby on brass fittings.

“Lovely,” she said, smiling. William set her down on her feet.

“Why don’t you get your bath started,” he suggested. “I’ll run up and get some of our things.” Michelle smiled at him.

“Thank you sir,” she said, gratefully. “That’s awfully nice of you.” William gave her a rather mysterious wink and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Leaning over the edge of the large tub, Michelle pushed in the metal plug and began running the water. Taking two towels, she brought a chair close to the tub and placed the towels on it. A small, unopened bottle of scented bath-liquid sat in a nearby basket. Taking it in he hands, Michelle looked at the label.

“Cedar and Sage,” she read aloud. The basket had a note on it, bearing the single word: ‘Enjoy’. Blushing, Michelle opened the bottle, inhaling the scent within; the perfume of the soaked forest came back to mind, along with subtle undertones that could not quite be named.

“Exquisite,” Michelle said, to herself. Pouring some of the liquid soap into the tub, Michelle put it back in the basket. The bath filled quickly; Michelle did not bother putting up her hair, as it needed a wash. Disrobing quickly, she stepped into the tub; it almost swallowed her up, it was so large. Just her head and neck were visible above it. Sitting in the rising hot water, Michelle smiled and leaned back against the incline of the tub.

The door opened. The sudden sound made Michelle jump a little. Seeing her husband, she relaxed.

“Mm... smells good in here,” William said, closing the door behind him; he locked it. Standing over the tub, he set down his and Michelle’s luggage.

“That… is a very large bathtub,” he said, grinning. Michelle blushed, looking at the tub’s faucet.

“Yes it is,” she said. “It’s very nice.”

“Oh, is it?” her husband countered. “I should see for myself.” His voice dropped in tone to a level that made shivers go up Michelle’s spine.

“I suppose you could,” she said, glancing up at him briefly. William had already stripped down to his slacks.

“You suppose correctly, minx,” he said, hopping a little to remove one of his boots. Giggling, Michelle drew her legs up to her chest to make room for her man in the tub.

“This is so adorable,” she thought. She kept her eyes on the rising water as William stepped in.

“My word, that is hot,” he said, lifting his foot right back out. Michelle chuckled at this expression. “What’s so funny?” her groom demanded, though humor was present in his voice.

“I forgot... British people tend to dislike like hot water,” she said, quietly. William snorted, making himself step in the water again.

“Wherever did you hear that preposterous lie?” he asked, intrigued; he sat down, doing his best to endure the heat. “How on earth can she stand the water so hot?” he thought. Keeping her laughter in, Michelle took a big breath.

“I hear the ‘C’ on English faucets stands for ‘cold’,” she began,”... and the ‘H’ stands for ‘horribly cold’.” She laughed at William’s annoyed grimace.

“Listen you,” he said, edging closer to her. “Any more comments like that and I’ll run the cold water on you. You’re as bad as your Uncle.” Michelle giggled in her hand. After he got used to the temperature of the water, even William had to admit having such a large bathtub was a really good idea. The young couple spent quite some time in the bath, though very little was spent in actual washing.

Before dinner was served, William walked with his bride through the various rooms of the castle; among the many  historical items to look at stood a steel and glass case which displayed an ancient banner, carefully and lovingly preserved over the centuries. It was the very flag the ancestor of Dundee held by William Wallace at Stirling Bridge. It appeared to have  old bloodstains on it, but it was otherwise in excellent condition.

Their first whole day in Scotland ended by a large fireplace in the ‘drawing room’. Dinner was over, and the staff gone; William and Michelle sat close together on the floor by the fire, on rug, leaning back comfortably against a sofa. They sat still for several minutes, just watching the fire crackle and dance; the orange and red lights threw moving shadows on the dark walls.

Outside, the cold wind blew and howled, but it could not get in. William kept one arm around Michelle; she leaned on him in the most satisfying way, a s if she depended on him. All men like to feel wanted so, but William did not think it would feel quite as gratifying to have her trust him this way. It really felt as if they were becoming one... even just in sitting here, watching a fire. Leaning down a little, he kissed the top of her head.

Looking up at her husband, Michelle studied his face for a moment and smiled. Her smile spoke of understanding. No words were needed; William knew she felt as he did.

The wind blew harder outside, rattling the window menacingly. Grinning, William brought a cup of hot tea to his lips.

“Let the wind blow,” he thought. “Nothing will disturb my Michelle and I.” Beside him, Michelle sighed; it sounded like pure contentment.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

As the taxicab pulled up to William’s building, Michelle smiled up through the window at the brick facade. It was no just longer his building, but theirs. Hopping out, she gladly took her bags in hand out of the trunk and stood patiently as William paid the driver.

“Are you alright with those bags, love?” her man asked, loaded down with luggage himself. Michelle nodded, her cheeks glowing red with the chill. William gave her a smile and led the way towards the entrance, stepping over a small snowdrift. They'd flown back from Scotland right into a snowstorm; while they were away, the City had dressed itself in a thin veil of white. The snow would most likely melt away in a week; it was merely a promissory note on future blizzards. Michelle looked around as they walked through the lobby doors; the snow somehow made all the sharp edges of the concrete look softer.

Luckily, no one else rode up with them but the elevator valet; there was not room for anyone else with the luggage and the unplanned extra bags that somehow made themselves present. Energized with the cold air, Michelle smiled from ear to ear while taking off her hat and gloves. Soon she’d get to step into her new home as Mrs. Montgomery; her eyes shone bright with the thought. William managed to nudge his bride’s shoulder with his elbow, his arms full. Michelle nudged him back, glancing up into her man’s blue eyes. She saw that he was smiling as well.

Finally they stood together at their door; Michelle giggled softy at William’s attempt to punch in the code while carrying so many things.

“No snickering, minx,” he said, setting the bags down in defeat. Putting in the code, he suddenly scooped up Michelle and the bags and carried her in. Laughing, Michelle kept hold of the luggage in her lap; she kissed the bottom of William’s chin. Setting down his bride inside the entry, William chuckled. “I’ve heard that’s traditional,” he said, leaning down for a kiss. Michelle complied willingly. William went back out into the hall for the rest of the bags.

“I’d like to get unpacked before I run out of energy,” Michelle told him, once her man was back inside.

“That’s not a bad idea,” William agreed. “Then we’ve the whole evening to cuddle, hmm?” He winked and made his way down the hall. Michelle followed him, her face a little pink.

“When does the blushing stop?” she wondered. Not that she minded very much; William was allowed to make her blush anytime he wanted. Walking behind him, Michelle’s mind was filled by a rather sentimental thought. She’d never seen her man’s room before... their room. “I have to stop making these comparisons,” she told herself.

Michelle stepped through the double doors, peeking around into their bedroom. She smiled. Though the large, semi-circle window--nearly covering one wall--was in itself impressive, Michelle’s artistic eye traveled to the bed and the arrangement of colors thereon; William’s headboard appeared to be made  of a  dark, rich-brown leather, set against gray pin-striped sheets, dark blue paisley duvet and pillows with a bold, blue throw blanket. It looked comfortable, manly and neat. Michelle didn’t want to change a thing.

“Someone likes Ralph Lauren,” she said, smiling at William. He grinned, setting down the luggage by the closet.

“Guilty,” he said, opening the closet doors. “You like?” Michelle set down her bags as well.

“Very much,” she said. “It has your flavor all over it.” William chuckled.

“I have a flavor?” he teased. Michelle’s blush was all the answer he got.

They spent about half an hour putting away their things as well as marking some items for dry-cleaning, including Michelle’s wedding gown and William’s tuxedo. Michelle lovingly tucked her dress into the plastic garment bag, giving a small sigh.

“You’re lucky,” she remarked. “You get to wear your tux again, but it’s considered taboo to wear your wedding gown again.” William gave a little snort.

“That’s nonsense,” he said, looking over her shoulder. “You look downright gorgeous in that gown, love. I’d be mortally wounded if you didn’t wear it again for me.” Michelle bit her lip and threw him a smile.

“I would, for you,” she said. “It gives away a little more of my, uh... chest than I like.” William took the bag from her and hung it on a hook protruding out of the wall.

“That’s part of its appeal, love,” he remarked, smirking at his bride. He stepped a little closer to her. “If I may, you are still wearing your coat.” Michelle looked down at her blue coat, then over at her groom.

“So are you,” she pointed out, looking her man in the eye. William wrapped his arms around Michelle, smelling her hair and sighing.

“What do you say we un-make the bed?” he suggested hopefully. Michelle’s answer came as a soft laugh, even her ears turned pink. Pulling away from him, she unbuttoned her coat, hanging it on wall-hook. William observed her faded blue jeans and the red button-up shirt she wore the first time she’d come to his flat. He watched her walk over to the bed; she reached out her hand and felt the blankets in a slow, even manner. Just the movements of her fingers made his mouth go dry; his bride clearly liked the feel and textures of their bed. William hurriedly unbuttoned his own coat.

“I like this room,” Michelle said, looking towards the window. “I won’t instigate any changes.” Hanging up his coat, William grinned, stripping off his sweater.

“I must admit I am enormously thankful you’re not a pink, frilly curtain type of girl, love,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt; he kept his eyes on his wife the entire time, taking in her form-fitting jeans. They looked worn to a velvety softness. Smiling with a rising anticipation, William inwardly reveled in the moment; he’d dreamed of her in here with him, many times. All the places they’d been and seen in the last two weeks aside, William wanted her most in their own home.

“Well, Lady of the castle... you seem a little over-dressed.” William’s words broke on Michelle’s ears like warm wind; she shivered but tried to suppress it. She didn’t dare turn around; the warmth radiating off the man standing behind her suggested he wasn’t wearing a whole lot.

“I suppose so,” she answered, finally. Gathering her courage, she turned around, looking William in the eyes. Her expression made an odd emotion drift through William; she looked calm but her eyes were lively, her growing exhilaration making them shine. He loved that look the best. Michelle offered him a small smile; it spoke of a little nervousness. William knew a fantastic cure for that.

“Now I get to see exactly how ticklish you are...” he said, grinning down at her. Michelle’s blush vanished.

“You wouldn’t!” she said with a wide smile. William chuckled darkly, reaching out for her in a sudden movement. Michelle dodged him and laughed, only to find herself hurled onto the bed.

“Aha!” William said, victoriously. “Though you could out-maneuver me, you little m...” His words were cut short by his wife’s fingertips, softly exploring his chest and arms; her actions nearly made her man pass out.

“Michelle,” William finished. “You’ve no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“I do,” Michelle whispered. “Exactly what you do to me.” William thought her words were the most alluring ever spoken. Michelle’s red shirt was tossed to the floor a few seconds later, soon after joined by her other clothes. Michelle let go her reserve a little more, knowing there really was no reason at all to feel uneasy.

Some hours later William awoke, finding himself once again in his own bed... but with company. Michelle lay still, her head resting on his chest. He felt her breathing. Caressing her hair, William sighed; he’d had dreams similar to this, but never did they end with him waking to Michelle in his arms.

“If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up,” he thought. William slid out of bed very slowly, as not to wake the sleeping young woman. His bride stirred a little but did not wake.

Smiling, William hastily drew on a long sleeved t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, not really caring for formal attire at the moment. Locating his slippers, William ambled happily down the hall, through the dining room to the kitchen; it felt awfully good to be married. Whistling, he put on the tea and searched around in the fridge for some simple dinner items. Several minutes later, William emerged into the living room with a tray; the mood was simply to intimate to eat in the dining room. Setting the small meal down on the coffee table, William turned to head back to the bedroom and wake his lovely wife.

Michelle met him at the bedroom door, dressed in her long, dark-red robe, her all down and brushed bright. Blushing, she smiled at his clothes.

“You look very nice, sir,” she said, glancing up at him. William kissed her forehead and took her hand.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said. “You like the t-shirt and flannel look? I hear it’s all the rage now.” Michelle laughed, softly and walked with William down the hall.

“Oh, dinner!” she said, seeing the tray. “Wow... I was coming out to make us food. What a nice surprise.” William laughed a little at his wife’s enthusiasm.

“Sit down, minx,” he said, smiling. “It was my pleasure.” Michelle sat on the floor by the coffee table, her back to the couch.

“I don’t want to get any on the couches,” she explained. “We could pretend we’re eating sushi.” William joined her on the floor, chuckling.

“We’ll pretend together, then,” he said, pouring out some juice into the glasses. Their meal consisted of rolls, salad, sliced ham and cheese; Michelle fed William an olive, yelping as he lightly bit her fingertip.

“Listen Tarzan...” she said, pointing her finger at him. “You hungry? Eat food! Jane is not food...” William leaned back on the couch, laughing at his bride’s annoyed expression; Michelle could not help smiling as well.

“Tarzan eh?” he said, rubbing his chin and grinning. “I think that’s as good a nickname as any, love.” Michelle giggled.

“I’m Minx… and you get to be Tarzan? No, way... you’re terrible at tree-climbing.” William narrowed his eyes at Michelle.

“Is that so?” he said, leaning closer to her. “Well, Minx, I think you’re asking for it.”

“Ah, the inevitable empty threat...” Michelle returned, gleefully. She realized she’d made a tactical error at once; there was very little space to maneuver away and run.

William lifted his wife off the floor and tossed her onto the couch before she had time to bolt; he tickled her for good measure, liking the sound of her laughter very much. Giggling hard, Michelle tried to wiggle away... to no avail. Enjoying himself thoroughly, William prevented his bride’s escape by straddling her on the couch. Chuckling, he glanced down; Michelle’s robe had come open a little. Halting his tickling endeavors, William allowed his wife a few moments to catch her breath.

“You’re not wearing a shirt under this?” he asked, his voice a little strained. Michelle met his gaze, her breast rising and falling rapidly still.

“Uh, no,” she said, smiling. She bit her bottom lip, but William saw it was not from shyness. Her eyes almost glowed with exercise and something else a trifle more enticing.

“Bloody hell...” William thought. He liked Michelle’s version of visual entrapment. Very much so. She regarded him with a rather warm gaze.

“You’re a bit overdressed, sir,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

“Hm... shy Michelle is temporarily gone and the Minx has replaced her.” William said, untying Michelle’s sash. His wife laughed, softly.

“Every girl has an inner vixen, you know,” she informed him. “I just don’t let mine out to play very often.” William lifted an eyebrow at her.

“Interesting,” he said, grinning; his smile made Michelle feel very much at home.

Several minutes later, Michelle touched William’s face with her fingertips. He seemed very pleased with himself; they rested on the couch, covered partially with Michelle’ robe.

“In spite of your lack of tree-climbing abilities,” she said, quietly, ”… You’ve earned the nickname, in my opinion.” William chuckled.

“I’m flattered,” he said, sitting up a little. “You know I’m liable to get spoiled with all this... activity, you know.”

“Activity?” Michelle said, with mock-surprise on her face. “Is that what we’re calling it? Yes, well, don’t worry you’re going back to work on Monday. Then you’ll have to wait for activities until you return home to me in the evening.”

“Now, that sounds bloody depressing,” William said, grimacing. Looking over at Michelle, he grinned; she sat up on the couch, her blood-red robe draped over her. “Don’t worry love. I’ll find ways around that.” Michelle liked his tone but refrained from showing it. She did watch him put on his clothes again, however. Walking through the dining room, William carried the tray back.

“I could get very used to such frequent activity,” he thought, grinning. He felt like he’d been dosed with raging teenager hormones again. Not that he minded.

Pulling on her robe once more, Michelle glanced over at William’s side table, a little off to one side of the living room. She saw the wedding gifts piled there and smiled.

“William?” she called, tying her sash. Her husband strolled through the door, smiling at her boyishly.

“Present,” he said. Michelle grinned at him and pointed to the gifts. “Oh, yes. I guess we forgot to open those. I have been a bit... distracted.” He kissed Michelle’s neck and walked over to the side table. “There was one in particular I was curious about...” He spied the lime-covered gift and brought it out, grinning. “Here it is,” he said. Michelle stood next to him, looking at the gift.

“You do know that my uncle has nothing against the British, right?” she asked, looking up at William; he chuckled.

“I am aware of that, love,” he said. “It’s kind of a joke between us.” Michelle located a trash-bin and brought it over.

The gift turned out to be an electric knife and a DVD; the movie was really an episode of a popular cooking show, showing one how to cut a fruit bowl out of a watermelon. William laughed a good deal over it, especially the note included. It read: 'Everyone needs to know how to cut a fruit bowl. Better luck with yours'.

“At least he didn’t include Bob’s saw...” William said, smiling. The knife was a rather good one, even in his estimation; it would be handy carving meat and so forth.

“True,” Michelle commented. “Perhaps we should try it out one day; it’s the kind of thing one would use for parties and things.” Looking at the DVD cover, William grinned; his eyes were full of humor.

“I have an idea,” he said.

THE DOORBELL roused Oscar from his couch; hitting the mute button on the football game, he adjusted his sweater and opened the door. No one was out there, but on his doorstep, sitting in the evening chill was a perfectly cut watermelon bowl, with fruit salad in it. Grinning, Oscar picked it up.

“Ok… show yourselves,” he said, loudly. Around the corner came a little laugher, William and Michelle came around, both smiling. The young people looked happy and in love. “I see you’ve put my gift to good use,” the man said. “Come inside a minute.”

“Why thank you,” William said, jovially. “Don’t mind if we do.”

Installed in the warm living room, the two guests accepted a cup of decaf from Oscar. He sat down, looking at them both a minute.

“I’m not going to be obvious and ask if you have a good time,” he began, grinning at William. “I can see you did.” Michelle blushed and smiled.

“Yes, we did,” she answered. “Thank you for not asking.” Her uncle chuckled.

“Anytime,” he said. “I have some good news, myself.” At this William sat forward a little.

“What now?” he thought. With Oscar it could be anything, literally; perhaps the man had decided to join a ‘green’ group to herd goats, grow carrots and picket oil-tankers.

Seeing his small audience was listening, Oscar smiled.

“I’m moving to California,” he said. Michelle’s eyebrows went up; questions were on the tip of her tongue. Holding her peace, she waited for her uncle to explain.

“I’ve heard that the climate there is very nice,” William said, carefully. Oscar stood up, walking over to the window. Snow was already falling again.

“Hence its appeal,” he said, turning back to his guests. “I don’t want to wade through another New York winter.”

“I understand that,” Michelle said, quietly. “Do you know where you’d be settling?”

“I think I’ll try Sacramento,” Oscar answered, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I liked capitals and I hear the market’s ripe for buyers, and there are more than a few law firms teetering on the brink. Good place for me.”

William chuckled.

“Yes. As they taught us in law school: ‘the early vulture gathers the carrion’,” he said, amused. Oscar laughed.

“That's not bad,” he remarked. “I’ll have to remember that one.” He looked over at Michelle. “I hope you guys will come out and visit sometime,” he said, sobering. “Keep in touch and all that?” Michelle smiled at him fondly.

“We will,” she promised. “Do you think you’ll like living in... Sacramento?” Oscar thought for a moment.

“I think so,” he said. “Can’t be worse with all that sunshine.”

“The man has a point,” William said. “I bet Bob will be getting a promotion.” Oscar grinned, walking back over to the couch; he sat down again, fixing William with his flint-gray stare.

“Over the main office, yeah,” Oscar said. “Bob knows almost as much about running the place as me. The new office, however, needs you to run it.”

It took a moment, but slowly William and Michelle realized what Oscar just said. Michelle smiled, very wide; she wanted to hop up and clap her hands, but refrained. William blinked, allowed his calm facade to crack; he grinned.

“I won’t disappoint you, sir,” he said. Oscar nodded, sagely.

“I know,” he said. “You’re too stubborn to disappoint and you’re damn good at your job. I think you can manage a branch office just fine.” Michelle kissed William’s cheek. She favored her uncle with a bright smile.

“I know for certain that this has nothing whatsoever to do with me,” she said, sighing. “You’d never do family favors.” This time, Oscar laughed, hard.

“You know me too well already,” he said. “Well, get on with you two. I need some sleep.”

William shook his hand before they left. “We’ll talk Monday, sport,” Oscar told him. “Until then, enjoy your weekend with your bride.” He gave Michelle a small hug and watched them walk down the steps to a waiting taxicab.

“Wow…” Michelle said. “You get a wife and a promotion all in the same month.” William smiled down at her, liking her animated demeanor.

“It is a good promotion love, in more ways than one,” he said, opening the cab door. “As the branch boss, I’d get more time off and a bit more flexibility in my schedule.” Michelle considered his words as they got in the taxi.

“So, you’ll be able to come home more often?” she asked, her face coloring a little. William smiled, lifting one eyebrow.

“As I recall, I promised you babies,” he said, leaning down to her ear. “I plan to deliver on that promise.” Michelle smiled at this.

“I see,” she said, drawing back from his face a little. Looking into his bright blue eyes, Michelle saw herself reflected in them. Her reflection smiled back. “I hope they have your gorgeous eyes, William.”

“Mm...” he answered, his face buried in her neck. “A few need to have your eyes, though. Such a lovely, odd color.” Michele giggled.

“Ok, so how many kids should we go for?” she inquired, leaning back against the seat. William looked at her face a moment, a smile playing around his mouth.

“I say we just keep up our activities and God can decide how many we get,” he said, at last.

“You’re a genius,” Michelle said, smiling.

“Certifiable,” William returned. “After all, I did figure out how to make you mine.” Michelle sighed; she leaned her head down on his shoulder.

“That you did,” Michelle said. The young couple rode homeward over the Brooklyn Bridge, towards their own domicile of hope.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

In the full sunlight of her bedroom’s semi-circle window, Michelle stood at a wooden easel, putting finishing touches on a drawing. William finished the easel a month earlier, surprising her with it one evening. He’d been working on it for some time, apparently; he’d informed his bride--at the time--that it was his most complicated piece yet. Just knowing that William had made it especially for her sent warmth through Michelle’s fingers and inspired her to continue her passion for drawing.

The picture occupying the easel resembled a cozy scene from inside a country pub; aged and young faces alike looked out from the thick, white paper; some smiled, some drank from pints  and others looked right back at the observer. Michelle smiled; it fairly radiated a warm feeling of inclusion. Leaning forward, Michelle bit her lip in concentration, applying a tiny lined shadow under one subject’s worn-looking hat.

The bedroom door opened; turning, Michelle saw William walking up to her, a pleased smile on his face.

“Welcome, o’ lord of the castle,” Michelle said, capping her pen. “How goes the fine furniture making, deep in your craftsman’s dungeon?” William grinned back at her; his eyes held the look of one who carries secret knowledge, and means to keep it so.

“It’s too lovely outside to stay in,” he stated, kissing his wife’s face. “As much as I like seeing you using my present, I insist on carrying you off to an undisclosed location. Right now.” Michelle laughed, softy.

“Really?” she said. “It’s Saturday… and I’m still in my pajamas.”

William walked deliberately over to the closet; a few seconds, he came out bearing Michelle’s pale pink dress.

“This will do,” he said, grinning. “Honestly, your side of the closet is still very bare, love. It takes me nearly five minutes to find something of mine to wear.” Michelle rolled her eyes.

“That’s the point,” she said, smiling. “I like being able to dress quickly.” She picked up the pink gown, feeling the soft fabric with a smile. “You want me to wear this? Now I’m curious...” Quickly, Michelle stripped off her camisole and pajama bottoms, stowing them in a nearby laundry basket. “The last time I wore this was for the pre-wedding photographs,” she continued.

“I’d like some photographs of you right now...” William said, taking in his wife’s form appreciatively. Michelle smiled and favored him with a warm gaze.

“If you want to go right now, you’d better quit looking at me like that,” she said, softly. William licked his bottom lip, moving towards Michelle.

“I meant ‘right now’ as in sometime in the next hour,” he said, quietly. Michelle’s greenish eyes looked into his, giving William the distinct impression she understood and minded not. He needed no further encouragement.

“PLEASE TELL me where we’re going...” Michelle said, pleadingly. William chuckled, not taking his eyes from the road. They drove down a small country road in his roadster, the city far behind them.

“Your doe-eyed expression, though very lovely, will not wheedle any information from me, love,” he informed her. “I’ve waited a long time to bring you here, so be patient.” Michelle sighed, her man’s maddeningly calm tone only let her know that he was perfectly in charge of the situation and his plans were in motion. Smiling a little, Michelle realized she did not mind not knowing all the time; William had excellent plans as she’d discovered numerous times.

Shortly after noon, William turned down what appeared to be a private drive; soon both sides of the road were lined with apples trees, in full bloom. They drove right through the middle of a vast apple orchard. Michelle sat forward, her face alight. The trees were tall and entirely engulfed in the white and pink blossoms, looking like fluffy clouds pinned to the earth via a thin, wooden stake. Rolling down her window, Michelle inhaled the sweet, sweet fragrance of the tree-spawned flowers.

“Oh, William,” she whispered, “How beautiful!” Smiling, William pulled over to the shoulder at the base of a small, tree covered hill. Michelle’s face reflected his own enjoyment of the place, though he was not inclined to let it show, just yet.

“I thought you’d like it,” he said. “I was waiting until I knew for certain the trees would be blossoming.” Michelle turned and kissed his face, twice. Her eyes shone.

“You sneaky Tarzan, you,” she said, affectionately. “Been monitoring crop reports?” William shrugged, hiding a smile.

“I have my sources,” he said, cryptically. Michelle put her arms around his neck.

“Really? Enlighten me,” she said, kissing his chin. William cleared his throat.

“All in good time,” he said. “I have a picnic basket in the trunk, love.” Michelle’s smile grew even more bright.

“At the risk of sounding unduly like an adolescent... how cool is this?” she said, hopping out of the car. William chuckled, opening his car door.

Collecting the lunch hamper, they walked hand in hand up the low hill. At the top a large apple tree stood, its branches so long they drooped down almost to the ground, forming a kind of sheltered, flower-roofed space underneath.

“Oh, let's live here!” Michelle said, fingering some nearby blossoms. “Right under this tree. We can put our bed there and the armoire here and the fridge there.” William chuckled; although ridiculous, the idea held immense appeal. Waking up each morning to Michelle and apple blossoms... an excellent combination.

“While I agree with you, I say we spent a little time looking around the place before deciding to reside here,” William said, amused. He held up a thick blanket. Smiling, Michelle nodded and helped him spread it out on the ground under the tree. There was another blanket, but William pushed it out of sight behind the basket. He sat down, his back to the tree trunk.

“Are you going to sit, love?” he coaxed, patting the blanket next to him. Really, though, sitting was the last thing on his mind. “I have something to tell you.”

Intrigued, Michelle sat, cuddling up next to her man.

“Men have the advantage with phrases like that,” she said, gently; she touched his ear softly. “You know I’m immediately curious and said curiosity makes me gravitate to your side.” William looked down into Michelle’s eyes, liking her mood very much.

“Yes, well that is the point of the exercise,” he said. “I have a bit of a confession to make.” Michelle wondered at the pink tinge taking over William’s neck but let him continue. “The night I found you at the gallery, I had this, er... vision, I guess you could call it.”

“Vision?” Michelle asked, gently. William looked out over the lovely view.

“Well, perhaps ‘daydream’ is a better word,” he said, looking at her once more. “You looked up at me with those beautiful eyes of yours... and suddenly I was sitting with you in an apple orchard, very like this one… with blossoms and a picnic. I saw the same thing during the ceremony on our wedding day.” Michelle looked at William steadily, an awed expression on her face.

“That is very romantic,” she said, her voice soft. “What were we doing?” William grinned.

“Talking, actually. And Laughing,” he said, looking slowly over his wife’s fair countenance. “Then, I leaned down and kissed you.”

“I like this dream so far,” Michelle said, smiling; her eyes sparkled. “Was there more?”

William shook his head.

“No. I got the impression it was a make-your-own-ending kind of vision,” he explained. “I can think of a few ways to end it.” Michelle blushed, striving to hold her husband’s warm gaze.

“A few?” she inquired. Grinning, William slid one arm behind Michelle’s back.

“Indeed,” he returned. His gaze made Michelle feel like melting; she didn’t even notice him unbuttoning the back of her dress. “I have a fairly good imagination, you know.”

“I love you, do you know that?” Michelle said, slipping her arms around William’s neck. “There is no other for me.”

“I know, love,” William said; his voice remained gentle, though he felt his pulse speeding up.

“No one but you could make me feel this way.” He kissed Michelle and let his mind wander.

“It’s a good thing I picked the most remote, unvisited apple orchard in the county,” he thought. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to be right here, under the blossoming tree with Michelle. Happily, no one interrupted them.

They spent a rather pleasant afternoon together, talking and eating, though at times they ate a trifle informally, wearing nothing more than a shared blanket. In the back of his mind, William etched the sight of his wife shyly feeding him while very bare, rosy flowers moving in the breeze above them. Some of the delicate petals fell to her fair skin; William picked some from her hair, his eyes conveying what words could not. Sighing, he felt content, knowing the idyllic picture would stay with him the rest of his life.

A FEW weeks after the picnic, Michelle awoke to the sight of William, standing near their closet; he was adjusting his tie for work. Sensing her gaze, he turned and favored her with his signature grin. His wife suddenly wished it was the weekend so she could coax her man back into bed. Knowing he'd be late if she did, she merely returned his smile. Tossing back the covers, Michelle sat up. Almost immediately, she felt dizzy. The room spun and swam, making her feel completely nauseous.

Pulling on his suit coat, William was surprised to see his wife hurry over to their restroom. Going to the door, he saw Michelle hunched rather pathetically with her head over the toilet. Kneeling on the rug, William touched her back gently and helped pull her hair out of her face. Michelle had nothing really to throw up, but her stomach seemed persistent on going through the motions anyway. Concerned, William kissed her temple, rubbing her back.

“Ohh...” Michelle groaned softly, leaning her head against William’s. “I hope it’s not the flu.” Her husband chuckled.

“Indeed. That is an occurrence we can forgo,” he said, getting up. “Let me run the shower for you. You’ll feel better.”

“Ugh,” his wife answered, hugging the toilet still. “Thank you... this is a really weird feeling.” Smiling, William turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. Helping Michelle stand, he noticed she was a little unsteady on her feet.

An idea occurred to him, but he kept it to himself.

“Do you feel dizzy, love?” he inquired. Michelle nodded, leaning against him; helping her off with her clothes, William opened the shower door and let Michelle sink down to the bottom. She liked sitting down in the shower anyhow, but William still felt sorry for her. He hated feeling ill himself, fervently so.

“I’m going to get some things for you at the pharmacy,” he said, softly, kneeling down; he didn’t care that the shower flung a few water droplets on his clothes. Michelle leaned one side her face on her knees, looking at her husband gratefully with one eye.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice muffled. “The water feels so good.” William smiled at her.

“You stay in there for a little while,” he said, touching his wife’s soft mouth very gently. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t you have to go to the office?” Michelle inquired; her voice sounded far away. Grinning, William stood up.

“I’m the branch boss, remember?” he said, with humor. “Relax, love. I’ll take care of you.” Michelle face grew calm again; she managed a small smile. Closing the shower door, William escaped the room and fairly bolted down the hall, a smile from ear to ear.

I local market stood a few blocks from his building. In the pharmacy section, William headed straight for the women’s hygiene aisle; it occurred to him that he’d never so much as stepped into it before. Unable to wipe the smile from his face, he methodically picked out one of each kind of pregnancy test and dumped them into his basket. Finding the cold remedy section, he looked around and finally asked a clerk which nausea medicines were good for expecting women. The lady gave him the once-over and led him to an aisle with several kinds of tea. Picking out a tin box marked ‘Chamomile’, the clerk told him where to find some saltine crackers.

The young man at the check-stand gave William an odd look as he scanned in no less than eleven pregnancy tests.

“What, ya having a baby or something?” the teenage boy asked. William grinned.

“I hope so,” he said, earnestly. The youth shook his head, scanning the rest of the items quickly.

“Dude, I feel sorry for you,” he retuned dolefully. William snorted.

“That’s because you’ve never been in love,” he retorted. “One day you’ll want children of your own and a beautiful girl willing to have them with you. Hopefully you’ll be able to find a girl like that, let alone convince her to marry you.” With that, William paid for his items and left the store, his smile returning.

“What if I’m a father?” he thought, his grin widening. The idea made him jog home at a quicker pace.

Michelle was still in the shower when he returned; she did not look like she was feeling any better. William decided to let her stay in there for the moment; he made a cup of the tea in the kitchen and brought it in their bedroom. Getting out some fresh pajamas for his wife, William flipped open his phone, punching in the numbers out of memory. Mabel answered; she was surprised that he wasn’t going to show at the office, but complied with his request to re-schedule his meetings a couple days out.

Stepping into the bathroom, William heard the water shut off. Michelle opened the door; she stepped out gingerly, hanging onto the frame. William was by her side, wrapping a large towel around her slender shoulders.

“I can dry myself, Tarzan,” Michelle said, softly; she gave him a little grin. William smiled back, encouraged by her spunk.

“I know, minx,” he said, fondly. “You’re not feeling well, so let me help.” Michelle have a soft sigh.

“Well, if you insist,” she said; she let William carry her out of the bathroom. He sat her on the edge of their bed, drying her legs off with the towel. Looking up into her face, he grinned.

“As much as I like seeing your bare skin, love...” he began, “... let’s get you into some fresh clothes, eh?” Michelle nodded. It had been so long since she felt really ill; her head swam and she just wanted to lie down.

“Please God, don’t let me have the flu,” she prayed, out loud.

William chuckled, helping her pull a clean camisole over her head. “Actually, you may not be sick,” he said, gently. Sitting down next to his wife on the bed, he put an arm around her shoulders. “I think, well... I mean, there’s a chance you might  be... pregnant.” Michelle looked up at William with wide eyes. Her husband looked absolutely exhilarated. She smiled.

“Oh...” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. “I didn’t even think of that. That’s right, you’re supposed to get all sick and dizzy... wow.” She looked over at William, her eyes bright. “We need to get a pregnancy test.” Chuckling, William fetched over a paper bag.

“Way ahead of you, love,” he said. “I got you some Chamomile tea, too, even if you’re not.” Michelle felt moved by the gesture; she touched William’s face.

“You’re wonderful,” she whispered. “I’m so lucky to have you.” William kissed her fingertips, unable to wipe the smile from his face. Not that he tried.

Michelle looked in the bag and laughed.

“Gosh, did you buy out the store?” she teased, feeling a little better. The prospect she may be carrying William’s baby cheered her up immensely.

“One of each,” he man explained, sheepishly. “I didn’t know what kind to get, you know... I’ve never thought I was going to be a father before.” Michelle kissed his cheek.

“Don’t get too excited yet,” she said. “We don’t know if I am. You’re lucky I have to use the restroom right now.” William’s smile brightened instantly.

“Go on,” he said, helping her up. “Do you need any help, or...” Michelle giggled, pushing him gently away.

“You may want to run on your treadmill of something for a few minutes,” she said, smiling. “I’ve heard it  takes a little while to show results.” She blew him a kiss and disappeared into the bathroom again.

William contented himself with pacing around the kitchen, though that activity did not last long. He picked up a cloth and some polish from under the sink and went out to the living room; a small concert piano stood by the windows, glowing in the morning sun. Though it did not look dusty, William spent several minutes vigorously rubbing it down with the cloth, his eyes darting to the hallway every few seconds.

In the bathroom, Michelle waited by the tests, biting her lip in anticipation. She’d decided to do three, just to be sure. The rest would have to wait until she had to use the restroom again. Blushing, she touched her stomach, smiling to herself.

“A baby...” she thought. “William’s baby... our baby.” Tears filled her eyes, but they were not tears of sorrow. Looking over at the tests again, Michelle leaned forward to scrutinize the little plastic windows; her hand flew to her mouth.

Hearing his name called--even through four walls and much empty space--William darted down the hall to his wife. Michelle appeared, a radiant smile upon her face.

“Baby?” he asked, feeling his heart may stop from the excitement.

“Baby,” Michelle said; her eyes were soft with emotion; she flew into William’s arms, holding onto him as if she’d never let go. William felt moisture in his own eyes, finding no words came to mind. None at all. They stood a moment so, reveling in the moment.

“Three,” William said at last, drawing back from Michelle a little; he looked at her lovely face, her trusting eyes gazing into his, brimming with happy tears. “There’s three of us, now, love.” Michelle let herself laugh; she let William kiss her several times. Her husband’s eyes held a wonderful look of blissful pride; she thought he’d never looked so handsome.

The phone rang; the sound of it did not move either of them at first. Unwillingly, William walked over and answered it, still mentally atop the high hill of Euphoria.

“Hello!” Margaret’s voice rang out. “You’ll never guess my news… Luca and Laurel eloped!” Shaking his head a little, William grinned.

“What? When?” he asked, beckoning to Michelle; he put the call on speaker-phone.

“Luca and Laurel! They went to Atlantic City and got married!” Margaret said, happily. “Sophie’s besides herself, you know... she’s terribly upset they didn’t go for the big wedding, but she’s positively elated her boy’s finally tied the knot. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“It is,” William said, smiling at Michelle; she hovered next to her man, still looking lovingly into his face. He kissed her fingertips again and grinned. “I’m glad they finally did it. Good show. Michelle’s here with me, and we have some news as well.”

“You’re not going to move out to California like that crazy man Oscar, are you?” Margaret inquired; her voice took on a threatening tone. “You don’t visit me enough as it is...” William laughed; Michelle also giggled, though quietly.

“No, mother... we’re having a baby,” he said, dropping the bomb.

A long pause ensued.

“Sorry, I think I may have heard you wrong,” Margaret said, calmly. “Did you say...”

“We’re pregnant,” William interrupted, smiling. “You didn’t think we’d disappoint you, did you?” There did not exist a library large enough on Earth to fully express Margaret’s joy at hearing she was going to be a grandmother; the lady did tolerably well, however, in relating her profound happiness to William and Michelle. They accepted her congratulations and promised to come visit her soon.

As soon as she got off the phone, Margaret called everyone she knew, including Sophie.

“It is about time,” the Italian woman said, over the phone to her friend. “They have been married nearly five months, yes?”

“Oh I’m so glad! My very own grandbaby!” Margaret returned, feeling giddy. “Now, you watch, I bet Luca and Laurel will be calling you in a month. Luca won’t waste as much time as William.”

“One can only hope,” Sophie returned.

In the relative quiet of their room, Michelle sat for a moment with William on their bed, just soaking in the news; it felt good to be wrapped in his arms. He seemed to be protecting both her and their unborn child; his strong embrace was tempered a little, as if he did not wish to squeeze her too hard.

“I’m very happy, William,” she said, at last. She still felt sick and dizzy, but suddenly that didn’t matter much anymore. She could almost imagine the little spark of life pulsating within her, and the thought was better than any gift on the planet. William kissed her forehead.

“So am I, love,” he said, sighing a little. “We made a baby out of our love for each other. Oh, Michelle... I don’t know if I’ve ever heard anything more delightful in my life.” Michelle let a few tears slip down her face. She brought one of William’s hands to her lips, bestowing several kisses on it.

“Don’t waste those, love,” her man said, lifting her chin with his free hand; he kissed Michelle fondly, as only a man in love can.

Holding her close, William let the young woman carrying his child fall asleep in his arms; he gently caressed her soft hair. He looked skyward, uttering a silent prayer of thanks.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Michelle sighed, rubbing her back. Even vacuuming their  apartment was a major undertaking being so pregnant.

“Just eight more weeks,” she thought, running her hand gently over her swollen belly. Smiling, she kept working. Sometimes, she felt so ill it was hard to get up and do anything, let alone housework; Michelle forced herself to, however, fearing becoming more overweight than was necessary. Already she’d gained a good twenty-five pounds; her doctor assured her this was completely normal. The friendly obgyn had children herself, which made the advice easier to swallow. The pre-natal pills, however, were not; they proved to be odd-tasting things; it took most of Michelle’s willpower to choke them down each day.

The extra weight normal or not, Michelle refused to be idle. She led the vacuum around her bedroom until she was certain the dust armies were abated for the day; winding up the cord, she glanced at the clock. Smiling, she sighed and put away the vacuum in its closet.

“How did Alfred do this every day?” she wondered aloud. Sure, she was pregnant but the elderly man had cleaned and cooked meticulously, all the while a senior citizen.

The phone rang.

Hello?” Michelle asked, picking it up.

“Well, hello there!” came Laurel’s chipper voice. Michelle smiled.

“How on earth can you be so cheerful?” she said, feigning a pout. “You’re only a month behind me; you should still be ill and irritable.” Laurel’s laugh sounded out merrily through the phone line.

“Aw, don’t hate me cause I’m happy,” the young woman returned. “It’s hard to be glum when I am so loving the feel of my big, round tummy. She’s been kicking me like mad all day.” Michelle smiled; she absently rested one hand on her stomach.

“My little one kicks me mostly at night,” she said. “When I’m trying to sleep.”

“Yes, well, he wants attention, like most men do,” Laurel returned. “My little girl’s relentless with the kicking. I still have a so long to go, too. When’s your due date again?”

“Fifty-six days away,” Michelle said, giving a soft laugh. “I promised myself I would not be counting the days but I must confess I want the baby to come right now. I want to be able to sleep normally again.”

“I hear you,” Laurel said. “Also, it will be nice to fit into at some of my old clothes. Though, Luca seems to like my pregnant body a whole lot.”

Michelle blushed, thinking of William’s own whispered endearments and fond touches; she knew he felt similarly but did not say so.

“Maybe it is because our men know they are responsible for our current state and find it self-congratulatory,” she ventured. Laurel giggled.

“You may be onto something there,” her friend said, still chuckling. “I’m going to head out and grocery-shop. I need chocolate. Just checking in.”

“Thank you, Laurel,” Michelle said, smiling. “Have fun.” Saying goodbye, she hung up the phone. She smiled, thinking of her husband and how he looked at her; mostly she’d seen a measure of pride in his eyes. Sometimes, she felt very unattractive  and disproportionate, but the prospects of the new little one in their life chased away most feeling of such a nature. William certainly had no qualms about touching her.

Glancing at the clock once more, the woman of the house walked around the living room. Straightening the couch cushions, Michelle made her way into the kitchen; she checked on the lamb stew as it simmered in the large, copper pot. Turning off the burner, she fit the lid on tightly, to keep it warm. She took out a bakery loaf f bread and folded it into a cloth, setting it into a wicker basket. There was just enough time to shower and get changed before William came home. Heading to her bedroom, Michelle rubbed her aching neck, swaying it slowly from side to side.

The shower felt incredibly good. Michelle washed and rubbed conditioner in her hair quickly, just so she could sit still in the hot water longer. Eventually, though, all good showers must end. Stepping out, Michelle dried off, smiling down at her swollen mid-section. Wrapping her hands possessively around the ‘baby’, she sighed; pregnancy wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. So far the tender thoughts of motherhood outweighed the irrational fears. The only doubts preying her now were whether or not she’d be a good mom.

Once her hair was dry, Michelle dressed in a comfortable, dark-brown maternity skirt and a white tunic; just getting dressed proved laborious. Michelle had abandoned the idea of putting on socks or tights months ago.

The bed looked awfully comfortable.

“William won’t be home for another half hour,” Michelle thought, smiling. She liked being there for him when he arrived home; her man worked diligently and regarded their flat as his own, personal retreat from the world, especially with her in it. Hanging up her towel, Michelle walked gladly to the bed and lay down; it felt like pure bliss to her sore back and aching hips. Snuggling under the blue throw, she fell immediately into a dreamless sleep.

William stepped out of the elevator eagerly. Before Michelle, he often felt relieved to walk through his own door but never elated. Now, the prospect of home buoyed him through the entire afternoon each day. He wanted his soft, welcoming Michelle in his arms more than anything. William pushed open his door and shut it quickly behind him, as if to keep the rest of the world out. Sighing, he left his briefcase by the door; pulling his tie off; he draped it behind his neck, like a boxer holds a towel after a grueling match. Looking around, William saw Michelle had been cleaning; his floors shone and a faint scent of fresh lavender filled the air. As much as he liked seeing a neat home, he hoped Michelle wasn’t over-exerting herself.

“Michelle?” he called; he did not see his lady in the living room, nor the dining room. Walking into the kitchen, William felt his stomach rumble; the, delicious smell of lamb stew hung in the air. Lifting the lid of the copper pot, William smiled down at the steaming contents. “Heavens, that smells good,” he said, aloud. As much as he wanted to get a bowl of stew and ravenously devour it, William hoped to find Michelle so they could eat together. Peering into the bedroom, William smiled; his wife was napping peacefully on their bed.

Walking quietly, he stood by the bedside, his hands in his pockets. Michelle’s face looked so serene; her slender toes peeped out from the bottom of the dark blue throw. Leaning down, William hovered above his ladylove, a fond smile on his lips. Her dark red-brown hair lay on the pillow around her head in a shiny pile, setting off her glowing skin. William enjoyed the sight of his dozing, pregnant wife for several moments before his empty stomach began to object.

“Michelle...” he said, gently. He kissed her forehead, drawing back in time to see her eyes flutter open. The lovely eyes of his Lady focused on him; she smiled.

“You’re home,” she said, lifting her hands to William’s face; she touched him tenderly. Grinning down at Michelle, William nodded.

“I am glad you’re resting more,” he said, leaning down; he kissed her face tenderly. “The house looks wonderful, though, love... and the smell of stew is making my stomach grumble.” Michelle laughed, softly.

“You poor, hungry man,” she said, with sympathy. Her spunky smile flooded William’s with relief. He knew Michelle was often physically uncomfortable being so pregnant; she bore it well, however, and seemed genuinely happy to have his child within her.

William helped his wife stand up; he smiled at her initially awkward steps. He could not imagine what it felt like to have one’s entire center of gravity shifted out front.

“Shall we eat in the living room, love?” he asked, keeping hold of her hand. Michelle regarded him with a grateful look.

“Yes, thank you,” she said. “Those dining chairs do a number on my back now.”

“Not a problem love,” William said. Helping Michelle sit down on the fluffy couch, William brought out trays with bowls of stew and some rolls; as he set the last tray on the coffee table, he sensed his lady watching him.

Glancing at her, William met her eyes; she regarded him in such a fond, loving way he was pulled to her side, like metal to a magnet. She sat with her feet tucked up, her hand draped over her rounded stomach in a protective manner.

“Thank you,” she said, softly. “I could have brought dinner out, you know.” William grinned.

“I am aware of that, sweetheart,” he said, sinking down next to her on the couch. Putting his arm around her shoulder, he leaned closer, inhaling the sweet smell of Michelle’s hair; his other hand joined hers over their hidden baby. “It’s so nice to come home to you.”

The words, though whispered, filled Michelle with a sentimental confidence; sometimes she felt downright ugly, all dis-proportioned and heavy like this. It was nice to know William’s regard for her held fast. Turning to look at her man, Michelle found him contentedly nuzzling her hair, his eyes closed. She took the moment to lean over and steal a kiss from her husband; she giggled as his eyes snapped open.

“I got you,” she said, ignoring William’s raised eyebrow. “It’s hard to do that; you’re so sneaky. And... It’s nice that you come home to me.”

“It would take death for me not to return to you,” William said. Michelle glanced over at him. A cheeky grin rested on his handsome face. “Especially when she is clearly feeling the Minx again.” Michelle sat forward to hide her blush. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw William move towards her, a certain gleam in his eyes; if she did not act, she’d get tickled... again. Skillfully, Michelle eased William’s tray off the table and onto his lap in one, smooth movement.

“You must be thirsty,” she said, trying to sound innocent. “I’ll get you something to drink.” William was not fooled; grinning, he leaned forward and grabbed two bottles of mineral water from the floor, not taking his eyes from his wife. Her pink-hued face did not escape him.

“Got them already,” he said, grinning. “Don’t think you’ve got away with anything, you little minx.” His words caused Michelle to smile and bite her lip; she settled a little farther away from him on the couch with her own food. Admittedly hungry, William put away his more ‘amusing’ plans for later. They ate to the tune of raindrops pelting the large windows, making ever-shifting patterns on the outside surface. The weak sun set behind the thick clouds, causing the raindrops to glow dark blue against the overcast sky.

“I like the rain,” Michelle said, looking at the windows.

“Do you?” William said, dipping some bread into his stew. “I’m partial to sunshine, myself.” Michelle chuckled softly.

“Who isn’t?” she returned, glancing at him. “Still, the rain is kind of alluring. I know it’s wet and cold and makes people feel miserable, but I think it is amazing. It refreshes the earth and washes away the grime.” She watched the windows a moment, ignoring her food. She felt William’s warm breath on her ear.

“Draw me a picture,” came his voice. Michelle looked over at him, curious. William grinned, an odd light in his. “A picture of the rain, love,” he explained. “The look on your face tells me that you would make a wonderful picture of it and make others see it as well. You have a gift for that, you know.” Michelle smiled, slowly.

“What, did I open your eyes to something?” she inquired; William loved the underlying teasing in her voice.

“You really want me to answer that?” he said, quietly. “If so, I’ll ask you how I’ve changed your life.” His hand slipped gently onto Michelle’s round belly. Below the taut skin of her burgeoning stomach, William felt a sort of fluttering, then a stronger movement. A smile spread over his face; the movements were so human, almost impatient... like the baby wanted to get out and run.

“He’s been moving a lot,” Michelle said, her eyes shining from William’s earlier words. Just seeing him now, feeling their child move within her brought her perilously close to some tender tears; his face was alight with pride and anticipation. The baby moved again and sent a sharp kick towards William’s hands.

William grinned suddenly, putting his hands back down.

“He kicked me,” he said, highly amused. “The little bugger...” Looking at his wife’s face, William saw tears in her eyes. “Are you alright, love?” he asked, putting his arm behind her back. “Does your back hurt?” Michelle shook her head.

“No,” she said, smiling; she touched William’s face with her fingertips. “I’m just very happy.” His smile filled her with warmth; he wrapped his arms around her securely and they watched the rain drip down the window for awhile.

“Lord of the castle...” Michelle said, finally. “I have a boon to seek of you.” William chuckled; it felt so good to have her leaning back in his arms. Serenity ruled, here, in their den. His wife’s choice of fancy words led him to believe she wanted to discuss something important, but was making light of it.

“Ask away my lady,” he said, quietly. “I am in a benevolent mood.”

Michelle laughed softly at this words; her expression sobered a little.

“Do you always want to live here, in America?” she asked.

A little surprised by the question, William was even more surprised by the coincidence. He’d been brooding over that a lot lately, though more informally.

“Not especially,” he admitted. “I am an Englishman; I do want to move back there again one day. Work isn’t an issue; your uncle has three offices in England now, two in London. I’m sure I could transfer to one of them, if they’ll have me. We could stay in mother’s townhouse until we found our own place.” Michelle was quiet for a moment.

“Do you want our son to be British as well?” she said, turning a little to face her man. Their eyes met in the gathering dark. William saw nothing but curiosity and understanding in her expression; he felt confident to continue spilling his thoughts to her.

“I do,” he said. “I admit I’ve been thinking about all that for some time, but I didn’t want to upset you with the idea.”

To his surprise, Michelle began laughing; her laughter was soft, but it puzzled William to no extent.

“Upset me?” she said, between giggles. “You wait until I’m only a month away from having the baby to say this? Our son would have to be born in England to be British, silly. If he’s born here, he’ll...”

“... automatically be American,” William finished for her, staring blankly at the window. He massaged his forehead. “Bloody hell... I didn’t even think of that.” he said, after awhile. He felt Michelle’s fingertips on his face and looked down at her.

“I don’t mind,” she said; her smile spoke of acceptance. “I’ll go with you. I just want to be wherever you are, William Montgomery.” The smile that overtook William’s face told Michelle everything she needed to know.

“Oh, love...” William said, his hold on her tightening, “If you want to stay here, we’ll stay. I must admit, though, I’d love to move back home and have the baby there. And the other babies.” Michelle kissed his face, letting her eyes linger over his features.

“My home is with you,” she said; her soft words were spoken as a promise. William thought he’d never loved her more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Alone in his new wood shop, William stood by the worktable. In front of him rested a small, wooden rocking-horse on top of newspapers. The light-colored wood was yet unfinished, sanded down to a completely smooth surface. Using long, steady strokes, the craftsman carefully brushed on a deep red-brown stain to the smooth, curving surface. The intense look of concentration on William’s brow was offset by the fond, sentiment in his eyes. Setting the brush down on the can of stain, he stood for a moment, just looking at the little toy; his son’s toy. Soon, there would be a little ripper running around his home. William smiled, absently wiping his hands on a nearby cloth.

“Deep thoughts there, my dear sir,” came a soft voice behind him.

William grinned, looking over his shoulder. Michelle stood behind him at the base of the stair, appraising him with her strangely beautiful eyes; she held a plate covered by a clean cloth. The not-so-subtle scent of hot gingerbread met his nostrils.

“Indeed,” he said, wiping off his hands. “What have you there?” Michelle looked down at the plate in her hands.

“Oh this? It’s nothing. Nothing at all,” she said, trying hard not to smile. William raised an eyebrow at his wife.

“Hand it over and no one will get hurt...” he said, stepping closer. Michelle laughed softly and gave him the gingerbread. William confiscated the plate, triumphantly biting into the spicy treat. “Good heavens, Michelle,” he said, licking the crumbs off his lips, “I’m going to get horribly fat.” His ladylove smiled.

“You’d still look gorgeous,” she said, her eyes sparkling with an inward joy. “If you’re worried about it, you could get one of those little lap-pools... you know, the kind that re-circulate the water for swimming laps. My uncle told me once that’s how he stays out of the ‘obese’ category.”

“Not a bad idea,” William said, wiping his mouth with the cloth. “It’s a bit cold and rainy here for running.” He looked down at the empty plate a little sadly. “That was excellent, love. I’ve half a mind to go inspect the rest of this delicious baked good, just to see if it’s up to par.”

“Already hid it,” Michelle returned, tilting her head a little to one side. Her smile “After dinner I’ll draw a map for you.” William chuckled, giving her back the plate.

“Temptress,” he said, fondly. He turned to his worktable. “I just have to finish this coat and put on the urethane.”

Michelle hovered by his side; the sight of the little rocking-horse made her eyes shine.

“He’ll love it,” she said, winding her hands around William’s arm. “You have such a gift, my love.” Her husband dropped a kiss on the top of Michelle’s head.

“Thank you sweetheart,” he said. “You know, we still haven’t settled on a name.”

“I know,” Michelle replied. “We’re terrible parents.”

“I think my mother’s still holding out for ‘Lawrence’,” William put in, taking up his brush again. Michelle made a face.

“I don’t mean to be rude but... no,” she said, quietly.

Glancing at his wife’s face William chuckled.

“Maybe we can discuss it more in a bit, love,” he said, smiling. “I want to finish this, but I don’t want you breathing in these fumes.” Michelle sighed, pretending to pout.

“Ok…” she said, heading towards the stairs. “Don’t work too hard, sir. I’ll just go eat up the rest of the gingerbread myself.” She was halfway up the stairs before William turned around.

“Minx!” William called up after her. Michelle smiled as she climbed the steps.

The stairway door opened up into her kitchen. Looking around, Michelle saw the last two boxes of utensils to unpack. They’d picked a very family friendly building on the north-east corner of Hyde Park to live in; as Michelle found out, it was in a section of London called Mayfair. It was a four bedroom apartment but it felt like a home, even more than William’s old apartment. The sale of William’s two town-homes in Manhattan allowed them to purchase this apartment; the place seemed expensive to Michelle, but William was adamant. He wanted a home close to the park where he’d played as a boy. Michelle had to admit it was very comfortable and spacious. The rooms were bright and airy, with high ceilings; the walls were painted a light cream-color, with blazing white molding and cherry-hued wood floors. The apartment boasted a long, windowed living room; the Realtor called it a ‘reception room’, much to Michelle’s amusement.

The kitchen was medium sized with plenty of counter-space, though they had been ordering in quite often lately so that Michelle would not have to cook at night; she’d been going to bed early almost every night. Sighing, Michelle rubbed her back briefly before resuming her work; she spent a half hour putting away plastic food containers carefully into an empty drawer. Every day for the last month, Michelle awoke with an indescribably strong desire to do something, to clean something or organize something. As strangely compulsive the feeling, Michelle abandoned herself to it. As a result, the new apartment closets were all perfectly neat and organized, which William seemed to like. He thought she went a bit far vacuuming up all the sawdust in his workshop and banished her and her cleaning supplies upstairs. Margaret told her it was ‘nesting’; apparently all pregnant women felt it. The energy certainly helped to work off the extra food she’d been consuming.

Grabbing the mop, Michelle moved it methodically around the kitchen floor ‘til the burnished wood shone with cleanliness. Disposing the mopping-pad in the trash, Michelle put her cleaning things away, feeling tired. The spike of energy was waning fast.

“Time for a hot shower and a nap, she thought. A nap sounded incredibly good. Michelle could not remember if they had something planned tonight; she did not care at the moment. In waiting for the baby to come, one day rather flowed into the next.

Ambling down the hall, Michelle passed her man’s home office, into the baby’s room, across the hall from theirs. Michelle most liked the new apartment’s bedrooms; they’d been built in a whimsical, round shape, with little closet spaces where the normal ‘corners’ of a room would be. She felt the rooms were like a hobbit den or lighthouse; the tall, thin windows let in just enough to keep the lights off most of the day. This room was simply decorated in slate blue bedding with gray accents and white trim; little nautical designs were here and there, from the baby quilt to a small, framed picture of sailboats racing on a blue bay. Three wooden seagulls--painted white--hung from the ceiling over the rocking chair, waiting to receive mommy and baby for feeding time. There was an empty corner by the crib just perfect for William’s rocking-horse. The room made Michelle feel calm, her aches and pains momentarily forgotten.

Stepping to the rocking-chair, Michelle sat down; she let out a long sigh. William’s earlier words about a name for their son came floating back to her; she smiled. Every time she and William discussed names, all the suggestions would invariably remind either him or her of someone they knew, and did not especially care for. Pushing her toes against the floor Michelle rocked the chair slowly, looking up at the seagulls.

“Just a few days now,” she thought, a soft smile on her face. Soon she’d have two men in her life, though one very new and little. Her hands caressed her expanded mid-section; it was always amazing to feel how firm her baby belly was. It felt like a highly pressurized basketball was tucked away under her shirt. Smiling, Michelle closed her eyes, still rocking the chair slightly.

William found his wife several minutes later. He came in, munching a piece of pilfered gingerbread; he’d located the forbidden treat by looking over every inch of the kitchen. It was tucked behind the egg-basket, double wrapped in plastic zipper bags to keep in the scent. William had almost missed the yummy bread altogether; it was cleverly wrapped in a cloth which very nearly matched the wall tile.

“Michelle?” He stepped to the rocking-chair, looking down on his ladylove. She appeared to be asleep; her hair was still pinned back for cleaning and her face looked a little pale and tired. “She’s been doing too much,” William thought, mentally kicking himself. Finishing off the gingerbread, William knelt down and looked at his wife a moment; she held her stomach protectively, her slender hands curved to their precious baby within.

Leaning forward, William kissed the back of Michelle’s hand, then again. Eyes fluttering, Michelle roused herself from sleep; her eyes rested on William. He was looking at her with concern.

“You’ve been working too much, love,” he said, getting up. “All nesting aside, I want you to rest.”

“Aye, aye Captain,” his wife said, sleepily. William chuckled a little. Even tired out, his pretty minx still had a spark of fun in her. Folding his arms, he looked down on her, scaring up a frown.

“Captain, eh? What was that for?” Michelle giggled.

“Because the Captain is the only one whom can burgle the larder of gingerbread without getting the lash,” she said, with a teasing tone. Her husband laughed; the sound of it rang gently in Michelle’s ears. “Your breath betrayed you.”

“Come on... let me help you up,” William said, taking her hands. “I bet you want a nice, hot shower.”

“Oh... yes,” came his wife’s reply. For answer, William guided her to the bedroom and ran the shower. He heard Michelle sigh contentedly as she sat down on the shower floor, relaxing back against the dark-blue tiled wall. Smiling, William got out a clean towel for her and put her clothes into the laundry hamper. As soon as the water shut off, he walked into the bathroom and helped Michelle stand up again; he could tell from the way she moved that the baby was getting bigger and more cumbersome.

“Better?” he asked, draping a towel around her shoulders. Michelle nodded, wrapping the towel around her breasts and tucking the edges down.

“Much better, thank you,” she said, stepping carefully on the wet floor. Seeing she was alright, William ducked out of the room a moment, on a secret errand of his own.

Michelle bundled herself in a comfy knit skirt and a long sleeved button-up t-shirt. Though the shirt was a little tight, Michelle liked how she did not have to wear a bra with it; William seemed to appreciate that part as well when she did so, especially when a few buttons were left undone. One very nice perk about pregnancy was Michelle’s cup size had increased substantially; her doctor said it would diminish back down a little once she stopped breast-feeding, but for now, Michelle enjoyed feeling like an underwear model. The downside was her breasts were incredibly sensitive, hence the no-bra status; Michelle left it off as often as she could, or as company would allow.

William came back into the bedroom to find his wife sitting in the middle of their bed, rubbing her long hair gently with a towel.

“I ordered some Sichuan,” he announced, grinning. Michelle’s eyes lit up; her new found fondness for Chinese food amused her man but he liked it almost as much as she did. There were several take-out places nearby, and almost as many Thai restaurants. Apparently, British people loved Asian cuisine more than any other foreign food; the variety was endless.

“Yummy,” Michelle said, clapping her hands with delight. Food was extremely enjoyable lately. Chuckling, William rolled childishly onto the bed, getting a laugh from his wife. Her lovely eyes were bright and she skin had regained some color.

Sobering, William sat down on the bed by his lady.

“I know you feel antsy, love but I want you to take it easy these next few days,” he said, gently. “The last thing you need is to be exhausted when you go into labor.” Michelle bit her lip; William was right. The baby would need her to be rested and strong.

“True,” she said. “I didn’t even think of that. I just don’t want to get overweight, you know.” William’s eyebrows rose up a little.

“I don't think there’s a danger of that. Some weight is good, love,” he said. His eyes dropped to her partly unbuttoned shirt; her slightly swollen breasts were all but spilling out of it. “Especially in some places.” His voice took on a lower tone; Michelle saw his expression and blushed.

“You, however, still look very fit,” she said, smiling. “In spite of your avid consumption of sweet things.” William grinned at her.

“Speaking of consuming sweets...” he said, nuzzling her neck. “We have several minutes until the food gets here. Good heavens, you smell good...” Michelle sighed, slipping her arms around her man’s neck.

“I love that you still want to touch me,” she said, feeling absurdly happy. “I hope very much that you never stop wanting to.”

“Bloody hell...” came William’s reply. “You’re so soft and lush I can’t help myself.” In answer Michelle laughed softly and kissed him.

THE CALL came during a seemingly endless and involved meeting at William’s office. Still settling down in the new job, he’d attended a marathon of meetings to familiarize himself with the various staff members, current mergers and clients of the main Felix-Maclane London branch. Even though he’d interned there with the previous company William still had to adjust from the fast-paced, free-wheeling style of the New Yorkers to the more exacting, stiff and proper style of British attorneys. He was just about to excuse everyone for a coffee-break when his cell phone vibrated. Looking down at the tiny screen, he saw a new text message. One click and the screen flashed a single word: ‘BABY’.

Three of Felix-Maclane London's senior staff sat across from William at the conference table. They looked up as their new ‘boss’ stood up suddenly. The huge smile on William’s face looked out of place in the stately, serious room with its stately, serious people.

“Gentlemen... I apologize in advance but I must exit this meeting immediately,” he said, opening his briefcase. He swiftly stacked the various reports and dropped them inside, snapping the case shut. One partner cleared his throat. At the sound William inwardly smirked; the man was an older attorney, terribly stuffy and resented his presence there altogether.

“Something amiss, Mr. Montgomery?” the man said, stiffly. William kept his composure, though his mind felt as if it were  reeling with anticipation.

“Not a thing, Mortimer,” William replied, purposely using the man’s first name. “My very pregnant wife just texted me. Apparently, I am about to meet my son.”

“I know the American put you in charge, Montgomery,” Mortimer intoned, “But a minor family matter is hardly a reason to take a day your first month here.” The man tapped his pen on the desktop as he spoke. William snorted and picked up his briefcase.

“Tell me something,” he began, fixing the older gentleman with a stern look. “Do you have children?” The man nodded. “And... where were you when your first child was born?”

“China,” Mortimer replied, nodding his head sagely. “Heading the Atherton Corporation buyout.” William grinned.

“You get years to study the law,” he said. “...and your whole life to practice it and to make money. You have just one shot to be a father. I won’t be making your mistake.” With that William left the conference room, opening his cell phone.

One hour later, a taxi drew up outside the hospital emergency room. William hopped out, Michelle’s traveling bag in hand; turning he helped his gasping wife from the back of the cab. Michelle held her stomach with one hand, clutching onto William’s arm with the other.

“Oh... my... stars!” she panted, her face white with pain. “This is far worse… than the book said…. I’m burning that book… when we get back…”

“You can do it, love,” William said, soothingly. “I’m right here.” In spite of the pain, Michelle gave her man a grateful look. At least, she did not have to do this alone.

“What would... I do... without you?” she managed to say. Giving her an encouraging smile, William saw a waiting nurse just inside the doors, with a wheelchair.

The door opened automatically as they entered; the nurse stepped forward.

“Michelle Montgomery?” she asked. Michelle nodded, unable to speak. Her face was almost gray “Let’s get you upstairs.” the nurse said, with a kind smile. “You’ve pre-registered right? Just sit here and we’ll do the rest.” William walked next to the rolling wheelchair. Michelle refused to let go of his hand; he was a little concerned by the pale tinge of his wife’s face, but was careful not to show it.

The maternity ward appeared to be somewhat modern and well-designed with a large waiting area surrounded by clear, separating doors to keep out possible infections; the nurse rolled the wheelchair past the nurses’ station and into a ’birthing room’. The room looked comfortable enough; William was glad to see a couch in it, undoubtedly one that had comforted many an expecting father before him. He could see Michelle was in a pain-induced haze and could care less what the room looked like.

“Mr. Montgomery, if you could help her get her things off and into this gown; I’ll pull the curtain and fetch the doctor. We’ll check you, ma’am in a few minutes.” Michelle nodded at her and tried to remember her breathing exercise. Lamaze class seemed a distant memory all of the sudden.

“That’s it, love...” came William’s wonderful voice. “Long breaths.” He rubbed her back with one hand, helping her unzip her sweater with the other.

“You’re awfully talented... at that,” Michelle said, trying to scare up a joke; she wanted her man to know she was not defeated. William chuckled.

“Yes, well I’ve had plenty of practice taking off your clothes, now haven’t I?” he answered, gently pulling her shirt over her head.

“That’s how we got here... in the first place,” Michelle reminded him; she gave her husband a small smile.

“Keep breathing, minx,” William told her, smiling back; the affection in his voice was unmistakable.

Getting the ‘gown’ on was no trouble; it seemed to be designed to put on at a moment’s notice, though Michelle rather disliked the shapeless garment. She was nonetheless glad to be in a clean, safe place to have her baby.

“Can you imagine... having to have our baby... in a shack, on a dirt floor?” she panted out as another contraction seized her; it took all of her control to not scream out in pain.

“I cannot,” William replied, kissing the top of Michelle’s head. “I grateful we live in a country with quality health care.” Rubbing Michelle’s back, William waited for word on the doctor.

After a minute the nurse returned and informed them the OBGYN was already in the building, delivering another patient’s baby at that moment. Relived that her doctor was nearby, Michelle relaxed a little.

“Do you want something for the pain Mrs. Montgomery?” the nurse asked; Michelle was very tempted but shook her head.

“I will regret this later, I know… but I want to have at least one baby naturally,” she said, quickly. William smiled a little.

“I’m very proud of you, love,” he said, keeping his arm behind her shoulders; he sat on the edge of the hospital bed, letting Michelle lean against him.

When the contractions hit, she’d curl up in pain, count to twenty out loud, then relax a little as the pain waned. The knowledge that millions of women had successfully navigated childbirth did little to allay his fears for Michelle. He knew she was strong, but he had no intentions of leaving her side. Not for anything.

“16... 17... 18... Doctor Martinez!” Michelle cried out, enormously relieved to see the cheerful lady doctor walk through the door; the woman wore light green scrubs and looked amused at Michelle’s reception. William had met Doctor Martinez once before, at the ultrasound; he felt equally glad that the woman was here. Michelle seemed to take heart at her appearance and straightened up a little.

“Alight Mrs. Montgomery; wow... ten centimeters... any moment now,” the doctor said. She had a wonderful voice for a doctor, very soothing and calm; she sounded well trained and confidant. Nurses bustled about, helping Michelle into the stirrups and arranging the sheets for privacy; they did this all with amazing speed and efficiency. William saw one nurse wheeling over a bassinet, with a washing basin and neat, clean blankets already there to receive the baby.

Seeing the bassinet, William felt a little light-headed. He was about to see his son be born; their first baby. Taking several breaths, he cleared his head a little, rubbing Michelle’s back.

“You can do this, love,” he whispered in her ear. “Chin up there.” He felt Michelle’s nod slightly; he looked down at her and caught a slight upward glance. His ladylove’s face was drawn and pale, but her eyes still held a spark of life. A ghost of a smile hovered over her lips a moment.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, looking back at the doctor and nurses at her knee.

William and Michelle’s son came so quickly they barely had time to react; it seemed Michelle was just starting to push when the doctor spoke.

“It’s a boy! A strong lad, too,” she said, through her mask. A little cry bubbled out from somewhere beneath the sheet; it then grew immediately stronger, filling the air with that unique, newborn vocalization. Michelle burst into tears at the sound of it; William kept his arm around her, kissing her face fondly; he felt a tear spill onto his cheek but didn’t care. It was a precious moment, for all of them... not to be wasted on appearances. He heard the doctor’s voice again and saw that the nurses were looking at him.

“What?” he asked, dazedly.

“Do you want to cut the cord?” the doctor repeated, smiling behind her mask. New fathers were always amusing. At least this one hadn’t fainted, which was actually quite common. William nodded, letting a nurse take over his support of Michelle. He hadn’t expected quite so much blood soaking into the sheets but his eyes were quickly distracted. His son was in the doctor’s arms, making adorable, complaining noises; the little tiny limbs moved with life and strove against some unseen thing, the little face scrunched up with insult. William let out a laugh at the sight; taking the sterile instrument he followed the doctor’s instructions and cut the umbilical cord.

“Good, good... he’s fine and healthy,” the doctor said.

“He’s beautiful Michelle!” William called to his wife; he could hear she was still having contractions.

“We’ll get him to you in two shakes of a lamb's tail, Mrs. Montgomery,” the doctor said, handing the baby to a waiting nurse with a snowy receiving blanket.

Entranced with the sight of his boy, William stood by the bassinet, watching as the nurse began carefully washing the squalling little bundle.

“He’s so tiny,” he said aloud, an awed look on his face. The nurse chuckled looking at the digital scale.

“Actually he’s normal,” she said, smiling. “Seven pounds, nine ounces.”

“He’s beautiful,” William said, more to himself than anyone.

Remembering his wife he quickly looked over at Michelle; she appeared spent, her face extremely pale. He was at her side in a moment, sliding his arms around her shoulders.

“Michelle?” he said; his voice strained with concern.

“Hang on... she’s still bleeding,” the doctor said, her arms moving swiftly under the sheet. Little drops of Michelle’s blood could be seen on the doctor’s scrubs. “More pressure on her abdomen.”

One of the nurses pressed down steadily on Michelle’s mid-section; William knew from the classes that such action helped to stop the afterbirth bleeding. Michelle’s head leaned heavily on his arm; she was breathing but looked asleep. The remote possibility of her dying suddenly flew into William’s mind; that didn’t happen these days, did it? Nearing a state of panic, William kissed Michelle’s face in a slightly desperate way, his hand stroking her hair. Tears trickled down his face, unnoticed.

The baby gave slight cry from the bassinet but William didn’t hear it.

“Michelle... sweetheart,” he begged. “I’m right here. I’m right here.... wake up, love.”

“Finally...” the doctor said, sounding relieved. “The bleeding’s stopped. Bloody hell, she had me scared for a minute.” William shot her an angry look, and opened his mouth to comment, but stopped as Michelle’s eyes fluttered open. Relief flooded William and he gave his lovely wife a huge smile.

“Welcome back, love,” he said, softly. Michelle’s eyes filled with gladness at seeing him; reaching up, she touched William’s face tenderly.

“Is he alright?” she asked; her voice was barely a whisper. William nodded, leaning over and kissing Michelle’s forehead.

“He’s gorgeous, Michelle,” he said, smiling fondly at her. “I’m so proud of you. I love you so much. You were out few moments there, but you’re back now. That’s all that matters.” He heard a tired laugh and Michelle closed her eyes again.

A nurse stood by them, smiling; she held a little, wrapped bundle in her arms.

“Would she like to hold him now?” the lady asked. Michelle opened her eyes and tried to sit up, straining to look at the baby. William sat behind her on the bed, propping her up against him; by instinct, Michelle’s arms reach for her baby, ready to hold the new addition. Their son was all cleaned and wearing the most adorable little, blue cap on his tiny head. A few wisps of dark blond hair curled out from under it, showing William his DNA was definitely dominant. Chuckling, he touched the little head almost reverently. It was such an amazing thing to witness, a baby being born.

Michelle was looking down at her little son with an awed expression; she’d never seen anything so beautiful in her life. The tiny, perfect fingers were clenched into little fists, his little rosy face squinched up; a little pout hovered on the minuscule bottom lip. Letting out a relieved laugh, Michelle leaned against her husband, feeling exhausted but happy.

“He’s finally here,” she whispered. William leaned forward over her shoulder and looked at her face; it was wet with tears, though she did not look unhappy.

“I love you, Michelle,” he said; his voice was replete with sincerity. “We made him out of our love for each other.” At his words Michelle looked up, into the bright blue eyes she knew so well. They shone with pride and love, for her and their boy; his smile warmed her through, knowing the words he spoke were true.

“You’re right; we did,” she assented, smiling back. “I love you, William.” Her man caressed her hair and looked over at their son.

“He looked like an Ethan,” he said, quietly. Michelle looked down at the newborn in her arms as well.

“He does,” she said, surprised. “How did we not think of that name before?” William chuckled, touching the baby’s head.

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling at the little mite. “Ethan.”

“Ethan Lawrence,” Michelle suggested. “For your mother.” William laughed, a little.

“Not bad,” he said. Slipping his hand under Michelle’s chin, he looked into her lovely eyes again. “You’ve made my life good, Michelle. Every part of my life is better because of you.” Michelle felt tears flooding her eyes and blinked them away.

“I can honestly say the same, my dear sir,” she said, unsteadily. She saw a familiar look in her man’s eye; Michelle let William kiss her, implanting the tender moment forever in her mind.

A few hours later, William sat on a large chair by his wife's hospital bed, watching over his small family. Ethan slept peacefully in Michelle’s loving arms, full and content with his first feeding. His beautiful mother was asleep as well, completely tired out. William was amazed at how she was able to stay cognizant until she was certain her son had fed and burped properly. She had much more strength than she’d previously suspected; her husband was not surprised. He already knew Michelle was a remarkable young woman; he was just grateful to have her for his own. And a son, now as well.

“Life is good,” William said, leaning his head on the head rest so he could look at the sleeping pair better. A contented smile rested on his lips, his eyes a little more watery than he’d like to admit.

A soft knock came at the door of Michelle’s private room; looking up, William saw his mother standing in the doorway, with Alfred right behind her. Smiling, William stood up, opening the door to let them in. Margaret gave her son a tight hug, smiling brightly; her face looked a little younger all the sudden and her eyes were full of pride and excitement. Alfred shook William’s hand heartily, beaming broadly. Putting a finger briefly to his lips, William turned and pointed at the hospital bed. Margaret gasped, quietly, her hands clasped to her chest.

“Oh, how precious!” she whispered, moving a little closer. Alfred smiled, clapping William on the shoulder.

“Congratulations, William,” he said, quietly. “There is nothing like it, now isn’t there?” William smiled at the aged man then looked over at his sleeping wife and son.

“Indeed not,” he said. “She’s so beautiful... so is the baby.” Alfred chuckled a little and slipped a cigar into William’s shirt pocket.

“There you go, lad,” he said, smiling. “A fine young boy there.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” William said, clasping the man’s hand. “I appreciate you coming by.”

Margaret was in quiet ecstasies over the sight of her little grandson.

“Oh, William!” she said, softly. “He’s adorable! Just beautiful! Well done, my boy... well done.”

“Thank you,” William said, leaning down to receive a motherly kiss from her. “His name is Ethan Lawrence.” Margaret smiled even wider.

“Perfect!” she said, clapping her hands a little. “Oh, what a darling! He looks like an Ethan, too. And you snuck in Lawrence, too. I appreciate that, my boy. It was my father’s name. I adored him; he looks like my father a little. Oh, he’s lovely!” Taking out a slim digital camera, she took several pictures of the mother and baby, Alfred and William as well, much to her son’s amusement.

“I can see this is an indication of times to come,” he said, shaking his head. Margaret smiled at him.

“It is a grandmother’s right to take copious photos,” she said, sagely. She stood by Michelle and laid her hand gently on the top of the young woman’s head. “Poor thing. Did she have much trouble?”

William’s face fell a little at the memory of his precious wife going unconscious.

“A little,” he admitted. Margaret looked concerned. “She fainted for a few minutes until they stopped her bleeding.” William continued, sitting down in the chair again. “Gave me one hell of a scare.”

He felt Alfred’s hand on his shoulder and looked at the man.

“It’s a good thing she’s strong, then,” the elderly man said, smiling. William nodded, looking over at Michelle. She stirred a little in her sleep.

“We’ll come back later,” Margaret said, softly. She gently caressed little Ethan’s head; the natural affection on her face touched William deeply.

“We’ll go eat in the cafeteria for awhile, and let her rest.”

“I’ll come get you in a bit,” William said, stand up. “Visiting hours last until eight I believe.” Margaret nodded; she gave William another kiss on his face and let Alfred escort her from the room.

Sighing, William stood a moment by the bed, his hands in his pockets; he suddenly wished he was a painter, so he could capture the serene scene in front of him. It was not secret to him why some master artists had chosen a mother holding her baby as models; the natural affection represented clenched at the heart and brought a smile to one’s face. He stood there, feeling grateful Michelle had come through the ordeal of childbirth alright, and that his son was apparently perfectly healthy.

“Thank you, God,” he whispered, smiling benevolently down on his wife and child.

A soft sigh brought William from his reverie. Michelle’s eyes opened and she yawned, looking around a little. She saw William and smiled.

“Hello,” she said, softly; her eyes were bright and warm again, a little more color in her face. William smiled at her, sitting down on the chair; he scooted it forward so they could sit as close as possible.

“Hello, love,” he replied, “You look a little better.” He clasped one of her slender hands and brought it to his lips.

“I feel ok…” Michelle said. “Just tired.” Her eyed drifted down to the sleeping babe in her arms. “Ethan,” she said, softly. “Is he perfect or is it just me?” William’s chuckle made her look back up. Her husband’s blue eyes radiated warmth.

“It’s just you,” William said, teasingly. “He’s rather like a pale raisin, really...”

Michelle made a face and jabbed her man slightly in his ribs with her finger. Laughing, William confiscated her hand and kissed it. “I’m joshing you, love,” he said, smiling at his wife. “When I saw him first, I thought he was just gorgeous. I cannot explain it really; I’ve seen babies before but he is adorable.” Michelle’s eyes grew soft at his words; William’s face fairly shone with pride and affection as he gazed at the baby.

“I know what you mean,” she said, gently. “I think it’s because he’s ours.” William slid his arm behind Michelle’s shoulders, leaning close to her face.

“I think you are right,” he said. “While you were sleeping I was mulling over how it will be to watch him grow up... him and the others.” Michelle giggled, a little tiredly.

“Just give me a few months before we try for more...” she said, smiling up at her man. William kissed her face. There was no real way to convey the tenderness of his feelings at the moment; a little over a year ago, he’d been a lonely workaholic with only an aging valet for company. Now held his wife and newborn son in his arms, feeling completely unable to express his gratitude.

“I’m very happy,” was all he said. His wife regarded him with her odd, lovely eyes; William saw real trust and affection in them.

“So am I,” said she. William could think of no better answer than to kiss her. Michelle did not mind; to her, thought his kiss far outweighed entire sonnets of prose.

CHAPTER THIRTY

A lone figure stood on a section of white-sanded coastline, looking out over the Pacific Ocean; pensive gray eyes took in the scene of the blue-gray water endlessly washing up over the sand. A cool breeze blew, tempering the warm rays of the California sun. The man looked down at his watch; smiling, he turned away from the water, stepping over towards a beach blanket carefully laid out, by a wide umbrella and several chairs.

Taking off his sandals the man grabbed a short shovel and began digging up the sand, making a large, high pile. As soon as he had enough dug up, the man set down the shovel; carefully, he began forming the sand with his hands. Several pedestrians and beach-combers walked by the half-formed sandcastle, smiling at the sight of a grown man in the sand, fashioning towers and ramparts.

Glancing up, Oscar Maclane saw a familiar blond-haired Englishman walking along the beach; a young woman with dark red-brown hair walked by his side, with a little baby in her arms. Dusting off his hands, Oscar stood, smiling broadly. He put up a hand in greeting; William returned it, walking his family closer. Michelle looked beautiful in the sunlight, her face alight with happiness; she held a squirming little bundle in her arms. The baby was trying valiantly to remove a tiny, canvas sun hat that had been tied on under the little chin.

“Uncle Oscar,” his niece said, giving the gray-eyed man a kiss on his cheek. “It is so good to see you.” Oscar smiled at her.

“Glad you could make it,” he said. He grinned at William, shaking the man’s hand. “You too, sport.” William chuckled.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he returned. “I must say, it is nice here in sunny California.”

“Damn straight,” Oscar said. “It hardly rains at all, and no snow.” His gray eyes rested on the little baby in Michelle’s arms. Ethan had stopped wiggling and was regarding Oscar with curious, greenish-gold eyes; a little wisp of blond hair showed from under his hat. “Well he’s your spittin’ image, William.”

“Indeed,” William said, grinning. “However, he did get his mother’s lovely eyes.”

Oscar bent down a bit, smiling at the little mite.

“Hey there Ethan,” he said, leaning closer. “I’m your Great Uncle Oscar.” The baby boy regarded Oscar a moment, then reached out a little hand and grabbed the man’s sunglasses from off the top of his head. William laughed; Michelle tried to get the glasses from her son’s tiny fist, while her uncle looked on.

“You have to watch him,” William warned. “He’ll have your watch or anything he fancies before you can say ‘Jack Robinson’.”

“He’s one sharp cookie,” Oscar said, still smiling. “Got some Gregory in him after all.” He accepted his glasses back, matching glares with the little baby. “Come on, I’ve got an umbrella, some cold drinks and chairs over here.”

“Sounds wonderful, thank you,” Michelle returned, with a smile. William stepped over to his wife and relieved her of the little kleptomaniac.

“Come here young man,” he said. “You need a talking to.” The baby looked up at his father and crowed out ‘Da!’ Michelle laughed softly, walking away towards the umbrella.

“No arguments, you,” William told his son; as if he knew he was in trouble, Ethan displayed an adorable smile, showing off his single, tiny tooth. “Little bugger.” William murmured, affectionately. He followed after Michelle, noting the sandcastle construction to one side. “Quite an engineering project there, Oscar.” he remarked, handing the baby to his mother.

“Beaches and sandcastles are synonymous,” Oscar said, kneeling down in the sand once more. He tossed a small trowel at William’s feet.

“There’s room for one extra crew member,” he said. William grinned.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, getting down in the sand. Michelle smiled, watching the men build different sides of the sand structure, obviously enjoying themselves.

"I saw your picture in the magazine last month," Oscar said, suddenly. He looked up at Michelle. "You know, the one with the raindrops on the window." Michelle smiled.

"Thank you," she said. "I was inspired to draw it by your crew member there." William winked at her as she glanced over at him. "It's one of my favorites," she continued. "I didn't want to let the gallery have it, but well... it is nice to see it on the wall with my name underneath it."

Oscar smiled at her and looked back down at the sand.

"It was very good," he said. "Made me almost miss the rainstorms. Almost." Laughing, Michelle nodded.

"I can see why you love it here," she remarked. "It's beautiful."

The waves crashed on the sloping shore; birds cried in the sky as they flew over the sand. People walked by looking at the ocean, apparently enjoying the warm sand beneath their feet. Sighing, Michelle smiled down at her wiggling son, letting him down onto the blanket. Ethan immediately crawled over to the sand, grabbing a big handful. About to stop him, Michelle heard William chuckle.

“Let him, love,” her man told her. “He’ll find out soon enough.” He was right. Ethan took a mouthful then whined and shook his little head a few times. Trying not to laugh, Michelle helped her son get the sand out of his mouth.

Glancing at William, she smiled, watching him form a turret. Her husband sat on the sand with one knee up, the other leg extended out comfortably. Studying him, Michelle appreciated William’s relaxed posture, as well as the faint beginnings of a tan on his face, neck and arms. His fitted, white t-shirt and khaki cargoes made him look a little more 'fun' than his normal business attire. Letting Ethan back down onto the blanket she straightened her sun-dress and sat back in a low, fold-out chair.

The baby crawled back out to the edge of a blanket but did not eat the sand again. Instead the little marplot busied himself with trying to get the drink-cooler open, hitting it impatiently when he did not succeed. A seagull flew down, landing on the sand near the blanket. Ethan was transfixed by the bird and soon the two were locked in a strange kind of staring contest. Laughing under her breath, Michelle dug in her tote bag for her camera and snapped a few pictures.

While smoothing a large outer sand wall, William glanced up at his wife and son. He chuckled at the sight of his baby boy  locked in a death-gaze with a seagull. His wife--on the other hand--was happily sitting in the shade taking pictures. She looked rather comely in the summery dress; its thin straps threatened to slip off her shoulders each time she moved. Williams admired her hair, pushed back from her face by the sunglasses perched on her head; it spilled over her shoulders in slight waves, the redness much more apparent in the strong light. The sun had also brought a little more color to her cheeks. William watched her, until he heard someone clear their throat nearby.

“You’re going to have a lot of kids, you keep looking at her like that,” Oscar commented, grinning to himself. William glanced at the man, amused.

“You’re not far off,” he informed the man. “Michelle’s about a month along with our second.”

Oscar stopped his work on a large interior building and matched William’s gaze. “She wants a large family--as well--so don’t worry,” William continued.

“You guys sure don’t waste any time,” Oscar said, returning to his ‘work’. “I’ll give you that.”

“I don’t think any man would blame me,” William said, his eyes straying back to his wife. “Michelle is quite a catch.” Oscar did not answer but smiled at the sand. He still remembered what it felt like to love a pretty woman.

Michelle felt William’s scrutiny almost at once. She shot him a bright smile. William grinned back at her. Michelle grabbed a cold water bottle from the cooler tossed it at her husband’s feet; her eyes held the slightest bit of a challenge. A few seconds later William flopped down on the blanket next to her chair.

“You look lonely over here, love,” he said, pushing up his sunglasses. “Want to go for a walk?”

“Yeah, go. I’ll watch my grand-nephew,” Oscar piped up from by the sand-castle. “You two go walk a bit.” Michelle was dubious.

“Are you sure?” she said, looking over at Ethan; the baby had lost interest in the bird and was back attacking the drink cooler. Oscar grinned and stood up; he walked deliberately over to the baby, lifted him up and placed him in the middle of the sand-castle. The sand buildings were about as tall as Ethan’s head as he sat in the sand. For a moment, the baby seemed puzzled, but he soon reached out and pushed a tower over. It toppled dramatically, scattering sand. Crowing with delight Ethan crawled forward, pushing over another sand building. Baby laughter bubbled up, its infectious qualities inducing Oscar to join in.

“You go,” he said, waving them off. “We’ll hold down the fort.”

William stood up and dusted off his pants. Holding out his hand to Michelle, he favored her with a charming smile. She let him pull her up to stand. They strolled away from the distracted Ethan and castle building Oscar at a leisurely pace.

“Who knew he was a natural babysitter?” Michelle asked, smiling. William looked down at his wife, liking the spark of life in her eyes.

“It boggles the mind,” he said, letting his eyes peruse Michelle’s face. “Did I mention you look unduly attractive in that dress? You’re positively glowing.” Michelle blushed.

“It’s the baby,” she said, her hand going automatically to her stomach. “Or, maybe it’s the fact that I’m walking next to the most handsome man on the beach... or both.” Grinning, William put her arm through his.

“Minx,” he said. “I’ve half a mind to carry you off.” Michelle laughed, softly.

“You already did,” she replied. “But, you can do it again. I’d let you.”

Smiling at her, William strolled with his lady along the shore, letting the cold water spill over their feet occasionally.

“Looks like our family is off to a good start,” he said, after a moment. Michelle giggled.

“Indeed,” she answered with a nod. “Though, I think Ethan will be a handful.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” William said. “According to my mother, I was as well.”

“Yes, she’s finally managed to tell me all the stories about you and show me all her photo albums,” Michelle said teasingly. William snorted.

“I’m glad you’re not that bad about it, love,” he said. “It was most embarrassing having the chaps over and her descending on them with baby pictures.” Giggling, Michelle reached up and touched his face with her fingertips.

“I promise not to embarrass him like that,” she said, looking up at her husband.

His eyes turned to hers. In them Michelle saw a reverberating emotion, as if his very heartbeat had become visible.

“No chance of that,” he said, quietly. “You’re a wonderful mother.”

Michelle smiled. She gave her husband a fond look.

“Thanks to you, I am,” she returned. “Now twice over. I could not have imagined a better life for myself, William. I couldn't even have drawn anything this good.”

Pausing his stride, William slipped his arms around Michelle's waist and looked down into her eyes. The golden-green color of them still arrested his attention, spreading warmth throughout his being. He could see into their very depths; nothing dark or hidden lay therein.

“I cannot imagine my life without you, Michelle,” he told her. The low tone of his voice carried great feeling. “My life is better having met you on that crowded corner, looking like a rose growing among rocks.” Michelle gazed back at William as he spoke. Nothing in the world did she love more than this man. The very last, tiny shards of a once-great well of loneliness left her.

William leaned down and kissed his lady, not caring who saw. After a few moments they walked back towards their little boy, stepping into a life drawn out for them long ago.

The End of Book One

Read more about Michelle & William’s continued life in London in the sequel, ‘Paint Me a Dream’.

Email the author: greene@belatorbooks.com

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