“I tell you I’m having our baby, and you still can’t be there in the bed when I wake up? I mean, what do I have to do?”
He laughed and disappeared back into the bathroom. I heard the brief hiss of the faucet, and then he returned and climbed atop the covers and drew me into his arms, smelling sweetly of toothpaste and shaving cream. “Better?” he asked.
“Better,” I said, “but not exactly what I had in mind. What time is it?”
“Nine o’clock. I waited as long as I could. We have to get downtown to the Marriage Bureau.”
“But it’s Sunday.”
“I made a few calls.”
I laid my head on his shoulder. “Of course you did.”
“Kate,” he said, “there’s a twenty-four-hour waiting period. We’ll get the license today, and be married tomorrow by a city clerk, if that’s all right. I can put in a call to the mayor, if you’d like something more splashy, but I insist on its taking place tomorrow. If you’ll have me.”
“Oh please. If I’ll have you.”
“You’re remarkably acquiescent.”
“Julian,” I said, “I’m pregnant. I’m at your mercy. My parents would die.”
He groaned into my hair. “Oh, Lord, Kate. Your parents. I hadn’t even thought… Christ. I’ll make it right, sweetheart. I shan’t rest until…” His voice seemed to trip over itself; he stroked my arm for a moment, and went on. “I want to apologize again for the way I behaved last night. To have given you even an instant’s distress, at such a moment…” He shook his head. “I can’t think about it without shame.”
“For goodness’ sake, Julian. You’re so hard on yourself. It wasn’t my shining hour either, after all.”
“Rubbish. You were quite right to bite my head off. I deserved it. In any case,” he said, leaning over to kiss my temple with determined cheerfulness, “now the shock’s worn off, I’m as pleased as Punch. You can’t string me along any longer. I shall have you as my wedded wife at last, and by the end of spring, my dearest Mrs. Ashford, we’ll have our own little family. You don’t suppose it might be twins, do you?”
“Bite your tongue.”
He didn’t answer, only shifted around me, settling himself lower, and put his hand with great delicacy on my belly.
“Go ahead,” I said. “It’s probably only about the size of a thumbnail.”
He lay there for a moment, watching his hand.
“You’re going to be a wonderful father, you know. The best ever.” I stroked his tawny hair, letting the images form at last. “I can picture it.”
“Can you?” He bent over and kissed the hollow of my stomach, and turned his cheek to rest tenderly against me.
“You know,” I said, swirling the fine hair around his temple, “the deadline still holds, wedding or not. One week.”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Everything will be cleared up before that.”
IT WAS ALL SURPRISINGLY EASY. Once I’d showered and dressed, Julian drove us to the Marriage Bureau downtown, leaving Eric behind so as not to draw undue attention that might land us in the gossip columns tomorrow morning. Nothing says celebrity like a dark-suited bodyguard shadowing your footsteps.
“I want to know what your papers say,” I said, grabbing the manila file folder as we curved around the FDR.
He smiled. “Go ahead. You’ve a right to know whom you’re marrying.”
“Julian Laurence—you’ve gone with no middle name all this time?”
He shrugged.
“Date of birth, March thirtieth, 1975. And are you actually thirty-three?”
“Yes. Well, technically I’m a hundred and thirteen, I suppose. I was born in 1895.” He laughed ruefully. “Truly robbing the cradle, aren’t I?”
“Letch. I’m sorry I missed your birthday, though,” I said.
“My fault, chasing you off like a damned fool. At least I haven’t missed yours.”
“Don’t worry about it. I hate my birthday. How would you like to have been born on Halloween? It’s just creepy.” I looked back down at the passport in my lap. “Place of birth, London. Well, that’s good. Supposedly the best lies are the ones that stick close to the truth.” I started laughing. “Oh my God. Is that your passport photo?”
“Give me that.” He snatched it back.
“Well, now I feel better. If the photo booth can mess up your face, then there’s some excuse for this horror show.” I held up my own passport.
He glanced over and smiled.
“You see? That’s what you’re marrying. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
We parked the car in a garage a block away from the Marriage Bureau. I handed him a Yankees cap as he came around the other side to help me out. “You’d better go incognito, Goldilocks,” I said, “unless you want another call from that Page Six reporter.”
“Good idea,” he said, putting it on his head.
“Hold on.” I reached up and folded the brim for him, then stood back critically. “You still look too ridiculously handsome, of course, but that’s just my cross to bear.”
He took my hand. “Come along. Let’s get this done.”
For once, I had to appreciate the VIP treatment. Someone was waiting at a side door to usher us through the empty building to a small office, where a clerk helped us fill out the forms and checked our documents.
“Good God,” Julian said mildly, looking again at my passport, “is that really you? Or merely a deranged body double?”
“I know, right?” I sighed. “I overslept and forgot the elastic for my hair.”
“Overslept? Are you quite serious?”
“I’m marrying a comedian,” I informed the clerk.
In twenty minutes we were out the door, marriage license in hand. Julian checked his watch. “Should we find some lunch?”
We wandered over to South Street Seaport and ate hot dogs on a bench along the pier. “It’s nice to be alone,” I said, leaning back against the railing. “No bodyguard. No helpful friends and family.”
“It makes me anxious, frankly,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m trying to protect you against a threat I don’t even understand. It’s nerve-racking.”
I put down my hot dog. “Nerve-racking?”
“You’re pregnant, and we’re getting married,” he said. “Everything’s coming together.”
“Look, I’m sorry. Rushing you into this was the last thing I wanted.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, what did you mean? Second thoughts?” The smell of the hot dog wound around my nostrils, heavy and sickening.
“Of course not.” He let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, darling. This is a happy moment, isn’t it? The State of New York has given me official permission to marry the woman I adore, the woman who carries my child. And in a matter of twenty-four hours, she’ll belong to me forever. Are you all right?”
“Ugh. It’s just the hot dog.” I pushed it away a few inches.
“Oh, hell. Here, darling. You’re going to be ill.” He took his half-finished drink cup and emptied the contents into a sidewalk drain next to the bench. “Take this.” He held it in front of me.
“Julian, I’m not going to throw up… oh God.”
When I’d finished, he tossed the cup into a trash can and came back to wipe the damp hair from my forehead. “All right, darling?”
“Ugh. I thought it was supposed to be morning sickness.”
“It can happen at any time.”
“This is so humiliating.” I paused. “How do you know so much about it?”
“Common knowledge.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Shall we walk a moment? It might help.”
I took his hand and walked beside him, feeling strangely downcast. It was a cool morning, thick clouds scudding across the sky, a hint of approaching autumn riding the air, and the broad river walk stretched empty of the tourists and office workers ordinarily crowding the pavement
. On my right, the water eddied into New York Harbor, scattered with tugboats and trawlers, all business. A Circle Line ferry was making its way upriver, the bow railing dense with sightseers craning for a clear camera angle of the Brooklyn Bridge.
“Let’s talk about the wedding tomorrow,” Julian said. “Would you like to do it alone, or should we invite a few friends?”
“Oh, alone. Just the two of us.”
“We’ll need a witness,” he reminded me.
“Eric? No, forget that. It should be someone we know.” I gazed ahead at the massive stone pediments rising mightily from the water and took an odd sense of comfort from the familiar shapes of the twin Gothic arches. Hello, Brooklyn Bridge. I am planning my wedding.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider Geoff?”
I frowned. “I’d rather not.”
“I’d ask Arthur,” Julian said, “but I suppose it’s rather tactless.”
“Well, in a way. But in another way, it’s sort of fitting. Almost tactful. Otherwise we’re stuck with Charlie.”
He laughed. His hand squeezed mine, solid and reassuring. “We could do worse. I rather like the chap.”
“I’ll call him up. I think classes have started by now, but he’d be more than happy to ditch. We could have them both. Arthur and Charlie. Your side, my side.”
Julian leaned over and pressed a kiss against my hair. “And afterward? I thought perhaps we might have a dinner to celebrate. Your family might be able to join us. Michelle and Samantha, of course. And I was thinking I might ask Hollander to come down from Boston.”
“Oh! Wow. That’s a wonderful idea. I’d love to meet him.”
“He’d love to meet you. Let’s make it all a surprise, shall we? We won’t tell them it’s a wedding dinner; we can announce it there. I’ll get Allegra started on the details straightaway.”
His phone rang over the last words; he took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. “Christ,” he said, “I don’t believe it.”
He fitted the Bluetooth in his ear. “Laurence,” he said. “Yes, that’s true… Yes, I did… I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. Clearly, it’s valid for sixty days… Yes, look, Miss Martinez, I realize you’ve a job to do, but I ask, as a personal favor, you forbear… If you could at least leave the names out of it, and leave it as a blind item, I give you my word we’ll release any statement to you first. Yes, for twenty-four hours. Yes, I appreciate it. Thank you.” He pulled the Bluetooth out of his ear, muttering.
“I take it our cover’s blown?” I asked.
He shoved the phone in his pocket and scowled into the pavement. “Wide open.”
24.
“It’s not so bad,” I said. “And it’s Monday. The Sunday paper has much more circulation.”
“It’s bad enough,” Julian said. “Anyone with the faintest connection to us won’t have any trouble deciphering it.”
I yawned and leaned back on the pillows. “It’s not the end of the world. Besides, I thought we were trying to attract attention.”
“Not on my wedding day.”
I looked back at the paper on my lap.
WHICH hunky hedgie may be taking time off from rescuing Wall Street to make things official with his toothsome fiancée? The love-struck pair, who’ve been photographed together all over town in recent weeks, were spotted after hours yesterday at the downtown Manhattan Marriage Bureau, picking up a license…
“You never told me I was toothsome,” I accused him.
He grinned and set a knee down on the bed, leaning over to kiss me. “Absolutely the most toothsome woman I’ve ever met.”
“Mmm. You’re pretty toothsome yourself.” I ran my fingertips along his shoulder.
He reached up to squeeze my hand. “Alas, I’ve a million things to do at the moment, pulling this thing off. Can I get you anything else? How are you feeling?”
“Perfect. Thanks for breakfast,” I added, holding up the scone and coffee he’d brought me with the Post. “Oh, wait.” I looked at the cup and frowned. “Decaf, right?”
He looked aghast. “Oh, hell. I didn’t think of that. I’ll run out for another.”
“Please don’t. You’re not my errand boy. I’ll grab one after my appointment.” I looked at the clock. It was half past seven; Julian, as always, had risen early, this time to fetch the newspaper and assess the damage. “What time should I be ready?”
“We’re due downtown at noon. I’ll pick up Arthur on my way—he’s in Sutton Place—and you can bring Charlie.”
I swung my legs out of bed, and found myself hit by a dizzying rush of nausea. “Oh my God,” I groaned, and staggered to the bathroom.
Julian came right behind me, holding my hair away from my face. “Better?” he asked, when I’d finished.
“I’ll live.”
He handed me a damp washcloth. “Poor Kate,” he said remorsefully. “Look what I’ve done to you.”
“Like I said, I’ll live.” I wiped my face and hung the washcloth on a towel rack. “Besides,” I added, slanting him a look, “I wouldn’t give up a single night with you. Not even if I knew which one had done the deed.”
He smiled then, wanly. “Eric’s downstairs, when you’re ready to go out. I’ll be back by ten. Can you be ready to go at eleven-thirty?”
“I think I can manage it.” I reached up to caress his cheek. “Julian, are we really getting married today?”
His grin illuminated the room. “Yes, Mrs. Ashford.” He hoisted me up to plant a kiss on my lips. “Depend on it.”
JULIAN HAD WANTED TO COME to my doctor’s appointment this morning, but I’d convinced him his time was better spent elsewhere. “She’s not going to do a scan or anything,” I said, “just give me a quick once-over and give me the list of dos and don’ts.”
The truth was, I wanted to keep things low-key. People would notice the two of us walking into the ob-gyn office together: Julian was so recognizable now, and I couldn’t take a chance that my parents would get word of the pregnancy before I told them.
I’d been lucky to get the appointment at all, or else I was just naïve about the power of money and celebrity in arranging things like last-minute before-hours doctor appointments. My doctor did regard me with more respect than before. I apologized about the missed appointment, joked about its consequences—I’ll never miss another one, I promise!—and she brushed it all off without the usual smug resentment.
“Now,” she said, “I have to ask you: are you happy about this?” She gave me a meaningful look.
Oh. Like, did I want to keep the baby. “Well,” I said, voice as firm as I could manage, “it was definitely a surprise, but now that we’re used to it, yes. We are happy.” I felt myself begin to shake. We were going to have a baby. Kate and Julian, parents.
I stumbled out of the office somewhat dazed, wishing I’d asked Julian to come along after all. Eric had been waiting outside; I wondered what he was thinking. If he was thinking. He didn’t talk much.
“I think I’d like to stop for some coffee on the way home,” I told him, in a scratchy voice, and he nodded his impassive nod and escorted me to Starbucks.
I ordered a decaf vanilla latte and asked Eric, as I always did, if I could get him something. He declined, as he always did. I picked up my drink and sat down at a table and began to look through all the materials the doctor had given me. Apparently I would be having my first ultrasound at nine weeks, blood tests, urine tests, no alcohol, no caffeine, no Advil, no tuna, no liver, no soft cheese, no medium-rare, no sushi, no freaking nothing. Between the forbidden foods and the ones that were making my stomach churn, it looked like I’d be living on charred steak and crackers for the next seven and a half months.
“Oh my God! Kate Wilson! What a coincidence.”
I looked up into the smirking face of Alicia Boxer.
It wasn’t quite the same face as before. The CNBC perp walk had aged her a good five or ten years. The smirk was more subdued now, the skin slackened; the lines arou
nd her eyes had dug in to stay, though her forehead bore the preternatural smoothness of a thorough Botoxing. She carried a copy of today’s New York Post under her arm.
“Alicia?” I asked, in disbelief.
“Can I join you?”
I considered her for a second or two. Eric stepped forward and raised his eyebrows at me. As in, You want I should break her kneecaps, Miss W?
“Wow,” she said, “is that your bodyguard?”
“Yeah.” I stuffed the papers back into my handbag. “So. Have a seat.”
She set down her coffee and settled into the chair next to me. “So, like I said, big freaking coincidence.” She patted her newspaper. “That was you, right? You and Julian?”
I opened my mouth to deny it and realized there was no point. “Maybe,” I said, taking a lazy drink of coffee.
“I have to hand it to you. You won. I mean, I totally underestimated you. Now my life’s a fucking ruin, and you’re marrying a billionaire.” She shrugged. “Nice work.”
“Alicia, I didn’t mean for that to happen. Ruining your life.”
“It’s what I would have done.”
“Well, I’m not you.”
She laughed. “No. No, you’re not. So I guess there is a God up there, handing out justice and whatever. Peggy Sue takes it all.” She drank her coffee and stared down at the paper for a moment. “So when’s the wedding?”
“Sorry. Top secret.”
“Is it true love?”
“The truest.”
“Wow.” She sat back and looked at me, her face cocked to one side like a parrot’s. “You know, I’m digging deep here, and I actually think I’m kind of happy for you. Weird.”
“Well, you know, I never did anything to deserve your little vendetta. I wasn’t plotting with Banner, or trying to steal your clients, or any of that.”
“Yeah, well, I probably knew that,” she said, “but I was just pissed. Maybe I still am. Anyway, I’ve got to go. My apartment’s got a showing this afternoon, and my shit’s still lying around.”
“Wait a second,” I said. “I mean, I don’t want to sound… I don’t know, I guess I’m trying to say that if there’s something I can do to help…”