Page 29 of London
Linda’s eyes popped wide open. She choked on the milk she’d just sipped, an explosion of white droplets covering the coffee table. She coughed, fighting to regain her breath.
“Are you okay?” Gerard’s tone was somewhere between worried and amused.
“I’m fine,” she wheezed. “The milk went down the wrong way. Did you say your mother invitedusfor dinner?”
“Technically, she invited me, but I told her I was bringing a guest. She was quite pleased about it.”
“Um… Why? I mean, thank you for the invitation, but… I… I don’t think—”
He laughed, as if he’d anticipated this reaction.
“Don’t worry, you’ll like her. She’s very nice, as is my Aunt Cecile. They’re expecting us.”
“B-but… I don’t know if I can make it. I have to go to the gallery,” she stammered.
The panic filling her frustrated her, the more so because she couldn’t identify its cause.
“Not a problem. You’ll have plenty of time. We don’t have to be there until eight. I’ll pick you up at seven. See you tomorrow.” He lowered his voice and whispered huskily, “Dream about me tonight.”
“How could I not?” she mumbled, as the call ended and she dropped the phone onto the couch.
An icy terror filled her stomach. Why was he taking her to meet his mother? They were practically strangers! And why the hell did the thought scare her so damn much? It was only dinner, nothing more. She could manage a simple meal, for God’s sake. She was an adult, a well-respected artist. What could possibly go wrong?
Without an answer to her question she buried herself deeper into the cushions, reached for the remote, and started flipping channels. As preoccupied as she was, she barely noticed Pirata gorging himself on milk and cookies.
Chapter Eight
Linda awoke late the next morning, moaning. A vicious headache pounded in her temples. Eyes still closed, she opened her nightstand drawer and groped for the bottle of analgesics she kept there. Sitting up, she reached for the glass of water by the bed, took two tablets, and swallowed them. Why did she feel so crappy?
Her eyes flew open. She remembered! Today was the day she would meet Gerard’s mother. Maybe beheading herself wasn’t out of the question.
There was no rational reason why her stomach should tighten at the thought of meeting his family, and yet it did. Things were moving so fast she felt her own life had gotten away from her. It was unacceptable. When had she lost control?
Pirata meowed noisily, the sound piercing her tender eardrums. There was no way she could pull the sheets over her head now and allow the headache to subside. She’d made her poor baby wait for food twice yesterday. She couldn’t do it to him again.
Bemoaning her fate, she got out of bed, donned a light robe, and went downstairs. Pirata trailed her closely, rubbing against her feet, almost tripping her twice.
“It would serve you right if I fell on you and turned you into a furry pancake,” she muttered, taking his food out of the fridge.
After filling his bowl with chicken-flavored moist cat food, she refreshed his water. With the cat busy consuming his morning meal, she stood, basking in the blessed silence as the pain medication went to work.
She needed coffee. The rich dark Turkish brew would solve at least half of her problems—vodka for breakfast wouldn’t work.
Once the heavily caffeinated beverage was ready, she sat at the kitchen table and sipped it slowly, allowing each mouthful to shock her brain and body into shape. Together with the analgesic, the caffeine eased her pain. Twenty minutes later, she felt well enough to want to keep her head on her shoulders instead of having it fall off and roll across the kitchen floor.
Steadier, she went back to her bedroom, stripped, then got into the shower. She turned on the cold water, took a deep breath, and dove under the spray. Pirata, who’d finished eating, sat on the lid of the toilet, washing his paws and listening indifferently to her mumbled swearing and self-recriminations echoing from the shower stall.
Still frowning and miserable when she left the bathroom, Linda felt more alive, but not more optimistic about the evening ahead of her.
After tidying the room, she opened the closet doors and stared dismally at its contents. What should she wear the first time she met the mother of the man with whom she’d enjoyed bone-melting sex?
Eventually, she chose a mid-calf, blue dress, with a full skirt, and a bow pinching the waist. It reminded her of the iconic dress Marilyn Monroe had worn in theSeven Year Itch. The photograph of the diva standing atop an air vent with her dress fluttering up around her, almost exposing her underwear, had made history.
She would never be as beautiful as Marilyn, but then again, she would never trade her life for the woman’s tragic fate. The beauty that had propelled her to the top had been her downfall.
Linda sighed wistfully. Why anyone would choose to live their lives under public scrutiny made no sense to her. It was hard enough making an appearance at special events like she had to do Saturday. Thank God the art world was only a fraction the size of Hollywood’s universe.
She tried on the dress. It was a good choice, lending her an air of casual sophistication. She hoped Gerard would like it. Being beautiful in his eyes was what mattered most.
