Charming Lily (34 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Charming Lily
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“What's wrong?” Matt demanded.
“It appears we are temporarily . . . stuck between floors.”
“What?” Matt squawked. What the hell time is it? Jesus, it's almost seven. Lily said she wasn't waiting. She meant it, too. Do what they do in the movies. Remove the panel and climb up the cables. It's just like climbing a rope.”
“You gotta be kidding,” Sage said.
“I haven't climbed a rope in twenty years,” Birch said.
“Don't look at me. I never climbed a rope,” Dennis said.
“Well, I have. Lily made me learn. Bend down so I can get on your shoulders. I'll climb the damn cable. Keep calling that number. I'm not standing my girl up for the
third
time. A billion-dollar casino and the damn elevator doesn't work. Someone better tell me why right now.”
“It's all computerized,” Birch grunted, as Matt's full weight settled on his shoulders.
“Digitech
software.”
“No shit! Dennis, write that down. Okay, I'm up here, and it's dark as hell. I need something to wrap around my hands. The cables are greasy. Dennis, give me your shirt. What time is it?”
“Seven o'clock on the dot. I might be a minute fast.”
“You better hope to God you're fast,” Matt said, shimmying up the cable. “I'm almost there. How do I get the damn door open?”
“Pry it with your fingers. Send help,” Sage said, squatting on the floor. Dennis and his brother joined him.
Matt broke into a sweat as he struggled with the elevator door. He finally managed to pry it open enough to use his shoulder to open it wide enough to crawl through. He lost no time in running to the exit sign, where he took the steps two at a time, bellowing all the way. By the time he reached the main floor, he'd lost one shoe and his cummerbund, his frilly shirt was dangling in shreds, his hair wildly on end. “I'm coming, Lily,” he shouted at the top of his lungs until he was hoarse.
He careened around slot machines, poker and blackjack tables, and somehow managed to lose his second shoe when he tripped over a money cart and sprawled out on the floor.
Keep moving, Matt. Move, Lily said. If you stand still you're lost.
He moved, doing his best to wipe the sweat dripping in his eyes.
“Hold on, mister, where do you think you're going?” a harsh voice demanded. Matt felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Dammit, I'm the
groom
. I was stuck in your goddamn elevator, and I had to climb out between floors. Where's the chapel?”
“Don't know if your bride is still there, mister. Heard she was pissed and stalked off saying she knew it was going to happen. Oh, oh, here she comes. I feel sorry for you, mister,” the security guard said backing away.
“Lily!”
“Matt!”
“Lily.”
“You said that already. I was just getting ready to put my foot through this veil for the
third
time. What happened to you?”
“Never mind. Where's the minister?”
“I'm right here, son.”
“Then let's do it. How late am I, Lily?”
“Seven minutes.”
“You waited seven minutes. You really waited.”
“Yeah. You look awful.”
“You look beautiful. I almost killed myself getting here. I made it, though.”
Lily grinned. “I would have killed you myself if you hadn't made it. Listen up so you get the words right. You're sure you want to do this, Matt?”
“Lily, I never wanted anything more in my life than I want this. Let's get on with it, Reverend.
While the guests beamed and clapped, the minister said, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”
“Oh, no, not until the ring is on my finger. Where's the ring, Matt?”
“Dennis has it. They're still locked in the elevator. We have to get them out.”
“Why? The wedding is over. You really should find your shoes, Matt. What are these people going to think?”
“They are going to think I'm the luckiest guy in the world. Look at me. No one in her right mind would marry someone looking like me. No, no, I didn't mean that the way it sounds. Lily! I didn't mean it that way.”
“I know you didn't. Come on, it's time for fun and frolic.”
“I do like the way that sounds. Lead the way, Mrs. Starr.”
“Will you follow me and be at my side forever and ever and even then?”
“Forever and ever and even then, Charming Lily.”
Epilogue
Betsy Collins curled into the club chair, her eyes on the television screen, her fingers twirling the little trinket hanging from her neck. She was starting to like CNN and watching what was going on in the world. She was even starting to like the orange-and-brown bedspread.
A stack of fashion magazines stared up at her. She hadn't looked at them at all. It was weird the way she was feeling. For the past several days she'd barely ventured from the hotel room, taking her meals in her room and going to the exercise room late in the day. All she did was think about her girls and Marcus. Her eyes filled with tears. What was even more strange was she hadn't applied makeup in almost five days. In just a little while she had an appointment to get a wash-and-wear haircut like the one she had when she first met Marcus. She also had to remember to call downstairs to inquire about her laundry.
Betsy shifted her position in the club chair; her fingers continued to diddle with the necklace she'd found in her napkin five days earlier. Maybe she needed some fresh air. If she didn't start to move around a little, she would start taking root here in the hotel room. Or, maybe she should think about moving to a fancier place. She vetoed that idea almost immediately.
She looked at her watch. Almost lunchtime. She hungered for a bowl of thick, hot soup and crusty bread. When was the last time she'd eaten anything so ordinary? She couldn't remember. There were so many things she couldn't remember these past days. It was like she was suddenly a different person. She looked over at the hotel stationery piled up on the dresser. She'd spent hours writing down things. Memories mostly, and then she'd started soul-searching. That list took up two full sheets of paper. Somewhere along the way she'd turned into a mean, ugly, hateful person. With painstaking honesty she'd outlined a list of awful things she'd done not only to Marcus but the girls as well. She knew in her heart she was the one who had driven Marcus to do what he did. “I wish I could do it all over again,” she said pitifully. “I wish . . . I wish . . .” Her eyes closed and she slept.
He was waving to her, and then pointing to the bank, a huge smile on his face. She waved back, a smile as large as Marcus's on her face. She was shaking her head, and he was shaking his. He looked tired, and he needed a shave. He also looked cold. She wanted to take him in her arms and hold him close. She tried to call out, but her lips were frozen and cold. He was walking away from her. “No, No, Marcus, come back! We can make this work. I'm not like that anymore. I just want you and the girls. I don't care about the damn money. Marcus, listen to me. Give me a chance. Everyone deserves a second chance. We can make this right. Marcussssss!
Betsy's eyes snapped open. She started to cry. Wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her sweat suit, she raced into the bathroom to wash her face. She took a long, hard look at herself. Without the heavy makeup and false eyelashes she looked different. She looked . . . normal, kind of like Lily Harper in a wholesome way. When she got her hair cut, she would look just the way she looked when she walked down the aisle with Marcus. “I'm sorry, Marcus. I wish I could undo all those mean years. I really do.” When her eyes started to burn with unshed tears, she sniffed, adjusted the fleece-lined sweatshirt over her hips, and left the bathroom.
Betsy reached for the fleece-lined jacket she'd purchased days ago in one of the hotel boutiques. It was snug and warm. As were the fleece-lined boots. The jacket and boots would keep her warm when she went for the walk she promised herself after her appointment at the hairdresser. Maybe some fresh air would put some color in her cheeks. Maybe the fresh air would clear out the cobwebs in her head. Maybe a lot of things.
 
 
Betsy looked into the mirror the stylist held up so she could see the back of her hair. She nodded.
“It becomes you, madam. You look much younger, more vibrant.”
And your tip will be in accordance with your compliments,
Betsy thought as she opened her purse. She did look younger, and she did look vibrant. The stylist hadn't lied. She exited the shop with a spring in her step. She looked right and then left. Which way to go? She turned left and started walking on the hard, crunchy snow. Sooner or later she hoped she would find a small restaurant that would serve her the bowl of soup she craved.
It was cold, the temperature in the low twenties if she was any judge. She'd always liked the cold weather. The girls loved snow. Marcus loved to ski. She liked to ski, too, but she spent more time on her rear end than she did on her feet. Marcus always laughed, that booming, robust laugh of his. She felt like crying, but knew if she did, the tears would freeze on her cheeks. She continued to walk until she spotted a small restaurant across from the bank that held her children's accounts. She moved against the building to get out of the stinging wind and stared at the building. It was all so long ago. Almost a lifetime ago.
Betsy waited for a break in traffic before she crossed the street to enter the restaurant. It was small, cozy, and smelled heavenly. The windows behind the blue-and-white plaid curtains were steamed up. She tried to identify the smells but gave up. Surely they would have a good hearty soup and fresh, crusty bread. A cup of coffee right now would be perfect. She walked over to the one available table and sat down. She didn't have to ask for coffee, it appeared as if by magic. The small pitcher of real cream pleased her. It took a minute to unbutton the jacket and slip out of it. Just as she was bringing the coffee cup to her lips, she raised her eyes to look across the small room. There, directly in her line of vision, was Marcus. A megawatt smile stretched across her face. And then he saw her. Four long-legged strides brought him to her table.
“Marcus, I am so very sorry. I don't know what else to say. You look . . . you look . . .
awful.
”
“I feel awful,” Marcus blurted. “Betsy, I can't believe it's you. How did you find me?”
“Before I tell you that, are you glad to see me? I'm glad to see you.”
“Hell, yes. How did you get here? Where are the girls?”
“I flew over. That man, Eric Savarone came to see me. The girls are fine. I left them in the care of the nanny and the housekeeper. Trust me, they are in good hands. I miss them terribly. When Savarone left, I started to think. Back then I was working the angles, trying to figure out how I could snatch all that money from you. I figured it out, Marcus. At first all I could think of was the money and what I could do with it. I was going to buy every design Escada could come up with. I was going to be the darling of the Paris runways. Then something happened to me. I can't explain it. This is all my fault, Marcus. I drove you to do what you did. Look, we need to talk, and we can't do it here. I want to eat something first and then if you're agreeable, we can go back to my hotel. I took the money, Marcus, so why are you still here?”
“Waiting for you. I stayed in this general area hoping to find you. I walked these streets night and day. Here you are. I think I knew that sooner or later you'd figure it out and come here. At least I hoped you would. It's a good thing because I'm down to my last twenty bucks.”
“I'll buy lunch,” Betsy grinned. “Marcus, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you. I fell asleep a little while ago, and I had this dream. You were in it.”
“What did you do to yourself? You look . . . the way you used to look. I like this new look. How in the hell did we get so screwed up? We had it all.”
“And I wanted more. I always wanted more and more. It's my fault, and I'm willing to take the blame. Just tell me you still love me and the girls. Please, tell me we can make this work. If I had one wish, that's all I would wish for,” Betsy said, her fingers working the pendant on her neck.
“It can work, Betsy. You and the girls are all I've thought about. I turned into this . . . greedy, power-hungry bastard. Maybe together we can make it right.”
“I found myself. I hope I found you in time, too. I have so much to tell you. I imagine you have just as much to tell me, so let's eat and get out of here. Marcus, just one more thing. If you don't believe anything else, believe that I do love you. I need to hear you tell me how you feel about me. I can't undo anything, but I will never, ever, become that ugly, hateful person I used to be. Why did it take you so long to leave me?”
“I couldn't leave. I loved you. I kept hoping . . . Jesus, I don't know what the hell got into me. The opportunity was there, and I grabbed it. I haven't had one peaceful moment since all this happened. Damn, this soup looks good.”
They ate with gusto until they were full. In between mouthfuls of food, they talked of ordinary things. “Matt got married, Marcus. I saw it on CNN. Not the wedding, just the news. He was abducted and left to die in the woods, but Lily and Dennis and Lily's friend found him. He spent two weeks in the hospital. For a while it looked like he wasn't going to make it. The stock went up twenty points after the announcement. I made them give me your bonus check and your vacation and sick days, Marcus. You earned it.”
“I'm the worst kind of thief, Betsy,” Marcus said miserably.
“No, I am. Together, we'll make this right. Some way, somehow. I miss the girls, Marcus.”
“I do, too, honey. We'll work something out. Come on, let's get out of here. Where are you staying?” Betsy told him. Marcus raised his eyebrows.
“I couldn't bring myself to spend the money. We need to talk about the IRS. Dennis put the fear of God into me where they're concerned.”
“I'm square with the IRS. I pay quarterly and am a year ahead. That was the one thing I never messed around with. Hell, I'm even square with the stock options. I can't believe you just up and walked in here. I've been wishing and wishing, and as each day wore on I started to panic.” He put his arm around his wife's shoulder and led her to the door, his shoulders straight, his eyes bright.
Betsy woke, instantly aware of where she was and what had transpired earlier. She moved slightly, unwilling to wake her husband. She looked over at him, a smile on her lips before her gaze swiveled to the window. It was snowing outside. A good day to stay in and cuddle. She felt his hand reach out for hers. She'd missed this gentleness, the warm intimacy they'd shared all night long.
“How long have you been awake, Betsy?” he whispered.
“Just a minute or two. It's snowing. Maybe later we can go for a walk and try to find a place to make snow angels like we used to do with the girls when they were little.”
“That's too easy, too normal. We need to talk, Betsy. Call down and order us some sweet rolls and coffee. We're going to try and make this come out right for everyone concerned.”
Hours later, the coffee and pastries finished, Marcus leaned back on the chair and propped his feet up on the rumpled bed. “Are you sure you're okay with all of this, Betsy? It's going to be a long rough patch until we get past all this. The first thing we are going to do is bring the girls here. We'll rent a little house in the country and I'll finish what I started years ago. You're going to sell your jewelry, and with that money coupled with my bonus money, that's what we'll live on. We'll send back that $100,000 Dennis gave you and the half million you weaseled out of Eric and BQWARE. I can't believe they were stupid enough to give it to you. I'm going to wire all but ten million of Eric and BQWARE's money back to them and sign a note for the balance plus ten percent interest. We'll liquidate everything back in the States, pay our taxes, and with the balance, I will finish developing the software I've been designing these past few years on my own time. I'll cut in Eric, BQWARE, and Matt for a percentage when we sell it. It won't make up for what I did, but it's a start in the right direction. If this software goes the way I think it's going to go, they'll make a fortune. Three years from now, we should be on solid ground. You're sure now you're okay with this? You're going to have to do all the household tasks yourself. There won't be any housekeepers or nannies. No fancy designer duds and no costly vacations. Maybe, if we're lucky, we'll be able to go back to the States someday with our heads held high. Then again, maybe not. We'll always be thieves, Betsy.”

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