Hooked Up: Book 2 (48 page)

He pretended he hadn’t heard. “Where shall we go for our honeymoon? Anywhere in the world . . . you name it, baby, we can go. Kauai or Bora Bora. We can leave straight after the ink is dry on our marriage certificate if you don’t fancy hanging around Vegas.”

I wanted to scream.
Why is he ignoring me?
I grappled about for my phone in my oversize bag.
Where is it?
“Alexandre, why are you not listening? Your nutcase sister is going to kill me and all you’re doing is laughing and in total and utter denial! She tried to kill Laura! Where is my goddam phone?”

“Calm down, Pearl.”

I tried to unlock my car door again but he grabbed my wrists. I stamped my feet on the floor. “I will NOT calm down!” Then I fished around in my bag again and finally located my cell. Suddenly, a brilliant idea flashed into my brain like a flashlight. I took a deep breath and said, “Okay, fine, Alexandre. I’m coming along. I’ll be quiet and behave, but please keep an eye on me until we have gotten the hell out of Vegas. I’m scared.”

“Good girl. And don’t worry, I won’t let you out of my sight. Ready now?”

“I think my cell fell out of the side pocket of my handbag,” I lied.

“What a bummer, there’s nothing worse than losing your phone. I’ll buy you another. That one was outdated anyway.”

“Never mind,” I grumbled.

He got out of his side and quickly dashed around to open my door. I generally loved that about Alexandre; he had such gentlemanly manners; always treated me with such respect, opening doors for me—except for
now,
throwing me over his shoulder like I was a little girl—ignoring my plea. He was so dominating, it worried me. Did I want to marry this man? As things stood at that moment, no, I didn’t. I could just see myself lying dead in a ditch somewhere in the suburbs of Vegas, or in a dumpster with a bullet through my brain, or covered in liquid cement like some Jane Doe in a CSI Las Vegas episode. Alexandre admitted Sophie was “eccentric” but he still wouldn’t stop her mad games. And now he was putting my life in danger! I glared at him furiously.

He helped me out of the car and put both his hands around my waist. “Christ, you’re beautiful,” he murmured with hooded sex-eyes, raking me up and down as if he wanted to eat me alive.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, bowing my head to stop his burning gaze—loathing him and loving him simultaneously.

“C’est normal,” he said in French and then took my face in his large hands, tilted my chin up and planted a firm kiss on my mouth. My heart was racing. His devastating good looks, his flashing green eyes, his soft, dark red lips . . . but more than all that, the adrenaline rush of what I was about to do . . .

I broke the kiss. “I really need to go to the bathroom.”

“You can go when you’re on the plane.”

“Don’t we need to go through some sort of security though?”

“Lately they’ve got a little picky—sometimes they frisk you with the metal detector thing before you board.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” I said, thinking I had metal balls inside me jiggling away. But then I remembered that I’d taken them out.

He smiled wryly. “Why, have you got a pistol on you?”

“No, just . . . well, I’ve got my period. I’d really like to use the bathroom now, before we board.”

“You’re just saying that. You’ll try to do a runner.”

“That’s one of those British expressions you picked up from Laura, isn’t it?”

“I have a feeling you’ll try and slip away, Pearl.”

“Don’t be silly,” I assured him, holding his hand and leading him to the building where some double doors were. “I just want to freshen up a bit and those airplane toilets are so squished—even on private jets—you can hardly turn around. Anyway, we have to drop the rental car keys off, don’t we?”

“All I have to do is make a call and someone will come and pick them up.”

“But I need to use the bathroom to clean up.”

“Alright, but don’t dawdle. This is already taking far too long.”

We found the ladies room.

“Why don’t you drop off the car keys while I go to the toilet?” I asked, knowing he’d say no.

“Some chance. I’ll wait here.”

Alexandre hovered outside the door, watching me suspiciously as I went in. I rushed inside to have a scout about. No windows.

I came out again grimacing. “It stinks in there—half the toilets are blocked up. I need to find another.”

“Come on, this is ridiculous, just go on the plane.”

“I have blood all
over
me,” I hissed at him.

I marched ahead, desperate to bring my plan to fruition, but it looked as if I’d be getting on that jet, like it or not. I found a new bathroom and did a quick check over. Bingo, there was a tiny window, high up. I went over to see if I could open it. Just. It would be a real squeeze but I’d try. I searched in my bag and got out what I needed. All my cash and my passport. I stuffed it in my jeans’ pockets. I casually came out of the ladies room. Alexandre was standing there, legs astride in his Alpha male stance, watching my every movement. I smiled nonchalantly.

I edged up close to him, fingering the expensive material of his sharp, charcoal-grey suit. “You look so handsome. How come you’re wearing a suit today?”

He stroked the knuckles of my hand. “I didn’t get a chance to change. I double-backed on that meeting in Montreal, remember? Chasing about after you, Ms. Pearl Robinson. But not for much longer though,” he glanced at his watch, “before I make you mine. You won’t be Robinson any more.
Pearl
 . . . ” he said, rolling his tongue around the R of Pearl . . . “
Chevalier
. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Can’t wait,” I answered sweetly. “Hold my purse, will you? There aren’t any hooks on the back of the doors in there. Disgusting, I hate putting my handbag on the floor with all those germs everywhere.” I gave him my bag and hugged him closely, slipping my hand surreptitiously into his jacket pocket until I found what I needed. I distracted him meanwhile with a kiss, gliding my teasing tongue along his lower lip and then I nipped him there with my teeth. I locked my eyes with his. “I love you, Alexandre Chevalier, whatever happens, remember that. You’d better call the pilot and tell them we’re on our way. I’ll be a while in there, though. I need to change my panties.” I held a ‘fresh pair’ up at him (which was, in reality, a bunch of Kleenex scrunched in my hand with his car keys inside) . . . but it did the trick.

“I’ll wait over there,” he said, awkwardly handling my bag as if it were a bomb. Why is it men find a woman’s handbag so embarrassing? But he seemed relaxed now, getting out his cell phone as he made a call.

I raced into the ladies room, making a dash to the window. I climbed on the toilet seat trying not to make any noise, and raised my leg up, twisting and contorting myself into yogi-like positions until I was able to squeeze myself through the window. Better this than dead in Vegas, I thought. It was dark out there and hard to tell where I was going to land. All I had was the wad of dollar bills in my front jeans’ pocket with the car key, my passport in the back pocket. My cell and everything else was in my purse, with him. There was no point bringing any of it—he’d be able to trace the movement on my credit cards and cell phone—and would. My heart was pounding in my chest. I fell headfirst and managed to twist my torso back around so I landed on my feet the other side. My eyes darted about to fix my location. Luckily, this airport was fairly small, and I spotted the position where we’d parked the Mercedes. I sprinted like crazy until I reached it.

I leaped inside, turned on the ignition and drove like a bat out of hell.

I
WAITED FOR PEARL. And waited.

I stood there like a fucking lemon, holding her handbag. At first I wasn’t paying attention because I was so busy talking on my cell, organizing our wedding. What a fucking joke. I called the car rental people to ask them to come and pick up the Mercedes key from me.
Hang on a minute . . . where’s the bloody key?
I fumbled in my jacket pocket . . . no key.
Did Pearl have it? No, why would she?
That was the first alarm bell. When I saw that the coast was clear and no other women were in the ladies room, I sneaked in.

“Pearl? Hurry up, baby. Are you done?” She had told me that she needed to change her tampon. Nothing. The place was empty. I peered into all the cubicles.
What the fuck?
Then I saw . . . I looked up and there was a tiny window, wide open. I dashed out of the room, through some double doors, and onto the tarmac to the spot where I’d parked the Mercedes.

Gone.

She’d done a bloody runner! I looked in her bag and she had even left her phone behind. And her credit cards. She was
that
desperate to escape from me. A woman on the run. As if I were a wife-beater or something—she wanted nothing more than to get the hell away from me. Tears prickled my eyes.
This woman does not want me
. I felt as if a hole had been scooped out of my gut. Now I knew the British expression of ‘feeling gutted.’

The jet was waiting.

But without Pearl, I had nowhere to go.

A
NTHONY’S APARTMENT was up on a hill, in a beautiful tree-lined street in Pacific Heights. He and Bruce lived in part of a stately Edwardian house which had been divided into three condos. His was the first floor, sporting huge bay windows that looked out over the city of San Francisco. It was light and roomy, decorated impeccably with graceful feminine furniture and walls painted in robin’s-egg blue and whites that were not white but tinged with subtle tints of ivory, worthy of a spread in a designer magazine. There were two large fireplaces, and detailed crowned moldings that ran around the ceiling. Dead center, an elegant crystal chandelier hung like dripping jewels, a “souvenir” that he and Bruce had brought back from Venice, Italy. Which was where my eyes were fixed now, as I lay on the sofa in the living room, contemplating what I should do next. It was nine a.m.—the morning after the night before, and I still hadn’t gone to bed yet.

Bruce, thank God, was visiting his parents in Napa Valley so I didn’t have to make small talk with him. I was not in the mood to make an effort with my brother’s other half and was exhausted from last night’s long drive. I looked like hell, too.

I had driven without stopping. At every moment I half expected to hear a helicopter above me searching with headlights for a Ms. Pearl Robinson, “belonging to” a certain, Mr. Alexandre Chevalier. But I made it through the night. I guessed he would have suspected that I got on a plane to Kauai. Sorry, Dad, next time. Besides, Sophie would be expecting me to be there and I was too freaked out to risk it—I want to stay out of her radar. Alexandre had called here, of course, but Anthony did a great job of sounding shocked and worried. I felt terrible, thick with guilt, but what else could I do? Anthony seemed to be enjoying all the drama but thought I was nuts not to have snapped up the wedding opportunity in Vegas. That’s what he said, but his ironic sense of humor could have you easily fooled sometimes.

Anthony minced into the living room in his pink silk pajamas. I was still in a trance, staring at that flickering crystal chandelier, which was catching beams of morning light flooding through the bay windows. He brought in two large mugs of steaming drinks: coffee for himself and cocoa for me.

He set the mugs on the coffee table, on top of a thick book about Renaissance Art. “Just rent a bodyguard, Pearly. Get the marriage over and done with,” he said, carrying on with this morning’s no-sleep conversation. I still hadn’t got any shut-eye at all.

I covered my yawning mouth. “Dead in a dumpster somewhere with a ring on my finger? What good would that do?”

“As long as I’m your next of kin and can inherit half of Alexandre’s empire,” he joked.

I scowled at him.

“Seriously, Pearl, he’s behaving like a total control freak asshole. Of course you can’t go through with this union as things are right now. He can’t just
abduct
you into marriage, that’s insane. Even I get that.”

“Yes, well, he’s a man who’s used to getting what he wants.”

“To me it screams insecurity. A man who is so hooked-up on you, HookedUp, pardon the pun—so obsessed with you that it’s scary. Like you’re his possession. It won’t be long before he arrives here, or sends someone. I could tell by his voice on the phone that he didn’t quite believe me when I said you weren’t here. There’s probably someone watching the front door as we speak, waiting to pounce on you. Lucky the rental car is parked in the underground parking, anyway. I’ll warn the neighbors not to say a word.”

“He’ll think I’ve gone to Hawaii.”

“Nuh-uh, he’s already checked all the flights out of LA and has people on the case. He said so on the phone.”

I sighed. “I feel mean and guilty. I should call and tell him where I am.”

“I bet he already knows where you are.”

“How?”

“He has a whole team of private detectives working around the clock—that’s what he told me, or warned me, more like. If you stay here, he’ll be on the front doorstep any minute now throwing you over his shoulder again and riding off into the sunset with you on his galloping black stallion.”

“You make it sound so romantic.”

“Well, it is romantic in a way. Who wouldn’t dream of a guy so in love with you that he’s willing to take you hostage? Especially one as drop-dead gorgeous as Alexandre. However, this psycho sister shit is no joke, and I totally see, Pearly, where you’re coming from.”

“You do?”

“Yes, she sounds like a total fruitcake. And a dangerous one at that.”

“But he just doesn’t
get
it. He refuses to take it seriously, just tells me that she’ll ‘get used to me.’ The fact that she wheedled her way into Samuel Myers and my movie deal doesn’t faze him at all. Alexandre acted like I was over-reacting and P.S., he forgot to let me in on the fact that he knew about it.”

“It sounds as if he and Sophie are so close after what happened when he was a child that no matter
what
she does he will always forgive her and make excuses for her until the day he dies. Blood is thicker than water, and I’m sorry, Pearl, but you are the water and she is the blood. He’s obviously crazy about you, but he wants to have his cake and eat it too. He wants you both in his life and is juggling everything to keep it so.”