The Suite Life (19 page)

“Alec does fine with eating.” I laughed.

“A shark if ever there was one,” Victor agreed, “but he's gotta be on the lookout for even bigger ones.” He drained his glass and leaned toward me. “Such as Grigor Malchek and his crew,” he whispered, and I shivered as he stood to leave.
I know what a crew is. I met Tony Kroon's.
“Alec's got to keep feeding them or they'll have him for lunch.”

I fidgeted in my seat and looked away again. “Thanks again for the support, Victor,” I said quietly.

“Don't mention it, Sam,” he said as he walked away.

Alec as shark food?
That required some sober consideration.

“I don't mean to ignore my lovely bride,” a boyish-faced Alec said when he returned to the table moments later.

“I'm enjoying myself,” I said, in half a lie.

“Just had to make the rounds,” Alec said. “Starting tomorrow it'll be just you and me for a week in the best hotels Europe has to offer.”

“I can't wait,” I said with a sigh.

“Speaking of offers . . .” He pointed to the line that was forming at the end of the dais.

Two by two, the guests approached and handed over fancy envelopes to Alec and me. It was a scene right out of
Goodfellas
. I just placed them in the satin drawstring bag secreted under the table. But most of the guests, especially those in the Wall Street community, frowned upon the Italian tradition of handing over money at weddings and opted for more traditional gifts, from Tiffany to Steuben, to a large bond for my unconceived child.

“Might be enough in there to carry us for a year.” Alec chuckled as the last envelope was delivered.

Probably enough to last for the rest of my life.

The celebration wound down fairly quickly after that, except for Alec and the boys, who showed no sign of leaving.

“It's a pretty night,” Alec said, breaking out his biggest grin. “What say we put a cap on this celebration in fitting style?” The glint in the eye they all shared foretold exactly what they had in mind as they headed toward the water.

Alec gave me a fast kiss on the cheek as he stood up. “I won't be long, buttercup,” he promised on his way to joining the exodus.

The boys drained their glasses, tossed them in the sand, and made a mad dash to the ocean, shedding garments along the way. Bare cheeks and cocks were the last thing I saw before I turned to Priti, the disbelief evident on my face.

“Boys will be boys,” she said.

True to his code, if not to his promise to me, Alec was the last man standing at the bar, and it was 2 a.m. by the time my bedraggled husband staggered over to the table where I was dutifully waiting and we retired to the bridal suite. I'd changed three times, had three different parties, with wedding costs
ballparking to the tune of at least three hundred grand, but that was merely lunch money for a guy who made it on Wall Street.

The semiconscious, semicoherent man I'd married twice in one week stumbled into the bedroom using my slight frame as an unsteady crutch until his massive upper body, followed by his legs, crashed onto the mattress. Removing his damp clothes and helping him crawl under the covers was my final wifely duty at the end of a very long day.

“My head . . .” Alec moaned from beneath the tangled sheets.

“Serves you right,” I said, yanking open the drapes. “Do you know I had to carry you over the threshold last night?”

“Oh, baby, I'm sorry.” Alec laughed and rubbed his eyes. “Don't be mad. I overdid it last night, but I promise to make it up to you on our honeymoon.” He stood up and wrapped me in his arms. “Finally, I'll have you to myself . . .” Luckily we had an evening flight from Bermuda; Alec sorely needed the whole day to recover.

By the time we arrived in Amsterdam at six-thirty Tuesday morning, after changing planes in New York, I was both tired and cranky. I was not used to such long flights or to the time difference. But it was the beginning of our honeymoon, so my crankiness didn't last, even though I figured I could get away with it a while longer because of Alec's bad behavior at our wedding reception.

Alec had planned this trip down to the smallest detail, as he had everything we did together from the moment we met. Even so, I had to admit that the way things kicked off when we exited the terminal came as a total surprise—not only to me but also apparently to Alec.

Even he hadn't expected to be greeted by an imposing six-foot, four-inch man, who introduced himself as Gustav and informed us that his boss, Hans Voorhees, had instructed him to watch over us during our stay in Amsterdam. We'd already received plenty of outrageous gifts from Alec's family and associates, all of which he had taken in stride. But receiving a personal bodyguard as a present actually left my usually loquacious wheeler-dealer husband speechless.

“I haven't seen Hans for a year or more. He was so happy when I told him the news of our wedding and that we'd be coming to Amsterdam,” he said, shaking his head as we entered the limo.

“Who is he, anyway?” I asked.

“A former shareholder in Transglobal Equities,” Alec replied.

Gustav and the driver sat up front, and Alec popped the bottle of champagne that had been wrapped in a gold bow, another gift from Hans. I could tell as he poured the bubbly that he was trying to figure out what he had done to merit such service.

“I had no idea I'd made such an impression on him,” he said finally, shaking his head again. “I'll have to give him a call when we get to the hotel.”

The imposing InterContinental Hotel abutting the Amstel River took my breath away.
I hope I never become so jaded as to take such gems for granted.

“It's magnificent, Alec,” I said, my nose almost touching the window as we pulled up to the entrance.

“This beauty was built in the 1860s and it's the grande dame of Dutch hotels, but it's just the first stop, buttercup,” Alec said with a promising grin. “Wait until you see the rest.”

All I could think about at that moment was luxuriating in this stately place. It took several minutes after we entered our suite before I felt comfortable enough to sit on any of the
antique furniture, or even to touch any of the blue Delft porcelain vases and knickknacks that occupied every shelf and table.

After we'd both freshened up a bit, with Gustav in tow Alec took me out on the town. We shopped in quaint boutiques, and Gustav was there, handing our packages off to our driver. We ate a late lunch at a trendy café on the river, and Gustav was there, grabbing a bite at the small bar a few feet away. We got out of the car to visit a landmark, and Gustav was there, rotating his head a yard or two behind us. We leaned on a railing along one of the canals just to chat, and Gustav leaned back against the railing a stone's throw away.

Alec kissed me and took his time about it, and I felt Gustav's eyes on our embrace.

I nodded toward our shadow when we leaned over the railing again. “He expecting a spy to show up?” I said with a giggle. “Or an
assassin
?”

“There's a handful of characters I can think of who would want to know what Transglobal is up to, and more than a couple in Zurich who wouldn't shed a tear if I wasn't around. Come on,” Alec said, changing the subject, “let's go back to the hotel and relax before dinner.” He winked at me then and said too loudly, “Gustav! The car, my good man . . .” I stifled a laugh and shadowed our shadow on the way to the car.

When we returned to the hotel Alec had the concierge confirm our dinner reservation at La Rive, which was right in our hotel and one of the finest restaurants in Amsterdam. Then, after a quick tour of the hotel's grand ballroom, shops, and restaurants, we wound up at the spa, which boasted a heated pool, Turkish baths, a solarium, and aestheticians in addition to the usual complement of exercise equipment, masseuses, and personal trainers. I was jet-lagged and tourist-tired and totally ready for some pampering, but I wasn't prepared for the shock I received when I emerged from the ladies' dressing room. Breasts
were bobbing and swaying, and male genitals dangled all over the place, but by the time I emerged for my rubdown by a male masseur I was as nonchalant about the whole thing as he was.

Back in the suite Alec popped a favorite Billy Joel CD into the top-quality sound system before he jumped into the Jacuzzi, claiming he just couldn't wait to give it a spin. I was watered out and opted to sit at the Italian marble vanity and fuss with my hair to the booming sound of the Long Island crooner:

Darling, I don't know why I go to extremes

Too high or too low, there ain't no in-betweens

I couldn't think of any words that would be more appropriate for the Wall Street titan-whale flopping around in the artificial surf nearby.

The next day, Hans Voorhees, who insisted on being our Amsterdam host, took us on a boat ride through the canals. The cold air was invigorating, and Hans proved to be the perfect historical guide to the ancient houses we passed as well as to the farms and windmills on the outskirts of the city. On our way back, we pulled up to a picturesque house where one of Hans's colleagues and his wife treated us to a midday spread.

Then off we went to a wild soccer game, and while Alec wouldn't have minded being in the middle of the riotous crowd, I was more than happy to take it all in from Hans's private box. For the next two days, always accompanied by Gustav, we made forays around town during the day and indulged in five-star dining at night. Alec would sooner be dead than show up at home empty-handed, so he put his buying skills to good use and selected gifts for everyone in his family. I picked up a porcelain Buddha for Priti and a kissing couple for John, to bring him luck in finding a mate. The pinnacle for shopaholic Alec, however, came on our last day, when he bought us ski gear and shipped it
home for future use on trips to Aspen and Tahoe and Switzerland. He never asked me if I even knew how to ski.

Finally our limo whisked us to the railway station, where we bid farewell to Gustav and waited on the platform for an early evening train to Paris, the next stop on our itinerary. Standing there wrapped in fur surrounded by our stacked belongings, I looked like an extra in
Doctor Zhivago
.

I felt like royalty, however, in our private compartment and at dinner in the dining car. My thoughts on the four-hour trip were filled with good memories of the last five days that I knew would last a lifetime.

It was almost bedtime when we arrived at the Hôtel Plaza Athénée, a grand art-nouveau marvel from 1889 and a landmark of discretion and style that was within eyesight of the River Seine, the Arc de Triomphe, and the Eiffel Tower. I didn't expect Alec to be quite so knowledgeable about the city's history and geography, but I couldn't have had a better guide than my husband to the many wonders of Paris.

That night, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, in a bed the size of a small swimming pool. I awoke the next morning refreshed, to the tantalizing aroma of buttery croissants and rich black coffee that Alec had ordered from room service.

Henri Bouchard, our driver for the next two days, was a native Parisian who more than fulfilled his promise to take us to places we shouldn't miss, places that even Alec, seasoned traveler that he was, wouldn't know about. But Alec, of course, also found time to shop, and bought me so much beautiful lingerie at La Perla that, despite my growing accustomed to his extravagance, I was left speechless. But I repaid him in spades when we got back to the hotel that night after dinner.

After leading him to an antique love seat and giving him a playful twirl and push that sent him plopping onto its cushions, I leaned over and undid his shirt buttons down to his
belt, then grabbed the end of his tie and pulled him toward my lips.

“Don't go anywhere,” I breathed. I planted a slow, wet kiss on his lips as he placed his hands on my waist. “It's
Samantha's Secret
for you tonight, dear.”

He started to tighten his grip and pull me toward him, but I backed away before he could lock down his prey and pranced toward the bedroom. “I'll be right back,” I said over my shoulder, with enough syrup in my voice for a whole stack of pancakes.

Giggling and flushed with my newfound power, I reached for the bag holding my new lingerie and slipped into a stone-colored satin baby-doll top and matching panties. Then, throwing my head forward and back to toss my hair around my shoulders, I glanced in the full-length freestanding antique mirror in the corner and liked what I saw.

He'll be uncontrollable by the time I get to the black lace bra and matching garter belt.