It All Began in Monte Carlo (7 page)

Kitty shrugged, leaning closer to Sunny. The V of her dress fell away, revealing a heavily padded blue bra. L.A. woman that Sunny was, she wondered why, if Kitty Ratte were so successful, had she not had a boob job. And anyhow why hadn't she had those buckteeth fixed? And the front two had awful cheap too-white veneers. Obviously whatever Kitty did, she wasn't making enough to keep up with the Joneses of Monte Carlo.

“I have a ‘partner,' ” Kitty explained. “Not a husband, you know, just someone I have an ‘understanding' with.”

“You mean you're a mistress?”

Kitty's forced laugh was a bit angry. “I suppose you could call me that,” she said stiffly. “I prefer to call it, the way the Europeans do, an ‘arrangement.' He travels a lot, but there are many things, when he is here, that we like to do together. Special things,” she added with a reminiscent little smile. “But then, there are also many things I
prefer to do on my own. So, what about you, Sunny Alvarez? Why don't you tell me your story? I'm here just for you, just to listen to you.”

“Oh my God,” Sunny said, suddenly so grateful to have someone—anyone—to talk to that the story simply came spilling out: about Mac Reilly, TV's star detective. All of it. All the hurt. All the pain. All the love. “And all for nothing.”

“But you're so wonderful, so beautiful,” Kitty breathed admiringly. “How could Mac
not
want you?”

Sunny choked back more tears. She hid her face in Tesoro's already tear-damp fur, aware that the eyes of the beautiful Indian woman were also on her.

“But now you tell me, Kitty,” she said, speaking as she always did as the thought flashed into her head. “With all your friends, what are
you
doing, alone in a hotel bar on Christmas Day?”

Kitty's eyes took on that secretive look again. “I'm on my way to a party. In Cannes. In fact I must leave now.”

“A Christmas party?” Sunny felt a pang of envy for this unknown woman.

“I told you I have many friends. And now with you, perhaps I have a new one. I understand what you are going through. Why don't you and I have lunch tomorrow? Go shopping? You know, just fun, girl talk, that sort of thing?”

Loneliness was like a disease, it overtook you in weak moments and Sunny found herself agreeing almost too eagerly.

Kitty patted her hand again, so sympathetic Sunny felt grateful. Clutching her black Chanel bag and with a flash of naked thigh, Kitty unhitched herself from the stool. “Tomorrow then. I'll pick you up at noon.”

Sunny watched her walk from the bar, an odd little knees-together trot in the black leather, red-soled Louboutin pumps that were too high for her and that did not go with the flimsy shirtdress, that Sunny noticed was unbuttoned to midthigh. She wondered for
a quick moment if Kitty was a hooker, but then dismissed the thought. She was just too ordinary.

Maha watched Kitty leave. She didn't know what she was up to, but she knew it was not good, and sensed also that Sunny was vulnerable. She got up and went over to Sunny. She looked at the little dog lolling on her lap. “I would guess you were French,” she said, in her sweet singsong voice. “The French always have their dogs with them. But by your bearing, I can see that you are not. You must be American.”

“I am,” Sunny admitted, warily.

“Excuse me for interrupting, and allow me to introduce myself. My name is Maha Mondragon.”

“Sunny Alvarez.”

Maha gave her an intense, assessing look. Then she said, “I felt it necessary to come here and warn you. Take care with that woman.”

Did she mean Kitty Ratte? Nonplussed, Sunny stared back at her.

Maha said, “Some of us are able to sense corruption. It has a particular unmistakable aroma. It permeates the atmosphere. Trust me.”

Stunned into silence, Sunny took a nervous sip of champagne.

“My dear, I have something else of importance to say to you. Remember this. You must not be afraid of the future. Take whatever chances life might offer you.”

Maha's hand sat lightly on Sunny's shoulder. “Trust me,” she said again. Then with a bow of her beautiful head, she returned to her table and the trio of waiting friends. She did not look back and they left together, heading, Sunny guessed with a knife blade of desolation stabbing her chest, for a wonderful dinner together. After all, it was Christmas Day. And
she
was alone in a hotel bar.

Then in walked Prince Charming.

 

 

A weight lifted from Sunny's chest. “How did
you
get here?”

“Magic.” He took her hand in both of his, bent and kissed it. His sun-streaked dark blond hair slid over his eyes as he lifted his head and looked at her.

“Did I tell you you were very beautiful? Even in those awful boots?”

“My comfort boots.”

“Now I'm here you won't need them anymore.”

His look was hopeful. And Sunny had been right, his eyes were a sort of greenish hazel. Funny, she had no idea who he was, what he was, where he was from, what he did. And she didn't care.
He
had cared enough to seek her out again.
He
was here. And Mac, the famous private detective who could locate a criminal at fifty paces, was not. Despite the fact that there were two dozen missed calls on her phone from him.

Anyhow, this was definitely not the time to be thinking of the man who had left her at the altar. Well, almost. Besides, what was it that Maha Mondragon had just said to her—that she should not be afraid to take the chances life might offer her? Prince Charming was definitely one of those “chances.”

He was wearing a black cashmere jacket and a white linen shirt
open at the neck. The French cuffs were left loose and tucked up without any links. His skin had that overall tan glow that came from the surf and the sea and, golden California girl though she was, Sunny felt a pale winter waif in comparison. She wasn't missing any small detail about him: his hazel eyes, his dark blond hair, his firm mouth, the strong chin, the faint lilt of a foreign accent. She still knew nothing at all about him and somehow that was part of the charm.

“Come with me,” Prince Charming said and Sunny slid off the stool, tucked the dog under her arm and went.

She wasn't thinking of Mac, she wasn't thinking of anything. All she knew was that she was in Monte Carlo sitting next to this attractive man on a gray suede banquette, in a half-empty lamp-lit restaurant late on Christmas Day. For now she did not have to think about Mac and the fact that they were through. She was not “Alone.” Prince Charming was all she needed. Someone to be with “for the moment.”

“You must be a magician. To come to find me, turn my day—my
life
—around.”

His smile was a heartbreaker. “Sorry but I'm a mere mortal. There's no ‘magic' involved. I knew where you were. I followed you from Paris, I couldn't stand being on my own.”

She nodded. “Alone is too painful.”

“So exactly
who
are
you,
magical princess?” he asked as the waiter poured pale gold wine into tulip-shaped glasses.

“Are we allowed to tell the truth now?”

“I know
I
am allowed. You are looking at Eduardo Johanssen, usually known as Eddie, half Brazilian, half Swedish. Choose whichever half you like better.”

“Interesting name,” she said. They looked at each other for a long silent moment, side by side in the booth.

“Here's to you, Sonora Sky Coto de Alvarez.” He touched his glass to hers.

“You already know my name.”

“I couldn't forget you, sleeping on the plane. You were so vulnerable, so hurt, with the tearstains still on your cheeks. I didn't know whether it was all that champagne, or if I'd bored you to sleep. All I knew was I needed to find out.”

“Do you know
why
I was alone and crying?”

“If you want to tell me, then I'm happy to listen. I promise I will understand.”

Somewhere along the line they had ordered food, and now the waiter placed steaming bowls of
soupe au pistou
in front of them. The scent of basil wafted up. Neither of them picked up their spoons.

She said, “You knew I'd run away though?”

“It was apparent, from what you told me on the plane: buying a ticket at the last minute, throwing a few things into your case, packing up the dog, not knowing where you were going when you got to Paris. And the fact that you were so obviously upset.”

“The red eyes, I suppose.”

“Red but beautiful.”

This time Sunny laughed. “Of course, you were right, I was running away. I am still. I'm running away from a marriage that will no longer take place.”

“He left you at the altar?”

It was Sunny's turn to shrug, and this time the V-neck of her dress, unlike Kitty Ratte's, revealed a hint of firm rounded breasts. Nothing to do with Hollywood implants, Sunny had grown them herself, to her chagrin, at the age of thirteen, when she was horse-mad and a tomboy and hated being female. Of course she had changed her mind since then, since she had discovered the power of breasts, what they did to a man, and certainly what they did to a woman, under a man's, especially Mac's, touch.

She said, “Mac had important work to do, he canceled the wedding. It wasn't the first time, but it was the last.”

“You still love him though.”

“I don't know,” Sunny said in a small strangled voice.

“Yes, you do. It's part of what happened, who you are, what kind of woman. I'll bet you don't give up on love so easily, Sunny Alvarez.”

Her head drooped on her long neck, her hair, silken and black, swung forward to hide her face.

“You know what?” Eddie pushed her hair gently back behind her ear, disentangling a strand that had caught on her diamond drop earring, which, of course, were the ones Mac had given her last Christmas. “We have similar stories, you and I.”

Her eyes slid toward him. She held back the tears. Just.

“My home is Stockholm, but my business takes me around the world. Too much travel. Too much separation. Finally, my wife couldn't bear the loneliness. She found another life. Now we are in the middle of a divorce.”

“Do you still love her?”

“I always will.”

“Then why are you letting her go?”

“Because, my sweet Sunny, she deserves her freedom with a man who can make her happier than I ever could.”

“You must have been happy in the beginning?”

“Beginnings are always happy. Love, lust, insane longings for each other.”

His eyes linked to hers. Sunny recognized that look and felt that warning flutter, that dangerous delightful flutter in the pit of her belly. Don't go there, she warned herself,
don't go there, Sunny, you're too vulnerable, too “Alone” . . .

He patted her hand, turned and spoke to the waiter who'd brought a bowl of chopped chicken for the dog, who was sleeping peacefully. Sunny was still thinking about what Eddie had said. She knew she'd better change the subject. “So what do you do, Mr. Johanssen?”

“I'm in the shipping business, tankers, containers, that sort of thing. Quite boring for someone like you, involved in Hollywood showbiz.”

Sunny laughed. “Did no one ever tell you the truth about
Hollywood? That more often than not it's even more boring than shipping containers and just about as mundane.”

“But you love it.”

“I admit, I love it. I love California, I love Malibu, and my home in the marina with its view of all the boats I've even dreamed of sailing away on.”

The vibrating of her cell phone brought her out of the trance she was falling into. It was Allie. She answered it.

“Allie, oh Allie . . .” she said.

“What's up?
Really
up? I mean, have you truly
left
Mac?”

“I have. And I need you. Can I come and see you tomorrow?”

“Where are you?”

Sunny told her.

“I'll come to you. I'll be there tomorrow evening, I don't think I can get out of here earlier. Listen, book me a room, a double.”

“Is Ron coming with you then?”

“No, I'm bringing a friend from my school days. I haven't seen her in years, then she called me just before Christmas and said she needs help. She's done nothing but cry since she got here and I'm afraid to leave her alone. Anyhow, I'll tell you the story when we get there. Just know that you're not the only one needing help at the moment.”

“Oh, Allie, you talk like the new
You.
I know you'll sort us all out.”

Allie's laugh would have been familiar to millions of moviegoers. “Hey, remember me asking you, only a couple of years ago,
Sunny, have you ever been heartbroken?
You said you didn't think so. But
I
had, my darling Sun. And I remember what it feels like. I'm there for you, whatever it takes.”

Sunny sniffed, remembering. She looked at Eddie. He was obviously trying not to listen. “Thank you, Allie. I knew I could count on you.”

Cutting off Allie was like cutting off a lifeline. “Reality” swept back in full force. Sunny looked at the stranger she was having dinner
with. The man who had come to find her. The man with magic in his eyes and she somehow knew, magic in his touch. She knew she had better leave. Go to bed.
Alone.
That dreaded word that tonight she had to face up to. She apologized, said, it must be jet lag, but she suddenly felt exhausted and needed to go to bed.

Oh God, she hoped he didn't think that was an invitation. A few minutes ago though, it might have been. She was a woman at a vulnerable point in her life, with feelings, emotions.

He signaled the waiter, signed the bill, took her arm, walked her out of the beautiful golden-lit restaurant.

Sunny didn't believe how nice he was, how thoughtful. How handsome. And how sexy. There it was again, that flutter in her belly. She said, “I have a lot to thank you for, rescuing me twice.”