Prince of Midtown / Marriage, Manhattan Style. Jennifer Lewis
go finish the interview.”
“I appreciate it. I’m going out to grab something to eat.
You want anything from the café?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
Again, the niceness. Very suspicious.
Sebastian strode across the room, legs still bare. He slid a hand under his T-shirt to scratch his rock-hard belly while he contemplated his impressive collection of jeans.
Tessa managed to rasp, “See you later,” as she rushed out the door.
The Park Café was the closest eatery, so Sebastian went there often when he was in town. He’d spent several weeks in New York in the spring and had hand-trained one of the young servers to make the perfect cup of coffee—or at least the closest possible approximation available in this part of the world.
His heart sank as he entered the bright space of the café to a sea of new faces. Then he spotted Reed and Elizabeth Wellington sitting at one of the café tables. He waved and tried to catch their eye, but they were deep in conversation.
“What can I get you?” asked the perky young server.
“I’d like a pastrami on rye with Russian dressing and nothing else. And a seven-shot espresso.”
She vanished, her expressionless face imparting confidence.
What a relief not to be peppered with questions about lettuce and tomatoes and mayo.
His synapses tingled in anticipation of a welcome jolt of caffeine.
He glanced over at his friends’ table. Reed leaned forward, talking in hushed tones, while his wife looked strangely tight-lipped. Were they arguing?
The server returned with seven tiny china cups of espresso. Here we go again. “In one cup, please.”
She picked up a paper cup and began to pour them in.
“They’ll be too cool. Could you use china and heat it again?” He kept his voice pleasant.
“Milk and sugar?”
“No milk, no sugar, no cinnamon, no froth, no chocolate curls. Just the coffee.”
His sandwich appeared, loaded with unwanted vegetables.
Sebastian rubbed a hand over his face.
He’d be home in Caspia soon.
“I don’t think you do!” A raised voice caught his attention and he turned to see Reed, who’d stood suddenly, scraping his chair back on the tile floor.
Elizabeth looked panic-stricken. “Please, Reed…” he heard her say, before the server plunked his big mug of espresso on the counter.
He swiped his credit card and turned in time to see Reed striding out of the restaurant, a black expression clouding his chiseled features.
Alarmed, Sebastian glanced at Elizabeth, who stared after her husband with a stunned look on her face.
Sebastian snatched his cup and plate off the counter and hurried to the table. He sat without waiting for an invitation.
His gut twisted when he saw her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”
He reached for her hand but she snatched it up and dabbed at her eyes with the napkin. “Nothing! Nothing at all. I’m fine.” A sob belied her words. “Allergies. They’re terrible at this time of year.” She drew in a sharp breath. “How are you, Sebastian?”
“Once I’ve had this coffee, I’ll be okay.” He took a bracing sip. Elizabeth was obviously in distress and it pained him not to be able to help her. “Can I get you something? Some chocolate?”
She laughed. “Chocolate usually does help, doesn’t it?” She glanced toward the door. “But not today. I have to run, I have an appointment.” Hands shaking, she gathered her handbag and a large shopping bag. “I’m sorry I don’t have more time to chat. I’ve—” Her voice caught.
Something was very wrong.
“I understand. Another time.” The platitudes felt hollow and useless, but she clearly didn’t want to talk.
He rose from his chair and kissed her cheek. Cold as ice. “And, Elizabeth, if you ever need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me.”
She nodded and hurried away.
How odd. She and Reed always seemed like the perfect couple. Their wedding had been the social event of the season, the bride radiant, her handsome groom the toast of the city for months. Sebastian had even found himself contemplating the joys of marriage—for a week or two.
Luckily it had worn off.
Five years later and here they were: arguments, tension, tears.
Marriage did not look like fun.
Three
Sebastian brimmed with anticipation as he marched across the tarmac toward the plane. “Tessa!”
At the sound of his voice, she looked up and smiled. “Hello, Sebastian.”
She stood at the bottom of the movable stairs, fiddling with the strap on her bag. The wind molded her thin dress to her body in a way that made his blood pressure jump a notch.
Her legs were endless. Slender and shapely. The kind of legs that could wrap around you and hold you in a vise of pleasure.
Not that he had any intention of seducing his assistant into bed.
Even he had his limits.
At least he thought he did.
“Don’t be nervous. Our pilot is very experienced. Have you met Sven?”
“Yes, he introduced himself. I’m more excited than nervous. I actually love to fly. It’s fun seeing the world from above.”
“I do agree.” A smile settled over his face as he took her elbow and led her up the stairs.
Sebastian refused to discuss work during the flight. He wanted Tessa to relax and enjoy herself. To banish any thoughts that she was bored and ready to “move on.”
Any “moving on” would be accomplished in his comfortably appointed jet. “Champagne?” He lifted a bottle out of the fridge.
Tessa’s eyes widened. “It’s only two o’clock.”
“That means it’s eight in Caspia. They always say to pack and dress for your destination, so why not drink for it, too?”
He popped the cork.
Tessa bit her lip. “Okay. You’re the boss.”
“Exactly. You’d better do as I say.” He handed her the glass. “Here’s to your maiden voyage to Caspia.” He clinked his glass against hers.
Excitement sparkled in her big, green eyes. “I’ve never left the country before.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. I flew around a bit on business for my first job, but mostly to L.A. I’ve never been to Europe.”
“Not even to visit friends?” Sebastian found this hard to believe. He knew quite a few people who went to boarding school with Tessa and they were as likely to be found on the ski slopes of Gstaad or the beaches of Provence as in their Wall Street watering holes.
Tessa put her champagne glass on the table. “I went to St. Peter’s on a scholarship.” She raised her eyes to meet his at the mention of the highbrow prep school. “I’m not really one of them.”
“One of who?”
“You know, the jet set, or whatever you want to call it.”
She