And when he picked her up that night, they went to L'Etoile, where he had reserved a table for two, and she began to relax as they talked the way they always did. He told her what was happening in the store, about the plans they'd made for the fall, the promotions, the fashion shows. The opera show had come and gone and been a great success and the others were under way now. She was fascinated by what he did, and even more so because he was so much a businessman. He simply applied the principles of good economics to whatever he touched in the store, that and his extraordinary sense for upcoming trends, and everything he touched turned to gold, as Paul Berman said. And lately, Bernie didn't even mind having been sent to San Francisco to open the store. The way he figured it, he had one more year in California at best, and that would give them time to get married and spend a few months alone, before they went back to New York and Liz would have to deal with his mother at close range. They might even have a baby on the way by then …and he had to think of schools for Jane …but he didn't tell all that to Liz. He had warned her that they were going back to New York eventually, but he didn't want to worry her with the details of the move yet. It was a year away after all, and they had their wedding to think of first.
“Are you going to wear a real wedding dress?” He loved the thought of it, and had seen one in a show at the store only two days before that would have been fabulous on her, but she blushed at the thought as she smiled at him.
“You really mean it, don't you?”
He nodded, holding her hand under the table as they sat side by side on the banquette. He loved the feel of her leg next to his, and she had worn a pretty white silk dress that showed off her tan, and her hair was swept up in a bun high on her head. He noticed that she had worn nail polish, which was unusual for her, and he was glad, but he didn't tell her why as he leaned over and kissed her gently on the neck. “Yes, I do mean it. I don't know …somehow one knows when one is doing the right thing, and when one isn't. I've always known, and the only mistakes I've made have been when I didn't trust my instincts. I've never gone wrong when I have.” She understood him perfectly, but it seemed amazing to move into marriage so quickly, and yet she knew they weren't wrong, and she suspected that she'd never regret it. “I hope one day you feel as sure as I do right now, Liz.” His eyes were gentle on hers, and her heart went out to him as they sat side by side. He loved the feel of her thigh next to his, and it thrilled him to his very core as he thought of lying next to her, but it was too soon to think about that now. He had the whole evening planned to perfection.
“You know, the crazy thing is that I do feel sure. … I just don't know yet how I'll explain it to anyone.”
“I think real life happens this way, Liz. You always hear about people who live together for ten years, and then one of them meets someone else and they get married in five days …because the first relationship was never really right, but in the twinkling of an eye that person knew the second relationship was.”
“I know, I've often thought of things like that. I just never thought it would happen to me.” She smiled at him, and they ate duck and salad and souffle, and then they moved into the bar, where he ordered champagne, and they sat listening to the piano and chatting as they had for weeks now, sharing opinions and ideas and hopes and dreams. It was the most beautiful evening she had had in a long, long time, and being with him made up for everything bad that had ever happened to her, her parents' death, the nightmare with Chandler Scott, and the long lonely years alone since Jane's birth, with no one to help her out or be there for her. And suddenly none of it mattered now that she was with him. It was as though all her life had been in preparation for this man who was so good to her now, and absolutely nothing else mattered.
After their champagne, when he had paid the check, they walked slowly upstairs hand in hand, and she was about to stroll outside when he directed her through the hotel instead, guiding her gently by the arm, but she didn't think anything of it, until he walked her to the elevators and looked down at her with a small, boyish smile, barely concealed by his beard.
“Want to come upstairs for a drink?” She knew what he was up to, and that he didn't live there, but it seemed romantic somehow, and a little mischievous at the same time. He had whispered the words to her and she answered him with a smile.
“As long as you promise not to tell my mother.” It was only ten o'clock and she knew they still had three hours.
The elevator rose to the top floor, and Liz followed him to a door directly across the hall without saying a word. He took a key from his pocket and let her inside. It was the most beautiful suite she had ever seen, in a movie or real life, or ever even dreamed of. Everything was white and gold, and done in delicate silks, with fine antiques everywhere, and a chandelier which sparkled over them. The lights were dim, and there were candles burning on a table with a platter of cheese and fruit, and a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket.
Liz looked over at him with a smile, bereft of words at first. He did everything with such style, and he was always so thoughtful. “You're amazing, Mr. Fine … do you know that?”
“I thought if this was going to be our honeymoon, we ought to do it right.” And he had. One couldn't possibly have done it better. The lights were dim in the other room as well. He had rented the suite himself at lunchtime, and he had come upstairs before picking her up to make sure that everything looked right. He had the maid open the bed for them, and there was a beautiful pink peignoir laid out, trimmed in marabou with pink satin slippers to match, and a pink satin nightgown. She discovered it as she walked into the other room, and she gave a little gasp as she saw the beautiful things laid out on the bed, as though they were waiting for a movie star, and not just little old Liz O'Reilly from Chicago.
She said as much to him and he took her in his arms. “Is that who you are? Little old Liz O'Reilly from Chicago? Well, what do you know …and pretty soon you'll be little old Liz Fine from San Francisco.” He kissed her hungrily, and his kisses were answered as he laid her gently on the bed and pushed the peignoir aside. It was the first chance they had had to sate their hunger for each other, and three weeks of desire swept over them like a tidal wave as their clothes melted into a heap on the floor, covered by the pink satin peignoir trimmed in marabou, as their bodies intertwined and her mouth covered every inch of his body. She made every dream he'd ever had come true, and he dazzled her with the heights of passion they reached as they gasped for each other, wanting more and more and more until they lay spent at last, sleepy-eyed, in the dim room, her head on his shoulder, as he played with the long blond hair that hung over her like a satin curtain.
“You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen … do you know that?”
“You're a beautiful man, Bernie Fine …inside and out.” Her voice was suddenly husky, and she looked into his eyes lovingly and then suddenly burst out laughing when she saw what he had left under her pillow. It was a black lace garter belt with a red rosette and she held it aloft now like a trophy, and then kissed him and they began all over again once she put it on for him. It was the most beautiful night either of them had ever spent, and it was long after one o'clock when they sat in the bathtub in the hotel, and he played with her nipples amidst the soap suds.
“We're never going to get out of here if you start that again.” She smiled sleepily, leaning her head against the luxurious pink marble. She had wanted to call the sitter to tell her they would be late, but Bernie had finally told her he had taken care of it, and Liz had actually blushed when he told her. “You paid her off?” She giggled at the thought.