Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [111]
“Morgan. That’s another thing. I’m not sure that you should be seeing me—I mean, I’m not sure that I’m the right girl for you. I don’t want to take up your time, Morgan, when you could be with someone else.”
“Hey, wait a minute now. This is serious.” His grip tightened on her nervous hand. “What’s happened? I thought things were pretty good between you and me. Why have a couple of weeks on the Fiesta made you feel differently?”
Venetia said nothing, staring at the glass of wine, the same ruby-red wine she’d drunk with Fitz.
“Is it me, sweetheart? Have I made you feel insecure? Unwanted? I didn’t mean to … I just wanted you to take your time, to get used to me and my globe-trotting life-style. That’s what you’d have to put up with if you married me.”
Venetia put up her hand to stop him. She knew what he was going to say—and a month ago she would have been thrilled and excited to hear it. A month ago, though, she was just a child.
“Morgan. Don’t. Please don’t.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away hurriedly.
“Hey, there, Vennie, come on now.”
Morgan was so sweet, so kind and thoughtful—and so handsome. Any girl would be lucky to be loved by him. Any girl but her.
“Maybe I’m rushing it a bit. I didn’t mean to, Vennie, I wanted to give you time, you’re so young.”
Venetia grabbed desperately at the straw. “Yes, that’s one of the reasons. I feel too young for marriage, Morgan. Too young for the responsibility. That’s why I should leave the Fiesta, leave you. I don’t want to lead you on. I mean, I may never many … you see, Morgan, never.”
Morgan sat back in his chair. Of all things she might say, he hadn’t expected this. She seemed overwrought and confused. Had he pushed too hard, rushed her?
“Take it easy, sweetheart,” he said soothingly. “Look, don’t run away from me, Vennie. I promise I won’t push, I won’t bother you. I’ll even leave tomorrow, if you like. Let you be alone for a while to think things out. And where better than on the Fiesta? Don’t leave, Vennie. If you do, then I’ll feel I’ve lost you forever. Please.”
She really should go, she knew it.
“Please, Vennie, stay.”
“Vennie.” She remembered Fitz calling her name in passion. He had loved her that night, she was sure of it, and if she left the Fiesta she would never see him again, it would be the end. If she stayed, Fitz would return to the yacht, he couldn’t stay away forever, and then he’d be forced to meet her again and there was the slightest chance that he might change his mind.
“All right, Morgan, I’ll stay.” His face showed his relief. “But …”
“I know, I know,” he said, “But. I agree to that ‘but’ for the time being. Deal?”
They shook hands solemnly across the table. “Deal,” she said. Judas, she thought.
16
The George V was the best hotel in Paris, as far as Stan was concerned. There were those who preferred the Lancaster, but it was a bit stiff for his taste. The George V was always abustle, things were going on—you felt there was a bit of action, like the Sherry Netherland in New York, his home away from home. In fact, thought Stan, if it weren’t for Jessie, he’d be very happy, yes very happy, living at the Sherry. Great location, comfort, room service, luxury, familiar L.A. faces passing through the bar every evening, promising a spot of fast action—what more could a guy ask?
“Jessie?” he yelled. “I’m gonna call Paris Haven. You wanna talk?”
Jessie was in the bedroom trying on the Dior she’d bought yesterday and which had just been delivered. Good, she could wear it tonight for dinner.
“Paris who?”
“Haven … you know, Jenny’s kid.”
“Oh. That Paris. Sure, I’ll say hello … wait a minute, Stan, are you proposing to take her out to dinner with us?”
“Well, I kinda promised the kid, you know, when she was in L.A. I said we’d take her out to dinner—she’s probably looking forward to it, Jessie.”
Jessie glared at him. She didn’t want to go to Lasserre with Paris Haven, she was too fancy-French for her liking, and she’d never liked