Do You Love Me? Page 15

  “Susu, don’t be sorry you told me about last night. I’ll never breathe it to another soul. Darryl is sick. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Your money gets you some attention, but most people like you for yourself. I do and they do.”

  Savanna nodded. “This one failure isn’t going to keep me from trying other projects, but I’ll stick with paperwork and groups from now on. I just don’t do well one-on-one.”

  Carol sighed. “That sounds very lofty, but what drives an individual like the one you’re describing? What motivates her? What supplies the energy it takes to keep on truckin’? The ox works better if he gets to eat as he mills the grain, you know.”

  “I’m healthy, Carol. I have a sound mind and a strong spirit. They’ll provide all the inspiration I need from right here,” she thumbed the part of the sheet covering her midriff. “I’ll get everything I need from inside myself.”

  “You’ll be lonely on that island, just like any self-contained person would be. Who’ll fill that void?”

  Savanna swished the trailing part of the sheet behind her again, and paced. “I may take a vow of celibacy. Maybe Heaven will lessen my physical yearnings.”

  Carol snorted. “No sex? Ever? Better rethink that one.”

  Savanna pondered for a long moment, then shrugged. “I don’t like sex all that much anyway.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, I could like it, I suppose, on a regular basis, but rolling around with some guy every few months…it’s just not very satisfying, if you know what I mean. You hardly have a chance to develop a taste for it.”

  Carol laughed heartily. “That was only having sex, sister, it wasn’t making love. The clinical description may be similar, but the emotional factor is entirely different. You obviously have not experienced the latter.”

  “I suppose if I take a vow of celibacy, I won’t have to worry about it. Some people live their whole lives without it. How can you be such an advocate, anyway, when you’ve had two failed marriages?”

  “My marriages didn’t bomb in bed, I promise you that. Both Michael and Phil were great between the sheets. Money was our downfall. Both times. I had it and they resented it.”

  “You didn’t put their names on your property?”

  Carol looked bug-eyed at the question. “Don’t be ridiculous. We had prenups. They had jobs. They lived in my house, drove my cars, I even gave them credit cards, with generous limits, but they worked. Their money was their money and mine was mine.”

  “Oh.” The information surprised Savanna. She’d taken it for granted that married people shared resources. She had never thought about whether a couple should be autonomous in any area of their union, including the ownership of assets. Her parents shared everything and they seemed to have an ideal arrangement. But then, they both came from wealth. She had not contemplated how it would be to form a permanent union with a man who had no money of his own.

  As for her arrangement with Peter, Savanna had intended to give him an allowance, but he never mentioned it. She wrote him a check each week for whatever amount Angus said they owed him for yard work and tinkering with her cars.

  Okay, she reminded herself, aching with her raw new sense of loss, so she missed him. She knew she would. She’d told him that. He’d verified it.

  She’d get over it. Before long, she’d forget his face. The memory of his automaton’s body would fade. Eventually she would forget the scent of him, the memory of his green eyes lighting up with mischief, the swirl of butterflies in her stomach when he touched her.

  You’ll forget him faster, if you leave those memories locked down, she chided herself. Don’t keep pulling them out and playing with them.

  Savanna brightened and said, “I’m hungry.”

  “Let’s go to town for lunch.” Carol had finally come up with a helpful suggestion.

  When they told Merriam, the woman looked crestfallen. She had prepared lobster bisque, for everyone. So, Savanna and Carol changed plans as quickly as they had made them and postponed lunch in town. They could go anytime, later in the week.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two days later, the Galleria was crowded at one o’clock, the hour for the socially elite to take their midday meal, but Carol insisted they go there

  The noisy hum of voices forewarned Savanna that Gaspar’s was a mob scene. Carol had insisted they dress, had even suggested Savanna’s particular outfit and didn’t mention, until they were in the car, that the way it swirled flattered what she termed, “Your remarkable tush.”

  The statement made Savanna do a double take and burst into lilting, embarrassed laughter. “You certainly know how to lift a woman’s flagging spirits.”

  “You have a classical behind. It’s the one everyone in the workout class is striving for. Didn’t you know?”

  Savanna’s laughter bubbled. “No, I didn’t. Thanks, I think.”

  Although the soft fabric of the dress clung from neckline to waist, the abundant skirt swung comfortably.

  “I’m not kidding,” Carol said. “Those hoop earrings make the ensemble. I haven’t seen them before. Very sexy.”

  They were the ones Peter had given her. She had been thinking of him, nonstop. Wearing them seemed right and, as Carol pointed out, they gave her outfit a playful air.

  Savanna swished more than usual and wondered if the valet clambering into the car noticed her fine behind. Then she laughed lightly and shook her head jangling the earrings and marveling at her own silliness.

  Inside, well-dressed patrons greeted Savanna with unusually effusive handclasps and hugs. A noticeable hum of voices came from far back in the room, from the choice table, in a dimly lighted corner. While other people waved to the new arrivals, the cluster in the corner seemed instead to close in on itself after individuals there peeked out at Savanna and Carol.

  “Wonder who’s holding forth?” Carol arched her brows. “Jennifer, do you think?” One voice pealed above the others. “Hear that deep, sexy laugh? It is Kitty at her showiest. Her laugh sounds almost genuine. Odd.”

  They followed the maître d’ to a small table well away from the hubbub, but well positioned to provide snooping privileges, if they wanted.

  The waiter was there immediately with water. Savanna said, “I’ll have the potluck and iced tea, please, Arthur.”

  Carol grimaced. “You always do that. I drool when it comes.”

  “Order it.”

  “They won’t ever tell you what it is, and they never bring two alike, even when everyone at the table orders potluck.”

  “Okay, when they bring our food, you can choose the one that looks best. I’ll take your reject.”

  Carol waggled her head simpering and sighing with indecision before she, too, ordered the potluck.

  Savanna clasped her hands in her lap, glancing around. The group in the corner was drawing attention with their loud cooing. Obviously there was a man within the throng holding their attention, probably some juicy gossip, or maybe a lifestyles editor philosophizing about hem lengths, heel heights, or some other subject the women found spellbinding.

  Carol craned her neck to see what or who was so fascinating. When she caught a glimpse, her eyes rounded. She crimped her linen napkin and placed it on the table.

  “We need to go, Susu. I forgot something. It’s important. Come on. We’ll come back.”

  “What? You’ve hounded me for two days and all but blasted me out of the house.”

  “I know, but I’ve got a feeling the potluck’s high risk today. Come on, we’ll go over to Tilly’s Tea Shoppe. Oh, I might run home first. I think I left the coffee pot on.”

  Savanna was bewildered. Carol hadn’t been to her own home in days. She couldn’t be talking about her coffee pot.

  Carol snatched up her purse, but she was too late. Suddenly the mob in the corner shifted as the person at the hub stood.

  Hypnotically, Savanna stared as a familiar, well-formed head emerged above the group and iridescent green eyes caugh
t hers.

  The expression on Peter’s face remained thoughtful as he regarded her. He seemed to be listening to someone at his side. Although his expression did not change, his eyes locked with Savanna’s.

  When she saw the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, she reached for the earrings, hesitated, and flushed. Her heart raced and she felt exposed. She knew her face reflected the tender feelings tumbling over themselves inside her.

  Unable to divert her gaze, she yielded to what appeared to be his implacable stare. The look holding her lasted until faces in his group turned to see what had captured his interest.

  Some of his companions regarded Savanna curiously, indifferent, unaffected. Others looked once, then twice, registering surprise, or annoyance, or casual interest.

  Finally, he allowed the emerging smile and a nod.

  Attempting to pull her gaze from his, Savanna returned the nod but the smile quivered on her lips, and she experienced a new and terrible sense of loss.

  He moved and the hovering mass of females flowed around him.

  Loss?

  What a peculiar thought. Her cast-off would probably be more accurate. Hadn’t she been the one who had sent him away? What was that, punishment, or opportunity?

  The question now was: Punishment for whom? Opportunity for whom?

  Had she actually intended their separation to be the torment it was? Why? What had either of them done to deserve to be punished? The bombarding questions were confusing and none seemed to have reasonable answers. She hadn’t anticipated how his absence, even in only the hours he’d been gone, would deplete her, as if someone had gouged a hole, causing a leak of vitality from the depths of her soul.

  Seeing him, her feeling of emptiness sharpened again. She stood, leaving her napkin in her chair to indicate she would return, and hurried to the ladies room. There were obstacles, greetings from others in the room, words from the waiter as he carried their order to the table.

  “Ms. Cavendish, would you like me to take this back to the kitchen and keep it warm until you return?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be right back. Go ahead and serve us, Arthur. Please.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder to find the verdant eyes tracking her.

  Tears stung. In the sanctity of the powder room, she stared at her reflection. She gave herself a stern look and soured further. Disgusted, she washed and dried her hands, using the time to corral her stampeding thoughts and recapture her self-respect. She fluffed her hair with her fingers and practiced her smile, trying for aloof.

  Minutes later, when she emerged from the ladies room, Savanna breathed normally and felt confident she had her renegade emotions under control. She felt comforted by the knowledge that Peter and his entourage had been on their way out when she defected.

  Did she sincerely hope he would be gone?

  Yes.

  No.

  She liked seeing him, actually she liked seeing him see her. What was it she enjoyed so in his look? Admiration? Appreciation? Something in his expression, in his body language, thrilled her. His expression was hard to read. Certainly it didn’t reflect the depth of the emotions that exploded inside her when she saw him. There was no confusion in his stare. Or was there?

  She wound her way back toward Carol, looking neither right nor left, but straight ahead, before she felt his eyes again penetrating her concentration.

  Wavering, she looked left. He was there, but he didn’t see her. At least, he didn’t acknowledge it, if he did, his attention firmly set on the cooing and fawning circle of matrons. Savanna slowed her pace, checking out his followers.

  Several were single, twenty-five to thirty-five years old, most of them just as prominent or more so socially than Savanna. Many, particularly Kitty Marino, were far more stylish and probably wealthier.

  She noticed that Carol wasn’t eating, had eased back into her chair, qualms about the potluck apparently forgotten.

  Savanna continued to the table, trying not to spare Peter any more attention than he was already receiving.

  Carol gave her a brave smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this. When I realized…well, I didn’t want you to see him…like this.”

  “What? With his harem? I believe it’s common for a rogue stallion to maintain a herd.”

  “Kitty seems to be the most ardent.”

  “Is she?” Savanna tried to reflect determined indifference as she barked a disdainful laugh. “My goal was to create a socially acceptable gentleman. Apparently I’ve succeeded, actually produced a masterpiece, if Kitty is smitten. That means the project was worthwhile. We’ve accomplished exactly what we set out to do. I win.”

  Looking skeptical, Carol’s tone oozed a sugary kind of sympathy. “He is a marvelous piece of work, Savanna, if that’s any consolation.”

  “Consolation?” Savanna hawked another derisive laugh. “Dear, it is high praise. A valued compliment.”

  She watched Carol carefully, since her companion could see Peter and the ladies without making her observation obvious, sipped her tea and dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, struggling to hold onto her bravado. Carol’s eyes indicated the subject was coming closer. Savanna firmed her grip on the again mushrooming self-pity and allowed herself to turn.

  Standing at her elbow, Peter smiled down into her eyes, as at least a dozen of his herd milled, darting suspicious glances.

  “How are you, Savanna?” His words were enunciated as she prescribed, the intonation perfect. His clothes were impeccable, also meeting the criteria she had set. Uncomfortably, she realized they were not clothes she had purchased. Either he had launched out on his own and, she admitted to herself grudgingly, demonstrated exquisite taste, or he had attached himself to another teat.

  She hated the crude thought but somehow felt they both deserved the gibe.

  Unable to continue looking directly at him, she lowered her eyes and waited for him to say whatever he’d come to say. He seemed content, however, to stand looming over her, waiting for an answer. What was the question? How are you? It hardly deserved an answer.

  Finally, annoyed, she screwed up her courage and let her eyes engage his, surprised to catch just a glimpse of uncertainty in the green depths.

  Without intending to, she brushed her fingers along the bruise on her jaw, the shadow of it aptly hidden by an extra layer of make-up. “I’m well, Peter. Thank you for asking. And you?”

  He didn’t make any reference by look or word to his following, but she could feel him drawing her attention to it, and her eyes swept the group of gaggling females milling in his wake.

  He lowered his voice so she had to read his lips to hear. “I’m glad to see you looking so well. Please do not feel guilty. Just as your face shows no sign of injury, I keep the damage you inflicted on me well concealed.”

  She shot a rude glance at the ladies and attempted a smile, hoping her approval seemed genuine. “You seem to have plenty of company. I imagine you’ll find only your pride suffered any damage at my hand.”

  “No.” His polite expression appeared to freeze in place as he continued to speak quietly. “You hold my heart in those hands, Savanna Cavendish, and you know it, regardless of your denials.” He hesitated. “I yearn for you. Every day. Every night. Every moment.” His face signaled an apology as he spoke, the final words inaudible, only mouthed. “You are in my soul, a part of me now and forever. Every breath I breathe says, ‘I love you.’”

  With a bittersweet smile, he wheeled and strode across the dining room, leading his followers out into the afternoon sunlight.

  Like a balloon losing air, Savanna withered in her chair, folding almost into herself as she exhaled.

  Carol reached across and tapped her arm. “Brace up. You’re not through yet.”

  One woman broke from the crowd and came back through the restaurant to confront Savanna. It was Frances, her own sister. “My compliments to the chef.”

  Savanna attempted a smile and engaged
Frances’ probing glance. “What?”

  “Your creation. You were right. He is absolutely delectable. Everyone is praising you to the skies, including that glorious man.”

  Flinching at the innuendo, Savanna straightened. “You’re being cryptic, as usual, Frances. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Peter Rivera, of course. Everyone’s raving. They don’t know how he could have traveled incognito in this country for so long without being recognized.”

  “What?” Her sister had Savanna completely baffled.

  “The buzz from Kitty is that he’s a descendent of turn-of-the-century Italian royalty and that he chose to reveal himself to you. He credits you with sponsoring him in this country.” Frances flipped her fingers through her bangs. “Of course, it’s safe to say he could have had any of a dozen other patrons. Anyway, he’s making you famous.”

  Savanna bit her lips at the irony, struggling to subdue the laughter bubbling inside. Royalty? Peter? Ludicrous. “Italian royalty? Who told you that?”

  Frances glanced at Carol and winked. “I believe Carol was the first to mention it, in my very own home the morning of the shower. It took a while for me to catch on, but, when I combined that with what Kitty uncovered, I read between the lines.”

  Carol’s mouth moved but no sound emerged until finally she turned a glare on Frances. “When did I say that?”

  “Right there in my sun room, Carol Ashby, when you told us that hokey story about Savanna’s car breaking down and about the handsome prince. It was clever of you to disguise it that way. Kitty warned us never to mention it in front of him. She says he’s terribly self-conscious about it. You know Kitty. She’s not likely to want it bandied about yet, not as long as you’re getting credit. Didn’t you see how she tried to spirit him out of here the minute she saw you? She’s absurdly jealous of you, Savanna, and now, today, for the first time, I understand why. She’s begged him to let her be his sponsor. She’d put the screws to him, if she could find a pressure point..”