one

“Nigel, darling,” I said as I readjusted the beaded strap of my bias cut gown, “if you poke me with that thing one more time, I’m going to beat you over the head with it.”

Nigel arched a black brow and regarded the item in question. “That would certainly give housekeeping something to talk about,” he conceded as he twirled the gold-tipped cane in his hand.

“I believe Skippy already accomplished that,” I replied with a pointed nod at the giant Bullmastiff currently sprawled across our bed. At the sound of his name, Skippy opened one sleepy brown eye and gazed at me a moment before closing it again. “Speaking of which,” I continued, “remind me to send flowers to that poor girl from room service this morning. What on earth made you order bacon, anyway?” I asked as I tugged a silk white glove up and over my elbow. “You know what the smell does to him.”

“A momentary lapse of judgment,” Nigel agreed absentmindedly, his attention on tossing and tapping the cane.

I watched in silence as he nearly took out the desk lamp. “Don’t you think that it’s time to retire that thing?” I finally asked.

“You heard the doctor. I busted my ankle.”

I crossed my arms and stared at him a beat. “You sprained your ankle,” I reminded him. “Three weeks ago.”

Nigel waved his hand at me. “You say potato, I say …”

“Poser?” I offered.

Nigel laughed. “Me? A poser?”

“Yes, you. Ever since that nurse told you the cane made you look dashing, it’s become a third appendage.”

Nigel pulled his brows together as if trying to place who I meant. “What nurse?” he finally asked.

“You know. The blonde.”

Nigel stared at me vacantly.

I sighed. Spreading out my hands, I cupped them in front of my chest to pantomime her other memorable feature. “She also had really …”

Nigel frowned. “Bad arthritis?”

I rolled my eyes. “Cleavage, Nigel. Cleavage.”

His face cleared. “Ah, yes. I remember her.” He paused. “Wait. She was a blonde?”

I smiled sweetly as I picked up an empty water glass and threw it at his head. Nigel let out a bark of laughter as he neatly caught it. “Now, darling,” he said, as he crossed to me, “as much as I love it when you get jealous, you know I only have eyes for you.”

I turned my back to him and picked up my lipstick tube from the dressing table. As I uncapped it, Nigel leaned down and kissed my neck. Lightly tracing his fingers down my exposed back, he added, “I like your dress.”

“I thought you might,” I said as I applied more color to my lips. “Consider it my atonement for accepting Harper’s invitation to dinner.”

Harper and I went to school together. Nigel and I were in town to attend the opening night of a new Broadway show written by another schoolmate of ours, Peggy McGrath. When Harper had called to suggest that we join her and her husband, Dan, for dinner before the show, I assumed that it wouldn’t just be the four of us. I assumed wrong. I had forgotten that most of our college friends found Dan just as odious as I did.

Nigel didn’t respond. Instead he kissed my neck again. I peeked over my shoulder at him. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” I asked.

Nigel shook his head. “Nope. You’re still in the penalty box. However, I have it on good authority that the ref is not averse to bribes.”

“Oh, really?” I turned around and leaned in close. Lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, I asked, “What’s his weakness?”

“Martinis and lanky redheads with wicked jaws.”

“As long as you reverse the order, we may be able to come to some sort of an agreement,” I told him.

“Oh?”

There was a polite knock on our door. I stood on my tiptoes and lightly kissed his mouth. “I called down to room service for a pitcher of martinis while you were in the shower.”

“You’re a wily woman, Mrs. Martini.”

“I know, dear. Now, put some pants on while I answer the door.”