Chapter 13

Rain pitter-patted at the glass doors, fogging the massive trees beyond and lending the morning a certain mysticism. March called her little apartment the tree house. Unless at the doors she looked down, her view was a vista of treetops. Classical music drifted in the background. The tangy scents of mustard, mayonnaise, and dill pickle chips drifted from the slip of a kitchen.

“Thank God for Saturdays.” She spooned deviled egg filling into the boiled whites. “What would you like to do today? We have the entire day to do whatever we wish.”

“Let’s drive to the Hill Country. A day trip.” He chuckled. “Picnic in the rain.”

“That does sound great, but tonight is our Employee Appreciation dinner/dance. It’s a fancy affair at River Oaks Country Club.” Spoon in hand, she winced. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

He arched a brow, scowling, his lips pursed on a smile.

She folded her hands beneath her chin. “Pretty please, will you go with me anyway?”

“Of course.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Tux and gown?”

“Oh, dear, yes. Since your tux is at the cleaners and won’t be ready until Monday, we’ll have to rent one.” She licked the spoon, liking the taste of her first attempt at deviled eggs. Not bad for no recipe. “I hope we can get one at this late date. What a ditz I am forgetting that important detail.”

He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching her pepper the eggs. “What are you wearing?”

“I bought a beaded evening gown on eBay in the spring.” She laughed. “I was an eBay addict until you came along. The dress is really pretty in a soft blush color.”

“You will be stunning.” He molded his body to her back.

She snuggled into his embrace. “I suppose I should eat breakfast, and we’ll set forth on our mission to find you a tuxedo.”

“Aren’t deviled eggs a strange breakfast?” He massaged the tight muscles in her shoulders.

Every time they brought the needles for chemo, she turned to stone, her tense muscles sore for days. Today, being the day after, her neck and shoulders were like a rock.

“Probably, but I’m strange…now.” March’s heart plummeted.

Two weeks ago, her pink hair started falling out. Before she was completely bald, she’d had her head shaved and a full lace wig applied. Gone was her graduated bob, replaced by shoulder-length blonde with three tone highlights. People at work liked the wig, as did Christian, but she felt a bit funny with so much hair.

“Strange because…you purchased me?” His voice came gruff, scarcely more than a whisper.

She whirled in his embrace, captured his face in her hands and kissed him. His arms tightened around her waist. If this continued, they’d be in bed again in minutes. She broke the kiss and smiled at her dream man.

“No regrets there, darling. Not even one. I meant because I’m bald.” She could sleep in the wig, shower with a cap, and it looked natural even in a high ponytail. Every two to three weeks, it had to be removed professionally, cleaned, and reapplied.

Christian had offered to drive her to these salon appointments, but she refused, horrified at the thought of him seeing her hairless. He carried her plate of eggs to the dining room, and they sat facing each other across the square glass table with its pedestal of petrified wood. The living room/dining room was an open plan L-shape with apartment standard blah beige carpet. If she owned the place, she’d have the entire space tiled in marble, including the bedroom.

“You’re quiet,” he said. “Deep thoughts?”

“Thinking I’d like to buy a house or a condo. When this is over, we’ll look into what’s for sale at an affordable price.” She bit half an egg, then returned the remainder to the plate.

He nodded. “After you fell asleep, I spent last night applying online for jobs.”

She tensed. “You are persistent.”

“If I were gainfully employed, we could afford more house.” He straightened the tapestry of a grand piano hanging behind the table.

How nonchalant he sounded when she knew he longed to help financially. His concern touched March. However, she didn’t care to chase him down in another shady profession. Did the other androids seek jobs? Or was her Christian different? My Christian is very different. She’d bet none of the other droids had worked in a male strip club. So sad, some would end up sex pets.

March ate the eggs, strode to the kitchen and tucked the plate in the dishwasher. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to see you in a tux.”

Today, he wore a blue shirt and navy trousers that made his eyes appear even bluer. Her gaze swept his long, lean body. Sinful how much she loved looking at him. She could spend hours visually devouring him. He returned her intense study, a trill of excitement rippling over her. Both started when the doorbell jangled.

A woman, uniformed in the purple and orange of an overnight carrier, smiled through the glass doors. Christian strode across the room and opened the door. For a long moment after he accepted the envelope, he stood staring at the label. A trickle of fear slid down her spine. She rushed to his side. He waved the package, a strange expression on his face.

“From Mayfair.” He looked wary, his gaze accusing.

Heart hammering, she pulled the tab and, with a slight tremor in her hand, produced the contents. The letter read,

Enclosed please find the work permit for Christian. Through our connections, we have secured two interviews with prospective employers. He should contact…

March stopped reading and handed the gift to Christian. “I believe you’ll find this of great interest.”

Christian glanced at the Mayfair logo and went rigid. An intense blue gaze sheered to March. “Are…you returning me?”

“Good lord, no.” She waved a hand, indicating that he should look at the contents.

In seconds, he had read the letter, then quickly examined the attached documents. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. When he looked at her, amazement glittered in his eyes. “March, if I could sing—you didn’t have me programmed with musical talent—I’d sing Impossible Dream. Monday, I shall contact these two leads.”

“Congratulations, baby. I know how much this means to you.” She kissed his cheek. “Take those inside. We’ll file them when we return. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find a fine looking tux for tonight. We have something to celebrate!”

She strung her handbag over her shoulder as he opened the door. Hand-in-hand, they faced the world. Without an umbrella, the misty rain jeweled Christian’s hair, rendering him as otherworldly and ethereal as the morning. Since they received the package from Mayfair, he’d been smiling. His beautiful smile always took her breath away. He was happy, and she was happy. Tonight, they’d set the town on fire.

“We’ll try the tuxedo rental shop in the Galleria.” March tossed the keys to Christian. “You drive. I hate Galleria traffic.”

Parking was hectic, but finally March and Christian were on the escalator. Below, kids skated and squealed in the ice arena. The noise of a busy mall surrounded them. Men and women glanced at Christian, radiating presence but totally unaware of the ripple he caused in the normal world. They arrived at the rental shop and strolled in, glancing side-to-side at the racks of formal clothes. This location even rented women’s gowns.

“I need a tux tonight.” Christian smiled at the sales assistant gaping at him.

“Yes, sir, what size?” The young man sounded a little breathless as if Christian’s good looks had winded him.

Christian gave the sales assistant his sizes. “I’ll need formal shoes as well.”

All but licking his lips, the young man stared at his customer. “I believe we can accommodate you. Just a moment, please.” He ruffled through an overhead rack and produced a fine tuxedo for a rental. “The trousers aren’t hemmed, which should give you the length you require. We can have them hemmed within an hour.”

Her beautiful android devastated the man further with a smile. “Where are the fitting rooms?” He whispered a laugh. “Shall I model?”

“Absolutely,” March said for herself and the stricken sales assistant.

And he is as wonderful as he looks.

Christian juggled a formal shirt, the tux, tie, and cummerbund into the fitting room. He was svelte, elegant, and would look great in a tuxedo. His wheat-colored hair would look even paler against the black. March walked to the case displaying the studs and cufflinks. The formal shirt came with plain black studs. She wished she could buy the gold cufflinks and studs for Christian.

“I hope you won’t mind my saying, but your husband is strikingly handsome.” The clerk strolled behind the counter and unlocked the case. “Would you like to see any of these sets?”

She shook her head, pride surging through her. “I don’t mind at all, and yes, he is.”

You could have one, too, if you want to drop a small fortune. At that thought, her heart nosedived, but it wasn’t true, was it? None of the other androids were like her Christian. Look your fill. This one belongs to me.

“Fits well?” Christian startled March out of her reverie.

She turned, and her heart caught. “Very well. You look splendid.”

His slender, muscled physique made the rental tuxedo as handsome as a custom-made original. He strolled toward her, turned full circle for her to admire him.

The sales assistant strode across the narrow room to fuss with Christian’s bow tie. “Yes, a perfect fit. Would you like for us to hem the trousers for you?”

“Yes, please.” Christian inched back from the young man’s attentions and glanced over his shoulder at March. “We can kill an hour somehow.”

March grinned at Christian’s discomfiture. “Early lunch and browse the stores?”

He nodded, disappeared into the fitting room, and March found a chair to wait. Another customer had claimed the sales assistant’s attention. Christian emerged from the dressing room. In his light blue shirt and navy pants, he was still droolworthy. Each time he gazed into her eyes, her heart hitched. He’d hung the tux on the rack but carried the formal shirt, cummerbund, bow tie, and patent leather shoes. She met him at the register, flipping her AMEX on the counter before he could retrieve his wallet. Brows arched, he returned the card to her.

The dazed sales assistant watched him counting the rental charge in twenties and the remainder in ones. “Thank you. We’ll see you in an hour.”

March linked arms with Christian. “I can see you’re going to be independent now, Mr. Aguillard.”

He squeezed her elbow against his side. “Lunch sans mimosa, Mrs. Aguillard?”

She twirled on his arm, and he waltzed her back as if he were in his tux and she in her gown, alone and surrounded by some magical golden glow. When she was with Christian, she ceased to care what people thought. The others were ghosts in her peripheral vision.

****

Saturday night, dressed in their finery, Christian and March mounted the staircase of the country club. As they ascended, she noticed coworkers’ curious glances. March didn’t gossip, staying primarily to herself with the exception of a couple of friends. The women taking stock of her hunk in a tux didn’t know her, but she felt she’d scored enough points to move up in their estimation. The snooty VP of HR actually tossed her a smile before her ravenous gaze slid down Christian. A black ribbon bound his hair in a ponytail. The pale blond gleamed in the light of the crystal chandeliers.

White robed tables crowded the ballroom, but March was glad to see that there was a dance floor. Christian stopped a uniformed waiter with a tray of champagne and handed her a flute. She sipped as they wandered through the guests, looking for a table not too near the stage. When the band started, she wanted to be able to carry on a conversation.

Her devil-may-care attitude deserted her, and March plucked up courage with both hands. “There’s Jim, my boss. Let’s sit with him.”

What would Jim think of her new beau? He’d never seemed overly impressed with Paul, but Christian would stand out in any crowd. Mayfair hadn’t missed a detail in creating him perfect. He didn’t look younger than March, but, with his ponytail and his model’s body, he was a far cry from staid, old oil.

Christian captured her hand, smiling down at her. “Are we having fun yet?”

How could anyone not have fun with such a good-looking, charming man on her arm!

“I am. Aren’t you?”

He nodded, allowing her to lead him between the tables. “Destination pleasure.”

“Hi, Jim.” March waved her glass over two chairs draped in dark blue silky material. “Is anyone sitting here?”

“You.” Then her boss glanced at her escort, and his brows flickered in surprise.

At fifty, gray streaked Jim’s mousy hair. He had a pleasant face with a ready smile. His most remarkable feature was beautiful, vibrant green eyes. A considerate, intelligent man, good at his job, he was a great boss and didn’t hold with formalities. Bless his kind heart, he looked out of place in the tux.

“Jim, this is Christian and vice versa.” March set her champagne beside a program with the company logo.

Christian leaned across the table, Jim half-rising to accept the handshake. “Pleasure, Jim.”

“Same here. So, what part of England are you from?” Jim settled back as Christian held March’s chair. He glanced at her, then back at Christian.

She settled her evening bag on the table, slid into the seat and looked up at her escort—Christian Aguillard, handsome, English, and not human.

Elegant in his tux, he drifted into the chair beside her. “London.”

“Really like London. Company has sent me there a couple of times.” Jim studied Christian, his expression unreadable. “How do you know March?”

“Actually, we met in London when she visited earlier this summer.” Christian’s hand, as warm as mortal flesh, covered hers.

“So, that’s where you went on that surprise vacation, Ms. I’ve Got a Secret.” Jim wagged a finger at March.

March stiffened slightly, fighting a wave of dizziness and nausea. Sometimes, she could forget the effects of chemo. How she hated the thought that sickness and weariness might spoil her evening. Tonight, she was a princess in a fairytale complete with beautiful gown and Prince Charming.

She shrugged, lifting her brows. “Just a spur of the moment decision. And no, I hadn’t met Christian on the Internet before I darted off to England.”

“That would have been difficult since I’ve never registered with a dating site. Classified ads are more my style.” Christian shot her an amused glance, no doubt thinking of the Mayfair advertisement that had tempted her to London. “March, Jim, care for a drink? I’ll grab the first round.”

Jim rattled the ice in his glass. “Vodka tonic, please.”

“Make mine Crown Royal,” March said, batting her eyelashes at Christian.

He kissed her cheek and rose. She and Jim watched him striding toward the bar, turning heads. The VP of HR cornered him in line for a chat. March wished she could hear the conversation, but the way Carole laughed and inched closer to him told the whole story. It was common knowledge that Carole and the VP of Downstream were an item. But apparently she likes my taste as well.

She studied the glittering centerpiece, a silvery concoction resembling a tall, icy tree. “This is different.”

“Looks like Carole has taken a fancy to your man,” Jim said. “How long is Christian visiting?”

March started. “Oh, he…emigrated. He’s looking for work. Do we need an aerospace engineer?”

“A rocket scientist?” Jim’s brows shot up. “Christian is a rocket scientist? He talks and acts like one of those English lords from Masterpiece Theater.”

“One isn’t mutually exclusive of the other.” March laughed.

“Don’t tell me he is English aristocracy.”

“Okay. I won’t tell you.” She opened her beaded evening bag, fishing for her lipstick. “No, seriously, he is a rocket scientist but not aristocracy. He just sounds like he’s the latter. Great accent, huh?”

“Very posh.” Jim tilted his drink to his lips and finished the watered down dregs of the vodka and tonic. “Where does he live? Near NASA, I presume.”

She paused with her lipstick halfway to her mouth. “Well, no. Actually, he lives with me.”

Jim’s face flushed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I don’t mind. He’s going to be a permanent resident.” She applied the nice shade of pale pink to her lips and gave Jim a wide grin. “Why should I try to hide that I’m living in sin?”

He chuckled, lifting a high five. “Sinners have more fun than saints. You go, girl.”

As the clock neared eight, the crowd thickened. Christian had escaped Carole and was steering around the knots of people blocking his return. March looked at him and sighed. She’d never, never been this much in love, and inside he was a maze of circuits and computer chips. Some women loved drunks, some abusive fools. March Morgan loved a robot. And she didn’t give a flying rip about others’ opinions.

****

What did Jim think of him? Did he wonder at March’s taste in men? In her business suits, she looked ultra-professional. This evening, in her gown, she was a beautiful woman despite her illness, and Christian was sinfully proud to be her…Lover? Husband? At least fiancé. If he landed a position, he could buy a ring. Tonight was the night. He was dying to get her alone and propose. His heart swelled as he imagined her joy. Were his feet still on the floor or skimming above the floral carpet? Smiling at his thoughts, he halted at her side, delivering her Crown Royal and leaning across the table to hand Jim his vodka and tonic.

“What is that Cheshire cat grin?” March trapped her lower lip between her teeth and winked.

“Thanks,” Jim said, glancing from one to the other.

“All will be known later.” Still grinning, Christian resumed his seat. “Did you tell Jim I’d relocated to Houston?”

“I told him we were living together,” she said, looking terribly mischievous.

“Excellent.” He could barely contain his secret. “Did you tell him we were engaged?”

March shot him an odd look, surprised no doubt that he was proclaiming publicly to be her fiancé when he hadn’t formally, on bended knee, asked her to marry him.

Jim raised his glass in a toast. “Sounds like congrats are in order. Don’t you drink, Christian?”

“Designated driver,” he said. “To commemorate the occasion, I’ll have a sip of March’s CR.”

“CR? Oh, Crown Royal. I guess rocket scientists speak in acronyms.” Jim tapped his glass to March’s. “To your health and happiness.”

After she sipped, Christian pretended to drink from her glass. “Looks as if the buffet is open. Shall we?”

As they strolled to the tables laden with shrimp on ice, roast beef au jus, and an array of delicious smelling food, Christian whispered to March, “Choose two plates of something you like. You’ll have to eat whatever is on my plate. I can explain not drinking. Not eating is more difficult.”

She linked arms with him. “You’ll have a little roast beef, mashed potatoes and asparagus. I’ll have shrimp and any other seafood on offer.”

During dinner, a string quartet played Mozart. As the attendants cleared the plates, the classical musicians left the stage, and a band began setting up. Their first song brought the audience flooding onto the dance floor. March danced in her chair to Mustang Sally. Christian extended his hand and for the remainder of an evening that to him seemed far too long, they danced. When he held her close in a slow dance, excitement almost betrayed him, but he was determined his proposal would be romantic…and one to remember.

In the car on the short drive home, March captured his hand. “Christian, if you’re ready, I’m ready to get married.”

Damn, he didn’t want to propose in an automobile. He needed red roses and champagne, both of which he planned to dash to an all-night grocery and buy once they were home.

Eyes glued to the road, he simply said, “Yes.”

March stiffened. For a long moment, she stared at him, frowning. A tense silence resonated in the car. She was waiting for him to say more or show some excitement, but he couldn’t or the big production of asking her to marry him would be spoiled. Finally, she turned her head to gaze out the window. The late night streets were virtually empty. In the stillness, he heard the tires whispering away the miles.

With this turn of events, perhaps, it would be preferable to stop at the grocery on the way home. He could ask March to remain in the car, promising a surprise. At this perilous juncture, a surprise was needed, and a proposal would indeed astonish.

When he whipped the car down the wrong street to return to their apartment, March shot him a questioning look. “Where are you going?”

“I need to stop by the all night market. Would you please wait in the car? I think you’ll be pleased with what necessitates this quick detour.”

She smiled, and his mechanical heart skipped a beat. “How mysterious.”

“I am a man of great mystery. Here we are. See you in a bit.” He hopped from the car and darted into the store.

Exactly seven minutes later, he trotted across the parking lot with a dozen red roses and a bottle of Moet & Chandon, a good champagne. The grocery didn’t stock Dom Perignon, and their budget would scream at the price. March was staring out the window screen, appearing deep in thought. He opened her door, knelt on the asphalt and handed her the roses and champagne.

“Christian, what are you doing?”

“Put the champagne on the floor and give me your hand.”

He took her hand and pressed his lips to her palm, then gazing into her eyes, he said, “March, I love you. Will you marry me? You know I’ve nothing but myself to offer.”

“Oh, my God, Christian.” She twined her fingers with his. “Of course, I’ll marry you. You’ve got more to offer than any other man in the world.”

Christian gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t say you loved me.”

She bent, the roses tickling his face, and touched her lips to his mouth, whispering, “I love you more than I should. We’re going to be very happy.”

“I’m already happy.” Happy? If he was any more so, he’d float off the ground. He tweaked the end of her nose. “I’d planned my proposal to be a bit more romantic, but you seemed to think I didn’t want to marry you.”

“You noticed.” She laughed. “You are very intuitive.”

He glided to his feet, bowed over her hand and kissed her fingers one by one. “Let’s go home and drink champers in bed.”