Listed: Volume II (6 page)

Last
night had been a stumble, but it was recoverable. She'd slipped into acting
like she had a normal friendship with Paul, but that just wasn't the case.
There were forced limits on her relationship with him. Those limits were set by
her impending death.

Their
friendship didn't have a future, so it had to be about keeping each other
company in the present. That didn't mean she couldn’t care about him—she did, a
lot more than she would have imagined she could—but there was no sense in
pushing it deeper. That would be hard, for both of them, and there wasn't any
point to it.

She
was self-aware enough to know that, if she hadn't been dying, she would have
been in danger of falling head-over-heels in love with Paul. It wasn't just
that he was an incredibly attractive man. He was also funny and intelligent and
generous and more considerate than she'd known him to be. But Emily's life now
was all about moments—experiencing moments, enjoying moments, living moment by
moment. And the nature of love assumed a future.

She
had no future.

So,
after assessing her emotional condition, she determined that things were going well
with Paul. She was enjoying his company, and she thought he must be enjoying
hers too, at least to a certain extent. They cared about each other, and the
sacrifices Paul was making for her would be rewarded with the knowledge that
he'd done something incredibly good, something worthwhile.

That
would matter to him.

Hopefully,
after she was gone, he could think back on her sometimes as a fond memory of a
girl to whom he'd once given an incredible gift.

She
emerged from her bedroom, fully dressed and ready to be cheerful and natural.
She wasn't surprised that Paul was already up and dressed himself. They had a
quick, pleasant breakfast in the room, with no hint of the awkwardness of the
previous night, before they went to visit the Empire State Building.

Paul
had made arrangements for them to get a private visit to the 103rd floor of the
building, the very top usually available only to visiting dignitaries and
celebrities.

Emily
was quite sure she wasn’t either a dignitary or a celebrity, but she wasn’t about
to complain. She had a great time gawking over the view. Paul was well-informed
on almost everything, and he seemed to be in a light, charming mood. While she
didn’t like this mood as much as the dry, fond humor that seemed somehow more
genuine, she wasn’t about to complain about having a fun, intelligent companion
to see New York City with.

It
was much better than the awkward tension of the night before.

After
they finished at the Empire State Building, they strolled through Central Park
and ended up having brunch in a trendy little bistro on 5th Avenue that
specialized in cheese. It was packed out, but Paul had made reservations and
had predictably snared the best table in the restaurant.

Emily
stuffed herself on scrumptious pancetta and gouda soufflé and hot beignets that
melted in her mouth. Paul kept her giggling with stories about his trips to New
York with friends in college and with every random detail he knew about cheese.

“Did
you want to do some shopping?” Paul asked, after they’d finished their meals
and had drifted into a satiated quiet.

Shopping
was exactly what she wanted to do, but she had almost no money of her own, and
she was determined not to spend Paul’s money on a pointless splurge for herself.
He’d already spent a small fortune on her.

She
just gave a little shrug, “Since we’re right here, I wouldn’t mind doing some
window shopping. Maybe look around at the stores you’re supposed to see when
you come to New York.”

Paul
gave a faint sneer. “I’ve never seen a woman who shops like you.”

Emily
giggled at his expression, but she didn’t try to justify herself. She knew
whatever she bought wouldn’t make a dent in Paul’s bank account, but that
wasn’t really the point.

They
strolled down 5th Avenue and stopped in some of the high-end designer stores,
where Emily gaped at the ludicrously expensive, stylish clothes. Paul tried to
talk her into buying some of them, but she managed to refrain from caving, much
to her husband’s annoyance.

She
sustained her resolve with admirable strength until she passed the small
boutique of a designer Emily wasn't familiar with.  She saw the most
beautiful dress she’d ever seen in the window display.

She
stopped abruptly and stared at it, lusting for that dress more than any piece
of clothing she’d ever laid eyes on.

It
was a dark gray silk shirtdress with a knee-length pencil skirt, a wide collar,
and a belt with a beautiful onyx buckle. The dressed looked both vintage and
stylish, and Emily could vividly see herself in it.

She
swallowed and forced her eyes away, starting to walk again, although leaving
that dress in the window was almost painful.

With
an impatient shake of his head, Paul took her arm and dragged her into the
boutique.

He
made her try it on, and the saleswoman found some shoes to try on with it. The
outfit looked so good on her Emily couldn’t lie when she emerged from the
dressing area and Paul asked if she wanted to buy it.

“How
much is it?” she asked the saleswoman, in the futile hope that it wasn’t as
expensive as she feared.

Paul
had already pulled out his credit card. He handed it to the saleswoman with a
murmured, “Don’t tell her.”

Emily
gasped indignantly and glared at him.

He
met her glare evenly as the saleswoman happily rang up the dress and shoes.

Emily
was trying to hold on to her righteous indignation, but she saw Paul hiding a
smile. Then, always unable to take herself too seriously, she relaxed into a
little laugh. “Fine. Thank you very much for the dress you forced on me. You’re
a shopping bully. You know that, don’t you?”

He
chuckled, his eyes warm and fond the way they’d been on Tuesday evening when
they were eating on the terrace. “Since you’ve given into me once, I’m guessing
I can bully you into a few more purchases.”

“Don’t
count on it.” Emily firmly believed she was right.

She
was wrong, of course. He somehow convinced her to let him buy her a gorgeous
tote, which she justified because she might need it on the trip to Egypt. Then,
at Tiffany & Co., he insisted on getting her a pair of emerald earrings she
was pretending not to stare at that would match her ring and necklace.

But
that was all. It certainly could have been worse.

Paul
was pretty pleased with himself as they returned to their suite to rest before
dinner. The truth was—Emily was pleased with him too.

*
* *

That evening, Emily
gazed at herself in the mirror and was forced to conclude that she’d never
looked more stylish and sexy in her life.

She
was wearing her new dress, and the fitted shape and slippery fabric flattered
her figure, hugging the curve of her breasts and sliding over the contour of
her hips. She’d been worried about the pencil skirt, since she didn’t have the
incredibly long legs of a model, but with her new snake-print pumps with very
high heels, even her legs looked svelte.

She
tried unbuttoning one more button at her neckline and decided the cleavage
exposed was deep but not inappropriate. She liked the way the dress draped
better that way, and her breasts had always been one of her better features.

She’d
spent much more time on eye makeup than normal, and she’d put on dark lipstick,
which she almost never wore. She liked the effect. She looked polished, almost
like she could belong with Paul.

Her
uncharacteristic sophistication was compounded by the addition of her wedding
necklace and her new earrings, which both looked perfect with the dress.

Her
only frustration was her hair. She’d been growing it out for a couple of
months, and it was at a weird in-between length. When she pulled it up into the
French twist she always wore to dress up, it was too bulky in the back.

She
unpinned it again, letting it fall down on her shoulders, and took a breath
before she raised her arms to twist it up again.

A
knock on her bedroom door startled her, and she let her hair fall back down.

“Emily,”
Paul called from the other side of the door. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,”
she said, wrapping her hair up with her hand one more time. “I’m ready.”

Paul
must have taken her words for an invitation to come in. As he opened the door,
he said, “I made reservations for six-thirty to give us plenty of time before
the show starts, but I can move them if…”

His
words trailed off as he processed her appearance. He wore all black—black
trousers, black dress shirt, black jacket, and black shoes—and he looked
scrumptious enough to eat.

Emily
dropped her hair again and displayed her outfit, a little self-consciously.
“What do you think?”

He
just kept staring at her, his eyes moving up and down her body with unusual
intensity.

“Does
that mean it’s good?” she asked, blushing slightly as she turned back toward
the mirror to verify that she still looked as pretty as she thought.
“Hopefully, you’re not speechless in horror.”

“It’s
good,” Paul said hoarsely, dragging his eyes up to her face.

She
smiled at him in the mirror, feeling strangely shy. He was still frozen in
place, and he looked astonished or something. He hadn't been particularly
effusive in his compliments, but she was sure it was admiration in his eyes.
She figured he must be surprised that she’d managed to look so sexy and
sophisticated this evening.

“Just
let me finish my hair,” she told him, feeling a ripple of pleasure as she
looked again at her reflection in the glass.  She’d felt something similar
when she'd dressed to go to the prom with Chris that spring, and she’d felt
something similar on her wedding day. But the way Paul was looking at her now
made her feel even prettier today. “I’m having trouble getting it up.”

She
tried once more to twist it into place and ended up with an unattractive bump
of hair on the top of her head. She dropped her hands once more, groaning in
frustration.

“Just
leave it down,” Paul murmured, still watching her in the mirror.

She
looked at her loose, rumpled hair rather dubious. “It’s all messy now.”

“I
like it like that.”

Emily
felt a little thrill at his words, but she gave him an ironic look over her
shoulder. “You just say that because you want to get out the door.”

Paul
smiled, his expression taking on that light, charming look he'd had all
morning. “Of course.”

She
gave up on her hair. They had limited time before the play started anyway, and
she was starting to get hungry.

As
she turned around, she got a glimpse of her ass. The pencil skirt emphasized
the full curve of it, and the fabric was so thin she’d had to go without
underwear, since she didn’t have a thong with her and all of her other pairs
created an obvious panty-line. She made a face as she saw herself from this
angle. “The dress doesn’t make my ass look too big, does it?”

Paul
made a brief choked sound as his eyes lowered to that particular feature. “Of
course not. Your ass looks great.”

*
* *

Paul took her to a place
he said had the best steak in New York. It was a dimly lit restaurant with
swanky décor, and it seemed to match Emily’s sexy, sophisticated outfit.

She
felt eyes on her as she and Paul walked to their table, and she couldn’t help
but wonder what people thought of them. Paul dominated any room he entered—with
his looks, his money, his brilliance, his presence, the charisma that seeped
from his pores.

She
could see women watch him, watch
her
because of him, and she couldn’t
help but notice some female eyes would stray to his left hand, in an automatic
check of his marital status.

Something
inside her bloomed at being
that
girl—the one with the most desirable
man in the room. She’d never been that girl before. She’d always been
second-best, gazing from the outskirts at the Lauras of the world, the luckier
girls, the girls who always got the guy.

But
Paul was with
her
tonight, and everyone seemed to recognize it. It was
her
ring on his left hand. Even though the rational part of her brain recognized it
was somewhat artificial, Emily didn’t really care.

She
felt special, and Paul was treating her like she was his date, smiling, giving
her compliments, laughing at her jokes, and making sure she had everything she
wanted. His eyes weren't roving around the room, searching for someone more
attractive. Maybe he was just being nice, but he seemed to genuinely like her
now, genuinely enjoy being with her.

It
didn’t have to be love. It didn’t have to be a real marriage. It didn’t have to
last longer than the evening.

For
once, Emily felt like the girl she’d always wanted to be.