She Woke Up Married (12 page)

He came up behind her and put his arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him with all her jumbled-up emotions showing on her face—anger, fear, hurt. He felt his heart ache for her. This is what drove him. He loved her. He’d probably always loved her, since high school. He leaned toward her beautiful hair and breathed in the scent of her. She was an odd mix
ture of expensive perfume, shampoo, and ultrasound gel. His insides flip-flopped with feeling for her.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said softly.

Paris went directly into his formerly sane, simple room and shut the door behind her. Turner followed her.

“Thank you for doing the exam. It’s quite a surprise, twins.”

Turner looked around. The whole room had been amazingly transformed into a Paris moment if he ever saw one, which he rarely did, because she shut herself up in there most days. The simple bed had become an ornate four-poster with lace curtains. His simple wooden dresser had taken up a spot in the living room so he could get to his clothing without disturbing her.

Of course there were bears everywhere in there, and flowery artwork, if you could call it that, on the newly painted walls. Ornate whitewashed reproduction antique furniture had replaced his own simpler items and was now holding Paris’s clothing. There was room to walk around the bed and that was about it. His small former closet was stuffed to the gills with more of Paris’s clothing. Clothing she actually couldn’t fit into at the moment.

Paris wasn’t talking. He knew by now when to leave it be.

“I’ll just be out here if you need me.” He backed out of the room.

Sarah and Millie were putting together a jigsaw puzzle of a very hunky movie star with his shirt off—Russell Crowe, it looked like. Turner had to laugh about that. Millie was certainly influencing Sarah.

He hung his jeans jacket up in the hall closet, which also held all his hanging clothes, which fortunately were modest. His Elvis costumes he kept at the chapel.

“Well, guess what, ladies, it’s twins!” Turner announced.

“I just knew it. She was just too big. I figured either twins or one big huge Turner hunk of baby.” Millie clapped. She jumped up and hugged Turner. “You sure are one stud-muffin there, daddio.”

Turner hugged her back. “Thanks, Millie, but it’s all about the eggs in this case.”

“Did she change her mind about going back to New York after the birth?” Sarah asked. She’d turned herself toward Turner.

Turner had noticed that Sarah had been extremely direct lately, even a little cruel. He was sorry in a way that Millie had shared as much information as she had with Sarah. At least neither of them really knew Paris’s motives, which was, he was sure, the way Paris would have wanted it.
But that left them both thinking she was truly a heartless woman.

Turner suspected that Millie had a broader view of it and knew Paris must have deeper reasons. That left Sarah thinking badly of Paris—a sad state of affairs Turner was not able to correct without betraying his wife’s confidences.

“That remains to be seen, I guess. She has some deeply personal reasons, Sarah.”

“What possible justification could there be for leaving two newborn babies without a mother?” Sarah straightened herself back around and carefully placed a puzzle piece in Russell Crowe’s navel.

“I’m praying she finds peace enough to change her mind. I suggest you might do the same, Sarah.”

Millie smacked Turner on the butt. “Don’t you worry, Rev, we’ll do just fine with those babies. We’ll teach them to deal blackjack before they’re five. And if they’re as cute as their ma, we’ll just make them baby models and rake in a mint of money.”

“Thanks, Millie, I appreciate the enthusiasm,” Turner said.

Sarah turned his way again. He noticed she had makeup on. That was so unusual for her. Maybe she’d met someone in school and was
trying to improve her usual bland looks. Most likely it was Millie’s work.

“I’m sorry, Turner. I shouldn’t have said that. And I will pray for her.”

“Apology accepted.” Turner went over to the table and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with soft brown eyes, and he saw that tears had welled up in them.

Just then Paris opened the door to the bedroom. She stopped in the doorway and stared at Turner and Sarah.

Millie broke the awkward moment. “My goodness, girl, two in the tank! We’ll have to get busy and paint your toenails fire-engine red before you can’t see them anymore. Just let me know when you want to do a pedicure. I’ve got all the stuff. We showgirls were very good to our feet.”

Paris finally moved her eyes from Turner to Millie. Her voice sounded strained. Her reply seemed forced. “I hear you on that one, Millie, modeling is all about your feet, too. I’d love one. I’ll go soak them in the tub after dinner.”

Paris stood very still, with a look on her face Turner thought might be anger.

“I’m starved, people, and I’m eating for three now, so what do you say we order in an entire Chinese feast?” Paris continued.

“I’m meeting with a bride and groom at seven, so I’ll have to miss the feast and grab a sandwich
before I leave.” Turner had removed his hand from Sarah’s shoulder and felt somehow awkward standing there.

“You mean, couples don’t just walk in and get married?” Sarah asked.

“Most of the time, but we are a full-service chapel, and we do plenty of prenuptial planning with anyone that is willing. I love to get them early. Even two weeks gives me a chance to counsel them. Can I get you a glass of water, Paris?”

“No, thanks,” Paris snapped.

Turner turned into the kitchen to get one, whether she wanted it or not. He needed something to do. He stuck his head in the fridge and grabbed sandwich stuff, pitching it on the counter beside him.

The doorbell rang. Now, who the heck was this? He hoped it wasn’t his couple, mistakenly meeting him at home instead. He’d given them his home information in case they needed him. It’d be a little hard to explain his current situation to anyone, and it had an endless array of possible twists anyone could jump to just by standing in this room for ten minutes.

All three women seemed startled and did not move.

“I’ll get it,” Turner said, grateful for any interruption. He flung open the door and stared into the piercing blue eyes of a very tall, very beauti
ful, very pregnant blonde woman. Not another one! She had on a brilliant blue coat that looked like it was from the fifties—very wide and circular. Mighty warm for Vegas.

A shriek came from behind him and Paris streaked by, into the arms of the blonde woman.

“Oh for pity’s sake, Turner Pruitt, move these broads and help me with these bags. You’d think we were on a European cruise instead of a weekend jaunt.” Turner recognized the voice of Anton behind the blonde. Thank God, another guy. Gay or not, he wasn’t pregnant, he wasn’t going to hang panty hose in the bathroom…well…. Turner stopped because you just never know, really. The lines between everyone had grown very fuzzy. Well, for sure he damn well wasn’t a woman, no matter what.

“Anton, buddy ol’ pal!” Turner looked over the blonde’s shoulder.

“This is Marla Meyers Riley, also known as M. B. Kerlin, author of the Mike Mason Mystery series. Just thought I’d bring you up to speed.” Turner watched Anton hop up and down from behind Marla, trying to see, trying to talk to Turner over the tall ones.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Marla. Paris has told me so much about you.”

“Nice to meet you at last, Turner Pruitt.” Marla smiled for a moment at Turner, then directed her gaze back at Paris. She held Paris out
from her by her shoulders as if to examine her carefully. She made a scrunched-up face like she was trying to figure something out, eyebrows knotted together, then she looked like she’d discovered America. Her eyebrows shot back into place, and her eyes got very large and blue. Spooky blue.

“Oh my God, you’re
pregnant!
You
bitch!
How could you not tell me! I’m going to kill you,” Marla Meyers shrieked, then she started to cry. Not just a little weepy, whispy cry, no-o-o. A big fat bawling, sobby cry.

From behind her Anton handed her a white linen hanky and sighed. “It just figures. I should have known the day I couldn’t get anything on her hair. Ladies, ladies, can we move it aside? We’ll yell at her when we’re inside the door.” Anton gave Marla a gentle nudge and moved her enough so Turner could help him with the three suitcases in the hallway. There was no room in this inn, that was for sure, but they could figure that out later. Not in the hallway, with the weepy sisters.

“Cut it out, Meyers, just stop it.” Paris stood with her hands on her hips.

“How could you not tell me?” Marla hiccupped.

Turner stacked the suitcases against the end of the sofa. “Anton, this is my roommate, Millie, and my friend Sarah.” Turner gestured.

“Hello, ladies. Oooh, Russell Crowe.” Anton picked up a puzzle piece and added a chunk to Russell’s right bicep. “
Hellooo
Russell.”

Paris could not believe Marla and Anton had flown to Vegas. What had they been thinking? She was already upset and humiliated, and now everything was going to get
so
complicated.

“Give me some Kleenex,” Marla sniffled.

Paris grabbed a nearby box and pulled a bunch free. “What the hell made you get on a plane and show up on my doorstep? You could have called.” Paris shoved Kleenex at Marla.

“I e-mailed you fifteen times.”

“I don’t have a computer here.”

“Don’t you turn this around on me. I am so hurt, I can hardly even speak.”

“Then don’t. Come in my room and we’ll talk.”

“Just let me say hello.” Marla went over to Turner and Sarah and Millie and graciously introduced herself.

Paris could not believe this endless craziness. If one more person, or one more suitcase, or one more piece of furniture came into this apartment, the floor would give way and they’d all be on the fifth floor instead of the sixth. She folded her arms and tapped her foot until Marla came back to her. She led her into Turner’s old room.

“My goodness, you had this room decorated, didn’t you? It’s just so…
you
. What does Turner
think? It’s a little over the top for a man, isn’t it? Land of precious and all that?” Marla asked.

“Now that you’ve pushed your little perfect blonde nose into everything, you might as well hear the whole story. Turner doesn’t sleep with me.”

Marla put her hand over her mouth in shock. Then she removed it, gave Paris a look, and took off her voluminous blue coat, handing it to Paris. “It’s too damn hot to comment on that,” Marla said.

“Nice coat. Nice dress too. And
whoo-hoo
on the shoes. Are those Manolos?”

“Whew, Vegas is an oven. Yes, they are, and swollen permanently on my feet right now. I figure I have two more months before my feet can’t fit into
any
of my shoes, so I’m treating myself for now. Besides, I don’t get to wear them on the farm too much. I’m usually in Wellies—those fancy English mucking boots.” Marla flopped down on Paris’s pink floral down comforter cover and propped herself up on a pile of Paris pillows.

“What are you now, fifth month?” Paris hung Marla’s coat in her French country armoire.

“Going on seven. I’m due in late October. And you look about the same. Oh…damn it.” Marla started to cry again.

Paris handed her the whole box of tissues.

“I’m due in December. It’s twins.”

“Oh my gosh.” Marla reached over to grab Paris’s hand. “That is wonderful.”

Paris flopped down on the bed beside Marla. They lay side by side, Marla holding Paris’s hand. Paris started to cry a little herself. They shared the tissue box.
Damn it,
Paris said to herself as she sucked her breath in and tried to calm down.

“I have to tell you some things, and you’re going to have to be a good friend and not get crazy. Do you promise?”

“No.”

“Well, great. You are really insufferable, you know?” Paris sniffled. “First off, do all women just cry for nine months?”

“Pretty much,” Marla answered. She rubbed Paris’s hand. “What happened with you and Turner? He seems like the nicest guy ever.”

“He is. That’s part of the problem. He just doesn’t deserve someone like me messing up his life.” Paris wiped a few stray tears from her left eye and let tears from the right side fall onto the pillow.

“Just tell me the whole story. I came here because I knew something wasn’t right. So now I’m here, and now I want to help. So tell it, Paris. Tell the whole truth, and don’t leave out your usual gigantic details.”

Paris took a breath and started in. Marla was going to be a total pain in the ass about this
whole thing, so she might as well get it out in the open and deal with whatever came up—for once. She was feeling quite determined about her own particular part in this drama, and what was going to happen, so she might as well test-drive it on Marla.

Suddenly she wished Turner was here to help her explain things. He was so good at it.

“You know her better than I do.”

Turner kept his voice low so Paris wouldn’t wake up. She’d fallen asleep after her big talk with Marla and was probably exhausted from the whole day’s ordeal.

Marla sat across from him at the table and shook her head. She leaned her head into her hands in a gesture of sadness—and what Turner interpreted as complete disbelief.

“I never knew
this
about her,” Marla said. Turner slid a few more tissues under her bent head. He watched Anton clear off the sandwich plates from the snack they’d had and step over into the kitchen. A few minutes later Anton poured himself a beer and came to sit with Turner and Marla.

“I knew,” Anton said. “She’s scared out of her wits. Paris has always had terrible fears. It’s what’s kept her from having a committed relationship for all her adult life. I don’t know where they came from, but we all have skeletons in the closet, don’t we?”

“Look. I know you came with good intentions, but I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. I have my own theories, and I hope to dislodge the pain enough to get some healing going on in her. I feel that our paths have crossed in this way for that very purpose. And apparently I’m about to have
children
in my life as well. I have to confess, I’m completely thrilled about that.

“My greatest wish is for Paris to have a complete change of heart—where
everything
is concerned. I can’t imagine the course of action she’s chosen bringing her anything but pain. I seem to have fallen in love with her, and I don’t want to see that happen,” Turner said.

Marla looked up at him and took his hand in hers. “We’ll do whatever we can to make that happen, Turner. Right now I’m going to get her dolled up and take her with us to our hotel, if that’s okay with you. Why don’t you come as well?”

“Yes, come along with us, Turner, there is no way I can schlep all that luggage again. Never travel with pregnant females who overpack. I said we should just check in first, but no, Miss
Determined here wanted to come straight to your place. Come, it’ll be fun. We’ll have dinner and stick some nickels in the slots.”

“I hate to abandon you, but I have a meeting at the chapel at seven. But Anton, if you take half, I’ll bring the other half with me in a few hours. Where are you staying?” Turner asked.

“The Four Seasons. No casino, fabulous food, and the best views in town,” Marla answered.

“I wanted Treasure Island. All those dashing pirates running around.” Anton stuck out his lip in a pout, then finished his beer.

“I think it would be good for Paris to get out. She’s pretty depressed. She did one big shopping spree right after we arrived, then I’d say she’s been curled up sleeping most of the time.”

“Well, the first trimester of pregnancy you are really tired, but by now she should have perked up. We’ll get her cheered up. Maybe it will help.” Marla patted Turner’s hand again. “So you go do your meeting, then join us at the Four Seasons when you can. I’ll give you my cell phone number so we can keep track of each other. We’ve got adjoining rooms—I’m keeping Anton out of trouble.”

“No, I’m keeping
her
out of trouble. Her husband, Tom Riley, will kill me if she so much as breaks a nail.” Anton got up. “I’ll leave you the heavy stuff, big boy. I’ve pretzeled myself into a
knot and will surely need at least three massages to recover.”

Turner rose as Marla got to her feet. “I’ll leave her in your hands. I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.” He headed for the door. “Millie, I’m taking the car.”

“Go for it,” Millie answered from her room.

Turner was grateful that Millie and Sarah had hightailed it back there to give the visitors some room—after a proper amount of grilling Anton for details of life in New York while Paris and Marla had been locked in…
her
room.

Turner felt his dispossessed feeling again. Oh, hell, he had the chapel office, and maybe the grand plan was to get him used to having lots of people around. After all, he was going to be the father of twins. He smiled to himself as he left the apartment at the wave of fear that went along with that thought.

Money, space, his ability to balance his life between two babies and work.
Lord, give me strength
, he thought. But really, none of that mattered. He was going to have a family. He could hardly wait to tell his parents, and to hold those babies in his arms. What a wonderful gift. A complicated package, but still wonderful.

“That’s enough rest, sleeping beauty, haul that fat ass of yours out of bed and throw on something that glitters.”

Paris groaned. “That’s what got me into this mess in the first place. And my ass is not fat…yet.”

“It will be if you don’t stop laying around like an orca whale. But for now, think food.”

She rolled onto her back. “Hmmm, now you have my interest. Steak and lobster?”

“Every woman’s friend.”

“Go through my closet while I pee for the ninetieth time today. What’s up with that?” She slid slowly off the bed and got her bearings.

“Body adjustments. Haven’t you read anything yet? For pity’s sake. We’ll stop at a bookstore and load you up with books. My favorite is
The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy
. Very irreverent.”

“Up to this point I was sort of hoping it was a bad dream. But today it became much more real. I know I owe these babies a healthy ride, so I guess I’ll read up. But let’s have them delivered. Books are heavy.”

Marla had flung open the armoire doors and was riffling through Paris’s new “fat” wardrobe. “What the hell were you thinking with all this black knit? It gets hotter than hell in Las Vegas. Plus it’s good to throw in a little color now and then, ya know? It brightens the spirit.”

“Everywhere I go is air conditioned. And I thought it might slim me down—visually anyhow.” Paris straightened out her current black
dress and took a quick but fatal look in the dressing table mirror. “Whoa. Can we get a makeup crew in here?”

Paris saw Marla glance back at her over her shoulder, then do a double take and stare head-on. “Wow, you are a train wreck. We’ll have Anton pretty up your hair. What the hell have you been doing to yourself, Paris? Just because you are pregnant is no excuse for all this letting yourself go. I’ve never seen you like this. You are one of the most vibrant women I know. It was hard to get you to hold still back in New York. Lazy, yes, but full of life.”

“I’ve been tired.”

“This is
not
tired, this is depressed.” Marla’s voice got serious, and Paris could see the strain in her friend’s face. She wondered for a minute if she really wanted to go out with Marla. Maybe she’d just crawl back in bed and watch Ellen De-Generes.

“I know what you’re thinking, Paris. Now look. You’ve told me your story, and I know I’m not going to get anywhere by being a big, bitchy nag. I told you how I feel, but I am your friend. Right now I just want to help you feel better. We’ll save the lectures for another time.

“You need to get out of this apartment and get some perspective. Fresh air. Lobster. Maybe I’ll buy you some new jewelry to pretty up for the coming months. By the way, why
are
you holed
up in this apartment? Why not just get your own place?” Marla took her hands off her hips and kept digging in the closet. She threw a black slinky sequined dress on the bed.

“I can’t fit into that.” Paris avoided the rest of the conversation, but one comment stuck in her head. Why was she in this apartment? Oh, yeah, she was hiding out from the world.

“It’s actually really sexy when you put on a slinky knit with your new belly. Look, it’s stretchy. You’ll look great. Like Barbie in the Spotlight with a bun in the oven.”

“Two buns. And why would I even want to look sexy? I seem to be temporarily married.”

“My, my, how conventional of you.” Marla threw a fake mink stole at her.

“Don’t even try that reverse psychology stuff on me. No man would look at me like this, anyway.”

“Your
husband
would. Why don’t you let him show you?”

“I’m going to pee now.”

“Just let these questions roll around in your mind. I’ll be here when you get back,” Marla said.

Paris stalked out the door of the bedroom and headed for the bathroom. It sort of felt good to be mad for a change instead of just upset. Or just dull. It made her smile. It didn’t make her smile when she saw the hotel door hanger they’d rigged up as a marker on the bathroom door. Do
Not Disturb. She knocked on the door. “Hurry up in there.”

“Please. It’s hurry up in there
please,
” Millie’s voice came from the other side. “Do I have to make a damn chart for you and give you gold stars when you get some manners?”

“What
ever
.” Paris tapped her foot and leaned against the hall wall.

“I’m waiting.” Millie’s voice again.

“You mean you actually want me to say it or you won’t come out?”

“I’m teaching you manners, remember?”

“Why bother?”

“It’s really fun. Kind of like Mission Impossible.”

“Fine. PLEASE. Please,
please
. There.”

The door flung open and grinning Millie stepped out.

“There you be. You catch more flies with honey, honey.”

“Why in God’s name would I want flies?”

“When you get as old as me it would be nice if you had some friends left to take care of you. Remember that.”

“I’ll try.” Paris pushed past her and shut the door.

This place was a nuthouse. She peeled off her spandex panties and plopped on the john.

No toilet paper. Damn it!

She grabbed Kleenex instead. And then, of
course, the toilet, the stupid, low-flush, stupid toilet, clogged up. She just wanted to scream.

Why was she staying here again? Sure, she used to be on every magazine cover, and her wild life used to be tabloid fodder, but that was ten years ago. She’d bet no one would even notice her around here. This was Las Vegas, a fairly small town in reality.

She could get her own place. She certainly had the money for it. She’d taken to dumping all her money into an investment account and having her financial planner pay whatever bills came around since she was so bad at keeping track of stuff like that. Last time she looked there was over thirteen million in there, with interest.

But what if people did point her out? It was nobody’s business whether she left a set of twins with their father for their own good. Maybe hiding out here wasn’t such a bad idea.

Paris washed her face and hands and straightened up to brush her teeth. As she stared at herself in the mirror, she saw how washed out her face was. Even her teeth looked dull. Everything about her seemed run-down and pale.

Maybe she’d check into the Four Seasons and play with Anton and Marla for a few days and treat herself to that wonderful luxury hotel feeling where they pamper you like crazy and the spa is right down the hall, and room service is a phone call away. Oh man, that would feel so, so good.

Whoa, she’d really fallen asleep in cat’s pajamas here. Marla was right. She needed to escape. Paris finished brushing her teeth.

She opened the bathroom door to the hall only to bump into Sarah. For some reason she didn’t feel like explaining the plugged-up toilet or lack of toilet paper to her. Maybe Sarah would flush it and the entire thing would gush over into the bathroom and cause a flood and Sarah would be swept away right out of the building. Yeah. Maybe.

“Be my guest.” Paris held the door open for Sarah and smiled at her. Sarah looked at her wierdly.

Paris stomped across the living room and noticed that Anton and Millie were back at the Russell Crowe puzzle, and that Turner must have left.

She threw open the bedroom door. “Pack me a bag, I’m checking into the Four Seasons with you for a spa week.”

“We’re only staying three days. And pack your own damn bag.” Marla gave her the fakey smile.

“I don’t care. I’m tired of laying around this place. I’ll need a week to get myself back in shape. I need a full body treatment, nails, hair, the whole bit. That will take a week right there. Most of all I want my own bathroom.” Paris went to her armoire and grabbed a few more
black dresses, then opened drawers for a pile of lingerie. She threw it all in a pile on the bed. She pulled one of her suitcases out from under the bed and dumped the contents—bears and assorted clothes—on the floor, then kicked it all under the bed.

“Careful there, you’re in a delicate condition.”

“Excuse me, aren’t you the one that just gave me the
get up and go
lecture?” Paris kept packing.

“I guess I overdid it. Here, let me help you.”

“Let’s go dancing like we used to.”

“Sounds great. Did I mention that your husband would be joining us later?”

“No, you didn’t mention that.”

“Think steak and lobster. Shimmy into this dress. We’ll check into our rooms and get you one, and Anton can spruce up your hair. We’ll get some red lipstick on you and you’ll be good as new.”

Good as new. Paris had the feeling she’d never be good as new again. “Whatever. I’m going to indulge myself. Turner can have his bedroom back tonight.” Five pairs of shoes and six bikini panties later, Paris zipped the bag shut. “Anton will have to take this one. We don’t want Turner to get all worried and ruin my escape.”

“You break it to Anton. I’ll run to the ladies’ room.”

“Um. You might want to wait on that one. It’s currently occupied.”

Paris heard a muffled scream through the thin walls and grinned. That gave her a small twinge of guilt. Then she remembered the scene she’d walked in on earlier with Turner’s hand on Sarah’s shoulder, and Sarah gazing at him in a way that Paris knew full well was…love.

Why should she even care? Maybe it was because she was stuck here being pregnant with Turner’s babies and the idea of Sarah moving in on Turner and making him feel warm and loved was just really shitty. Right in front of her nose. Hey, why should Turner get to feel warm and loved when she didn’t?

But of course she could feel loved if she let him in. She just couldn’t do that. He’d get all involved with her, and she’d leave, and he’d be even worse off. The truth was, she was doing him a favor keeping him at a distance. Yes. A favor.