Moonstruck in Manhattan Page 16

  “For all my ideas. He promised me that one day the magazine would be mine to run. It was just another lie. And I was fool enough to believe him because I loved him.”

  “You’re not talking about Zach. He never promised you that you’d get the magazine.”

  “His father promised me and Zach’s just like him. Don’t make the mistake I did. Don’t fall in love with him. I tried to warn you.”

  Chelsea’s back was at the door. She could feel the knob pressing into her. “Ms. Sinclair, Zach will make sure that you get the credit for the articles.”

  Esme’s eyes went very cold. “It’s too late for that. I want the magazine. His father promised me the magazine.”

  This close, Chelsea could see the madness in the older woman’s eyes.

  “You tried to run us down that night when we were at Flannery’s, didn’t you?”

  Esme’s knuckles turned white on the gun. “You wouldn’t take the advice I gave you—to take the articles elsewhere. You had the staff and McDaniels eating out of your hand. I panicked.”

  “Then you decided to try to scare me off with threatening phone calls.”

  “Yes, and I told Zach’s brother what the articles were about, how they might negatively impact his campaign. I knew he would stir up the board. It would have worked if you hadn’t gone on that TV show. Even then, I thought I could fix things by stealing the skirt. How could you finish the articles if you didn’t have it? But it wasn’t in your apartment. I knew then that my first plan was the only way. I had to get rid of you.”

  “But the man at the ice rink stabbed Zach.”

  “I hired him to get you both. Now I have to do it myself.” Esme grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the door. “We’re going to walk to the elevator together. I’ll have the gun in my pocket. If McDaniels tries to stop us, you’ll convince him that we’re going off to have a nightcap. Otherwise, I’ll shoot him.”

  She would, too. Chelsea could see it in her eyes. Praying that they would make it to the elevator without running into Zach, Chelsea stepped out of the powder room. Sam was the first person she saw, but she ignored him as he pushed himself away from the wall. It wasn’t until she saw Zach walking toward her that fear hit her like a solid blow in the stomach. Jerry was right behind him. She felt Esme stiffen.

  Run. She mouthed the words as she walked toward the two men. Then she managed a smile. “Esme and I are going for a nightcap.”

  “I’ll join you,” Zach said.

  “No.” The word had come out more sharply than she’d intended. Brightening her smile, she took a step toward him. “Girls only.” Then she turned quickly, blocking Zach with her body as she threw all her weight at Esme.

  The noise of the shot echoed in her head as she felt someone grab her and shove her hard. The floor came up fast and her head cracked against it. The last thing she saw was stars. Then the blackness swallowed her up.

  “THIS ISN’T A HOSPITAL,” Chelsea said, rubbing her eyes as they climbed out of the taxi. “This is Rockefeller Center.” She might have dozed off, but the moonlight was pouring down and she’d have known that Christmas tree anywhere. “You promised me we were going straight to the emergency room. Your arm—” Esme’s bullet hadn’t hit him. As soon as she’d come to, she’d checked him out herself, but the wound in his arm had started to bleed again and the hotel doctor had cautioned them both to go to an E.R.

  “It’s your head we’re getting X-rayed,” Zach said, turning to her then. “If Jerry hadn’t grabbed you…”

  Chelsea could see the pent-up frustration in every line of his body, in his eyes. But she saw something else there too. Fear? Reaching up, she laid a hand on his cheek. “He did grab me and I’ve agreed to get another head X ray as long as you let them look at your arm.”

  With a sigh, Zach rested his forehead against hers. “Cut me some slack here, Chels. I’ve never done this before.”

  “You were just at the hospital this afternoon.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Then what?” She glanced around. The plaza was deserted. They might have been absolutely alone in the city except for an occasional car that passed by. “It’s nearly two in the morning. We can’t go skating.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve. And I want—” Turning, he paced a few steps away, then turned back. “This isn’t the way I planned it. Nothing is the way I’ve planned it since I met you.”

  He hurled the words at her like an accusation and her chin lifted instantly. “The plan was to go to the emergency room.”

  In two strides his hands were on her shoulders. The shake nearly rattled her teeth.

  “Your arm!”

  “Shut up!”

  They’d shouted the words and then suddenly Zach was down on his knees. Chelsea felt hers go weak as she sank down so they were facing each other. “You’re really hurt.”

  “It’s my heart,” Zach said.

  She was almost certain that her own heart stopped. Then she saw the laugh in his eyes. An instant later, the sound of it rumbled up through his chest and spilled into the cold night air.

  It was her turn to shake him, but it had no effect. He merely framed her face with his hands. “I love you, Chels.”

  This time her heart stopped for sure.

  “I didn’t want to tell you that in an emergency room.” Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the box with his mother’s ring. “I wanted to give you this here.”

  She said nothing. She couldn’t do anything but stare at the ring—a diamond surrounded by rubies.

  “Marry me, Chels.”

  She blinked back tears as she raised her eyes to meet his.

  “Someone once told me that the best way to erase bad memories is to build new ones. I want you to have something happy to remember on Christmas Eve.”

  “I want that for you, too,” she said as she threw her arms around him and drew his mouth down to hers.

  When she finally drew back and got her breath, she said, “Pity there’s not a chair around when you need it.”

  “Want to bet I can find a storage closet at the hospital?”

  They were both laughing as they rose to walk hand in hand toward the street.

  “Did I forget to say Happy Birthday?” Zach asked.

  “Yes. When we’re in our sixties, I’ll still be reminding you of that.”

  With a laugh, he pulled her close. “I figured. I love you, Chels. Happy Birthday.” Then he kissed her again. And though neither one of them saw it, the skirt caught the moonlight and glowed.

  Epilogue

  CHELSEA STARED at the reflection in the mirror. She barely recognized herself in the wedding dress that Daryl had designed for her. The white sequined top was a copy of the black one she’d worn to Miranda’s Christmas ball, and this time it was paired with a long fall of silk that stopped at the tips of her shoes. There was no veil. A spray of white orchids was all she wore in her hair. If she hadn’t been standing there with her best friends from college, she wouldn’t have recognized herself.

  Kate was on her right and Gwen on her left, each wearing identical versions of the outfit she’d worn to the Christmas ball. Daryl had whipped up copies of the little black sequined top and paired them with knockoffs of the skirt—hundreds of which were available at Bloomingdale’s just in time for the New Year.

  Neither of her best friends was wearing the real skirt. She hadn’t offered it to them yet because… Her gaze shifted to her hand which held the man-magnet skirt in a death grip.

  She couldn’t seem to let the skirt go. Though she hadn’t had any champagne, she could feel the bubbles banging around in her stomach. Lifting the skirt, she gave it a firm shake. But her fingers wouldn’t release it.

  “Not to worry, Chels.” Kate patted her on the shoulder. “Daryl’s on his way up. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Solving fashion emergencies seems to be his specialty. He did an excellent job designing our dresses on the spur of the moment,” Gwen point
ed out.

  “You don’t understand. I have to throw the skirt to one of you,” Chelsea said. “That way you can find your true love.”

  Gwen took a quick step back from it. “You can keep the thing.”

  “You shouldn’t even be thinking about the skirt,” Kate said. “Or about us. This is your wedding day. Zach is waiting for you. All you have to do is walk out that door and down the stairs.”

  “What’s the problem?” Daryl breezed into the room with Miranda and Ramón in his wake. Before the door shut again, Chelsea caught the strains of the wedding march and felt another explosion of champagne bubbles in her stomach.

  “I can’t let go of the skirt,” she said, raising her hand again and shaking it. The skirt unfurled like a flag, but remained clutched in her fist.

  “Nonsense,” Daryl said, grabbing it and giving it a firm tug.

  Chelsea pitched forward but didn’t release the skirt.

  “All right,” Ramón said, taking charge. “Here’s the plan. Miranda, you grab me around the waist and I’ll grab Daryl. Kate and Gwen, you grab onto Chelsea’s waist. On the count of three, we pull. One…two…three!”

  They pulled. And pulled. And pulled. In the reflection in the mirror, Chelsea could see the tug-of-war go first toward Daryl, Ramón and Miranda, then toward Kate and Gwen. But her hand simply wouldn’t release the skirt.

  The door opened and once more the wedding march swelled. “What in the world is going on here?”

  They all straightened and turned to see Jerry McDaniels staring at them. “The guests are all seated. My brother is standing at the altar waiting and the harpist is starting the wedding march for the third time.” He paused to pin Chelsea with a frowning look. “You’re not planning to stand my brother up, are you?”

  Miranda moved quickly toward him and patted him on the chest. “Of course not. We’ll be down in a minute. Chelsea’s just having a little trouble with the skirt.”

  “The skirt?” Jerry asked, giving it one dubious glance.

  “I can’t let it go,” she said, waving it again.

  Jerry took a quick step back.

  “I think it’s psychosomatic,” Daryl announced. “Deep down she believes that Zach was attracted to the skirt, not her. So she’s afraid of losing him if she gives it up.”

  “And I’m supposed to tell my brother and the guests that?” Jerry asked.

  “Of course not,” Daryl said, taking Jerry’s arm and urging him toward the door. “You’re going to ask your brother to come up here. He’s the only one who can solve this problem.”

  “Absolutely not,” Jerry said. “Part of my duty as the best man is to make sure that the groom does not see the bride before the wedding ceremony.”

  “Oh, stuff the pompous act, Jer. He can talk to her through the keyhole if that will make you feel better. Just get him up here.” Once Jerry had exited, Daryl said, “Ramón, you can escort Miranda down and take care of the harpist. Tell her to play a little medley—save the wedding march until the bride reaches the foot of the stairs. Ladies.” He held out an arm to Kate and Gwen, then said as he closed the door. “See you shortly, Chels.”

  Would he? Chelsea stared down at her hand. Her knuckles had turned white where she was clutching the skirt. Could Daryl be right? Was she afraid to let go of the skirt because deep down she was sure that it was all that Zach was attracted to? What if that were true?

  As the seconds ticked by, she began to pace. It must be true and that was why he wasn’t coming.

  The knock on the door had her running toward it. “Zach?”

  “CHELS?” He pounded on the door. She wasn’t going to marry him. That was the fear that had made him race down the aisle and take the steps two at a time. “Open up, just a crack.”

  Next to him, Jerry drew in a sharp breath, but Zach stopped him with one look. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he owed Jerry Chelsea’s life, he might have had some second thoughts about his newfound relationship with his brother. Jerry had insisted on coming back upstairs with him, citing his duty as best man. The others had followed like a parade. Daryl, Ramón, Kate, Gwen and Miranda stood in a line that trailed down the stairs. Below, in the living room of Miranda’s penthouse apartment, the guests were all waiting to see if he could get the bride to join him at the altar.

  And he would.

  “Chels,” he repeated. “Open the door.”

  “I can’t,” Chelsea said. “You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony.”

  “There won’t be a ceremony if you don’t come out.”

  “I will just as soon as I can let go of this skirt. I have to be able to toss it to Gwen or Kate, and I—”

  “Wait,” Zach interrupted. Then he drew in a deep breath as relief streamed through him until he was giddy with it. “Are you telling me that damn skirt is at the bottom of this?”

  “Yes. I can’t get my hand to open up and let it go. Daryl says it’s all in my head.”

  Zach rested his head against the door and smiled. Life was never going to be dull as long as he was married to Chelsea. “Okay, here’s the plan. We’re both going to shut our eyes and then you’re going to open the door and I’m going to take the skirt from you.” Then he was going to make sure that one of her roommates took it to a city far, far away.

  Shutting his eyes, he felt the door move and he closed his hand over hers the moment she poked the skirt through. Immediately, he wanted to touch more of her, to take her in his arms. But he had her now and if worse came to worst, he’d drag her down the aisle. First, he’d try another tack.

  “It was never the skirt that made me want you, Chels. It was always you.”

  She didn’t release it when he pulled.

  “How can you know for sure?” she asked.

  “Do you think it’s because of the skirt that I offered you a job on Metropolitan’s editorial staff?”

  “No.”

  Zach leaned closer to the door. She had a lot more faith in herself as a writer than she did as a woman. And she’d been reluctant to take Esme’s position until he’d explained that he was hiring the best defense he could find for the older woman. In spite of everything Esme Sinclair had done, he felt sympathy for her. He understood how hard it had been to please his father. He knew what it was like to dream all his life of running Metropolitan.

  Leaning close to the crack in the door, Zach whispered, “You weren’t wearing the skirt the first time I made love to you. Or the second.”

  “But I was wearing it the third time in that closet,” she said.

  How had he forgotten she could argue like a pro? “That was under duress. You twisted my ear. I did it to escape more bodily injury, not because of the skirt.”

  She laughed then, and Zach tightened his grip on her hand. “You’re not wearing the skirt now. And I want you to kiss me, Chels.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Keep your eyes shut.” Widening the crack in the door, he found her mouth with his. The moment her lips parted in welcome, he felt her hand go limp. Easing the skirt out of it, he threaded his fingers with hers and with his free hand, he passed it off to Jerry.

  As much as he wanted to linger, to deepen the kiss, he drew back while he still could. He was just in time to watch the skirt get passed off like a hot potato on down the line until Miranda finally took it, folded it and tucked it under her arm.

  He tightened his grip on Chelsea’s hand. “Are we ready to do this now?”

  “There’s just one problem,” she said. “Now that the skirt’s gone, I can’t seem to let go of your hand.”

  Zach turned to look at his wedding party lined up on the stairs, the guests who were sending curious glances in their direction, then he met his aunt’s eyes and suddenly grinned.

  You’ll never let her go…

  He certainly wasn’t going to. So what if he faced a lifetime of things never going quite the way he expected? Laughing, he pulled her from the room.

  “That’s not a problem. We’ll
just walk down the aisle together.”

  And to the surprise and thunderous applause of their guests, that’s exactly what they did.

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-7133-6

  MOONSTRUCK IN MANHATTAN

  Copyright © 2001 by Carolyn Hanlon.

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