Angel’s Promise by Aleatha Romig
Emma
Ismiled as I sniffed the aroma of the champagne Rett poured. We were in what I would learn was an unusual state of solitude. Yvonne had left us and our waiters were yet to arrive.
“I’m happy you’re amused, Mrs. Ramses.”
“I never thought of myself as the one to bag the most eligible bachelor.”
“Ah, what Miss Yvonne has yet to realize is that her congratulations were wrongly focused. You see” —he lifted his glass of bubbling wine toward me— “I am the one who should be congratulated.”
I lifted my glass. The two met in the middle near the rose and candles with a clink. “Pray tell?”
“Once your identity is fully realized, it will be noted that I’m the one who seized the most eligible bachelorette.”
I took a sip of the dry champagne. “Seize is an appropriate word.”
“Wooed, courted...”
“Kidnapped, held captive...”
Rett shook his head. “I know you’re joking.”
Was I joking?
“However, it is worth noting that I have some unpleasant news.”
I set my glass on the table. “What?”
“I spoke with a family friend today who happens to be a lead prosecutor, and he wants you to go to the courthouse with NOPD and make a statement regarding Underwood.”
The idea made my stomach twist. “When?”
“You had a three o’clock appointment today.”
“I what? I was a no-show?”
Rett nodded. “You sent your regrets.”
“Wasn’t that polite of me.”
“Emma, this is serious. I said I wanted to be present, but my attorney cautioned that if I am, it could come back to haunt us. I called him and tomorrow morning he—Boyd Clark—and his associate, Ms. Lynch, will come to the house and discuss what can be said in your statement.”
Closing my eyes, I moved my fingers to my temples. “Jeez, Rett, this is like I’m living someone else’s life. Shouldn’t I just tell the truth?”
“It’s very simple. Richard Michelson asked to speak to you regarding Underwood. That’s the case they’re centered on. What Boyd and Ms. Lynch will talk to you about is staying on topic. This isn’t a time for you to offer more than they ask for or for them to go on a fishing expedition regarding you, Kyle, Jezebel, or me.”
Before I could answer, the doors opened. Much as it had been at Broussard’s, this room was aflutter with servers. Our first course was delivered along with lengthy explanations of each dish. Royal red shrimp “chop” salad, smoked torchon of foie gras, and cauliflower soup.
Once we made our way through the cold appetizers, our plates were taken away and we were left with charred carrot agnolotti, warm-water lobster spaghetti, and crispy P & J oysters—which I was disappointed but not surprised to learn didn’t stand for peanut butter and jelly.
Our champagne was also replaced as glasses of different wines appeared. The waiter guaranteed each was the perfect pairing for that course.
Apparently, Rett hadn’t asked for two normal entrees. No, we were presented with small portions of pan-seared red snapper, seared lamb loin, grilled pompano, and roasted duck.
When the waiter returned to ask about dessert, I pleaded defeat.
“I really can’t eat another bite or drink another sip.”
“I can,” Rett replied. And by the gleam in his eyes and twisting in my core, I immediately knew that he wasn’t talking about strawberry shortcake or whipped chocolate ganache.
“Mr. Ramses, we would be happy to prepare a plate of all three desserts for the two of you to share.”
He lifted his hand. “No, thank you. I must agree with my wife. Dinner was delicious and we’re adequately full.”
“Coffee?”
Rett looked to me as I sighed. “Maybe at home?”
“Thank you. I believe we’re done,” Rett said as our waiter nodded and disappeared.
When he reached across the table, I asked a question that had been lingering in the recesses of my mind. “Are we here for us or to broadcast our marriage?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as his lips formed a straight line. “You’re very astute. You see, Restaurant August is not only delicious, it’s very popular. I had no desire to share you with the diners downstairs, but you’re right in that my plan included us being seen together.”
I sighed. “Thank you. You were right, I needed to get out of the house, and I’m glad my first excursion wasn’t to the police station.”
“Then you’re not upset that I spoke on your behalf to postpone your statement?”
“I’m not upset, but I would like to be made aware of my options before you decide their outcome.”
“I’ll admit that I was deterred from talking to you about it.”
“Deterred? By whom?” I asked.
“Ian may have conveyed that you were, in his words, nervous and anxious about leaving the mansion.”
Lifting my glass of ice water to my lips, I hummed. After my drink, I said, “I can’t be mad at him. He’s pretty intuitive.”
“More so than your husband?” Rett asked.
“A hundred times more.”
“That’s not true, Emma. I watch and pay attention. I saw the way you scanned this room when we entered. I know you were thinking about our first dinner and wondering if tonight would end up” —he tilted his chin toward the far wall— “with one of us on our knees.”
Warmth crept up my neck, no doubt filling my cheeks with pink.
“Are you going to deny it?” he asked.
I shook my head. “It may sound selfish, but your rendition isn’t completely accurate.”
He lifted his napkin to the table, pushed back his chair, and came toward me. My breathing caught as he offered me his hand.
“No, Rett, there are people.”
He chuckled. “Then, may we go to someplace that is less populated?”
I laid my hand in his. “Home?”
“I like hearing you say that. Could you be more specific about your rendition of your thoughts?”
The warmth returned as I stood. “It wasn’t one of us on our knees.”
Rett’s eyebrows lifted.
“It was me.”
Memories of exactly that caused my nipples to harden beneath the dress. I reached for my purse and once again, laid my hand in his. As we began walking toward the doors, I said, “There is something else that was supposed to be a secret, but I bet Ian told you.”
“Told me what?”
The doors opened as we were ushered toward the stairs. The din of diners, clinks of dishes, and backdrop of music gave me the sense of a movie set. Perhaps it was the antique mirrors and shining light fixtures.
As we descended the stairs, I had the feeling we were back in time, or maybe on the Titanic. As Rett steadied my steps, I worried that analogy had more meaning.
It wasn’t until we were back in the SUV with Leon and Ian that Rett whispered his question. “Tell me what secret, Mrs. Ramses.”
My gaze went to the rearview mirror, but neither man in the front seat was looking our way. I lowered my voice. “I’m done on the third floor. I want to move back into my suite.”
His cheeks rose. “You have forgiven me.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
I reached for his hand and continued speaking low. “You weren’t right, Rett, but I also agreed to your conditions of this marriage. Work with me, but know I’m ready to do as you said.”
He inhaled and his chest inflated. “Yes, I think it’s time for you to move back.”
“My things are already there.”
He leaned closer until our lips met. When we pulled away, his eyes were focused on mine. “I want the world to see you beside me, Emma, because I’m damn proud to have you there. I hope you can say the same.”
“New Orleans’s most eligible bachelor, it sounds like I’m in an envied position.”
“Yes and no.”
This time, my eyebrows lifted.
Rett looked at his watch. “With traffic, I would say that your position in approximately twenty-five minutes would be more enviable.”
I shook my head as my mind filled with possibilities.
“And no,” he went on, “because there isn’t another woman who knows me the way you do. I know I’m not easy.”
“No, but you’re worth it.”
