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  “For our sakes, I hope Lexis isn’t hiding anything else,” Stephanie probed gently.

  “He assures me that there are no other skeletons in his closet. If anyone asks anything about Lexis Richards, refer them to me. I want to avoid at all costs a repeat of this current catastrophe. Look at the time,” Felicia said, glancing at her watch. “I have a conference call with Gabrielle in five minutes. While I’m on the phone, I need you to pull together a list of feature writers we’ve used in the past. Ruthanna wants to handpick the reporter to do the Appeal story on Gabrielle, and I promised her a few suggestions.”

  A story on Gabrielle? Stephanie’s heartbeat quickened. Who better to do a story on Gabrielle than me? Stephanie tried to restrain her smile. Gabrielle Donovan’s story was hers to tell. Now she just had to convince Felicia.

  “Felicia, I would be perfect to write that story. I do know Gabrielle very well.”

  “Don’t you think it would be a conflict of interest for the same firm that represents Gabrielle to write a story on her?”

  “But this is Gabrielle’s first big interview,” Stephanie went on, ignoring Felicia’s argument. “Don’t you think she’d be more comfortable with a friend than some stranger? I know I could do a good job.”

  “Stephanie, I’ll give your name to Ruthanna for consideration,” Felicia offered, “but you do understand it’s her decision?” Felicia found it pointless to argue the facts with Stephanie. Not only did she think Stephanie was the wrong writer for the assignment, Felicia was counting on her to take care of things in the office while she was away on the cruise.

  “I know, but with your recommendation I might have a chance,” Stephanie said, making her expectations clear.

  Gabrielle answered her cellular phone on the third ring. She was on location in Vail shooting a layout for Harper’s Bazaar.

  “Gabrielle, how are you?” Felicia inquired.

  “Great. Sorry we couldn’t have this meeting face to face.”

  “Not a problem. So, are you excited about all this hoopla?” Felicia asked. “According to Ruthanna Beverly, you’re a star on the rise.”

  “We’ll have to see about all that,” Gabrielle replied modestly.

  “With everything we have planned for the launch of this magazine, it will be impossible for you not to be noticed.”

  “I guess that’s the way it has to be,” Gabrielle said with resignation. Her comment had an understandably nervous edge to it.

  “I thought this is what you wanted? Am I hearing something different?”

  “No, it’s just that I had no idea modeling would be like this. I hadn’t factored in all this public-relations stuff.”

  “That’s because you think of yourself as just another model, but the people promoting you see you as a superstar.”

  “Why do they have to know so much about me?”

  “For girls in your category, fame brings with it a lot of tedious and sometimes annoying consequences—the press being one of them,” Felicia explained. It was clear that Gabrielle was apprehensive about her impending fame. She had every reason to be. Beauty, celebrity, and large amounts of money could be a deadly combination for any person, but particularly for someone so young. Gabrielle had to be 100 percent sure that this was the life she wanted. If not, the time to get out was now, before things went too far.

  “Gabrielle, I know all this attention seems pretty intense, but I’m afraid that it’s inevitable for someone with your potential, and it will probably get much worse. So before we go any further, you have to ask yourself: In your heart of hearts, do you really want all of this?”

  Felicia’s question caught her off guard. Everyone assumed, herself included, that not only did she want this life but that she would have it. But things were different now, Gabrielle reminded herself. Helene’s death was never factored into the equation. Her mom was gone, and Gabrielle stood alone on the threshold of her dream.

  “Yes, this is exactly what I want,” Gabrielle said, casting aside any doubt. Nothing was going to stop her from fulfilling her mother’s vision. Gabrielle had to take the chance that things would work out. They had so far. It had been just over a year since she’d arrived in New York, and only Bea knew her shame. And perhaps, with Beatrice and Felicia running interference, her secret life would remain just that—a secret.

  19

  “Benvenuto a bordo,” the cruise hostess greeted Doug Sixsmith as he reached the end of the gangplank. Her smile was second nature—a grin that came automatically after years of nonstop pleasantness in the company of strangers.

  “Your cabin number, sir?”

  “Sixty-thirty,” Doug replied, stepping into the ship’s artistically appointed lobby. “I’m here with the Appeal magazine shoot.”

  “Of course,” the woman said. “If you go with Paolo, he will escort you to your stateroom.”

  “Thank you,” Doug said as Paolo picked up his carry-on bag and led him into the elevator. Following his white-gloved escort, Doug still could not believe he was boarding a cruise ship. He hadn’t been on a proper vacation in at least six years, and when he did get around to taking one, cruising would not be present on his list of things to do. He’d often heard about these seafaring amusement parks—the ridiculous amounts of food, the unparalleled pampering, and, of course, their “Love Boat” reputation—but the idea of being held captive aboard a floating hotel did not appeal to him. Cruises were for honeymooners and old folks. Single and thirty-four, Doug Sixsmith did not belong in either category.

  You could find him, however, listed under the heading “workaholic.” An accomplished journalist with a reputation for always getting his story, Doug was known among his peers as a resourceful and forthright reporter. His work was informative and provocative, and he had the awards to prove it. The Peabody, Du Pont, and Pulitzer prizes that lined his bookcase were nice, but Doug wrote not for the acclaim but because he truly loved his work.

  As his readers’ eyes to the world, Doug traveled around the globe, witnessing and writing about everything from the crumbling of the Berlin Wall to the suffering of the people of Somalia. He had his own unique style of combining description and fact into a compelling must-read story for millions of people. What really set Doug apart from the rest of his colleagues, however, was his unmatched ability to link what was going on in the rest of the world to the everyday lives of common individuals. From the separation of Siamese twins to the bloodshed in Bosnia, Doug made his readers stop, think, and care about the people and events he reported.

  After nearly a decade of covering world-altering events, writing about a day in the life of a human clothes hanger was a long way from his idea of a challenging assignment. When Doug’s college friend, Ruthanna Beverly, had called him about writing the article, his first notion was to turn the assignment down, but, as they say, timing is everything.

  Recently Doug had come to a startling realization: Outside of work, he had no life. Five months shy of thirty-five, Doug determined that while he had the admiration and respect of his colleagues, he owned no property, had few close friends, no children, and only his journalism awards to wrap his arms around at night. Having reached this sad conclusion, he decided it was time to take a real vacation and get his head together. Four days on the open sea seemed as good a place as any for such a major soul search. And even though technically he was working, how demanding could this assignment be? It wasn’t exactly a day in the life of Fidel Castro, for God’s sake. Doug was certain that he could write this fluff piece and still have three days and twenty-two hours left to figure out his future. He might even have time to work on his novel.

  “Your stateroom, Signor Sixsmith,” Paolo announced, unlocking the door of Doug’s cabin. “Your luggage will be delivered within the hour. Your stewardess will be here shortly to acquaint you with your room. Enjoy your cruise.”

  “Grazie,” Doug responded, closing the door behind Paolo. He was embarrassed to admit even to himself how impressed he was by these luxurious ac
commodations. As in the rest of the ship, every detail in his spacious stateroom—from the cherrywood cabinetry with chic leather pulls to the handwoven tapestries gracing two of the sand-colored walls—was molto italiano. “Okay, a five-star floating hotel,” Doug conceded aloud.

  On his bed Doug found the ship’s itinerary for the rest of the evening—dinner at six-thirty, safety briefing at eight, and set sail at ten, which was also the hour the Appeal bon-voyage party began. He wasn’t hungry and decided to get some sleep before the briefing. Making himself comfortable, Doug couldn’t push the thought from his mind that, yet again, he was going to bed alone.

  Priority number one, he decided, was finding a good woman when he returned to Boston. Wait, he told himself, stopping his thought short. There had already been two good women in his life, both lost because of his crazy self-imposed schedule. Doug quickly amended his thinking to include letting his personal life take priority over his professional one. This sea air is making me delusional, he observed. I’d love to meet the woman who can make me forget work. Settling into his nap, Doug was unclear if he was issuing himself a challenge or simply making a wish.

  “I think I’ll shave before dinner,” Trace informed Felicia.

  “Dinner isn’t for another two and a half hours.”

  “I thought maybe we could have a little fun, and I know how you hate scratchy stubble.”

  “Mmm. Well, you go right ahead and shave while I finish unpacking. Who knows what I might find in here to put on?” Felicia answered with a voice laden with promise. Trace was being a good sport about tacking their Easter getaway onto her business trip, and lately he’d been particularly attentive. Rather than question his motives, she decided to enjoy these good feelings while they lasted.

  “Or for me to take off,” Trace suggested as he stepped into the small European-style bathroom. His five-o’clock shadow was well over an hour away, but he needed the time alone to put his plan into action. Coming on this damn cruise, a working event for Felicia no less, was not his idea of a romantic vacation. He had agreed to come only when she promised that they would disembark in Martinique and continue the rest of the trip alone.

  Trace needed his wife’s full attention. It was time for Felicia to turn her focus away from her work and toward building a family. Trace was tired of waiting for Felicia to come around. It was up to him to get things going. This was the perfect opportunity for them to get pregnant—before Lexis Richards got himself into more trouble or Felicia picked up yet another new client and became even busier.

  While Felicia continued to unpack, Trace searched the bathroom. His hunt was brief. In her cosmetic bag he found the red-satin pouch he was looking for. He unsnapped the bag and pulled out the plastic container holding Felicia’s diaphragm. Trace picked up the molded rubber cap and squeezed it together several times. For years he’d considered this simple contraption a friend, protecting him from the responsibility of premature parenthood and freeing him from the burden of using a condom. But now that he was ready for a child, the tables were turned.

  Pulling the needle out of the sewing kit, he quickly punched thirty or so minuscule holes into the rubber device. Trace felt no guilt over his actions, convinced that he was merely giving his wife a push in the direction in which they both wanted to go. Confident that his work was invisible to the naked eye, Trace replaced the diaphragm and, smiling broadly, proceeded to slap on some cologne.

  Trace returned to the cabin to find Felicia dressed in a black-lace teddy, reclining suggestively on the bed. She’d turned on the radio, and soft Italian love songs filled the air. Trace felt himself becoming aroused. His wife was an incredibly beautiful woman, and she was going to make an even more beautiful mother.

  Trace pulled Felicia from the bed and kissed her hungrily. His tongue probed her mouth deeply as his hands moved swiftly to remove the thin straps of her teddy from her shoulders. He pushed her lingerie away from her body as his hands followed the contours of her small waist and hips.

  Felicia let out a soft groan as Trace rolled her stiff nipples between his fingers. How luscious these will be when they’re swollen with milk, Trace thought, bending down to suckle her aroused breasts.

  “Wait, baby,” Felicia requested, pulling away. “I have to go put in my diaphragm. It’s my dangerous time of the month.”

  Trace commanded his lips not to betray him with a smile. “Fine, but you might as well leave it in for the duration. We’re going to christen this ship with style.”

  When Felicia slipped back into Trace’s arms minutes later, he was barely able to contain himself. As his kisses grew more demanding, he climbed on top of Felicia and entered her with urgent desire. The constant friction of their bodies caused Felicia to moan loudly as she reached her climax.

  “I’m—I’m coming,” Trace called out, the intensity of his orgasm causing his voice to break. The two collapsed onto the bed, both still throbbing from their encounter. Felicia rolled out from under Trace, and instead of basking in the glow of lazy contentment, she lay back analyzing the situation. This was the lustiest romp she and Trace had shared in a very long time. For whatever reason, her husband had been so demanding of her body. He’d loved her with the intensity and passion she’d been aching for. But if this was the case, why then, just as she was experiencing the most intense orgasm she’d had in years, did she think of Lexis Richards?

  “That dress is perfect,” Bea assured Gabrielle. “But then again, so were all the others.”

  After trying on nearly everything in her suitcase, Gabrielle finally chose a flocked-velvet jacquard slip dress designed by Maynard Scarborough. The claret-red dress, cut on the bias, flowed over every curve, ending just above Gabrielle’s ankles. The low scoop neck, held up by thin satin straps, dipped just enough to reveal the fleshy tops of her voluminous breasts.

  “I’ve never been so nervous about going to a party,” Gabrielle admitted.

  “It’s because you’re the guest of honor. Relax. You look sensational.”

  “That’s not it, Bea. I’m afraid to meet all these reporters. What if they start asking a bunch of questions I can’t answer? And what about the reporter who’s doing the ‘day in the life’ story? What if I do something that makes him suspicious and he finds out everything? I should have never agreed to this.”

  “It will be okay. Remember, you’re in control. You alone call the shots.”

  “Then we’d better go get this over with.”

  The two women headed downstairs to the Puccini Ballroom. They were greeted at the door by both Ruthanna and Felicia. “We were just on our way down to get you,” Felicia told Gabrielle. “Everybody wants to meet our cover girl.”

  “Okay, ready or not, here we go,” Ruthanna said as she took Gabrielle’s arm and the two plunged into the crowded room. Bea found a comfortable chair near the dance floor as Ruthanna ushered the young model around the ballroom. The ballroom surrounded Gabrielle, cloaking her in warm flickering candlelight. A three-piece band provided an entertaining array of popular tunes, and several couples were already out on the floor dancing with an uninhibited giddiness brought on by free-flowing champagne. The majority were milling around the room enjoying themselves, while several of the other models booked for the shoot were fanned out across the room, each creating her own little pocket of havoc among the admiring passengers.

  One by one, Ruthanna began introducing Gabrielle to the men and women whose companies had committed advertising dollars to the first six issues of Appeal magazine. It was Felicia’s idea to invite them on the cruise as a way to say thank you for their support and to ensure future business.

  “Buona sera,” interrupted a handsome gentleman dressed in a crisp white nautical uniform. “I am Captain Gianni Di Angelo. It is my pleasure to welcome you personally aboard the Costa Classica.”

  “How nice of you, Captain. And I’d like to thank you for lending us your beautiful ship,” Ruthanna said, smiling.

  “With you ladies on board, her beauty
pales considerably,” he flirted. Captain Di Angelo was gracious and polite, including both of the women in his compliment. It could not be mistaken, however, where his interests lay. Ruthanna, understanding immediately, took the opportunity to mingle with the other guests.

  “Signorina, do I know your name?”

  “Gabrielle,” she answered shyly, mesmerized by the captain’s charming demeanor.

  “Ah, the name of an angel. You know, Signorina Gabriella, I must now rechristen my ship. With you aboard, she should be named Bellezza del Mare, ‘Beauty of the Sea.’ ” Gabrielle found herself blushing as Captain Di Angelo’s eyes roamed her body with admiration.

  “Unfortunately, I am headed back to the bridge, but tomorrow evening you will join me at my table for dinner, si?”

  “Thank you, I’d like that.”

  “Even one day is an eternity to wait for one so lovely,” he said, kissing her hand again. “Buona sera, bella.”

  “That was no Captain Stubing,” Beatrice remarked, appearing from nowhere. “That was one handsome man.”

  “He was, wasn’t he?” Gabrielle agreed dreamily. “He’s so charming. Jaci was right. These Italian men are something else.” She chuckled. “All this flattery has made me hungry. Let’s visit the buffet table before I get dragged off to meet someone else.”

  Before Beatrice could answer, an older, distinguished-looking gentleman approached. “Buona sera, signora, signorina. Pardon me for interrupting, but would the signora like to dance?”

  Bea, pleasure erupting all over her face, took his arm and headed off to the dance floor. Gabrielle, happy for her friend, headed for the buffet. The layout was awesome. Dominating the table was a huge ice sculpture carefully chiseled into the shape of three leaping dolphins. Surrounding it were bite-sized hors d’oeuvre artistically arranged into mosaics of starbursts, peacocks, and other fanciful shapes. Everything was so elegantly displayed that Gabrielle was reluctant to eat anything, unwilling to destroy such works of art. Conversely, everything looked so succulent and delicious, it was impossible to pass up the opportunity to taste such treats.