Glitter Baby (Wynette, Texas #3)(14)

Alexi leaned into the banquette and regarded her intently. “Everything is simple for you, isn’t it?” His voice grew husky. “Will you put away your fantasies, chérie? Will you give me your adoration?”

He made it seem so simple, but it wasn’t. He fascinated her. He even excited her, and she loved the way people looked at her when they were together. But his face had never been magnified on a silver screen until it was big enough for all the world to see.

He pulled a cigarette from a silver case. She thought his fingers trembled on the lighter, but the flame held steady. “I will help you, chérie, even though I know I shouldn’t. When I have finished my business here, we will go to Washington and be married in the French embassy.”

“Married?” She couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. “You’re not going to marry me.”

The harsh lines around his mouth softened, and his eyes filled with emotion. “Am I not, chérie? I want you, not as my mistress but as my wife. Foolish of me, non?”

“But I already told you—”

“?a suffit! Do not make your offer again.”

Frightened by his intensity, she drew back from him.

“As a businessman, I never gamble foolishly, and there are no guarantees with you, are there, chérie?” He traced the stem of his wineglass with his finger. “Hélas, I am also a Russian. A film career is not what you want, although you don’t understand that yet. In Paris you will take your place as my wife. It will be a new life for you. Unfamiliar, but I will guide you, and you will become the talk of the city—Alexi Savagar’s child bride.” He smiled. “You will love the attention.”

Her mind raced. She couldn’t imagine herself as Alexi’s wife, always under the scrutiny of those strange, slanted eyes. Alexi was rich and important, famous in his world. He’d said she’d be the talk of Paris. But she couldn’t give up her dreams of being a star.

“I don’t know, Alexi. I haven’t thought—”

The planes of his face grew harsh. She felt him withdraw. If she refused him now—if she hesitated for even a moment—his pride would never allow him to forgive her again. She had only this one chance.

“Yes!” Her laughter was high-pitched and strained. The baby! She had to tell him about the baby. “Yes. Yes, of course, Alexi. I’ll marry you. I want to marry you.”

For a moment he didn’t move, and then he lifted her hand to his mouth. With a smile, he turned her wrist and covered the pulse that beat there with his lips. She ignored the pounding of her heart, the fearful rush of blood that asked her what she’d done.

He ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon. “To the end of fantasy.” He lifted his glass.

She licked her dry lips. “To us.”

At the next banquette, Veronique Peck’s soft laughter chimed like a string of silver bells.





Chapter 5




To Belinda’s surprise, her wedding night didn’t occur until the night of her wedding, a week after her meeting with Alexi in the Polo Lounge. They were married in the French embassy in Washington and left immediately after the ceremony to honeymoon at the ambassador’s summer home.

Belinda’s nervousness grew as she stepped from the ambassador’s tub and dried herself with a thick, nutmeg-brown towel. She hadn’t told Alexi about the baby. If she was lucky and the baby small, he might believe the child was his, born prematurely. If he didn’t believe it, then he’d probably divorce her, but the baby would still have his name, and she wouldn’t have to live with the stigma of being an unwed mother. She could go back to California and start all over again, but this time with Alexi’s money.

Every day she saw surprising new evidence of the depth of Alexi’s feelings, not only in the gifts he lavished on her, but in his patience with her silly mistakes as she entered his world. Nothing she did made him angry. The thought brought her comfort.

She gazed at the dress box wrapped in silver paper sitting on the basin. He wanted her to wear what was inside for her wedding night. She hoped it was a peignoir set, black and lacy like something Kim Novak would own.

But when she opened the dress box, she nearly cried with disappointment. The long white cotton garment nestled in the cloud of tissue paper looked more like a child’s nightgown than the peignoir of her fantasies. Although the fabric was sheer and fine, the high neck had the barest edging of lace while a row of pink bows held the bodice modestly closed. As she pulled the garment from its box, something fell at her feet. She leaned over and picked up matching white cotton underpants with little ruffs of lace at the leg openings. She remembered Alexi’s pride and the fact that she wasn’t coming to him as a virgin.

It was past midnight when she entered the elegant jade-green bedroom. The brocade drapes had been drawn, and the polished teak furniture glowed in the warm light filtering through the cream silk lampshades. The room couldn’t have been more different from the wonderfully tawdry interior of the Spanish bungalow at the Garden of Allah. Alexi wore a pale gold dressing gown. With his small eyes and dark, thinning hair, he could only play a villain on screen. But a powerful villain. He gazed at her until the room’s silence grew oppressive. Finally he spoke. “You’re wearing lipstick, chérie?”

“Is something wrong?”