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Monroe gave a frustrated sigh. He kept his arm around her waist as he turned to survey the crowd. ‘I guess I can give it another twenty minutes. But that’s it. I hate these things.’
Jessie smiled. Four months as the darling of the Manhattan art scene and Monroe Latimer was still embarrassed by his own success.
She could still remember that first dizzying showing when she’d still been plagued by morning sickness and had been sporting a shiny new ring on her wedding finger.
Carole Jackson had got the press salivating beforehand, by feeding them stories about the handsome bad boy who was about to conquer New York. How Monroe had hated that. But over the next month, with his face plastered over every art magazine in the country, even Monroe had to admit that some of the agony had been worth it.
Since then his painting and his celebrity had gone through the stratosphere. His work was hanging in the homes of Hollywood stars, European princes and even on the walls of the White House. Only the day before, they’d been out doing some last-minute Christmas shopping at Bloomingdales and Monroe had been asked for his autograph three times. He’d cringed with embarrassment every time.
‘I’m afraid it’s all part of the package, honey,’ Jessie said, the pride in her voice helping it rise above the noise of the chattering crowd.
Monroe gave her waist a quick squeeze. ‘Okay, I’ll go butter them up some more, but only if you promise to get off your feet for ten minutes.’
‘Stop being such an old woman,’ she said mutinously. ‘I feel fine.’
He lifted his head. ‘There’s Linc and Ali. Great—they can keep an eye on you.’
Jessie followed his gaze to see her sister and brother-in-law weaving their way towards them.
Easy kisses and warm greetings were exchanged. Linc got to Jessie first, giving her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Jess, you look gorgeous. How are you feeling?’
Jessie patted her protruding stomach, which was prominently displayed in the strapless velvet evening dress she was wearing. ‘Wonderful. Now if you could just explain that to your brother.’
‘She’s been on her feet all day,’ Monroe grumbled. ‘What with her job at Cullen’s and now this.’ Monroe shot Jessie an exasperated look. ‘She needs to sit down.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Monroe,’ Jessie replied. ‘I’m perfectly healthy. I feel absolutely fine. Will you stop obsessing about it?’
Jessie would have said more, but Linc slung an arm around Monroe’s shoulder. ‘Come on, little brother. Let’s go get a beer, and I’ll explain the fine art of how not to annoy a
pregnant lady.’ Winking at Jessie, he drew Monroe away.
Jessie watched as the two men pushed their way to the bar, Monroe fending off the throng of reporters, dignitaries and art lovers who kept trying to waylay him.
‘I love the way Linc says that as if he’s some kind of expert.’ Ali threaded her arm through Jessie’s. ‘He never stopped trying to wrap me in cotton wool during both my pregnancies.’
Jessie grinned; she could just imagine. ‘Well, Monroe needs any help he can get. He’s still moaning on about how I don’t need to work and why don’t I give up the job at Cullen’s now that he’s doing so well. I think he expects me to sit at home all day and stare at the ceiling. Just to be on the safe side.’
Ali laughed, then rubbed her hand over Jessie’s bump. ‘It’s only because he’s completely besotted with you—and the baby. I think it’s sweet.’
Searching the room for Monroe, Jessie smiled when she spotted him, looking gorgeous and irritated as a reporter gesticulated madly in front of him.
‘You got your dream, then, Jessie?’ Ali said quietly beside her.
Jessie thought back to the summer and all the dreams she’d spun when she’d first fallen in love with Monroe.
‘Not exactly,’ she said eventually. ‘My dreams didn’t include stretch marks, or enormous boobs.’ Ali started to laugh. ‘Or puking my guts up for three months solid.’
Ali wiped a tear of mirth from her cheek. ‘I’ll bet Monroe hasn’t complained about the boobs once.’
Both sisters laughed.
It was another hour before Monroe managed to muscle Jessie towards the gallery’s front doors. As he grabbed his wife’s coat from the hat-check girl, he was feeling agitated, annoyed and more than a little sexually frustrated. He’d been trying to figure out all evening how that sexy dress stayed up.
He grinned as he held the door open for his wife. The surprise he had planned should get things rolling in the right direction at last. Not too much longer to wait before he got his answer.
A cold blast of winter air hit Monroe as he stepped through the gallery’s stately glass doors. He tucked Jessie’s coat around her shoulders, grabbed her hand and pulled her out onto the sidewalk. Cab horns blasted and the frigid wind whipped down the street, stirring the grey sludge that had been pristine white snow only that morning. Emmy would be thrilled, he thought, if they got snow in Long Island for Christmas Day.
He was relieved to see the long, sedate black limo waiting at the kerb for them. The chauffeur jumped out and rushed round to open the back door, blowing his hands to warm them.
