Unraveled by Her (13 page)

And my beautiful, sophisticated, former supermodel of a mother takes one look at Robert and is suddenly a blushing girl of fifteen again.

“It’s like coming face-to-face with Elvis,” she whispers to me later.

Robert’s first words to her are “Thank you for having such a beautiful, accomplished, kind, and loving daughter.”

She flushes with pleasure and says how happy she is to meet him and I can tell that’s the understatement of the year. But then her smile fades, her eyes cloud over, and she says, “I’m so sorry that the mausoleum burned down in that terrible fire. It must be so terribly sad for you not to be able to visit Lady Georgiana’s grave anymore.”

I turn my face away from both of them so that they don’t observe the guilt written all over it. How could I not have told him? And yet, how can I? I’m terrified of his reaction. Besides, I’ve held back from telling him the truth for this long, so why not wait a little longer? What harm can a few more hours, a few more days, do?

A couple of minutes later, I follow my mother and Robert inside the house, where my stepfather, Alex, is waiting for us. I’m nervous about introducing Robert to Alex. Although he’s only been married to my mom for a few years, he is extremely intellectual and I respect him, so his opinion matters to me.

But I quickly relax when he and Robert immediately strike up a conversation about Napoléon, Robert’s hero, and one of Alex’s specialized areas of study. Within moments they are vigorously debating Napoléon’s merits and defects, with Alex putting forward the case against Napoléon and Robert, of course, arguing passionately for him.

“You could do worse than marry someone who is so knowledgeable about the emperor of France, and argues his case so eloquently,” Alex says to me much later. I’m thrilled that Alex likes him, though inwardly I secretly quake at the thought of Alex knowing I picked Robert partly because of his kinship with a very different Frenchman, the Marquis de Sade.

At supper, Robert sits next to me, the essence of charm and courtesy and the very model of a boyfriend, with no trace of either the world-famous tycoon or my demon dominant lover in evidence.

Toward the end of supper, Alex raises his glass and toasts him.

Then Mom leaves the table, comes back with a beautifully gift-wrapped package, and hands it to Robert. She hasn’t told me what’s in it, and I can’t for the life of me imagine what gift she’s chosen for a multibillionaire who has everything.

“It belonged to my father, Miranda’s grandfather, and I’d like you to have it,” she says.

Inside, a silver watch on a leather strap. I never met my mother’s father (these days, I have difficulties with the word “grandfather”), but I’ve seen pictures of him wearing this same watch.

I glance at Robert and I can see that he’s immensely touched by Mom’s gesture.

He takes off the priceless Patek Philippe from his wrist, sticks it into his pocket, and replaces it with the watch Mom just gave him.

I can tell that she now thinks that Elvis had nothing on Robert, and I’m overjoyed by her reaction to him.

Afterward, I help her load the dishes into the dishwasher and catch her studying me with a worried look on her face.

“He’s a dream come true, and I can tell that he loves you to distraction, and that you love him just as much. But I’m puzzled that you are so awfully pale and listless tonight, darling, and not quite yourself,” she says.

“Jet lag,” I tell her, but she bites her lip in disbelief.

When we get back to the living room, Robert is studying the photograph of me at my graduation, which has pride of place on the wall.

“Even then, she already had that movie-star magic,” he says, then courteously adds, “Just like her mother,” and Mom practically swoons on the spot.

“Would you like to see some more pictures of Miranda?” Alex offers.

“I’d like nothing better,” Robert replies, and proceeds to spend the next hour leafing through photo albums, starting from when I was a baby, in my father’s arms.

When he comes to one of me at three, beaming into the lens, radiant with love, trust, and security, he stops.

“I assume you took that, Clare,” he says.

She shakes her head.

“No, her father, my ex-husband, Luke, did,” she says.

And then he turns to another page in the album.

There, a photograph of me in my father’s arms.

I’m clutching the Raggedy Ann doll he gave me for my fifth birthday, and even today I remember that moment, and how happy I was.

Robert studies the photograph extremely closely.

“He obviously loved you very much, Miranda.”

I have to fight back the tears that spring suddenly to my eyes. Tears of loss and longing for my father, the father who never made me feel loved by him but whom I adored with all my heart.

Toward the end of the evening, Robert asks Alex to go out to the car with him, and for the next few minutes they bring in garment bag after garment bag marked “Dior,” while my mother stands there speechless. My heart swells at how good he is, how kind, how generous.

At the same time, I know with every fiber of my being that even if he were a truck driver who’d just bought my mother a five-dollar glass dish from Kmart, I would love him just as much, and Mom would be just as happy that I was marrying him.

On our final day in Honolulu, Robert invites my mother and Alex to dinner at La Mer, Halekulani’s gourmet restaurant, which he has rented out tonight just for us. We sit down to a succulent supper starting with beef tartare with caviar, followed by lobster in a shaved-truffle sauce, and ending with Hawaiian vanilla soufflé with macadamia nuts. Just as we’ve finished the soufflé, Robert gives Alex a gift I knew nothing about in advance—a bound edition of
Le Code Napoléon
—The Napoléonic Code.

“I rest my case, Professor,” he says, and I’m once more impressed to the core by the thoughtfulness and the intelligence of the man I am about to marry.

And then he presents my mother with the diamond and gold Cartier watch we picked out together.

“For the beautiful and brilliant mother of the bride. Another way of telling you that I will love your daughter till the end of time,” he says.

And my mother cries tears of happiness, while I think to myself that even if I were ever remotely worthy of Robert, I certainly am not anymore.

After my mother and Alex leave, I am overcome with sadness.

I know that Robert is instantly aware of my emotions, and I turn away from him in embarrassment, just so that he won’t see the tears in my eyes. After all, I’m a grown woman, so why should I be upset that I’m parting from my mother?

“Don’t feel embarrassed, darling. If I still had a mother, I’d react exactly the same way,” he says, and my heart aches for him.

Then he squares his shoulders.

“Go change into something sexy, sweetheart. Then let’s have a drink in the bar,” he says.

I go back to the suite, take off my demure black dress, and put on the red Valentino dress he picked out for me in Geneva instead.

With Gigi’s help, of course.
Don’t think of her. Don’t.

When I walk back into the lobby again, Robert looks up from his newspaper and gives a low whistle.

“A sex goddess incarnate,” he says, and his eyes grow dark with desire for me.