Parisian Affair by Judith Gould

pointed finger, 'or we'll never get
to the restaurant.'
    He grinned again. 'I'll only be a
minute.'
    He kissed her and slid out of bed, heading
into the big black marble and mirrored bathroom with its gold
fittings.
    When she heard the blast of the shower, Kitty
retrieved the jewelry catalogue from the floor and flipped through
it until she found the emerald ring again. She studied it closely,
her black eyes darting from the ring to the estimate. When she'd
had her fill, she placed the catalogue on the bedside table and
heaved a sigh.
    She looked toward the bathroom that Hilton
was using. Maybe, she thought , I can get Hilton to spring
for it . He could certainly afford it. But would he do it? She
wasn't sure. She was reluctant to risk whatever future she might
have with him by making what he might consider unnecessarily
expensive demands on him now. And an emerald ring— Princess
Karima's or not—was nothing compared with what she could have if
she succeeded in landing Hilton Whitehead as husband number
two.
    Over the last few months, she'd asked for
nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. And she'd reaped a king's ransom in
gifts from him. So far, so good. Her patience was paying off. But
now she was faced with a real dilemma. She wanted Princess Karima's
ring. She had to have that ring.
    Kitty got out of bed and went across the
expanse of black marble floor to the closet where she kept a few
things for occasions like tonight. She wouldn't have to go back to
her apartment and change. Opening the makore wood door, she flipped
through the few dresses available and made up her mind in a flash.
The Roberto Cavalli with the shredded hem. The wild one in various
animal prints that had a neckline that plunged down to there . And was slit up the sides to there . That and
her big sable coat. The floor-length one with the hood. Very
dramatic on a cold New York evening.
    Oh , she thought with delight, will
those stuck-up heads turn tonight! All the men will be drooling,
and the bitches will crane their awful turkey necks with their
horrible lifted faces to see the only woman who'll ever succeed in
corralling New York's most eligible bachelor into marriage. Kitty
Nguen Fleischman. The future Mrs. Hilton Whitehead .
    She didn't care if the marriage lasted ten
minutes or ten years, but pronouncing the vows was definitely on
her menu. She was determined that he was going to be hers. Long
enough to soak him for a few hundred million and garner a scrapbook
full of publicity.
    I'm going to become the Princess Karima of
my da y, she told herself with pride. The envy of women the
world over. It takes a lot of hard work to become that kind of
legend, but I can do it.
    She slipped on the twenty-five-carat
D-flawless white pear-shaped diamond that Fleischman had presented
to her as an engagement ring and looked at it in the mirror,
puckering her collagen-injected lips. There's a lot more where
this little bauble came from, she told her reflection , and
I'm going to have my pick of them .
     
     
     

CHAPTER 3
     
     
     
    Ram took one last look at the familiar
emerald ring, then closed the glossy catalogue from Dufour. In a
loving gesture he brushed his fingertips across its slick cover
before putting it atop the high stack of auction catalogues on the
Napoleonic Empire desk at which he sat. Unnecessarily, he placed a
heavy malachite paperweight carved in the shape of a tortoise on
top of the catalogue, and positioned it square in the middle.
    At long last , he thought joyously,
restraining the urge to shout with glee, I can complete my work.
Work that started over thirty years ago. His entire body was
tense, his jaw ached from clenching his teeth, and in an attempt to
relax, he lounged against the ancient leather-upholstered back of
the Louis XV chair in which he sat. He could feel his pulse racing,
and his heart seemed to pump in double time against his chest.
Taking a deep breath of the room's scented air, he took off his
gold-rimmed half-glasses,