Honeymoon

Chapter 2

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, donning a plush pink terry-cloth robe, Nora descended the sprawling staircase of Connor’s 11,000-square-foot, three-story neoclassic Colonial. Even by the standards of Briarcliff Manor and the other surrounding towns of tony Westchester, his home was impressive.

It was also impeccably furnished—every room a superb blending of form and function, style and comfort. The very best New York City antiques shops meet the best of Connecticut—Eleish-Van Breems, New Canaan Antiques, the Silk Purse, the Cellar. Signature works by Monet, Hudson River School star Thomas Cole, Magritte. A George III secretary in the library that had once been owned by J. P. Morgan. A humidor originally presented to Castro by Richard Nixon, with provenance documentation. A walk-in wine cellar that held four thousand bottles and was nearly full.

True, Connor had hired one of the very best decorators in New York. In fact, he was so impressed with her, he asked her out on a date. Six months later she was tying him up in bed.

And he’d never felt happier, more excited, more alive in his entire life.

Five years before, he’d found love, marveled at it, treasured it, but his fiancée, Moira, had died of cancer. He’d thought he could never find love again, but suddenly there she was, the amazing Nora Sinclair.

Nora walked through the marble foyer and past the dining room. Before she had to leave, there was just enough time to take pity on the appetite she’d worked up in Connor.

She entered the kitchen, her favorite room in the house. Prior to enrolling at the New York School of Interior Design, she’d thought about becoming a chef. Even gone as far as taking courses at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris.

Though she chose to decorate homes instead of plates, cooking remained one of Nora’s passions. It relaxed her. Helped clear her mind. Even making something as basic as Connor’s favorite: a big, juicy double cheeseburger with onions—and inside, caviar.

Fifteen minutes later, she called out to him, “Honey, it’s almost ready. Are you?”

Back in cutoff Dockers and Polo shirt, he made his way downstairs and ambled up behind Nora at the stove. “No place else on earth…”

“… I’d rather be,” she said, taking her cue. It was one of their things. A shared mantra. Little testaments of making the most of their time together, which, given their bustling careers, was always at a premium.

He peered over her shoulder as she sliced into a large onion. “They never make you cry, huh?”

“No, I guess they don’t.”

Connor took a seat at the kitchen table. “When is the car service picking you up?”

“Less than an hour.”

He nodded, fidgeted with a place mat. “So where is this client of yours who’s making you work on a Sunday?”

“Boston,” she answered. “Retired guy who just bought and renovated a huge brownstone in the Back Bay.”

Nora cut a kaiser roll and loaded it up with the sizzling double cheeseburger and onions. She grabbed an Amstel Light for Connor and another Evian water for herself from the fridge.

“Better than Smith and Wollensky,” he said after the first bite. “With a far more attractive chef, I might add.”

Nora smiled. “I’ve got some Graeter’s for you, too. Raspberry Chip.” Graeter’s was the best ice cream she’d ever tasted, good enough, great enough, to have it shipped all the way from Cincinnati.

Nora took a sip of water and watched him make quick work of her cooking. He always did. Such a healthy appetite! Good for him.

“God, I love you,” he suddenly gushed.

“And I love you.” Nora stopped and stared into his blue eyes. “I do. I adore you, actually.”

He raised his palms in the air. “Then, really, what are we waiting for?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve already got more clothes here than I do.”

Nora blinked a few times. “Is that your idea of a proposal?”

“No,” he said. “This is my idea of one.”

He reached into the pocket of his shorts and removed a small box, Tiffany blue. Dropping to one knee, Connor placed it in her hand. “Nora Sinclair, you make me incredibly happy. I can’t believe that I found you. Will you marry me?”

With a completely stunned look on her face, Nora opened the box to see an enormous diamond. Tears welled in her green eyes.

“Yes, yes, yes! Yippee-yes!” she cried out. “I’ll marry you, Connor Brown! I love you so much.”

Pop! went the champagne. Dom Pérignon ’85 that he’d chilled in anticipation. He’d also bought a bottle of Jack Daniel’s for himself, just in case Nora said no.

With two glasses poured, Connor raised his high and made a toast. “To happily ever after,” he said.

“To happily ever after,” echoed Nora. “To yippee-yes!”

They clinked glasses, they sipped, they held hands. Madly in love and giddy with excitement, they hugged and kissed.

Soon, though, the celebration was interrupted by a horn in the driveway. Nora’s car service had arrived.

She quickly dressed, and moments later, as the limousine started to drive away, Nora called to Connor out the open back window. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world!”