His Uptown Girl - By Liz Talley Page 0,26
the store—the beautiful lacquered box from Marie Antoinette’s private collection of boxes—had likely been stolen.
Skeeter had bought it for her in place of an engagement ring. They’d married quickly after finding out Eleanor was pregnant with Blakely. A simple, friend-filled wedding had been followed by a honeymoon in Europe where Skeeter had surprised her with the gift, purchased from a reputable dealer. She’d never missed the sparkle of a diamond, not when she had such a beautiful box to place in the window of the hardware store she’d inherited from a great-uncle. The engagement gift became the symbol of the new venture store—the Queen’s Box—her dream come true.
It had sat in a display case in the window, beckoning passersby, greeting old friends, representing the authenticity of her marriage with Richard Ellis Theriot, third son of Porter Theriot, former mayor of New Orleans. But as she’d suspected, it was gone, a horrible omen of what lay ahead.
Depression, desolation and distance...which led to betrayal.
“Eleanor?”
She jerked her gaze to Pansy, blinking against the memories blinding her future. “I don’t want to be that victim anymore, Pansy. But I also don’t want to be foolish. Dez Batiste feels like foolishness.”
“And what’s wrong with a little crazy if it amounts to naught? It’s Mardi Gras...have fun with him until Fat Tuesday and then swear him off for Lent. What’s it going to hurt?”
“He’s like king cake. Delicious, but I know I’ll regret it,” Eleanor said, running a finger over the chimes of a grandfather clock awaiting repair. Turned out four-year-olds were hell on the inner workings of a clock.
“Everyone has regrets. I have them, but I embrace them because I’d rather have memories than nothing at all. That’s part of living. Why do you care so much about what other people think? You’re no longer a politician’s wife. You no longer have reporters stepping on the backs of your shoes. No one cares if you have hot sex with the fine-ass man across the street and drop him a week later.”
For a moment, silence hung between them as Eleanor mulled over her friend’s words. “So just sex?”
“If it’s just sex, then you’re not doing it right.” Pansy smiled and yanked Eleanor into an embrace. “Stop thinking so much. Be naughty. Have fun. Stop looking for reasons to hold yourself back.”
Eleanor squeezed her friend and stepped back. “He’s not my type.”
“Exactly. Besides, smooth, sophisticated and unfaithful didn’t exactly work out for your last go-around.”
“You’re a laugh a minute.”
“Seriously. You fell in love with Skeeter because he charmed your panties off with his very safe, desirable lifestyle. He had money, position, and you were looking for a daddy.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Sure you were. Trust me. I took a psychology class in college.”
“You went to college?”
“Two semesters before I abandoned my career goals and my clothes in Eddie’s ’69 VW Wagon.”
They both laughed.
“But in all seriousness, your parents were too busy running their school to be—”
“They were good parents, and they’re still good parents.”
“But clueless. You were looking for guidance and there was the older, not-so-wise-but-you-didn’t-know-that-yet Skeeter Theriot with his old money and new BMW. You didn’t stand a chance.”
“But choosing to date a guy opposite of my mistake isn’t a good enough reason. I’m not sold on sleeping with Dez...if he’s even receptive.” But Eleanor knew he was. It might have been a while since she’d been “out there” but she hadn’t missed those signals.
At the sound of the front door, they both lifted their heads.
“I’ll get it,” Eleanor said, dusting off her hands. “This can wait.”
“Can it?” Pansy asked, obviously speaking about more than the shipment. “Don’t try to make everything so perfect, Eleanor. Get dirty.”
“I don’t like to get dirty. Besides, Dez is too—” Eleanor clamped her mouth closed because as she glanced into the store, Dez Batiste stood next to the chiffonier wardrobe with the speckled beveled mirror.
“Gorgeous,” Pansy finished for her, craning her head around Eleanor’s for a look.
Eleanor swallowed. “Exactly.”
“And you should totally have sex with him.”
CHAPTER FIVE
DEZ TOOK A HARD LOOK around Eleanor’s store, and decided he liked the rambling, homey feel of the place. Many of the antiques dealers on Royal Street had a fussy aloofness that made passersby steer clear, expecting prices higher than a cat’s back, but the Queen’s Box exuded warmth trimmed with the scent of beeswax and eucalyptus—like his great-aunt Frances’s parlor, but not as stuffy.
“Hey,” Eleanor said, stepping out of her office with a cautious smile.
Another woman followed and he assumed her to be an employee,