Public Secrets

view. It’s better from Marianne’s studio, but I get dizzy.”
“Very nice.” He saw a dirty street and a maddening crush of traffic. “Emma, I wonder why you never moved into something more upscale.”
“I never wanted to.”

“Well, this is certainly charming, and I’m sure it was fine for two college girls. But we’ll have to do some rethinking.” When she turned, he reached out to brush a hand over her hair. “After all, we don’t want to share our living quarters with Marianne, however delightful she is.”
“I hadn’t thought … She won’t be back for a couple of months yet.”
“You’d better start thinking.” He took the sting out of the words by kissing her brow. Pretty face and slow wits, he thought, and patted her cheek. “From what I’ve heard it takes a great deal of time, money, and energy to find a place in New York. Since you want to divide our time between here and London, we’ll need the right kind of accommodations. Jesus Christ, it’s cold in here.”
“I had the agent keep the heat back while we were gone.” She hurried over to turn it up.
“Always practical, aren’t you, love?” There was a sneer in his voice, but he was smiling when he turned back to her. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy ourselves here for a couple of weeks. After all, a honeymoon, even a delayed one, doesn’t require much more than a bed.” He laughed when she blushed, then walked over to sweep her up in a long, lusty kiss. “We do have a bed, don’t we, Emma?”
“Yes.” She held him close. “Right through there. It needs fresh linens.”
“We’ll worry about the linens later.” He pulled her through the doorway, tugging at her sweater.
She knew it would be quick, not fierce and painful as it had been on her wedding night, but speedy and soon over. She didn’t know how to ask for more. Though she felt, somewhere in her heart, that there should be more than the rapid groping in the dark. The mattress was cold on her back. But his body, as it entered hers long before she was ready, was hot. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to the warmth and waiting for the starburst she had only read about.
She shivered when he was done. From the cold, she told herself. Moments later, Drew echoed her thoughts.
“Christ Almighty, it’s like an ice box in here.”
“It won’t take much longer to heat up. I’ve got some blankets in the chest.”
She reached for her sweater, but he closed a hand over hers. “I like looking at your body, Emma. Such a sweet little body, just this side of ripe. There’s no need to be shy in front of me anymore, is there?”

“No.” Awkward, she rose to lift the top of the chest. He fumbled in the pocket of the jacket that was tangled on the floor and found his cigarettes.
“I don’t suppose there’s any food in this place, or a bottle of something to ward off pneumonia.”
“There’s some cognac in the kitchen.” She remembered the bottle she’d opened for Luke. Luke, who was back in Miami, fighting to hang on to life. She laid the pile of sheets and blankets on the foot of the bed. Already she’d shared nearly all her secrets with Drew—except about Johnno, and Luke.
“I didn’t even think about food.” She saw him frown as he brought the cigarette to his lips. “Why don’t I run around the corner to the market? Pick up some things. You can have some cognac and a hot bath. I’ll fix us some dinner.”
“Fine.” It didn’t occur to him to offer to go with her. “Pick me up some cigs too, will you?”
“Sure.” He didn’t stop her when she reached for her sweater again. “It won’t take me long.”
He got up when she left, tugging on his jeans more for comfort than modesty. He poured the cognac first, and though he was annoyed there wasn’t a proper glass for it, he approved the brand.
It amazed him that she’d expected him to applaud the silly barn of a room. A downtown loft, he thought and drank more cognac. He had no intention of living downtown. He’d been waiting to move up all of his life. It was laughable to think that now that he was on his way he would settle for anything less than the best.
He’d grown up in worse, certainly. Sipping, he studied the mural of Emma on the plaster wall and thought of where he’d come from, and where he was going. He couldn’t claim a life in the slums, digging in poverty. But he’d been only shades above it.
A rented house, a muddy yard, mended jeans. He detested coming from the working class,