Nicole smiled. “You’re seriously loaded. Where are you?”
“I-biz-ibit-fuck, where all the celebrities go in August.”
“Ibiza?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s the place. Jack says hi. He’s soooo sweet. You can’t believe how sweet he is. He’s takin’ me shoppin’ tomorrow, well today—we’ve been up all night. He says I can buy whatever I want! Crazy, hey? Nice crazy. Oops, sorry, me selfish. Whaz goin’ on with you? Everythin’ good?”
“Perfect. I just wanted to say hi.” Apparently, Fiona wasn’t going to be her voice of reason when it came to accepting gifts. But Nicole took one more stab at a sensible conversation about her doubts. “You don’t mind taking presents from Jack? You’re good with that? No problem?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Nicole had to jerk the phone away from her ear at the screech. “What’s to mind?” A second later, Fiona went quiet as though the gist of Nicole’s question had suddenly registered and when she spoke, her voice was slurred, but no longer deafening. “Hey, somethin’ wrong? Tell your BFF. I’m listenin’.” She giggled. “You might have to say it twice, but I’m here for you, baby girl. Whaz up?”
“Rafe just bought me a ton of presents. I was trying to decide whether to open them or not, whether to accept them.”
“Don’ be stupit. He’s richer than God. Assep, aksep—fuck, take’m. Take every damn present.”
Nicole smiled. No equivocation there. Total vindication. Seriously drunken vindication, but an answer if she was looking to be persuaded.
“Jus’ so you know, I gave him your sizes. Don’ be mad. Be happy, okay? Hey, Jack wans talk to you. Lissen to him. He knows dudes.”
A moment later, Jack was on the phone. “Hi. Fiona and I are having a great time. You okay?”
“You sound sober.”
“Did a little blow. Keeps me going. Now, what’s this about presents that has your knickers in a twist?”
Nicole sighed. “Rafe went a little crazy. The entire carriage house is filled with roses and now I have orders to open the huge pile of gifts in his dressing room.”
“Orders?” Jack’s voice was amused.
“Private matter.”
“Got it.”
“Rafe’s at the main house. Ganz came in last night and they’re dealing with some crisis.”
“Ah. The recurring piracy. And you’re left behind to open your gifts. I don’t see the problem.”
“It’s just so much, too much. I’m not sure I like it for a bunch of weird, maybe silly reasons.”
“In case it helps, Rafe doesn’t buy gifts for women.”
“He told me. I didn’t know whether to believe him.”
“It’s true. So you’re not just one in a long line, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
She laughed. “Christ, are you a therapist?”
“Been to enough, but no. Since Rafe doesn’t normally do this, I’d say you’re pretty special. Why not just enjoy the gifts. He’d want you to.” Jack chuckled. “Actually he ordered you to. So—did I talk you off the ledge?”
“Yeah, thanks. And thanks for being nice to Fiona. It sounds as though she’s having a good time.”
“Me too. It’s my pleasure. Now go open the presents. Knowing Rafe, he’s expecting to see you in whatever he bought ASAP. He’s not a patient man.”
“Understatement.”
“I’ll have Fiona call you later after she sleeps it off. Say hi to Rafe.”
Nicole sat on the bed for a moment after the call, running the conversation through her mind. She liked knowing from a semi-reliable source—Jack was a cousin after all—that Rafe didn’t buy gifts for women. She wanted to believe him, because call her stupid or Pollyanna, it felt superfine to know she wasn’t one of a crowd. With a man like Rafe, that had been a given. Nice surprise.
Although everything about him was nice.
So seriously, she had to stop fretting about every little thing.
When she had the great good fortune to stumble into paradise, it was foolish to question the cosmic miracle.
Walking into the dressing room, she sat on the floor, trying to decide which exquisite package to open first. They were all tied with real ribbon, some embroidered, some metallic, others of silk so fine, she could practically see dollar signs printed on them. And each bow was adorned with silk flowers or small pieces of jewelry. My lord, it was just a little daunting to demolish such impeccable work.
She decided to start with a small package, like dipping her toe in the water. Flipping up the name tag, she read: To Nicole, love Rafe—and went still for a moment. Quickly reminding herself that she’d known him for less than twenty-four hours, that this was simple politesse—a conventional courtesy—she started breathing again. Jeez, it was easy to buy into the Cinderella myth with a man like Rafe, with this degree of largesse, with the impressive sexual satisfaction she’d recently experienced. But slow the fuck down. Rafe probably was richer than God and the cost of these presents was incidental to his bottom line. Chill.