It All Began in Monte Carlo by Elizabeth Adler Read Free Book Online Page B

attractive in an offbeat way that had attracted the beautiful young Allie to him, years ago, yearning for his underlying strength, even though he had often behaved like the bad guy—
and
had done time for it. Jail time or no, Ron was her love and always would be. And she knew without any doubt that Ron Perrin loved her.
    â€œHey,” Ron said, leaning back against the stainless-steel fridge, arms crossed, one leg folded over the other, as he inspected the two of them. Pru Hilson looked about as bad as any woman he had ever seen, but he did not allow her to see that from his face. His expression did not change. Soft flesh rippled around her neck, covered her breasts, imploded over stomach and thighs. She was wearing a caftanlike garment in some horrible shade of red, as though in tribute to the fact that it was Christmas Day. Her brown hair hung lank and uncurled to her shoulders, and her face was a pink full moon.
    Jesus, Ron thought, but he didn’t say that. Instead he said, “How about a glass of brandy, girls. Looks like we all could use one about now.”
    Pru lifted her head, covertly inspecting the remains of the turkey, still on the chopping block. “And maybe a turkey sandwich?” she suggested, sniffing the way Lovely was, at the edges of the meat.
    Ron’s eyes met Allie’s. She nodded permission. “Okay,” he said. “Allie will get the brandy, I’ll fix you a sandwich.”
    â€œThank you.” Pru took a seat at the kitchen table, simple with its blue-and-white-check oilcloth cover (easy to wipe up, Allie had told her, we’re a bit messy, Ron and I). She shifted the poinsettia in its terra-cotta pot to one side, so she could watch Ron.
    â€œWith mayo please, and a bit of gravy. If there’s any left, of course.”
    â€œOf course.”
    Ron busied himself slicing turkey breast. He didn’t know what to make of this friend of Allie’s, a woman from her murky, hated childhood, and a woman she obviously felt something for. Or had in the past, anyway. When Pru had called the day before Christmas Eve and said could she come see Allie, Ron objected. He wanted them to spend Christmas alone. It was the quiet time in the vineyard, no work to be done till spring. They were even thinking of going on a vacation, though he doubted they would make it, they were too content here, the two of them. Who would have thought a couple of years ago it would turn out like this? God had been in his heaven for them, and now Ron thought Allie felt the need to give back and help this woman from her past.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Pru said.
    Ron glanced up from the turkey.
    â€œFor invading your Christmas. I shouldn’t have done it. I’ll be on my way tomorrow, leave you in peace.”
    Ron said nothing, went back to slicing the turkey, cutting a couple of slabs of good bread, spreading mayo thickly, he guessed that’s the way she would like it; layering the turkey, drizzling a little gravy, topping it with the other slice, pressing it flat with the palm of his hand, then cutting it crossways in bulky triangles. Just like a goddamn professional, he thought, remembering the time all those years ago, before he became the big shot he used to be; the time when he was a young boy and life was tough and he’d worked his way through a few delis, a few summer hotels, a few beach clubs—until here he was fixing a sandwich for a woman who most certainly did not need the food. What she needed was food for her soul.
    Allie returned with a tray of glasses and the brandy bottle and a Diet Coke for herself. She set it on the blue-and-white oilskin cloth and Ron came over and put the plate with the sandwich in front of Pru. In a flash, Lovely bounced over Pru’s knee, grabbed a triangle of sandwich, gulped it down, grabbed another, fleeing as Ronhollered and Allie broke into helpless laughter, while Pru stared, dismayed at the remains of her