Passion's Promise by Danielle Steel Read Free Book Online Page A

was going to be sick.
    'Tiffany?" It was her brother, Mark, with that look on his face, and Gloria just behind him. A wall of reproach between her and the bathroom, wherever the hell it was at whatever goddamn hotel they were hi, or was this somebody's house? She couldn't remember a fucking thing, dammit.
    "Mark . . . I . . ."
    "Gloria, take Tiffany to the ladies' room." He didn't waste time speaking to his sister. He simply addressed his wife. He knew the signs too well. All over the seat of the new Lincoln last time they'd driven her home. And deep within Tiffany something withered further. She knew. That was the trouble.
    No matter how much she drank, she always knew. She could hear the tone in their voices so clearly.
    That never faded.
    "I ... I'm sorry . . . Mark, Bill is out of town and if you could just drive me . . ." She belched loudly and Gloria rushed forward nervously while Mark shrank backwards with a look of disgust.
    "Tiffany?" It was Bill, with his usual vague smile.
    "I thought . . . you were . . ." Mark and Gloria faded into the background and Tiffany's husband took her arm and escorted her as swiftly as possible from the halls where the last of the party was fading. She was too noticeable in the thinning crowd. "I thought. . . ." They were moving through the lobby now, and she had left her bag on the banquette. Someone would take it. "My bag. Bill, my . . ."
    "That's right, dear. We'll take care of it."
    "I ... oh God, I feel awful. I have to sit down." Her voice was barely a whisper, and her bag was forgotten. He was walking too fast, it made her feel worse.
    "You just need some air." He kept a firm grip on her arm and smiled at passersby, the director on the way to his office . . . good morning . . . morning . . . hello . . . nice to see you. . . . The smile never faded, and the eyes never warmed.
    "I just ... I ... oh." The cool night breeze slapped her face and she felt clearer, but her stomach rose menacingly toward her throat. "Bill. . . ." She turned and looked at him then, but only for a moment. She wanted to ask him a terrible question. Something was forcing her to say it. To ask. How awful. Oh God, she prayed that she wouldn't. Sometimes when she was very drunk she wanted to ask her brother the same thing. Once she had even asked her mother, and her mother had slapped her. Hard. The question always burned in her when she was this drunk. Champagne always did it to her, and sometimes gin.
    "Well just get you into a nice cozy cab, and you'll be all set, won't you dear." He gently squeezed her arm again, like an overly solicitous headwaiter, and signaled the doorman. A cab stood with open door before them a moment later.
    "A cab? Aren't you . . . Bill?" Oh God, and there was the question again, trying to fight its way out of her mouth, out of her stomach, out of her soul.
    "That's right, dear." Bill had leaned over to speak to the driver. He wasn't listening. Everyone spoke over her, around her, past her, never to her. She heard him give the driver then- address and she grew more confused by the moment. But Bill looked so sure. "See you in the morning, darling." He pecked her cheek and the door slammed shut, and all she could see was the doorman's face smiling at her as the cab pulled away. She reached for the knob to open the window and frantically rolled it down . . . and the question ... the question was fighting its way out. She couldn't hold it back any longer. She had to ask Bill . . . William . . . Billy . . . they had to go back so she could ask, but the cab was lunging away from the curb and the question sailed from her mouth with a long stream of vomit as she leaned out the window.
    "Do you love me? . . ."
    The driver had been paid twenty dollars to get her home, and he did, without a word. He never answered the question. Nor did Bill. Bill had gone upstairs to the room he'd reserved at the St. Regis.
    Both girls were still waiting. A tiny Peruvian, and a large blonde from Frankfurt. And