The bottom right drawer of his desk was for hanging files. They were in alphabetical order.
I checked “A” first, for American Express. There was nothing there. There was nothing under “C” for credit cards, “D” for Discover, or “M” for MasterCard either, but there were a number of bills for different cards under “V” for Visa.
And there it was. He had paid for everything—the hotel, our meals, the excursions—with his own card.
“Son of a bitch.” I sank back in the plush chair I’d bought for him. Why hadn’t he used the cards I’d given him? He loved the power drill I’d bought him. He said he liked having me buy things for him.
There was another photo on his desk across from the grainy one of the two of us kissing. The grainy photo must have been taken with a telephoto lens, and I’d had no clue where that had come from. He’d just grinned when I asked, and refused to tell me.
I picked up the new picture frame. This photo was of the two of us at one of Davis House’s happy hours, where the management offered complimentary soda, beer, or wine to its guests. The staff had gone around snapping pictures, and once they were developed, one set went into the hotel’s own gallery, while another set was available for sale in the lobby. Wills had gone down to look at them and had returned with a plastic bag.
“This is mine.” He’d grinned at me and put it in his suitcase. “You go get your own.”
We were going snorkeling that day, and when we got back to the room, I was nursing a headache from the sun. I never did get down to the lobby.
In the photo Wills had bought, I was smiling into the camera, but he was looking at me. The expression on his face…
He loved me for who I was, not what I could give him.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and put the frame back in its place. Then I shut the file drawer and made sure there was no evidence I’d been snooping.
I went back into the bedroom, took the small stack of credit cards, refastened the rubber band around them, and put them back into the drawer, exactly where I’d found them.
September moved into October, and autumn settled over the Capital.
“What’s this?” Wills asked when he came home from work one evening. On the console table by the front door was an invitation.
“Want to go to a Halloween Ball, babe?”
He looked interested. “Who’s this Charlemagne?”
“He was voted Le Roi this year, king of the escorts.”
“I take it it’s an honor to be invited?”
“Yeah.” The paper was parchment and the invite was stamped in gold leaf. I’d been Le Roi one year myself, and I knew how high the cost of those invitations could run. “But that’s not the reason I’d like us to go.” I wanted to show him off.
“You do want to go? Hmm. I haven’t been to a Halloween party since college. Who will we go as?”
“You’ll do it?”
“Sure. As long as nothing comes up with work, it should be fun.”
“Great!”
“So, who will we go as?” he asked again.
“I was thinking of going as Zorro.”
“Awesome.”
But he didn’t tell me what costume he’d be wearing.
“I want to give it some thought, okay, babe?”
“Sure. Just don’t let it go too long. It will be a bitch getting anything decent then, and you’ll wind up wearing a generic costume.”
“Like an orange T-shirt that says, Halloween costume? I won’t let it go too long.”
“And promise you won’t wear those 501s and the tool belt. I’d be fighting ’em off all night long.”
He looked happy. “I won’t, I promise.” He ran his hand over my hair, then dropped his hands to my waist and pulled me against him. He was hard.
I remembered something his cousin Harry had said when we’d visited the family over the Memorial Day weekend. “Do you have a weakness for redheads, Wills?”
“I have a weakness for this redhead.” His eyes were on my lips. He ran his tongue over his lips and leaned toward me. My eyes closed, anticipating his kiss.
The smoke alarm went off.
“Shit!” We raced into the kitchen. “I hope I haven’t burned dinner.”
“I’ll take you out if you have.”
But it turned out I hadn’t.
* * * *
After we’d gone to bed and made love, and just before I fell asleep, I wondered if taking Wills to this Halloween Ball was really a good idea. Charlemagne was a redhead. Suppose Wills….
I fell asleep before the worry could become full-blown.
* * * *
Nothing came up at work, and as Wills had promised, he got home early. He let out a soft wolf whistle when he saw how I was dressed, all in black, from the flat-crowned hat on my head to the knee-high boots on my feet. A sword hung at my waist, a cape hung from my shoulders, and a bullwhip hung from my belt. A silk mask covered my upper face.
“God, you look hot enough to eat. I don’t want to muss you now, but later, when we get home…”
“I’ll hold you to that. Now, go get yourself ready, handsome.”
“Give me twenty minutes, babe.”