Dear Emily Read Free Page B

head start. C’mon, Mrs. Thorn, we haven’t done it in the shower yet.” He kissed her then until she thought her teeth would rattle. Her adrenaline kicked in. It had been over a month since they’d made love. “Do that again,” she moaned. He did, all the way into the shower and while the shower was pelting them both. The exquisite release left her buoyant. They were both giggling like children when they left the apartment.
    Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the restaurant.
    “They give you a rose when you leave,” Ian whispered.
    Emily smiled. A rose would be nice, something to remember the evening by. She’d press it into her photo album when it wilted.
    Ian frowned. “Promise me you aren’t going to pick the service apart. Promise me you won’t roll your eyes if the waiter makes a mistake.”
    “Only if you promise to leave a generous tip,” Emily muttered.
    “Okay, it’s a deal. Forget that you’re a waitress tonight, and for God’s sake, don’t tell anyone, okay?”
    The edge was off her happiness now. “Why, are you ashamed of what I do? What do you tell your friends I do, Ian?”
    “I don’t tell them anything. It’s none of their business. And no, I am not ashamed. Nobody appreciates what you do more than me.”
    “Appreciating it and being ashamed are two different things, Ian.”
    “We’re getting off to a bad start here. Let’s back up two steps and start over. I for one still feel like a newlywed so let’s act like it. That’s an order, Emily.”
    “Yes, sir,” Emily said, snapping off a smart salute.
    Ian’s hand was on the doorknob when the door swung open. Ian stepped back, ushering Emily through the door as he nodded curtly to the doorman. Inside he maneuvered Emily to the secluded area where the head waiter stood discreetly with an immaculate white towel folded over his arm.
    “Dr. and Mrs. Thorn,” Ian said imperiously. Emily flinched.
    It was a small restaurant with only twelve tables and as many waiters hovering against the wall. One-on-one service, she thought. She knew immediately that this was the kind of restaurant where the tables did not turn over. One seating, and the dinner would take three hours, possibly longer if they dawdled over coffee and liqueurs.
    Emily gave her husband a gentle nudge and whispered quietly, “Ask for the table by the wall. You don’t want to sit by the kitchen.” Ian bristled as the waiter led them to a draped table one table away from the kitchen door. Emily nudged him again. She could see Ian’s shoulders stiffen.
    “This is unacceptable,” he said quietly.
    That was good, Emily thought. When you said something was unacceptable, it left no room for discussion. The waiter veered to the right. Emily felt herself nod approvingly. Ian’s lips were compressed into a tight, white line when the waiter held her chair. If Ian wanted to pout, let him, she thought. If they were going to spend the kind of money she knew they were going to spend, then they deserved a good table. And if there was one thing she knew about, it was good tables.
    “That really wasn’t necessary, Emily,” Ian said, smiling for the benefit of the other diners and the waiter as well.
    “Yes, Ian, it was. We’re celebrating so we should get the best for our money. Or is it that it was my suggestion that’s bothering you?” She smiled sweetly to take the sting out of her words. “I guess this is the rose they give you,” she said, motioning to a single yellow rose in a bud vase.
    “No, they hand it to you when you leave. I saw them in a box by the front door.” He always had to one-up her. There was no box by the front door on the little counter. She’d taken in the decor, everything, the moment they walked through the door. She let it go and nodded. “This is a lovely restaurant. I understand the food is wonderful, but incredibly rich. We’re going to gain weight, Ian.”
    “I haven’t gained an ounce in seven years, Emily. You, on the other hand,