The Last Tiara by M.J.Rose

Author:M.J.Rose [M.J.Rose]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Adult Fiction, Suspense - Thrillers - Mystery, M.J. Rose, MJ Rose, Historical Fiction, historical romance, Romance
ISBN: 9781952457081
Google: j2_mDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B0893KBVXF
Goodreads: 53754548
Publisher: Blue Box Press
Published: 2020-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Isobelle Moon

New York City

December 1948

I awake the morning after the blizzard with a pounding headache. Opening my eyes, I realize with a start that I’m not home, and then the whole night comes back to me. Up to a point. I don’t remember going to sleep. I’m under a coverlet, which I pull down and check—yes, I’m still dressed. Thinking about the entire evening, I feel a twinge of disappointment knowing that I don’t even tempt him. But then again, why would I, given the kind of people he mixes with? The rich and famous, the glamorous stars and starlets. A working girl in trousers and a sweater set without pearls or fancy high heels or any décolletage showing.

In the bathroom, I thankfully find a bottle of aspirin and take two. There’s a stack of fresh towels on the sink with a note on top that says:

Isobelle - the water gets very hot in the shower, so be careful.

Putting some toothpaste on my finger, I use it as an ersatz toothbrush. And then step into the shower. The water does get quite hot, but I’m careful. I spend longer than usual under the stream, letting it wash away the fog I’m in while the aspirin starts to work.

Wrapped in one of the large fluffy towels, I dry my hair. Without my curling iron, it’s going to dry all wavy. I look around and find Jules’ hairbrush. At least I can try to make sure it’s not any messier than it has to be. As it is without my mascara, rouge and lipstick, without any perfume, wearing yesterday’s slept-in clothes, I know I look far from my best. I shouldn’t care. But I do.

Jules has been making breakfast, and he greets me with a plate of eggs and toast with sausage. “I got started when I heard the shower go on.”

“Thank you so much. I feel terrible you’re going to all this trouble for a stowaway.”

He smiles, then makes a plate for himself, and once he’s done, joins me at the table.

“You look wonderful with your hair like that,” he says.

I must look awful for him to say that, and now I wish I hadn’t washed it at all.

“I mean it,” he says, reading the expression of disbelief on my face.

“Thank you again,” I say as I feel a warmth rising to my cheeks and hope I’m not blushing.

“Sleep okay?” he asks.

“Yes, but I don’t actually remember going to bed.”

“Well, you didn’t really. You sat down on the edge of the bed. I turned around to draw the shades and when I’d turned back, you’d curled up and were fast asleep. So I covered you. I didn’t think we had that much to drink.”

I nod. “Maybe not for you but…tell that to my headache.”

“Do you need some aspirin?”

“Found it in the medicine cabinet.”

“Eating will help,” he says.

Over breakfast he tells me that the roads are already starting to clear, and we should be able to start out for Ossining to see his grandfather after we eat.

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