The Vivian Higginsbottoms Affair
by: RAC
Rated R for Romance
DISCLAIMER: It all belongs to whoever the heck owns Man From Uncle now. And that's not me.
SUMMARY: Someone does a little matchmaking.
NOTES: Okay. Picture this. The movie never happened but Illya and Napoleon did have a parting of the ways at the show's end. This story is set about four years later. And I gave them the same professions. So Illya is Vanya (and I know it means he became well known pretty darn fast, but it's my story and I can't stand for them to be apart longer than that) and Napoleon owns a computer company
FEEDBACK: Absolutely.
THANKS: To Morr, my partner in crime! And thanks to Nat for beta assistance. And to Dword for keeping such good care of all my stories.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Vivian woke up alone again. She sighed and glanced at the clock. Three thirty in the morning. "Drat the man." She sat up on the side of the bed, playing with her engagement ring.
This wasn't like him. Or at least it hadn't seemed like him; he'd been so much fun. But ever since he'd asked her to marry him and given her the engagement ring, all of four days ago, she'd woken up to an empty bed.
She knew he'd be downstairs. He had been each of the other three nights. Drinking. It was a dismal start to a happy ever after scenario. Sighing again, she rose, patting down the baby pink chiffon of her peignoir. Padding to the top of the stairs she called down. "Napoleon?"
When there was no answer she went back to her room, slipped on her scandalously expensive slippers which were little more than a few straps, a leather sole, two inch heels, and a large pink satin bow, and tapped her way downstairs. "Napoleon?"
Her townhouse was three levels, and she knew she'd find Napoleon on the first floor. All she had to do was follow the sound of the record player, playing that jazz stuff he seemed to like. Napoleon was lying on the couch, hands behind his head, dressed in his velvet bathrobe. He didn't even notice her.
Piqued, she spoke his name sharply. "Napoleon."
That got his attention. His eyes darted to hers and he sat up. "I'm sorry, Viv, I was thinking."
She frowned. "That's all you seem to be doing lately." She hit him with her sexiest pout. "Come to bed. It's cold in that big old bed without you." She flipped her long auburn hair back over her shoulder.
He gave her a swift smile. "Go on up. I'll be there in a minute."
She increased the wattage on the pout. "You've said that every night this week." Vivian struck a pose she knew played her figure to its best advantage. "Aren't I more interesting than this old scratchy thing you're listening to?"
She preened as Napoleon's eyes roamed over her. She knew she looked good. She ought to. She spent a lot of time and money to look that way.
"Much more interesting. You're a stunningly beautiful woman."
She let out a happy sigh at the compliment and followed it with a come hither glance. "Then come to bed."
Napoleon swirled the ice and liquid in his glass. "As soon as I'm done with this. I won't be long."
Vivian frowned. She didn't believe him anymore. The last three mornings he hadn't come back to bed at all and had already left for work by the time she'd gotten up. "Would you at least tell me what it is you're so busy thinking about?"
His smile seemed sad this time, weary. "Just putting some old ghosts to rest, that's all."
She hated inscrutable answers. Letting out a petulant humph she spun around and tapped her way back upstairs.
*********
She had lunch with Mark Slate later that day at the club. "…and then he doesn't come back to bed. I just don't understand it."
Mark couldn't understand it either. He couldn't understand how any man would choose not to be in bed with Vivian if she was waiting there for him. "Did you ask him what was bothering him?"
"Of course I did." She sniffed in disdain. "Something about old ghosts." Vivian leaned closer to Mark. "Is he an alcoholic?"
Mark furrowed his brow, a bit startled by the question. "No. Not that I'm aware of."
"Is he still in love with someone?"
Mark shook his head. "No. He hasn't been serious about anyone for a long time."
Her expensively manicured nails beat out a tattoo on the table. "It's got to be an old girlfriend." She took a sip of iced tea, gazing down at the remains of her salad. "Don't you think? I mean what else could it be? He must still be in love with someone."
Mark scrunched his face up. "Excuse me, luv, for being so blunt, but aren't these questions you might have discussed with him before you agreed to marry him?"
"How was I supposed to know after the clock struck midnight that he'd turn into a moody drunk?"
Mark frowned. "I'd hardly call him that."
She waved off his defense of Napoleon. "Who was she? Who was his last girlfriend?"
Mark's eyebrows rose. "I have no idea. He went through them like water through a sieve."
"He must have had someone special, someone who broke his heart, someone he's still pining after."
Mark thought about it for a minute. "Sorry, luv. I have no idea. Probably the only person who would know is Illya."
Her lips formed a small pout. Mark loved her pouts. "What is an Illya?"
"Who. Who is an Illya. He was Napoleon's best friend for years. They were like Siamese twins."
"Why don't I know about this best friend of his?" She reached for a cigarette, waiting for Mark to get out his lighter and light it. When he obliged her, she inhaled deeply. "I thought you were his best friend."
"Oh, Napoleon and I are mates, no doubt about that, but he and Illya were something special. They were partners at UNCLE."
Her eyes opened in alarm. "Shhh. Don't say that too loudly. Daddy'd have a stroke if he knew Napoleon had been a spy. He thinks Napoleon's nice and normal."
Mark rolled his eyes. "I was a spy too, you know."
"Shhh. If you mention it again I swear I'll get up and leave. Besides, now you have a proper job running your family's business, now that they've opened offices here in New York."
Mark lifted his hands in supplication. "All right, I'll behave."
She settled back in her chair. "That's better."
Mark considered her for a minute. "Why exactly are you marrying Napoleon?"
Vivian pursed her lips, and let out a dramatic sigh. "It's been such a whirlwind romance. He's quite turned my head."
"That doesn't necessarily mean you should marry him." Mark didn't want her to marry Napoleon. Mark wanted her to marry him. He'd wanted her to marry him from the moment he met her. The fact that he'd been so close to achieving it made it even worse, even if it was all Vivian's fault that it had fallen apart.
He never should have invited Napoleon to Vivian's twenty-fourth birthday party. Granted, he and Vivian were barely speaking at the time, but he should have known better. No one could resist Napoleon. The only good thing that had come out of it was that at least she'd started talking to him again after she began dating Napoleon.
"Oh, but darling, he's so handsome, and already well-off, and Daddy's lawyers say that computers are the wave of the future, and that Napoleon's sure to make an obscene fortune."
"So you're marrying him for his money?"
She let out a peal of laughter. "Mark, you sound so peeved about it. Of course I'm marrying him for his money. And the fact that he's good to look at, is entertaining company, knows all the right people, and is sinfully talented in bed."
Mark shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He really didn't want to know all this.
She laughed again and patted his leg. "Don't fret, darling. You were too."
That made him feel a bit better. Not much, but a bit.
"So, tell me about this Illya fellow. Maybe I should get in touch with him and ask him about Napoleon's past."
Mark snorted out a laugh. "Good luck getting any information out of him. He's like the proverbial clam."
"And they were best friends?"
Mark could see the puzzled look on her face and understood it. Why had Napoleon, the original Lothario, loquacious to a fault, befriended the surly, taciturn Russian? It had been a mystery from the get go to everyone that knew them. Mark had come to understand as he'd gotten to know Illya better. Still waters and all that. "The best of friends. They spent most of their free time together, went out on double dates. Where one was, the other was close behind."
"So if anyone would know about who Napoleon is pining for, it would be he?"
"What does it matter? He proposed to you. It's you he's in love with."
Vivian let out another laugh. "Oh, darling, you are so provincial. He's not in love with me. I amuse him, and I'm a good match. Trust me, they make the best marriages."
Mark frowned at her. "Do you really believe that?" Something flickered in her eyes, some sadness, or fear, but then it was gone. She chose not to answer, taking another sip of tea.
He prodded a little harder. "What does it matter? If this isn't a love match, why do you care?"
"Because she's competition, Mark. Suppose she's prettier than me, or richer than me?" She let out a gasp. "Or some commoner. I may not mind marrying a man who's not in love with me but I'll be damned if I'll marry a man pining over some floozy. If Constance heard about it, I'd never live it down."
Mark started to laugh. God, he loved her. Despite her snobbery, and selfish ways, he absolutely adored her. "Well, I never saw either of them seriously involved with anyone. And it wasn't for lack of trying on the ladies' part. They flocked around both of them like white on rice. Made a man feel inferior to hang around those chaps."
Vivian patted his arm. "Now, I don't believe that for a minute, darling. I'm sure you had your share too. After all I was quite mad about you." She gave him a naughty grin. "And you've got all that lovely family money. You and Napoleon were the only two men I've ever brought home that Daddy liked."
Mark sighed. "So why aren't you still? Mad about me, I mean."
She gave him a scathing stare. "I believe her name was April."
Mark gave her an exasperated glare. "Viv, how many times do I have to tell you? She's just a friend."
"Right. And that's why you left me, alone, at my parent's 40th wedding anniversary. I was a laughingstock."
He rolled his eyes. "You weren't a laughingstock. And if you were, it was your own damn fault. All you had to tell them was the truth, that I had a family emergency to attend to."
She let out a dainty snort. "A family emergency. With an old girlfriend?"
"She is not an old girlfriend. She's like my sister. We were close like Illya and Napoleon were close. And she needed my help."
"Well, I needed your help too."
He barked out a frustrated laugh. "To help cut cake? She was in danger. I told you that. One of…"
She put her fingers over his lips. "Don't you dare tell me a spy story."
Mark fought the temptation to suck on one of those fingers. "She's a friend. I wish you'd believe me."
She took a long time to take her fingers away. Their eyes caught and held until the sun chose that moment to reflect off the sizeable diamond in her engagement ring. Vivian sat back, fingering the ring. "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?"
Mark looked at the ring and scowled. He was good and stuck. Napoleon was his mate and the last thing he could do is to try to steal her away. But if they didn't love each other, what the hell were they doing? He sipped morosely at his tea, pushing his French fries around on his plate. He'd lost his appetite.
"So, Mark, be a love, tell me how to contact this Illya person."
Mark shook his head. "No."
Her eyes opened wide in disbelief. "No?"
"No."
"Why?" Her pout was back.
"Because he'd kill me."
Vivian let out a short laugh. "Oh, please. Don't be so melodramatic."
Mark laughed at her in return. "I'm not."
She frowned. "Why aren't he and Napoleon friends anymore?"
Mark shook his head. "I don't know. Neither of them has told me anything. I keep in touch with them both, but I learned pretty fast not to bring up the subject."
Vivian put her hand on his thigh. "Come on, Mark. Give me his number."
"The answer is no. And it doesn't matter anyway. He won't talk to you."
Vivian looked down her nose at him. "He'll talk to me."
Mark shook his head again. "Sorry, luv. No can do." He looked at his watch. "I have to go in a minute." Mark glanced around the restaurant. "Our waiter seems to have disappeared. I'll go track him down." He got up and headed off.
She nodded absently and let him go. As soon as he was out of sight she started digging through his jacket pockets, looking for his little black book. When she found it she began to feverishly turn the pages, looking for an Illya. "Illya, Illya…" She let out a gasp of pleasant discovery. "Illya Kuryakin. Private line." Committing the number to memory, she slid the book back in Mark's pocket.
*********
"Kuryakin."
"Oh! Is this Illya Kuryakin?"
"Who wants to know?"
"I'm Vivian Johnstone Higginsbottom." She waited for him to recognize the name.
"Who gave you this number?"
She frowned at the phone. And lied. "Mark Slate."
"What do you want?"
She frowned at the phone again. What an unpleasant man. This was Napoleon's best friend? Inconceivable. "I'm Napoleon Solo's fiancée." She waited a few moments but there was no response. "Hello? Did you hear me?"
Finally he spoke, his voice tight. She thought it sounded like his teeth were clenched. "While I hate to be repetitive, what do you want?"
This wasn't going well. She tried to be charming. "I just want to talk about Napoleon, about his past, get to know him a little better."
A snort came over the phone. "Then I suggest you talk to your fiancé."
She could tell he was about to hang up. "No, wait, Mr. Kuryakin. I need to talk to you."
"Why?"
This was embarrassing. Even though he couldn't see her, she sat up more stiffly in her chair, squaring her shoulders. She just had to know. "He's been depressed lately, he keeps drinking and talking about putting old ghosts to rest and I want to know what he's talking about."
"Perhaps you should ask him."
"I have. He won't talk to me."
"Then he obviously doesn't want you to know."
Vivian sighed. "But I need to know. I need to know who she is."
There was a long silence. "I don't know what you mean."
"This long lost love of his. I mean it has to be an old girlfriend. It has to be. What else would make a man drink like that, and get all melancholy? I have to know what I'm up against."
"I'm sorry, Miss…"
"Miss Johnstone Higginsbottom." She was aggrieved he couldn't remember her name.
"Of course, Miss Johnstone Higginsbottom, how unforgivable of me to forget. But, I have no intention of talking to you about anything. Please don't call again."
"Wait! Wait! Don't go. Maybe you could come see him. You used to be his best friend. Maybe you could talk to him and snap him out of it."
The silence was even longer. "I do not believe that would be a good idea. Good bye."
The phone went dead and she stared at it in disbelief. No one hung up on a Johnstone Higginsbottom. No one. She dialed the number again and after she lost count of how many times the phone rang, she slammed the receiver down in frustration.
*********
The next day, she met Mark for lunch again. "Oh, he's an obnoxious man. Whatever do you and Napoleon see in him?"
"Well, seeing as he's probably never going to talk to me again, it doesn't really matter."
"Whatever are you talking about?"
"The number, Viv. How did you get it? And why did you tell him I gave it to you?" Illya had called him and blistered his ear.
She shrugged. "Out of your little black book. And I thought it would make him talk to me." She sniffed. "I can't say I think much of him."
Mark let out a long sigh. "You are a selfish bitch, you know that don't you?"
Vivian laughed. "Of course I am, darling, but you love me anyway, don't you?"
The curse of it was that he did. "Well, I wouldn't be surprised if he changes his number now. And doesn't give me the new one."
Vivian waved a hand in his direction. "Oh, tell him I won't call again. Who'd want to talk to such a disagreeable man?"
Mark grinned at her.
She grinned back and then leaned toward him. "Where does he live?"
Mark shot her an incredulous look. "Are you out of your mind? He really would kill me then."
"Oh, come on, Mark. I have to talk to him. He wouldn't dare be so rude face-to-face."
Mark barked out a laugh. "He'd be rude to the pope face-to-face if it suited him."
Her hand went back on his thigh. "Now, Mark, you know I still have a key to your apartment. You're not really going to make me break in and search for his address, are you?" She squeezed his thigh. "Are you?"
He had no willpower when it came to her. And Illya was already mad at him, so he might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. "He's Vanya."
He could see it didn't compute. She let out a long sigh. "Vanya. I would just die to have one of his wedding dresses. They are absolutely divine."
"I'm sure you could well afford one. Call him." Mark kept the grin off his face.
"Oh, I've tried. He isn't accepting any new business. I even had one of daddy's attorneys call him."
Mark couldn't stop the laugh that generated. He could just imagine how Illya had felt about that.
She scowled at him. "It's no laughing matter. I'd be the hit of New York with a Vanya wedding dress." She retrieved a piece of paper and a pen from her slim purse. "So, he works at Vanya's? What department?"
"Viv, he is Vanya."
It took a moment to sink in. She let out a gasp. "Illya Kuryakin is Vanya? The Vanya? Napoleon's ex-best friend is Vanya? Your friend is Vanya? And you never introduced me? I shall never forgive you."
"I thought he was an obnoxious man."
"Vanya is famous for his temper." A hand fluttered to her breast. "Just think, he yelled at me. Vanya." She let out a little sigh.
Mark rolled his eyes. "Oh, please."
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you making this all up?"
Mark shook his head. "I swear it on my grandmother's grave."
She kept her narrow-eyed gaze on him for a minute. Then they widened. "He's a homosexual."
Mark almost spit out his drink. "Excuse me?"
"Vanya. He's a homosexual."
"Illya?" Mark made a disparaging noise with his lips. "Hardly."
"Mark, have you never watched him? The way he moves? He's like a jungle cat. Not to mention the company he keeps, who trust me, are other homosexuals. He's in fashion design, for heaven's sakes. Of course he's a homosexual."
"He is not a homosexual. I'd know."
"How would you know?"
"Because I've seen him with women."
"Oh, Mark. A ménage-a-trois? How common of you."
Mark could feel his face heat with a blush. "No, not a…Vivian. I've known him for years. He couldn't be."
She patted him on the arm. "Don't worry. It's quite fashionable these days." She gave Mark a look. "Would it bother you all that much?"
Mark thought about it. He supposed he wouldn't care if Illya turned out to be an Egyptian belly dancer. It didn't make him any different from what he was. A good friend, and someone you could trust at your back. He winced a little at the unintended double entendre. This might take some getting used to, assuming it was true. And where did that leave Napoleon?
Obviously Vivian was working along the same lines. "Oh, my God. Napoleon."
Mark grinned at her. "Surely you're not going to tell me he's a homosexual."
She gave him a saucy wink. "Absolutely not. But that must be why they're not talking anymore. Illya must have made a pass at Napoleon."
Mark was taking another sip and coughed as it went down the wrong way. "What?"
"It makes perfect sense. Illya decides he can no longer lie to his best friend, perhaps he's been in love with Napoleon for years, he risks it all and makes a pass at the man he loves, and is cruelly rejected."
"I remember someone telling me yesterday I was being melodramatic."
"Yes, well, perhaps it does smack of a Greek tragedy but it makes sense. And now he lives a lonely life, living in solitude in his lonely apartment."
Mark gave her a mocking smile. "Surrounded by his millions and his adoring fans."
She smirked and let out a laugh. "That does make it a bit less tragic, doesn't it?" Vivian gave him one of her looks that told him he was in for trouble. "You absolutely have to introduce me to him."
"Forget it."
"Mark, you have to."
"Why do you have to meet him? Wasn't an unpleasant phone call enough punishment for you?"
"I still need to find out who Napoleon is pining for." Her chin stuck out stubbornly. "And I want a Vanya wedding dress."
"Viv, if your little fantasy is true, did you ever think that if he did love Napoleon that you're probably the last person he'd want to make a wedding dress for?"
Her jaw dropped. "Damn." She sat back in her chair, momentarily stymied.
*********
Vivian ran her fingers lightly over his chest. "Napoleon."
"Hmm?"
"Will you do me a favor?" She purred as his hand made gentle circles on her back.
"Whatever you want, dearest."
"Will you call your friend Vanya, and have him make me a wedding dress?"
His hand stilled. "What?"
"Vanya. You know, your friend, Illya Kuryakin." She placed a kiss on the cleft on his chin. "I'm quite annoyed you didn't tell me you knew the man. You know I've been trying to get him to see me."
Napoleon pulled away from her and sat up, pulling the sheets to his waist. "What makes you think Illya is Vanya?"
"Mark told me." She tried to ignore the flash of anger in his eyes. "Oh, don't blame him. I badgered him mercilessly."
"I'm sure you did." He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. He tried again. "Why…how did this all come about exactly?"
She ran her hand down his thigh.
He grabbed her hand, and held it still on the bed. "Vivian."
Vivian pouted. "Well, I've been worried about you. All the drinking, and your moods. And then your comment the other night about putting ghosts to rest, I thought that it had to be an old girlfriend."
She didn't miss the wry grin that crossed his face. He prompted her. "And…?"
"So I talked to Mark about it, trying to find out about this long lost love of yours. I needed to know how serious it was."
"And…?"
"And Mark had no idea but he thought Illya would. So I sneaked a peak in Mark's little black book and found Illya's number and called him."
Napoleon's eyes widened. "You talked to Illya?"
She nodded. "I thought he was most unpleasant until I found out he was Vanya."
Napoleon gave her a mocking grin. "So, as long as he's rich and famous, it's all right for him to be rude to you?"
She grinned back at him. "Of course, darling. You should know that."
"Hmm." He cleared his throat. "So, did Illya shed any light on the subject?"
Vivian scowled. "No. He was exceedingly unhelpful. But I think I know why you two aren't friends any more, and I completely understand your point of view."
"Ah." He glanced away and then back. "Well, I suspect that you don't understand, but I thank you for your support."
"Don't you even want to know why I think you aren't friends anymore?"
"No, not really. I think we've talked about the subject long enough." He leaned in for a kiss.
She leaned away from it. "Don't you think enough time has gone by that you could call him and ask him to see me, for old time's sakes?"
He shook his head. "No."
Vivian pouted. "Napoleon."
"No."
She smacked the pillow by her side. "You're being very unreasonable."
His voice was laced with a warning. "Vivian. This subject's closed."
As far as she was concerned the subject wouldn't be closed until she got her dress. "Pretty please? I'll make it worth your while."
His eyes grew angry. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."
Vivian flounced back on the bed. "Come on, Napoleon. How bad could it have been? So he made a pass at you. Time to get over it and move on."
Napoleon started to cough.
She sat up and pounded him on his back. "Are you all right?"
He nodded, still coughing. He choked out a few words, "Fine, just breathed wrong."
Vivian frowned at him. This whole thing was so unlike him. First his drinking, then his unwillingness to talk about whatever these ghosts of his were, and now his unwillingness to talk about Illya. Her brain worked furiously connecting the dots. Then her jaw dropped.
Napoleon sighed and dropped his face into his hands.
She had to know. "Did he make a pass at you?"
Napoleon lifted his head, his eyes filled with the sadness she had seen there the other night. "You don't want to ask me these questions."
"Yes, I do. Did he make a pass at you?"
Napoleon got out of bed, and pulled on a pair of silk paisley boxers. "Not exactly."
"Did you make a pass at him?"
He let out a sad half-laugh. "Not exactly." He stepped into a pair of sweats.
"Is he a homosexual?"
Napoleon reached for a T-shirt. "Not exactly."
She frowned at him. "Are you?"
He glanced at her naked body. "An interesting question for you to be asking me considering what we've just finished doing."
She threw a pillow at him. "Tell me what happened, Napoleon."
Napoleon stood by the edge of the bed and looked down at her, his jaw set in angry determination. "You want to know? Fine. We were lovers. For two years. He was the only man I ever slept with, and up until that point, I was the only man he ever slept with."
Vivian stared at him and blinked. She hadn't expected him to tell her the truth, at least not so blatantly. She did a little internal poking and discovered that she wasn't that upset. She wasn't upset at all. She poked herself again not understanding why she wasn't upset. She should be upset.
But for some reason, Napoleon suddenly seemed like a younger brother in need of sisterly council. It was the oddest feeling. She wrapped the sheet around her and patted the bed. "Sit." At his look she grinned. "Don't worry, I won't bite."
He sat gingerly on the bed. "You're not upset about this?"
She shook her head. "I know it's strange, but I'm really not." She pulled off his ring and tried to hand it to him. "I'm not going to marry you though. Do you mind?"
He snorted out a laugh. "Not really." He closed her fingers around the ring. "Keep it. Take it to your jeweler and make a necklace out of it or something."
She reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "So, tell me all about it."
He rolled his eyes. "Vivian, I'm not going to tell you all about it."
She blushed. "I didn't mean that part of it. I mean, why you two aren't together anymore. What happened?"
Napoleon sighed, and then as if it were something he'd needed to talk about for the longest time, he told her the story. "The affair started while we were at UNCLE. And even though we were discreet, people started to talk. Somehow, despite our care, the feelings we had for each other came through. We weren't in a business that would forgive a transgression like that. It would get used against us, by both our enemies and our allies."
"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself of that."
"I suppose I am. Lord knows I've repeated it to myself a hundred thousand times trying to make myself believe it. You'd think after all this time…" Napoleon blew out a long breath.
"Did you break it off?"
Napoleon shook his head. "He did. I wanted to keep seeing him. I was willing to pay the price, but he wasn't. I don't mean that he cared about himself, he never did, but he cared about me. About my chances for promotion, the possibility that he could be used against me. He walked in my office, handed in his resignation, and I didn't see or hear from him for two years. Then he suddenly reappears in New York as Vanya."
"Did you try to see him?" She laced her fingers through his, saddened for him, by the still raw pain in his voice.
He ran his other hand through his hair. "A dozen times. I never got past the front security guard." He gave her a tight smile. "I finally gave up."
She wished she had Vanya in front of her right now so she could kick him in the shins. How dare he reject Napoleon? Of course, after she kicked him, she'd ask him to design a dress for her. Or maybe she wouldn't. She wasn't sure she wanted to wear one of his dresses now. "I'm sorry."
Napoleon shrugged and gave her a smile. "Thank you. And thank you for taking this so well."
"Well, Mark's been haranguing me for marrying you for your money. Perhaps his constant bleating has finally sunk in."
Napoleon laughed. "You should probably marry him."
Vivian was surprised that her heart skipped a beat. "No, he made it clear that he has other priorities."
"What do you mean?"
Her eyes narrowed. "That April woman."
Napoleon cocked his head to the side as he considered her. "What about April?"
She tossed the words out, as if they were of little concern. "He loves her. Like you love Illya."
Napoleon's eyes widened. "No he doesn't."
Her tone changed from nonchalance to frustration. "He completely abandoned me to go to her when she asked for his help. Why else would he go?"
"Vivian, he went because they're best friends. She'd drop anything to help him out, as would I. It doesn't mean he's in love with her. He never felt that way about her."
Vivian lifted guardedly hopeful eyes to him. "How do you know?"
"Because I know. They're family, nothing more. In fact, April's happily married with two young children and a third on the way."
Vivian's jaw dropped. "Why didn't Mark tell me that?"
Napoleon tapped her on the nose. "I expect it's because you didn't let him."
She scowled. "Well, I'm sure I won't like her."
Napoleon laughed. "You'll love her, and she'll love you. She'll be the best sister you could ever hope for." He laughed again, more softly. "Look at you. Still jealous over an incident that happened over a year ago with Mark, and nary a hair out of place for my enormous peccadillo. I suspect you're still in love with the man."
Vivian sighed.
Napoleon shook his head. "What a pair of fools we are. About to mortgage ourselves into a life long pity party." He chucked her under her chin. "I suggest you allow him to catch you on your rebound."
She gave him a tight smile and then frowned. "What are we going to tell people, Napoleon? Constance will use this to make my life a living hell."
"Constance?"
"You know, Darling, Constance Emily Waldorf. She's the daughter of Daddy's archrival. She thrives on making my life miserable."
Napoleon let out a soft laugh. "Ah, yes, Constance. How could I forget? Feel free to blame it all on me."
"Don't worry, I shall."
Napoleon stood again. "Just try not to humiliate me too much. And do let me know what the story is so I won't give the game away." He let go of her hand. "I think I'll go downstairs to sleep."
"Let me guess, are the jazz records his?"
He nodded. "I know. It's so predictable."
She laughed at him. "Napoleon, if there's one thing you are most definitely not, it's predictable."
He gave her another sad smile and left the bedroom. She lay back on the bed, lost in thought.
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