wish you wouldn't order such a large dinner for me," she protested. "I'm not hungry." Her tongue felt slightly thick.
"You should eat," Del Toro said. "Two Pisco Sours on an empty stomach…" He shook his head. "And I venture to say you are not accustomed to alcoholic drinks."
"We always keep a bottle of wine in the house for special occasions," she said recklessly.
That brought a chuckle from him, but she couldn't see what was so funny. She realized she was having some problem focusing her eyes. Her tongue was growing even thicker and more difficult to manage.
Presently, a retinue of waiters swooped down on their table with numerous trays. A salad was tossed before her. Flaming dishes were ignited. A champagne cork popped. Strolling musicians gathered around their table and serenaded them.
JoNell felt embarrassingly conspicuous. She became aware that people at other tables were looking their way, whispering, nodding and smiling at them. She tried to hide behind her napkin. "People are staring at us!" she whispered angrily.
"Of course," he smiled. "You are the bride of Jorge Del Toro. You are now the toast of Peru."
"I don't want to be th' thoast of—I mean, th' toast of anything!" she said furiously.
"Eat your dinner. You're getting tipsy."
"Am not!" she flared, raising her chin. But she only poked at her food.
The events of the evening grew hazy. Eventually she was aware that dinner had ended. Del Toro had enjoyed his food with gusto and consumed most of the champagne. When he escorted her from the table, he kept a firm hand under her arm. As much as she hated herself for having to do so, she was obliged to lean against him for support. "I warned you about two Pisco Sours on an empty stomach," he grinned.
She shot him a dirty look, but said nothing, afraid to trust her tongue at this point.
"Now be prepared," he said. "When we go out to the car, there will be reporters and photographers. They are not allowed in the dinner club."
In answer to her look of mingled distress and anger, he confessed, "Yes, I notified the press. It is important for all of Peru to know about this wedding. I told you, there can be nothing secret about it. We must convince everyone that the marriage is real."
Then they were outside. Photographic electronic flashes blazed in her eyes. Reporters gathered around them. JoNell was stunned to see a mobile television unit on the scene. Del Toro held up his hand and made a brief statement. "My bride, seňora JoNell Del Toro Carpenter," he introduced, following the Peruvian custom of including her maiden name as a second last name. "Seňora Del Toro came to this country from the United States to give me flying lessons. We fell in love at first sight and were married tonight by my friend, Judge de la Cuestra. We will be at my home in Lima for the present time and, in a few weeks, will take a delayed honeymoon trip to the United States."
JoNell was impressed by Del Toro's suave composure. He towered over the reporters and photographers, a commanding presence exhibiting supreme self-confidence and control of the situation. As for herself, she wanted to sink out of sight through a hole in the ground. She was grateful that a Peruvian wife would be expected to be silent and let her husband do the talking.
There was the drive home, of which JoNell remembered very little, and the stairs to navigate when again she was forced to accept Del Toro's amused assistance. She vowed that never again would she have one of the insidious Pisco Sours on an empty stomach!
At last she was in the safety of her room. She slipped out of her lemon-white wedding suit and into one of the filmy nightgowns that were now part of her costly wardrobe. She switched off the light, and started walking unsteadily toward her bed, when suddenly a shaft of light cut across the floor. She spun around. Outlined in the doorway was the broad-shouldered silhouette of Jorge Del Toro.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
"I just came to see
"You should eat," Del Toro said. "Two Pisco Sours on an empty stomach…" He shook his head. "And I venture to say you are not accustomed to alcoholic drinks."
"We always keep a bottle of wine in the house for special occasions," she said recklessly.
That brought a chuckle from him, but she couldn't see what was so funny. She realized she was having some problem focusing her eyes. Her tongue was growing even thicker and more difficult to manage.
Presently, a retinue of waiters swooped down on their table with numerous trays. A salad was tossed before her. Flaming dishes were ignited. A champagne cork popped. Strolling musicians gathered around their table and serenaded them.
JoNell felt embarrassingly conspicuous. She became aware that people at other tables were looking their way, whispering, nodding and smiling at them. She tried to hide behind her napkin. "People are staring at us!" she whispered angrily.
"Of course," he smiled. "You are the bride of Jorge Del Toro. You are now the toast of Peru."
"I don't want to be th' thoast of—I mean, th' toast of anything!" she said furiously.
"Eat your dinner. You're getting tipsy."
"Am not!" she flared, raising her chin. But she only poked at her food.
The events of the evening grew hazy. Eventually she was aware that dinner had ended. Del Toro had enjoyed his food with gusto and consumed most of the champagne. When he escorted her from the table, he kept a firm hand under her arm. As much as she hated herself for having to do so, she was obliged to lean against him for support. "I warned you about two Pisco Sours on an empty stomach," he grinned.
She shot him a dirty look, but said nothing, afraid to trust her tongue at this point.
"Now be prepared," he said. "When we go out to the car, there will be reporters and photographers. They are not allowed in the dinner club."
In answer to her look of mingled distress and anger, he confessed, "Yes, I notified the press. It is important for all of Peru to know about this wedding. I told you, there can be nothing secret about it. We must convince everyone that the marriage is real."
Then they were outside. Photographic electronic flashes blazed in her eyes. Reporters gathered around them. JoNell was stunned to see a mobile television unit on the scene. Del Toro held up his hand and made a brief statement. "My bride, seňora JoNell Del Toro Carpenter," he introduced, following the Peruvian custom of including her maiden name as a second last name. "Seňora Del Toro came to this country from the United States to give me flying lessons. We fell in love at first sight and were married tonight by my friend, Judge de la Cuestra. We will be at my home in Lima for the present time and, in a few weeks, will take a delayed honeymoon trip to the United States."
JoNell was impressed by Del Toro's suave composure. He towered over the reporters and photographers, a commanding presence exhibiting supreme self-confidence and control of the situation. As for herself, she wanted to sink out of sight through a hole in the ground. She was grateful that a Peruvian wife would be expected to be silent and let her husband do the talking.
There was the drive home, of which JoNell remembered very little, and the stairs to navigate when again she was forced to accept Del Toro's amused assistance. She vowed that never again would she have one of the insidious Pisco Sours on an empty stomach!
At last she was in the safety of her room. She slipped out of her lemon-white wedding suit and into one of the filmy nightgowns that were now part of her costly wardrobe. She switched off the light, and started walking unsteadily toward her bed, when suddenly a shaft of light cut across the floor. She spun around. Outlined in the doorway was the broad-shouldered silhouette of Jorge Del Toro.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
"I just came to see
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