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I
couldn't bear that."
    Nola had to give
him a small smile at that. It was so like Wilde to take a situation - even one
as intimate as this - and make it about himself. She snuck a grin at him. "Oh,
I'll be sure to fix the situation now, knowing just how horrible it's going to
be for you."
    Although he knew
that nothing had really been resolved, he was glad to see that she was at least
attempting to find some humor in the situation - Wilde didn't give a damn that
it was at his expense. He did have a lot of female friends - and a lot of male
friends and lovers - but none of them held a handle, in spunk and intelligence
- to Nola, and he refused to lose her to an unhappy marriage. He'd known too
many women who got unhappily married and just... gave up. Some of them even
completely succumbed to their unhappiness and committed suicide.
    If he had to
speak to Sawyer himself, he wasn't about to let that happen to Nola.
    As it turned
out, he ended up speaking to Sawyer a lot more quickly than he'd expected,
because the man himself presented himself in front of them at that moment, when
he was still holding her hands and she was looking a bit moist but radiant none
the less, glowering down at the two of them.
    Francois,
recognizing the large, well appointed gentleman who was gracing his
establishment, flittered over to ask if there was anything he could get the
stranger, but as soon as he saw that face, he backed quietly, immediately,
away.
    Wilde stood and
held out his hand to the other man, saying, "I don't believe we've ever
formally met, Sawyer. You cut in on my dance with Nola at the Vanderbilts ' Ball the first night you two met, and there wasn't
time for introductions."
    Prompted by his
action, Nola straightened her spine and performed the introductions. "Brandon,"
her use of his first name sounded rusty even to her own ears. The only time she
called him anything was usually in the heat of passion, much to her chagrin. "This
is my good friend, Wilde Everest. Wilde, this is my - my husband," both of them
noticed her hesitation, and Sawyer's face only got that much darker because of
it, "Brandon Sawyer."
    Wilde's hand
stayed stuck out there, though, and Sawyer made absolutely no move to accept
it. Instead, he turned to his wife. "It is not acceptable for you to be here,
most especially not with him."
    Not about to
take such an insult sitting down, Wilde bolted to his feet. "Now you see here,
Sawyer - "
    The other man
didn't so much as spare him a glance. He was too busy laying hands on his wife,
having extended his great paw to her imperiously and not gotten any sort of
response from her beyond a glare that more than matched his own. So he'd
decided to take matters into his own hands, reaching into the booth and bodily
lifting her out of it, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her out of
the disreputable establishment like a sack of potatoes.
    If he hadn't
been so angry at the blatant insult he'd been dealt, Wilde would have laughed
himself sick at the sight of his high and mighty friend - one woman in a
thousand who was almost disgustingly independent and strong minded - draped
over her husband's broad shoulder, but, of course, not taking it in stride in
the least, but rather beating on his back for all she was worth.
    But then she
stopped, mid beating, and tried to look up at him, calling out, "I'm sorry,
Wilde. I'll get in touch with you soon." Then he heard her direct a nasty
comment towards her husband, "The least you could have done was pay the bill,
if you were going to drag me out of there so ignominiously. Wilde isn't made of
money like you are."
    "Like
we are," he heard her husband correct in the expected growl. It surprised
and amazed Wilde, that once he got her packed into his carriage, he did sent
the driver back in to throw a twenty on the table, even thought the entire bill
couldn't have been more than a dollar or so.
    He stayed
behind, making a mental note to call Nola later and check up on her.