by Nina Levine
“Correction. It’s not an engagement party. It’s an engagement gala.”
She’s right.
We’re not celebrating our impending nuptials with family and friends in a cute restaurant somewhere. We’re parading it in front of New York’s social elite at a gala being held in the Grand Ballroom at The Plaza Hotel.
I have a feeling it’s going to be completely over the top.
“You’ll definitely be there?” I ask.
I’ll need a friendly face.
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She takes a sip of her cinnamon cappuccino. “I’m sorry I can’t come with you, but Aladdin is losing his mind about the show coming up. There’s no way I can get away any earlier.”
Imogen works for the newest darling of the fashion world, Aladdin Germaine, and he has a big show at Clarkson Square in under a week’s time.
“Listen, are you sure you’re okay with everything. I mean, this is a really unusual situation and… I guess I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. It’s a business transaction. Granted, it’s a ridiculously unusual one, but it’s only a twelve-month tenure. And it’s in name only. Time will literally fly by.”
“I know, but as your best friend, I need you to know that I am here if you need to talk, or vent, or hide a body.”
“Definitely. You’ll be the first person I ring and ask to bring a shovel.” I look at my watch. “Oh hell, I’d better go. I have to get ready. Alessandro has booked a room for me at the Waldorf Astoria and he’ll be waiting.”
I’m not sure why I can’t get ready at my own apartment, which is only a few minutes in a cab from the hotel. But when I signed on the dotted line, I agreed to his terms. And one of those was to keep specific business meetings. Apparently, this is considered one of those. I suppose he wants to go over what will happen tonight. How I will be expected to behave. Whom he wants me to meet. All the bullshit I’ve unfortunately agreed to.
I kiss my best friend and race out of the bakery.
Alessandro will probably be furious at me for being late.
But it’s not Alessandro waiting for me.
It’s Anastacia.
“You’re late.” She rushes toward me. “The car will be here in an hour.”
I see the dress I had delivered to the hotel room hanging on the back of the dressing room door. Well, it’s not exactly a dress. It’s a black pantsuit that will make my boobs look awesome. “Relax, I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
Anastacia looks at me with rampant disapproval. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re about to become Mrs. Alessandro Lastrantonio. Do you understand what a big deal tonight is going to be? He’s showing the world whom he intends to marry.”
There’s something in her voice. A terseness. An edge. I can’t really put my finger on it.
“If it’s such a big deal, then why isn’t he here?”
“He’s working. He will meet you at the gala.” Her eyes sweep over me. “And you’re wrong. It’s going to take a hell of a lot longer than twenty minutes to get you ready.”
“Excuse me?”
Anastacia doesn’t like me very much.
“Come on, we’ve already wasted enough time.” She ushers me into the dressing room where a short woman with pink hair, and a tall, flamboyant young man are waiting for me by the mirrored dresser. “Isla and Ziggy are going to help you get ready.”
I’m nudged toward my chair and forced to sit. Immediately, the pink-haired lady, whom I now know as Isla, starts wiping my face clean with little cotton pads, while Ziggy frees my hair from its ponytail and shakes it around my shoulders.
“Gorgeous!” he coos, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror and winking. “What are we going to do with these luscious locks tonight, honey?”
I open my mouth to reply, but Anastacia beats me to it.
“Alessandro likes it down. Accentuate the curls.” She turns her attention to Isla. “She’ll be wearing the yellow Vendi dress. Make sure you choose a makeup palette to match.”
I glare at Anastacia in the mirror, but if she notices she doesn’t show it.
“Don’t I get a say in any of this?” I ask.
She looks at me as if I am the bane of her existence. “Alessandro has already chosen the outfit, and he’s insistent about your hair. So no, Bella, you don’t get a say in it.” She turns back to Isla and Ziggy. “The yellow Vendi. And her hair down. Got it?”
She glances at the big gold watch on her wrist. “I have to go.”
“You’re not hanging around to micromanage?” I ask. “How will they know what to do in case of a fashion emergency?”
Her expression is cool. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of floating about as if they have all the time in the world. I’m due at the gala in fifteen minutes, and unlike other people, I like to be on time.”
Two jabs in one reply. She’s on a roll.
She looks at her watch again. “Your car will be here in exactly fifty-nine minutes. Make sure you get in it.”
When she leaves, I apologize to Isla and Ziggy for keeping them waiting.
“I didn’t realize it was going to be such a production to get me ready. I usually just run my fingers through my hair and put on some lip gloss.”
“Oh, don’t you be apologizing, baby doll. I can’t wait to get my hand on that glorious red hair of yours. Mmmm-mmm-mmm! That is some color. Like Virginia in the fall.”
“Thank you. My mom was Irish. Red hair is strong in our family.”
“Honey, it is gorgeous!” He plays with a strand of curls. “Now forget what Madame Micromanager says, how are you wearing your hair tonight?”
I give Ziggy a wicked look. “Well, there is something I’d like to try. But I’d have to get something from my apartment which is just around the corner from here.”
I tell them my idea, and the three of us share conspiratorial looks before Ziggy grins. “Let’s do it.”
10
Alessandro
I’m standing with my younger brother Cristian when she walks in, her walk confident, her smile fixed firmly in place.
She’s late.
But then I had expected she would be.
From the mezzanine on the second floor, I watch her walking through the crowd like she’s parting the Red Sea, and my chest tightens with longing. Every pair of eyes are watching her. But none more achingly than mine.
She has defied every wish I had asked of her tonight.
The dress.
The hair.
The jewelry.
And. She. Looks. Stunning.
In place of the yellow Vendi, she wears a black pantsuit, strapless, with a thick belt tight at the waist, and a pair of heels so high, I’m not sure how she walks in them. She isn’t wearing any jewelry, but she doesn’t need it, and it would only be lost on her because she is so fucking beautiful.
And her hair. It’s a wig. A platinum blonde bob. Even if it isn’t her mass of red-gold curls, it looks good on her.
She pauses, her large eyes scanning the room for me. When a waiter walks past with a tray of drinks, she swipes a glass of champagne and gives him a wink.
God, she’s perfect.
I bring my own glass to my lips. Watching her. Fucking aching for her.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Cristian says.
“No, but that’s never stopped me before.”
“She’s going to be a handful.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “I’m counting on it.”
Cristian sighs. Even though he is younger than me, he has always looked out for my best interests. I’m the protector in our relationship, while he is the thinker, always reminding me to step cautiously, to consider the consequences. I haven’t got the heart to tell him I could anticipate consequences long before I could read, because he seems to take pride in being the smart one.
It’s not true.
But I like to let him think it.
I’m the brawn. He’s the brains.
The idea keeps him happy.
“I can see why you’ve gone to all this trouble.” He looks at me. “She’s stunning, brother.”
The rest of the guests think so too. Men track her with their appreciative gazes, while women watch her with either envy or fascination as she passes them by. Her presence attracts much attention.
And she’s got mine.
I’m just about to walk over to her when Anastacia steps in front of me, her face pinched. “I’m sorry, Alessandro, I was very, very specific about your requests.” She is clearly flustered. No. Not flustered. She is furious. “It’s like she gets pleasure out of being so defiant.”
I can’t help but grin, which seems to upset Anastacia more. “Relax, Anastacia. If Bella had turned up wearing exactly what I requested, I would be disappointed.”
“You mean, this was a test?”
“No, a test would be a ridiculous waste of time. It was simply a suspicion.” I glance at my fiancée walking through the crowd, shining like a diamond among a room full of people all dressed the same. “She would never stand for being told what to do.”
“I wish you had told me.” Her voice is strained.
I drag my eyes from Bella to look at my assistant, my jaw tightening. Sometimes Anastacia steps too close to the line. She forgets that I am her boss and acts as if I am her friend, not her employer. She can be arrogant. Almost possessive. But it only takes a dark look—like the one I am giving her now— to put her back in her place.
She draws in a deep breath. “I apologize.”
Anastacia is a classic example of an overachiever. She takes the falls terribly. So I ease up on her, knowing her mood is about to plummet.
I cup her shoulders. “Relax. Stop taking everything so seriously. You’re at a party. Enjoy yourself.”
I leave her before she can reply but feel her eyes on me as I move through the room to find Bella.
I find her standing with her back to me, studying one of the ice sculptures.
“Nice hair,” I say.
She swings around and her eyes narrow when she sees it’s me.
“Thank you. I was thinking of making it a permanent thing.”
“You are?” I ask lightly.
“Yes. After all, blondes have more fun and all that.”
She is goading me, and I like it.
People spend so much time kissing my ass, it’s a breath of fresh air to be with someone who doesn’t.
“You look simply stunning,” I say.
“You’re not mad that I defied all your very specific instructions?”
“Not at all.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “Interesting.”
“Why?”
“I thought you’d get all possessive and controlling when you saw me.” She gives me a wicked smile. “I did it to prove a point, you know.”
“You don’t say.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “You can’t boss me around, Alessandro.”
“It was never my intention.”
Before she can reply, a stunning blonde woman in an elegant, red-sheath gown joins us.
Amélie.
To put it bluntly, my one-time fuck buddy.
We had a very passionate summer together when I was in college. A year ago, we’d met up again and quickly became friends with benefits. People call her my ex-girlfriend, but the simple truth is we were just two people who had a lot of sex together.
Emotions were never involved.
Her eyes flicker over Bella with gleaming interest.
“You are so beautiful,” she says, reaching out to touch her on the face. The touch is almost sensual.
Amélie likes to touch.
“Thank you,” Bella replies, unfazed. “Your dress is stunning.”
Amélie smiles broadly. “Thank you, that’s so kind of you to say.” Her eyes flash up at me. “Alessandro, darling, you never told me how beautiful your fiancée is. I must admit, I am quite caught off guard by her beauty.” She reaches for Bella’s arm and leans closer to her. “When he told me he was getting married, I was picturing one of those model-types he is so fond of, you know, tiny waists and legs that go on forever.” Her eyes sparkle over Bella’s face. “But you are something quite different.”
I’m not sure if Amélie is being genuine, or if her words are a cloaked jibe.
But Bella remains unaffected. “That’s such a lovely thing for you to say. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now if you’ll both excuse me, my date has been trapped by the CEO of some Swiss bank and looks bored to death. Best I save him before he falls asleep in his Negroni.”
Amélie floats off into the crowd, and Bella watches her with a small smile on her ruby-red lips. When she turns back to me, her scent hits me like sunshine, and it’s like a goddamn drug. The dopamine levels in my brain skyrocket.
“Your ex-girlfriend is very attractive,” she says lightly.
“How do you know she is an ex-girlfriend?”
She shrugs. “The look in her eye. The way she studied me. The tone of her voice.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Good. Because you have no reason to be.”
“I know, because you’re forcing me to marry you and not her. Or is she going to be your piece on the side during our marriage?”
It’s a comment to show me how much she doesn’t care about me. But it doesn’t bother me because I know it’s fake. This whole tough outer shell thing is phony. Because in her heart, she still loves me.
I know, because what we had was so damn special it can survive its toughest rival—doubt. I would know.
I grin and take her hand, leading her to the dance floor.
When I pull her into my arms, to my surprise, she doesn’t try to fight it. In fact, she slides her arms around me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Feeling her curves pressed against me, my cock begins to thicken. Being this close is torture. Pure, beautiful torture.
As we dance, Bella looks around the crowded room.
“I didn’t realize I had so many friends. Do you think anyone bought us a toaster?”
“I don’t think they’re toaster-type people,” I say, loving the feel of her skin against mine as we dance.
“Hmmmm, I think you’re right. They’ve probably bought us silverware. Or diamonds.” She’s looking around the room at all the wealthy guests. “A vineyard, perhaps?”
“Do you care?”
Her gaze finds mine. “Not particularly.”
“Material things don’t matter to you, do they?”
“Not in the slightest.” She smiles. “How perceptive of you.”
“You forget, I know you better than you know yourself.”
She simply scoffs.
“You don’t believe me?” I ask.
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, let’s see about that.”
Her eyes sparkle with a challenge. “Okay, Mr. Perception, tell me about myself.”
My eyes fix to hers.
Challenge accepted.
I hold her tighter. “I know that right now you’re trying your best to look unaffected by me.”
“I am unaffected by you.” She looks away, but I can see her racing pulse in her neck.
She’s as affected as fuck by me.
Just as I am with her.
My cock is fully hard now.
He and I are both having too much fun.
So the tap on my shoulder couldn’t come at a worse time.
It’s Anastacia.
“You have a phone call,” she says, holding up her business phone.
“It can wait,” I say.
“It’s Tate from Green Scope. It can’t wait.”
Green Scope is a company I’m buying. It is a business deal worth million if it goes through.
I look at Bella. “Do you mind?”
She shrugs like she could not care le
ss, and it annoys me.
Because I want her to care.
I leave her by the ice sculpture and take the phone call outside. I talk business for a few minutes, important shit, but I am too distracted to give it the attention it needs because I want to get back to Bella.
When I return to the ballroom, I see her dancing with Senator Fitzgerald—a rapacious squirrel of a man, but a good looking one at that—and my jaw clenches. I don’t like the way he is looking at her. Or the way she is looking up at him. Fuck, is she flirting? Jealousy spikes in my blood, and a volatile darkness crawls into my brain.
Just as I’m about to storm over to them, Amélie steps into my line of vision and hands me a whisky. “I see you might have some competition. Here, this should help.”
I grit my teeth, and my fingers tighten around the whisky tumbler in my hand as my thoughts darken.
I act without thinking.
I stalk cross the vast room and interrupt them, turning my blazing eyes to Fitzgerald.
“I think you’d better get your fucking hands off my fiancée.”
11
Bella
He bundles me into the limousine and slides in across from me. His mood is black, and I wonder if he is furious at me for disobeying his requests after all.
“Senator Fitzgerald.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What about him?”
“You were dancing very close.”
My eyes narrow. “Not really.”
“Are you interested in him?”
“Are you insane?”
“Answer me.”
Something in his tone makes me drop my defensiveness. “No.”
His jaw ticks. “Good.”
I watch him, heat warming the blood in my veins as I take in the look of jealousy clouding his face.
“If dancing equates to interest, then I should be jealous about you and Amélie. Every time I turn around you seem to be with her.”
I make every attempt to not sound jealous. Because I’m not. Really. I simply hate the one rule for him and one rule for me bullshit.
“Amélie is no threat to you.”
“Of course, she isn’t,” I reply coolly. “To say she is would be to imply that I have some kind of romantic interest in you.”
