by Caro LaFever
“Huh?” She clung to the task of keeping the answering smile edging along her mouth from appearing.
“You said, I’m right.” His smile widened. “I want to hear that again.”
The answering smile wanted very much to turn into a laugh. Before she let it out and gave him a win, she swung her head around to stare through the window at Irving Hall. “Why aren’t we going in?”
“My mother is going to call me when everyone else has arrived.” She felt him move on the seat as he stretched his long legs out. “She wants us to make an entrance.”
An entrance. Of course.
The laugh and the smile and the guilt disappeared with one arrogant stroke. She had the distinct impression she was not going to like his mother and she was not going to like his sisters.
Not if they were as arrogant as he was. And why wouldn’t they be?
Throwing him an annoyed glance over her shoulder, she caught another of those looks. His swift glance back, quickly cut off by a sweep of golden-tipped eyelashes. A flash of blue, a hint of trouble—every look during the last hour had made her insides tremble.
Sophie Feuer? Tremble?
She huffed under her breath.
“What?” he echoed again.
“Stop looking at me.”
He paused and then a rumble of laughter filled the air between them. “Sophia. I’m going to be looking at you throughout this evening—”
“Not that way.” She regretted the words as soon as they spit from her mouth. Because they revealed something about what was rolling around inside her.
“That way?”
She forced herself to glance across the seat and meet his guileless, blue eyes. Oh, the man knew. He knew way too much. “I put on the dress, okay? You should be satisfied.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
His murmur made her flush and although it was night and the limo was dark, the street lights might give her away. She turned back to stare at the brass doors, her insides fluttering in a wild, crazy dance that made her mind spin.
What was wrong with her?
The low trill of his phone jingled from his pocket. “Maman?”
Sophie’s hands tightened.
The click of the phone call ending was the only sound in the silence of the limo.
She felt like she teetered on the head of a pin, wobbling one way and then another. Trying to keep her balance, trying to stay true to her beliefs about him and this situation, trying to be the one who was right.
“Time to go.” He leaned forward and knocked on the glass pane separating them from the driver. The man glanced back, nodded, and opened the door.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” she muttered. “I can open the—”
“Don’t.” His command stopped her hand from clicking on the handle. His glare met her own. “Not this time, Sophia. This time we arrive together.”
She wanted to yell at him, but she knew getting into a temper right before marching into this party was not a smart tactical move. She was going to have to pretend she not only liked this man, she loved him.
A sigh went through her.
She should have taken those theater classes in college instead of accounting.
“Good girl.”
All the guilt and unwilling compassion inside zipped out of her as fast as a soufflé collapsed. How she wanted to smash her fist into his face just once. Maybe twice. Swinging her head around, she met another one of those looks. Those strange looks.
His look choked back the angry words in her throat.
The door opened and a cold November wind whipped into the interior, cooling the heat and anger inside her. The driver eased the door open, and she took the opportunity to escape from Mr. Perfect’s insufferable gaze and irritating arrogance.
She couldn’t escape, though. Not him, nor the situation. He strode around the limo and stood at her side right in front of Irving Hall. Even with her favorite Jimmy Choo high heels on, her head barely reached his shoulders.
“Shall we?” Alexander the Great waved her forward.
At the entry, the doorman, decked out in a long formal coat, smiled. He pulled the handle open, swinging the elaborately scrolled doors wide to a marbled foyer.
“Mr. Stravoudas.” A tuxedoed host paced down the marble stairs. “If you would come this way, I’ll take your coats.” He ushered them up an elegant staircase to the coat check.
The sounds of a large crowd—laughing, chatting, glasses clinking—filled the small enclave where they stood. She suddenly remembered what she wore underneath her navy-blue coat.
The dress.
She hadn’t glanced at herself in the mirror after she’d put it on. Making sure her makeup and hair were already done, she’d slipped on the gown at the last moment. Her big boobs, boobs she’d ignored ever since her teenage humiliation, were stuffed into the tight bodice. Ignoring the grip of the gown’s waistline, she had slipped on her shoes and sailed through the door before any second thoughts arose to object.
“Miss?” The host held out his hands. “May I take your coat?”
What was her mother going to think? She’d catch one look of her daughter and know something important had happened. Sophie hadn’t worn tight clothing since she’d been seventeen. Her mother knew it and knew the reason.
What were Melanie and Jade and Sam going to say? They knew their friend didn’t primp. They’d known she didn’t like to call attention to her body. They didn’t know why, but they knew how she felt about clothes.
Clothes should be loose. Practical. Concealing.
Not silky. Tight. Provocative.
“Sophia.” Alex’s broad hands slipped across her shoulders from behind, heavy and warm. “Come on, krotída mou.”
The foreign words stopped her frantic thoughts. “What did you call me?”
“Let me take your coat.” He ignored her question. Stepping in front of her, he started on her buttons.
“I can do it myself.” She batted his hands away, noticing how tiny and ineffectual hers were in comparison to his.
The coat came off.
She felt nude standing before him.
She glanced up to meet his turquoise gaze. He had the exact same expression on his face he’d had when she first marched out of her bedroom. An expression she could define only by what it was not.
Not condemning. Not critical.
Not approving. Not patronizing.
Not. Not. Not. Not.
She wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake his true reaction from him. What did he genuinely think of this dress on her? What did he really think of her breasts pushing out of the top of the bodice?
Why did she desperately care what he thought?
The realization that she did care, a lot, sank into her with a devastating punch. She, Sophia Feuer, TV personality, baker to dozens of fine restaurants, a woman with her own business, cared what this man thought.
“Shall we?” He gestured to the entrance to the ball, oblivious to the fact that exactly like all the other women in the world, Sophia Feuer had fallen under Alexander the Great’s spell.
Chapter 8
Sophie stepped into magic.
She’d seen a lot of fancy restaurants. Tons of expensive weddings. Her career as a pastry chef had exposed her to the best of the best in entertaining. She’d seen this hall in its glory too. Or so she’d thought.
This time, Irving Hall took her breath and tied it into a knot.
The oval room, with its seven-story ceiling, was filled with dainty circular tables draped in cream. Tall, white candles blazed over the crystal wine glasses and gold-edged china. Each table sported a centerpiece, an elongated glass sphere loaded with sparkling golden orbs.
“That’s the theme, I’ve been told.”
“What?” She pulled her focus away from the magic and light and prettiness to stare at her fake fiancé.
“This is our golden ball, according to my mother and sisters.” His mouth held an ironic twist. “Ever
ything has to have some gold. They wanted to make it special for us.”
She saw it now, the attention to every detail. The edging on the tablecloths was gold. The twisted bows on the napkins, gold. Even the waiters, circling the crowd with trays of champagne and wine, wore gold ties. “Nice.”
“Admit it.” He chuckled. “If I hadn’t pointed it out, you wouldn’t have noticed.”
True. She noticed things like spices and grades of butter, not party themes. She wasn’t going to admit this knowledge to Alexander the Great, though. If she did, then she’d also have to acknowledge the enormous amount of work his mother and sisters had done. Acknowledging that would give him more power over her conscience.
“Okay.” He smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling as usual. “Don’t admit it.”
He knew already. Although she hadn’t conceded anything.
She stopped the impulse to kick his long leg.
They stood in the entryway, a shadow covering them, the shimmering lights of the party not quite touching their presence. Rather than focusing on him and his uncanny instincts, Sophie made herself appreciate the moment, the moment she could take it all in before the crowd descended on them.
There were easily three hundred people circling the tables, laughing and chatting. Had he invited everyone he knew? Come to think of it, Alexander Stravoudas probably did know this amount of people and another thousand on top of that.
The men were dressed in smart suits and tuxedos, the women sported silks and diamonds. Even her family looked their best. She spotted her Aunt Eileen, in her favorite red Ann Taylor dress, and Uncle Frank, in the navy suit he only wore to church. They were standing by a table, looking at the place cards, along with Tamika and her boyfriend.
Place cards. Decorations. A whole new menu. The realization hit once more. This ball had been a lot of work. Work she hadn’t spent any time helping with. Or even thinking about.
A swift kick of additional guilt punched her. “Your mother and sisters—”
“Were very happy the reservation didn’t go to waste.” He stuck one big hand into a pocket. “Irving Hall is booked months in advance and it’s my mother’s favorite place. She was glad she could make this happen for us.”
Another kick.
This one came with the recognition that this man standing next to her had read her mind.
She didn’t like that. Not one little bit. “Did you tell them about what I’d—”
“No.” He gave her a narrow glance. “They don’t know who ruined their initial plans.”
The pride she’d felt at the Perfect Couple’s breakup twirled into a tight coil. This man’s family had spent a lot of time and effort for a wedding she’d quashed. Instead of being angry at the broken engagement, they’d pulled together to make something beautiful for their son and brother. In a few seconds, she had to face these women and pretend she’d had nothing to do with any of the mess. She glanced at her feet, at the high heels that always pinched her feet but she wore because they made her feel tall and important.
She desperately wanted to click her heels together and disappear.
“Don’t look down, Sophia. Look up.”
His voice held a mocking tone, making her spine straighten. No matter what happened tonight, she was going to keep her confidence intact.
“Look up,” he said again. “You’ll like it.”
How would he know what she liked? Yet her curiosity got the best of her.
She looked up.
Her gaze went to the gilded ceiling. Gold-leafed honeycombs swirled into the huge stained-glass circle at the center. Corinthian columns at the end of the hall’s oval soared, towering over the milling, laughing crowd.
He was right. She did like it. A lot.
The place made her feel like a princess, like magic was real and could change her whole life. Like this moment was filled with a promise she’d never hoped for, much less dreamed of. Like maybe this man standing beside her was really a fairytale prince instead of an irritating, arrogant jerk.
“Mon fils.” The words, said in a rich, refined way, drew Sophie’s attention back to the hard, marble floor she stood on. Magic whispered away and reality slammed back into place.
She teeter-tottered on her too-tall shoes.
Pretending she was a princess wasn’t going to help her with the task at hand. Or help her keep her confidence in front of…
His mother.
This had to be his mother.
She was a tall woman. Like her son, she was also lean and polished. Frosted blond hair, lighter than his, was twisted into a classic chignon. She smiled, but the warm greeting wasn’t reflected in her blue gaze. “You’ve both arrived.”
“Right at the moment you commanded.” Her fake fiancé stepped forward and gave his mother a kiss on each cheek.
His mother’s focus didn’t waver from Sophie. “Introduce us, Alex.”
He turned, his face bland, his eyes hard. The message was immediately clear; he expected her to handle this without his help. All the confidence he’d given her in the limo threatened to wither. “Sophia, this is my maman, Abelle Wattier Stravoudas.”
“Hello.” A sudden impulse to curtsey, as if she were in front of royalty, raced through her. She stifled the notion.
“And this, Maman, is Sophia.” The way he said it made it seem as if he were announcing an unwanted addition to the newest building he was designing.
Why had Alexander the Great reverted to his usual, supercilious self? Why now, when he’d led her to think he believed in her only a short time ago? Her confidence wobbled once more. Rather like she did on her spiky Jimmy Choos.
His mother gave him an intense look, and then something remarkable happened. She grinned. “Oh, ho,” she murmured, under her breath, so soft Sophie barely heard the sound.
Turning to Sophie, she caught both her hands and leaned in to kiss both cheeks. The scent of lily of the valley engulfed her. The lemony-grass smell brought back memories of her grandmother’s hugs and for some reason, she felt the tight nip of tears behind her eyes.
“Bien jouer.” The elegant woman moved back to stare at her. “You have finally done what I never thought to see.”
“Huh?” Crud. Could she be any crasser in front of this woman? Instead of crying about old memories, she should be crying about her idiocy.
“You have caught him, ma petite.” Abelle Stravoudas beamed. “In the palm of your hand.”
“Maman.” His powerful hand grabbed Sophie’s elbow and yanked her to his side. “Isn’t it time to greet our guests?”
“Yes, yes.” The older woman laughed. “By all means, let’s ignore the obvious and greet your guests instead.”
The inside of her head spun like an out-of-control top. She had no idea what had happened other than it had clearly not made her fake fiancé happy. The tense grip of his hand made her glance up to meet his gaze.
Yep. Not happy.
“Alex!”
“Alex!”
“Alex!”
Three slim, svelte sylphs slid into the circle of family. Because surely these three women were family. Very leggy and blonde and beautiful.
Three sets of identical blue eyes stared at Sophie. None of them smiled.
“Sophia, these are my sisters.” His hand slipped off her elbow to land on her hip. A simple tug and she found herself in the place she had wrenched herself from two weeks ago when she’d understood the danger.
Now, this time, she stayed. With what she saw in front of her, it seemed safer to stay in his grip.
“Aimee is the oldest.” His other muscular hand waved at the tallest diamond in the constellation of Stravoudas stars. “Then Valerie and Orlene.”
None of them moved forward to greet her or kiss her or even kick her. She didn’t want to be kicked, yet at least it would cut through the tension and stop the glares.
Because these were definitely glares.
“Let me through.” A short, dark-haired woman pushed her way through
the long-legged beauties and planted herself in front of Sophie. Her dark eyes flashed with frustration. “Why am I always the last?”
“Because.” Alex sighed. “You’re the youngest.”
This? This was one of his sisters? She was as short as Sophie herself, even though she was surely in her twenties. Her black hair and black brows matched her eyes. And unlike her sisters’ regal snouts, no one could claim her nose wasn’t distinctly…big.
“This is Cecile.” Her brother reached across and patted her head. “But we all call her Ceci.”
“Don’t do that.” His little sister swatted the big, brute hand away from her head.
Exactly. She totally understood his sister’s point and grinned in spite of herself. “Yeah, Alexander.” The elongated vowels of his name reeked of sarcasm. “Don’t do that.”
The three diamond beauties straightened and three sets of blond eyebrows shot skyward.
“Hmm…” one hummed.
“Well,” another stated.
“Now I see,” the last one breathed.
“Oui, I knew you would as soon as you met Sophie.” His mother beckoned them all into the ballroom. “However, this is not the time to discuss the obvious, even though it is astonishing.”
“Maman.” The grin he’d been giving to his little sister got wiped out by a frown. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“It’s time for you and Sophia to greet your guests, Alexander.” Abelle Stravoudas smiled once more and then proceeded to lead the rest of his relatives, and them, into the open ballroom.
With that, the floodgates opened. She found herself surrounded by a mix of family and friends and co-workers. Megan rushed over to meet Alex and Sophie feared her assistant might faint with awe before she got dragged away by her boyfriend. Christine, his reserved PA, gave her a real smile and a real hug for the first time. Jade bounded forward with Antony and slathered on a thousand compliments about both of them before Soph finally told her to hush.
Plus, everyone loved her dress.
Everyone.
“Girlfriend.” Sam’s eyes opened wide. “Where did you get that gown?”
