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He smiled. “Is that a yes, McKenna?”
Cheyenne smiled, and all that he had ever dreamed of was in that smile.
“That’s what it is, Bellini,” she said, and he leaned over the table and kissed her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He had a private plane.
Why didn’t that surprise her?
Everything about him spoke of success and power.
He explained he and Matteo used it primarily for business, that their accountants had determined it was logical to make the purchase, and then he laughed and said the problem was that he was still unaccustomed to having money and there were times he found himself apologizing for it.
“I know how that feels,” Cheyenne said. “When I was a kid, having a dollar in my pocket was like having a fortune. Then I began modeling and I got lucky, and sometimes I’d look at the numbers in my checkbook and wonder if it all belonged to me.”
They were sitting in a pair of leather chairs, side by side, in the center of the spacious cabin. Luca had introduced her to the pilot, the co-pilot and to Ted, the flight attendant, who’d served them lunch.
“This is sooo decadent,” Cheyenne said happily, over cannoli and tiny cups of espresso. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“I hope so.”
“I’ll never be able to fit into sample sizes.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Sample what?”
“Sizes. The clothes designers create for their collections. You have to stay skinny, if you want to work.”
“I like you just the way you are. I especially like that drop of chocolate on the tip of your nose.”
She started to wipe the chocolate away with her napkin, but he got there first, leaning in to kiss the offending drop away.
“Definitely decadent,” she said softly.
“No sacrifice too great,” he said solemnly, and when she laughed, he kissed her again. Then he pushed aside the table on which their coffee and desert had been served and took her hand. “Is it interesting?”
“Is what interesting?”
“Modeling. I imagine it must be very glamorous… What?”
“It isn’t glamorous at all, certainly not when you’re starting out. I remember how my feet would ache at the end of the day after I’d gone from one casting call to another. At least when you reach the go-see level—”
“What is that?”
“A go-see is when a client specifically asks you to interview. There are open calls, where anyone can show up, and casting calls, where you’ve been invited to stop by, and then there are the go-sees, meaning someone has specifically requested you.”
Luca gave a dramatic shudder.
“And I thought trying to join a fraternity was bad.”
She smiled. “Did you join one?”
“No. I had no time for such things.” He rolled his eyes at how stuffy that sounded. “I had a scholarship, but it was for tuition only. I had to work, but I know enough about the process to think that what you’ve described is a lot like hoping to be asked to join a fraternity.”
“It’s not fun, that’s for sure. You and a million other girls are vying for the same couple of slots. They talk to you, maybe take a couple of photos. If you’re what they’re looking for, they call you back.”
“You are surely always what they are looking for, bellissima.”
“No. I wasn’t. I did toothpaste ads. Detergent ads. I posed for catalogs. It wasn’t until I was modeling for almost a year that I got lucky.”
“Lucky, how?”
“Well, I was with a small agency. The good thing was that they worked with a limited number of models. The bad thing, which I hadn’t thought of at all, was that they didn’t have enough top contacts. So, anyway, I was leaving an open call one morning and I was feeling really discouraged—it was a year all the best models were blonde Nordic types—and a woman came up to me in the street, said she was from a modeling agency and that she’d seen a couple of things I’d done. She gave me her card. She said she thought I had…don’t laugh…a new face.”
He laughed anyway.
“A new face?”
“You know. I didn’t look as if I came from Sweden or Germany.”
“What she meant was that you were absolutely beautiful, cara. And she was right.”
Cheyenne smiled. “Whatever she meant, it was the turning point for me. No more casting calls, no more go-sees. The new agency sent me for a styling… A new hairdo and new makeup,” she explained. “Which, in my case, meant no more using a curling iron, no more tweezing my eyebrows into thin lines, no more trying to de-emphasize the fullness of my bottom lip.”
“What a tragedy it would be to do anything to that delicious bottom lip,” he murmured, running the tip of his finger across it.
“Six months later, I made the cover of Beauty Today. And my career was off and running.”
“Then did it become glamorous?”
“It certainly improved,” she said with a little laugh. “And, sure, I guess it was kind of glamorous. Lots of travel. Lots of gorgeous clothes. Lots of interesting people. But there were negatives. Go to bed early, get up early, watch every mouthful you eat, avoid the sun, say the right things, be cooperative, you know, be easy to get along with… It was glamorous, but it was hard work, too, in some ways more than waitressing, which I’d done, or even cleaning houses.”
“Cleaning houses?”
“For a little while, when I was in middle school.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“Aren’t there laws against child labor in America?”
“Laws don’t apply if nobody knows what you’re doing.”
He looked shocked. Appalled. She thought of how much more shocked he’d be if he knew the other things she’d done as a child, and then she realized she’d told him too much. Stupid. And amazing, when she had never before mentioned her past to another soul.
“Yes, but a child, cleaning houses…”
“It’s a perfectly legitimate job,” she said stiffly. “And it paid for my school supplies and clothes.”
The chip that materialized on her shoulder was the size of a boulder. Luca, who had experienced his father’s disdain when he’d learned his son was supplementing his college scholarship by delivering pizza, was sure he understood it.
“Of course it is,” he said. “I just hate to think of you working so hard.”
He could see some of the tension go out of her.
“Sorry,” she said, “but when my mother found out what I was doing, she told me I was an embarrassment.”
He wanted to ask why her mother hadn’t provided her with school supplies and clothing, but he knew it might be best not to. At the moment, it was enough to wonder if a man could despise a woman he’d never met.
“On the contrary,” he said, trying to sound calm. “It is something to be proud of. That you worked hard to be able to buy things you needed.” He hesitated. “And what did your mother do?”
She d
rank. She gambled. Mostly, she sold herself to the highest bidder, and when that wasn’t enough…
“Cara? What is it?”
“Nothing,” Cheyenne said quickly. “Just—my mother is dead. She died five years ago.”
Luca’s hand tightened on hers.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I mean, we weren’t very close…”
She paused. He could see her trying to regroup. She was in pain, and it hurt his heart to see her that way.
“Dolcezza. What’s wrong? Talk to me. Let me help you.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said briskly. “It’s just, you know, this trip down memory lane reminds me of something I once read, how it takes forever to climb to the top and no time at all to plummet to the bottom.”
Luca knew she was deliberately changing the topic. If she needed to do that, he would let her.
“Surely that doesn’t apply to you,” he said, smiling.
“It might. I haven’t been working much lately.”
He looked as bewildered as she felt. Why did that ease the hurt?
“But why?”
“They say I’ve become difficult to work with.”
“Difficult in what way?”
His voice was suddenly that of a knight preparing to ride off and battle dragons for his lady’s honor.
That he wanted to protect her made her want to throw her arms around him.
That she had once again told him something so personal troubled her.
“Who is the ‘they’ saying this of you?”
“My agent,” she said. “And some of the people I work with. They say that I’m too—too controlling.”
She watched his face. No raised eyebrows. No signs of anything so far.
“That I, uh, that I want to do things my way.”
Was that a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth?
“You know,” she said. “That I always want to be in charge. In control.”
Until now, she hadn’t spoken the words out loud. Kept inside, they’d seemed unfair. Said aloud, did they possibly contain a whisper of truth?
And, yes. That was a definite twitch.
“Look, I just want things to be done properly, that’s all. Is there something wrong with that?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“I’m not laughing.”
