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The server delivered the meals, but the food held no interest to me. Roast pheasant could go fuck itself compared to the woman I wanted to ravage. I ate mine with an appreciative smile on my face, but it was barely more than paper thin. My attention was all on Elaine recounting her day along with Francesca, gushing with excitement about all of the wonderful things she had tried on.
Devon Quentin was glazing over as his wife talked about clothes, attention fully on his dinner, but I was transfixed by the women, completely captivated by their exclamations.
“Elaine looks AMAZING in her dresses!” Francesca told me. “Every single one of them.”
“Marissa was so, so good,” Elaine said, putting the achievement on the stylist and not on the way she could look amazing in goddamn pig shit if she rolled in it.
Devon interjected at that point, putting down his fork on his plate.
“So the question is, when and where are you going to be showing these new dresses off?” he asked, then turned to Francesca. “Chessie, don’t we have the Songbirds in the Wind premiere on Saturday night?”
Francesca clapped. “Yes! We do! It’s going to be incredible! The musical is going to be fantastic! We’d love to have you along with us.”
Elaine looked at me, that innocence glowing in her, waiting for my reaction.
“It’s the West End,” Francesca added. “A perfect opportunity to show off one of your gowns.”
Holy fuck, how I’d love to have her on my arm at a West End London premiere. It would be the perfect opportunity for a showstopper. Elaine Constantine at my side, proud and shoulder to shoulder as we showed ourselves off to the world.
“Yes,” I answered, firmly. “We’d love to be along at the premiere. It sounds excellent, thank you.”
“Excellent indeed!” Devon said, and raised his whisky glass. “We’ll get you on the red carpet list.”
I could imagine the surprise on the paparazzi’s faces as we stepped on out from the limousine with the Quentins. It would be absolutely fucking glorious.
“Thank you,” Elaine said to them, her voice so sweet with gratitude. “Thanks so much, really.”
“You’re very welcome,” Francesca replied, and she meant it. They’d be really damn pleased to have us at their side at the public outing, of that I was sure.
Elaine’s fingers were so delicate as they sought out mine under the table. I squeezed hers right back, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. God, I fucking loved her.
The rest of the conversation over dinner was flowing and easy, the companionship of this couple something I hadn’t experienced all that much in my life. It felt surprisingly like a friendship, not a business partnership finding its ruthless feet. It was something I wasn’t all that well acquainted with, but I was liking it. Enjoying it.
Maybe I was actually capable of forming genuine friendships. Besides Hunter Sparro back home, I didn’t have all that many people I held true affection for. My life was certainly taking some very strange turns of late, maybe this would be another to add to the collection.
The four of us ate dessert together, another fine presentation from the chef. Mixed berry tart, with raspberries and plums.
I was truly done with eating when I dabbed my mouth with my napkin and reclined back in my chair, my interest in the conversation on British politics drawing to a close.
All I wanted was to get that girl of mine upstairs to our bedroom.
When Devon threw down his own napkin and shot a hungry look at Francesca, it was obvious he was wanting to get her on up to theirs too.
“I’ve had a lovely dinner with you both,” he said to us, clearly drawing a close to the evening.
I gave him a nod and a smirk. “Very much reciprocated.”
“Fantastic,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll be having many more.”
Francesca hugged and air kissed Elaine with real affection before we all headed back through to the hall together. They disappeared off on their way with a wave and a goodnight and Elaine and I were left at the staircase up to our wing, waving them off right back.
And then it was us.
Alone.
One look from me had her taking in a breath, and she was as desperate as I was when I grabbed her tight and kissed her hard, tasting mixed berries and lipstick. We headed upstairs and along the landing, a tangle of limbs and kisses, flesh seeking flesh.
We stumbled through our bedroom door but I didn’t throw her down onto the bed. Instead I backed off her, leaving her gasping, lips puffy and lipstick smeared.
“Twirl for me,” I told her, and it was a command.
She looked surprisingly nervous as she did as she was instructed, doing a ballerina twist nice and slowly.
The silver satin of her dress was a shimmer, enough to make me heady. Her hair was alive with sparkles under the light.
