“Ah.” He opened the ring box again. “Is that what you need in order to accept this? A finish line? How about this—I’m so confident we’ll have Otto on the ropes within the next few weeks, if you’re still wearing this ring a year from now, you can keep it.”
Her lashes flickered, then her glossy red lips pursed before she plucked the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger.
The ring fit perfectly. It was well-balanced and felt…
No. Rocco’s ring only feltrightbecause she was used to wearing the one Axel had given her. Mira had left that one with her trustee and Axel’s assistant had probably already retrieved it.
This one was even more magnificent, but its elegant simplicity kept it from being ostentatious. Damn the man, Rocco had flawless taste.
Look at his tuxedo. It was a midnight blue jacket with black satin lapels. His shirt buttons were black so they formed a dotted line of three beneath his black bow tie, making her think about what was behind them as he helped her from the car outside the theater. His naked chest had stayed in her mind for three long years and judging by the superb fit of his suit, he was as muscular and powerful as ever.
Meanwhile, he had called her gown a porcupine. He seemed to have no compunction against allowing his fingertips to skim her bare shoulders when he took her light coat, though. Then he wove his fingers through hers as he led her up the stairs, making her heart thud and her skin prickle as she sensed people staring at them.
As he guided her toward their section, they bumped into a couple Rocco knew. He set his hand at her lower back as he introduced her. A signal of possessiveness? She didn’t have any experience with such things, but that’s what it felt like. She couldn’t say she disliked it. It was reassuring when she was such a horribly self-conscious person.
She reminded herself he was only playing his part, though, and fought against betraying how much that stung.
After providing her name, she heard him as he said, “We’re celebrating our engagement.”
“Oh.” The other woman’s eyes popped in shock. The pair looked from the ring on Mira’s hand to her polite smile to Rocco’s amused one. “We hadn’t heard,” the woman continued. “How wonderful. You make a beautiful couple.”
“Grazie.” Rocco finished guiding her to their seats.
“You enjoyed that,” Mira accused in a hiss when they were seated.
“I did,” he agreed with a grim smile. “That particular couple is… Let’s call it ‘resistant’ to my presence in places like this.”
“Why? Because of Otto?”
“Because they’re snobs.” Whatever confusion was in her face had him continuing. “Come on, cara. You must have looked me up at least once since London. You know I don’t belong in the front of a center balcony.”
The seats were the best in the house.
“And you must know that everything online is curated to make you shine. You told me yourself you’d lost your parents when you were a baby. Other than that, I don’t know anything about you. Why would someone think you don’t belong in a seat you can afford? Humble roots aren’t a crime.”
“Says someone not burdened by them.”
She had never felt she was, but she didn’t know everything about her roots, did she?
“People shouldn’t be judged for things they can’t help.” Her voice wavered slightly until she made an effort to control it. “I know people think I’m standoffish, but that’s social anxiety, not snobbery.” She threw a cross look at him. “My disdain for you is because of how you behaved in London, not who you are.”
A gruff chuckle escaped him. “Thanks.”
“If you don’t like to be judged, why throw me in their face the way you did?” she challenged.
His mouth twitched. He seemed to debate how much to say, then finally admitted, “I dated their daughter once. Well before we met. Five years ago at least.” His flinty gaze landed on her with the sting of a hornet. “It didn’t last long, not once they knew I came from nothing. It didn’t matter that—” He cut himself off.
“What?” she prompted.
“That a friend had introduced us. Someone they respected. Someone whose respect is important to me. It knocked my ego,” he revealed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have taken so much satisfaction in calling you mine when you’re not.”
What glow of pleasure had risen with his “calling you mine” dimmed at the rest.
Actually, it was the lights. The show was starting.
Mira had trouble concentrating on the performance, though. She kept turning over what he’d said. She suspected the slights from that other couple had punctured deeper than his ego. She had been subjected to that sort of treatment herself—the kind that made her wonder whether she had any worth at all. It stirred empathy within her that she didn’t want to feel toward him.
Between that and the unfettered emotions of the opera, her defenses were shaky by the time intermission arrived.
