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Not yet though.
She was scared of her own sexuality, scared that if she dressed up tonight, then somehow Matteo might think she was leading him on.
To nowhere.
Oh, she was messed up, Abby knew.
She opened the package that she had signed for and her teeth ground together as a formal invitation from her father, inviting her to his fundraiser, fell out. It was written on a thick cream card but there was also attached to it a letter, or rather a note.
Abby.
As discussed.
No signature, no kisses, no Love from Dad. Just the reminder that if she wanted money to support her team, then it came with conditions attached.
She didn’t need the money so badly now but her decision not to go was starting to waver. Seeing Matteo and Allegra together, trying to do the right thing by their grandfather, had served as a very poignant reminder as to how far Abby’s own family had fallen apart, particularly since her mother had died.
Abby peeled back the paper to reveal a walnut box and she undid the tiny clasp and the lid sprung open. Her legs folded beneath her and she sat on the bed staring at her mum’s necklace...
With the silver metal, white diamonds and the green of the emeralds, it was, like her mother had been, beautiful. And, Abby thought, holding it up so it caught the late-afternoon sun, it was possibly the most perfect accessory for her dress.
It was like a sign—not that she should attend her father’s function; that decision she would make later—it just felt as if her mother had stopped by to tell her well done.
‘Oh, Mum.’
She thought of Anette, her mother, and how her marriage had been such an unhappy one.
Her father was a cruel, egotistical man and her mother, with all her family and support in France, just hadn’t found it within herself to leave. Anette had known that Hugo would have made her life hell if she did. So she had settled for a quieter version of hell—a marriage for the sake of the children.
Abby had loved her mother so very much.
She still did.
Had she been alive, Abby knew that what had happened with Hunter would have been handled differently. Oh, Anette had been weak where her father was concerned but not when it came to her girls.
Wear the dress, Abby.
She could almost hear her mother’s voice.
Be who you are, not who others dictate that you be.
Abby could hear her mother’s voice now.
She had been fifteen when her mother had died but now she remembered a long conversation they had had and her mother’s advice.
It hadn’t made sense; even in her darkest days, Abby hadn’t been able to unravel her mother’s words. Abby had tried to be herself and speak her mind and look where that had got her.
At twenty-seven those words made far better sense now.
Abby showered and then pinned up her hair and put on her make-up and with nervous hands pulled on some panties that were a touch too sensible for such an amazing dress but which were all that she had.
And then she slipped on the dress and the feel of cool silk on her skin had her face on fire. It was backless and so there was no bra that would work with it. She could see her nipples.
It wasn’t slutty; it really was incredibly beautiful.
She wore the flat jewelled sandals that she had worn to Allegra’s gala and they worked better with the dress than heels.
It didn’t need heels; what it needed, Abby knew, taking the necklace from the box, was this.
