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CHAPTER EIGHT
‘YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL, LEO.’
She tried to feel confident under Gabriel’s approving gaze but a million butterflies were fluttering around her belly. No, buzzing. Fluttering was too gentle. She felt as nervous as she had the night of her engagement announcement.
She checked her reflection again. A styling team had come to get her ready and her hair was in a simple chignon. Her dress was a dark royal blue. Floor-length and fitted, it had three-quarter-length sleeves. It was modest at the front, with a high neckline, but it was backless at the back. A more risqué design than she would usually wear but the stylist had insisted.
Gabriel had surprised her with sapphire drop earrings and a matching bracelet and necklace. The jewels glittered against her skin. She knew she looked the part—she just didn’t feel it.
She forced her gaze back to her husband’s. ‘Thank you. So you do.’
And he did. She’d seen him in a tuxedo before, but he still took her breath away. He wore a white bowtie this evening, and the white of the shirt and the tie made him look very dark.
‘Shall we? My driver is ready downstairs.’
Leonora took a breath and slipped her arm through his, hating how much she liked it that he reached for her hand and held it in the lift on the way down. A little extra touch.
They were staying in a hotel not far from where the function was taking place. An exclusive hotel overlooking the Arc de Triomphe. Gabriel had an apartment in Paris, of course, but it was undergoing refurbishment. He’d taken Leonora there earlier to meet with the designer and get her input on the design. Another unexpectedly thoughtful gesture.
They were in the back of his sleek chauffeur-driven luxury car now, her hand still in his. She wanted to be able to pull away, tell him she was fine, but she wasn’t. She saw the flashing of the paparazzi cameras in the distance. The sleek line of cars. The beautiful people getting out.
Bizarrely, at that moment she thought of the picture she’d seen on the magazine cover, of Lazaro Sanchez’s new wife... Skye?...and of how terrified she’d looked. Leonora felt a spike of empathy for her.
It was time to get out.
Someone had obviously caught a glimpse of Gabriel inside the car a
nd the camera flashes went crazy.
He looked at her. ‘Ready?’
She nodded.
‘Wait here. I’ll get out first and come around and get you.’
He got out and the shouts were deafening.
‘Gabriel! Over here!’
‘Where’s Leonora?’
‘We want to see your wife!’
He came to her door and she sucked in a big breath and stuck on a smile—just as he opened the door and the world became one huge bright flash of light.
* * *
After about an hour of milling around the thronged ballroom, after the charity auction had taken place, Leonora’s smile felt like a rictus grin on her face. Gabriel was deep in conversation with some very serious-looking individuals, and she’d spied some open doors leading out to a terrace that looked blessedly airy and empty.
She caught his attention and motioned that she was taking a little break, and then made her way through the crowd of well-known faces from film and politics. When she reached the doors she stepped outside, relief flooding her to find the space was indeed empty. Nothing but fresh air and the lights of Paris glittering as far as the eye could see.
She ventured further and then stopped suddenly—because there was someone else out here. A woman in a strapless black dress. Petite. Very pretty. With bright red hair. Looking at her with big blue eyes. Shocked eyes.
The woman said, ‘You.’
Recognition was swift. It was Skye O’Hara. Lazaro’s pregnant wife.
Leonora looked down and saw the small bump. Inexplicably, she felt a spurt of something that felt like jealousy.
