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Watching the girl flick her hair and gaze at Silvio from under her eyelashes, Jessie felt the last dreg of hope ooze out of her.
She was deluding herself if she ever thought she could compete with that.
‘That’s Angelica De Santos, the Spanish actress. Silvio’s had an on-off relationship with her for years. They were together in Cannes earlier in the year. She’s determined to be the one to pin him down, and perhaps she’ll succeed. He certainly likes her. They’re always being photographed together.’ The woman next to her stood up, taking her glass with her. ‘Good luck with the singing.’
Jessie didn’t even hear her.
She was staring at the elegant, confident, poised woman who was still laughing with Silvio. Watching them, it wasn’t hard to believe they’d had a close relationship. And why not? Both of them were single. Both of them were rich and glamorous. They were perfect together.
Silvio had never had to buy that woman a dress or show her what to wear. He’d never had to find subtle ways of disposing of an embarrassing box.
He’d never had to rescue her from an alleyway.
Jessie gulped down several mouthfuls of champagne, forcing herself to face the truth.
She was one of his projects.
Silvio had helped her because he felt guilty about Johnny, not because there was anything special between them. And how could there be? He was a billionaire.
And who was she? Not a supermodel or an actress. Just a girl from the back streets of London who happened to have a decent voice.
In the past few days she’d seen enough of the way that Silvio lived his life to know that he enjoyed the lifestyle that went with immense wealth and privilege. He’d moved on. And he had no intention of ever going back.
Even now he was too absorbed by his beautiful companion to bother coming over to congratulate her.
She’d accepted his help because she was desperate, but she wasn’t desperate any more, was she?
She had no excuse to stay.
Far too proud to be a burden on anyone, Jessie stood up quickly and searched the crowd for the man with the grey hair.
She had no idea where Las Vegas was, but she knew it was a long way from London. And a long way from Sicily. I
t sounded like a good place to start her new life.
And two million dollars would mean she could repay Silvio everything she owed.
No more debts to be paid. No more blame.
Nothing.
It was over.
From across the room Silvio watched with growing tension as Jessie talked to the most influential figure in the music business. It took all his self-control not to shoulder his way through the crowd and drag her away from the man who was, without doubt, trying to sign her to his record label.
‘Silvio! You’ve cut yourself!’ Angelica broke off flirting with him and took a step backwards. ‘The stem of your glass has broken—how did that happen?’
He’d made it happen, he realised blankly, staring down at the razor-sharp glass and the blood on his fingers. ‘Weak glass.’
‘Or strong fingers,’ Angelica said dryly. ‘Don’t you dare get that on my dress.’ She removed the glass carefully from his hand, placed it on the tray of a passing waitress and helped herself to a napkin. ‘Use the napkin, Silvio—you might be perfectly comfortable with blood, but the rest of us have weaker stomachs. Then tell me what’s made you so angry.’
‘I’m not angry.’ Silvio took the napkin from her and pressed it to his finger, his eyes still focused on Jessie.
She was surrounded by people congratulating her.
And she wasn’t even looking in his direction.
Angelica peered through the crowd. ‘Oh—I see. Brad is interested in your little protégée—you must be pleased.’ She looked up at him and her beautiful eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not pleased.’
