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Far from downgrading my panic, Collette’s casual comment had it swelling into a ball—and head-butting my tonsils.
* * *
Ten hours later, as I was escorted through the mansion’s east ballroom and up a staircase to a mezzanine level, worry sat like a boulder wedged in my solar plexus.
I had wanted to make the best possible impression today. But the fitting hadn’t gone well. While I had been trying to keep the price down, the stylist and her three assistants had insisted on discarding all the clothes I had brought with me and selecting a whole new wardrobe.
For tonight, I was dressed in a fire-red satin body-con dress picked by the designer from her prêt a porter collection. My usually unruly hair was pinned up in a waterfall of curls that draped down my back, my make-up had been professionally done, and it had all been achieved by a team of beauty stylists who had arrived at my villa an hour before my dinner date with Dante.
The expensive satin caressed my skin as I walked. The dress was absolutely exquisite, more beautiful, and a lot more expensive, than anything I’d ever worn before in my life. The designer had referred to it as a simple cocktail dress, while taking my measurements to design a series of more formal gowns for the ‘entertainments’ Dante had planned for the week ahead.
To say all this activity had intimidated me would be putting it mildly.
What entertainments? I wondered.
As I walked along the balcony that skirted the ballroom, the heeled sandals I was wearing were muffled by the silk carpeting.
The mansion’s grand décor—the modern art that lined the walls, the ornate plasterwork and elegant lighting—did nothing to calm my jangling nerves.
I didn’t feel like me any more. When I had looked in the mirror after the styling I hadn’t recognised myself.
I would have to tell Dante the truth at dinner. The truth I had hoped to keep hidden. That I really didn’t fit into this world. Into his world. That I could easily make a catastrophic mess of the job he’d given me, say something gauche or inappropriate, address someone the wrong way. That it was highly likely some of the guests might have known my mother, or certainly knew of her notoriety. And that I couldn’t possibly afford this wardrobe.
My escort, a young man called Gaston with a friendly smile, opened a large door and I stepped into a room that was easily the size of the whole of Belle Rivière’s ground floor. Dante was standing on the other end of the huge banqueting hall, silhouetted against a view of the villa’s lavish gardens, currently lit by a series of nightlights. The long table which took up most of the space was set at the far end for two people with antique crystal and fine china.
Were we eating alone tonight?
‘Bon appétit, Mademoiselle Trouvé.’ Gaston bowed and left, closing the door behind him before I had a chance to thank him.
My inadequacy started to strangle me, but it was joined by the pulsing deep in my abdomen when Dante turned. He watched me but made no move towards me, so I was forced to walk to him.
‘Hi.’ My greeting came out on a helium squeak worthy of Minnie Mouse. I cleared my throat, mortified now as well as nervous.
Dante’s lips quirked in that knowing smile which only unnerved me more.
His gaze burned down my dress. The silky satin rubbed my sensitised skin like sandpaper.
‘I see Nina has done the job I paid her for,’ he said. ‘You look exquisite, bella.’
His voice reverberated through me, making the liquid tug in my abdomen sink into my sex.
‘Thank you,’ I said, then bit into my bottom lip.
Tell him now, you ninny.
‘There is a problem,’ he said, and I realised he had noticed my nervousness. ‘You don’t like the dress?’
‘No, I love it,’ I said. ‘It’s just...’
‘Just what?’ he prompted.
‘I can’t afford it,’ I said. ‘Any of it.’
He chuckled. ‘I guess it’s a good thing I’m paying for it then.’
‘But...’ My eyes widened again. I had to look like a rabbit in the headlights by now, but I couldn’t help it. I was totally overwhelmed. ‘Really?’
His lips crinkled in a wry smile. The way they had when he’d teased me before, after I’d made that daft suggestion about showing him five million euros’ worth of gratitude.
