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‘You won’t be here?’ she asked, then wanted to bite back the suggestion because it made her sound needy, and clingy. And she’d never been either.
‘I’m going to be busy with the deal negotiations until tomorrow night... I’ll see you back here at seven when the clerk is due and then to escort you to...’ he paused ‘...whatever event we’re supposed to be seen at.’
‘The opening of the Claxton Gallery?’ she said, because she’d memorised the schedule Selene had given her.
Stupidly she’d been looking forward to spending the next twenty-four hours with him, getting to know him a little better, because there had been nothing on the schedule. She realised the foolishness of that supposition, though. He was a busy man, and his business came first. He was certainly under no obligation to entertain her while she was here.
‘On the Upper East Side? At eight?’ she added, because his face had gone blank, his gaze dipping down to the place where her fingers clutched the sheet over her breasts.
His head lifted. ‘Oui—that.’ His smile seemed tight and a little strained, and she wasn’t sure he had even heard her, but still the wry tilt of his lips helped the breath to release from her lungs. ‘Will you be okay on your own?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Terrific.’
But as he left the room, the wobble became a wave.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘HI. IT’S ALISON, isn’t it?’
Ally swung round from the lavish buffet laid out against the raw redbrick wall of the stark modernist art gallery to find a beautiful and heavily pregnant woman—her plate already laden with delicacies—smiling at her.
‘Yes, it’s Alison, although everyone calls me Ally,’ she said.
‘Everyone except your new husband.’ The woman’s smile became sweetly conspiratorial. ‘It’s very hot the way Dominic calls you Alison in that French accent. Sorry, I should introduce myself. My name’s Megan De Rossi—I’m Dario De Rossi’s wife. De Rossi Corp were one of Dominic’s early investors when he moved LN’s main offices to New York a few years ago.’ She offered her hand. ‘Which means I’ve basically been abandoned too—because my husband and your husband have been talking shop ever since we arrived.’
Ally took Megan’s hand, feeling hideously exposed by the woman’s relaxed, friendly manner. She’d never felt less like Dominic’s wife. Other than their marriage ceremony—which had been dealt with in a few short sentences—they had hardly spoken to each other since yesterday evening.
Not since their mind-blowing session to seal their marriage bargain. When he’d treated her as if she were a particularly sumptuous treat that deserved to be savoured and devoured at the same time—then abandoned her.
The memory of their lovemaking and his abrupt departure had kept her awake in the huge king-size bed most of the night. And she’d been obsessing about it most of the day while she took the car and driver Dominic had insisted she use to do some window-shopping in the fashion boutiques of the East Village.
Dominic had appeared at the same time as the clerk to complete the marraige and escort her to this event as scheduled an hour ago, but since the perfunctory ceremony, he’d barely spoken to her—far too busy typing on his phone.
She’d felt his eyes on her when she’d stood beside him in front of the clerk, but no compliment on her outfit had been forthcoming like the last time. And her enquiries during their ride over about how the deal negotiations were going had elicited one-syllable replies.
During the silent, tense ride in the limo, a thousand and one questions had spun through her mind—had she done something wrong, messed up somehow? But she’d forced herself to bury her insecurities deep.
This deal was important and he was obviously preoccupied. Not everything was about her.
So she’d remained silent during the ride. And when they’d arrived, she’d been far too affected by his nearness, warm and solid and overwhelming when he had taken her arm and held her close—as any besotted newly-wed would—as they’d run the gauntlet of reporters and press photographers outside the event, to breathe let alone speak.
As soon as they were safely inside, he’d introduced her to a couple of the consortium members who were attending the event—but once the conversation had moved on to the intricacies of the deal, which was clearly still being negotiated, she had known she was surplus to requirements and had excused herself by explaining she was keen to look at the art.
She’d been miserable ever since—feeling like the class geek who had been invited to the birthday party of the most popular girl in school by mistake. Everyone else here seemed to know each other, drinking and chatting and laughing and mingling to their hearts’ content. Ally had stood in the corner, and watched them, trying not to go over and over in her head all the things she hadn’t had the guts to ask Dominic in the car.
Being a trophy wife was so much tougher than it looked.
‘I thought I’d come and join you,’ Megan added. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all,’ Ally said, stifling her discomfort. She knew of Megan De Rossi—she was an important influencer on the New York social scene, not just because her husband was a billionaire but because she ran a ground-breaking charity to help women trapped in abusive relationships and she was the daughter of Alexis Whittaker, a famous British It-Girl of yesteryear. What Ally hadn’t expected was the other woman’s thoughtfulness—having spotted Ally looking like a lost cat, she had come over to rescue her.
‘When is your baby due?’ Ally asked, hoping to direct the conversation away from the subject of their ‘husbands’.
Megan smiled as she stroked a hand over the prodigious baby bump. An odd shaft of envy pierced Ally’s chest.
‘Not baby, as it turns out, but babies.’ Megan laughed. ‘Dario and I got the shock news four months ago and we’re still adjusting to it. I’m actually only six months, even though I’m the size of an elephant. The two of them, both boys, are not due until June.’
‘Twin boys!’ Ally grinned, she couldn’t help it, impressed by the other woman’s sangfroid. ‘Wow, that... That must be exciting...and terrifying.’
