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“Makeup and stuff?” I’m touched by the gesture. Imposing and blunt as Daniel may be, I get the impression he really does want me to feel comfortable here.
“It’s been a long time since anyone was here but me, so I’m a little out of touch with what women need in their bathrooms.” The cryptic statement has me curious but before I can even think about opening my mouth to pry, Daniel moves on. “Towels are in the drawers. And there’s plenty of space for you to hang clothes in here.”
An antique armoire is the feature of the room, the rich reddish wood standing out against the white walls and sun-bleached floors. When I pull the doors open, I’m shocked to find a few things already hanging inside. There’s a sparkling black dress, one in blue and another in deep purple.
“Tell me this isn’t left over from the last woman.” I glance at him over my shoulder and the bastard grins at me. He’s pushing my buttons.
“Get all the jokes out now, you’ve got a long night ahead of you,” he replies, leaning against the doorframe. How easy could it be to imagine this is really my life—a perfect home, perfect dresses and a perfect man to take them off at the end of the night.
This isn’t real. None of this is real.
“How do you even know what my size is?” I raise an eyebrow. “And if you feed me some bullshit about you can tell by looking at a woman’s body, I’m going to brain you with my shoe.”
“I had my assistant call the catering company to get your uniform size under the guise of wanting to surprise you.”
“Oh.” That’s smart. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
“At the risk of sounding like a snob, I thought you may not have anything in your wardrobe fit for the opera.” He shifts on the spot, like he’s acutely aware of how this simple thing highlights how different we are. “In France.”
“France?” I squeak. “Excuse me? I must be having hearing problems. It sounded like you said we’re going to France.”
“That’s right.”
“As in, France in Europe?”
Daniel watches me from his vantage point, hands jammed into his pockets in a way that encourages me to lower my gaze. “Do you know of another France?”
“Don’t be smart.”
“I was going to talk to you about it today. I’m supposed to leave on Wednesday for a meeting, and I figured that we should be seen together anyway, so you can come with me and we’ll kill two birds with one stone.”
I gape at him. “When you said we’d take a holiday, I assumed it would be in a fancy hotel here. Maybe Sydney.”
“Why would I stay in a hotel here when my apartment is better than any hotel?” His genuine confusion makes me want to smack him. Or kiss him.
Or push him down to the floor and straddle him and—
“You’re looking a little red,” Daniel comments, taking a step toward me.
“I’m fine,” I snap, holding up a hand to stop him coming any closer. “You never said there would be international travel involved. What if I didn’t have a passport?”
“You don’t have one?”
I can’t help but bristle at the way he says it likeeverybodywould have a passport. Clearly someone as worldly as Daniel Moretti wouldn’t consider that international travel might not be in everyone’s budget. But Idohappen to have a passport from my gap year, where I backpacked around Europe with a friend, living on a few dollars a day.
Something tells me this trip to Europe will be different.
“Well, yes, I do have one,” I admit. “But I didn’t pack it.”
“So we’ll swing by your house and get it.” I can tell he’s getting frustrated with the objections I’m throwing up. Clearly Daniel likes to be in charge and he’s planning to make all the decisions through the course of our arrangement.
Part of me wants to press on him, to show him that I can hold my own. “And what about tonight, then? I need to be prepared.”
All I know about the Morettis is what I gleaned from a few online searches. Loaded...likeseriouslyloaded. Divorced parents, father accused of multiple affairs, which certainly explains why Daniel is going to such lengths to prove himself right now. I couldn’t find a single picture of Daniel and his father together from the last decade and a half.
He gives me a noncommittal shrug. “They’re not going to quiz you.”
“Do you want them to believe us or not? Or am I supposed to be a trophy fiancée who doesn’t know anything about anything?”
