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Gone were the muted colours and modest cut Elsbeth usually wore, her dress a strapless deep red with gold embroidery lacing through the tight bodice and through the flared skirt that became pure lace from mid-thigh to ankle. Her bare slender legs shimmered through it, on her feet high black criss-cross sandals that elongated her shapely body. Her light blonde hair was twisted into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck, her only jewellery her wedding ring and gold hooped earrings, leaving nothing between the curve of her neck and the creamy hint of cleavage. Minimal make-up adorned the face that needed no embellishment...apart from her mouth. Elsbeth’s plump lips, usually painted a soft pink, were painted red to match her dress. Dragging his gaze down her a second time, he noted dimly her finger and toenails were painted the same hue.
The whole effect was electrifying.
A strong buzz thrummed through his veins, visions of pressing her back through the door and backing her to the nearest wall, yanking that dress up to her waist and—
Still fighting for breath, he scoured the image from his mind. Tried to scour it.
Mio dio.
This was his wife?
A warm glow fired in Elsbeth’s belly at Amadeo’s reaction. Not that there was much in the way of a reaction, not in the physical sense. But it was there in the hooded glimmer of his eyes and the subtle flare of his nostrils, and it sent a thrill rushing through her.
She hadn’t had the last-minute change of mind about her dress for Amadeo. She’d changed her mind forher, the dress having hung behind the panelling of her room in the hidden wardrobe since the designer had made it for her all those weeks ago. She’d fingered the delicate lace many times, wistfully thinking she would never find the courage to wear it, the image of her mother’s disapproval too strong.
But she wasn’t Lady Elsbeth Fernandez of the royal House of Fernandez of Monte Cleure any more. She was Princess Elsbeth Berruti of Ceres. A princess of Ceres could wear whatever she pleased. And this dress pleased her. It was the kind of dress she’d always secretly longed to wear.
And Amadeo’s reaction to it only added to the secret pleasure. To witness his reaction only added to the sense of unchaining herself from the strictures of her old life and embracing the path of the new.
‘Dio, I want you,’ he muttered ardently.
She drifted over to him with a smile, drinking inhisappearance. Elsbeth wasn’t the only one who’d discarded their usual rigid attire for the evening. Amadeo’s magnificent, supremely masculine physique was wrapped in tight black chinos with a white shirt and blazer...but the shirts he usually wore were business shirts, not silk, not opened far below his throat. His fitted blazer wasn’t usually velvet. And he didn’t usually wear a leather chain around his neck with a silver ball at the throat. He’d never looked more devilishly sexy.
Putting her hands on his shoulders, she rose to her tiptoes and whispered, ‘When we get home, you can have me.’
Eyes glittering, he bared his teeth. She imagined them sinking into her flesh and shivered as a wave of unadulterated lust thrashed through her. So deep was her desire that she would have let him take her there and then if her bell hadn’t chimed and a maid hurried into the room to tell them Amadeo’s siblings were ready and waiting for them.
Elsbeth couldn’t get over how amazing the party was, and when Amadeo leaned into her to ask over the pulsing music if she was enjoying herself she had no hesitation in saying, ‘It’s the best party I’ve ever been to.’
He raised a brow at this.
She giggled. ‘I was too nervous to appreciate our pre-wedding party and our wedding reception.’
‘What about parties at the palace?’ He said this casually but she caught the spark of loathing that always flashed in his eyes whenever Dominic or anything to do with Monte Cleure was mentioned.
‘They were awful. I was so conscious of being on my best behaviour and not putting a foot wrong that I might as well have been a mute mannequin. Believe me, I never drank three glasses of champagne in one sitting there!’
Yes, three glasses of champagne and she was feeling decidedly lightheaded. But in a good way. She’d eaten enough of the delicious canapés being passed around—not as many as Clara, who was devouring them as if she were afraid there was going to be an imminent world shortage—and nibbles to soak up much of the alcohol and stop her passing the point of tipsy into drunk.
Finally ungluing herself from Amadeo’s side a short while later to use the bathroom, she again admired this ultra-modern abode, even if it did strike her as having more an art gallery feel to it than a homely one. Still, all the other guests were tremendously impressed, which she supposed was the whole point. Why spend tens of millions knocking walls down and installing white marble everywhere, floor-to-ceiling windows with a tint that adjusted depending on the strength of the sun and remote-controlled skylights if there was no one to admire it?
When she’d finished in the ladies, she was about to head back to Amadeo when Clara pounced, Alessia at her heels. ‘Come with me,’ she demanded.
Allowing herself to be dragged out onto the balcony, she quickly realised Alessia was as bemused as she was.
‘I can’t tell you, so you’re going to have to guess,’ Clara said the second she’d closed the sliding door behind them. She had possibly the widest smile on her face that Elsbeth had ever seen.
Alessia looked her up and down. A smile formed. ‘You’re pregnant?’
‘Yes! Well guessed!’
Elsbeth looked at Clara’s belly, unsure if she’d translated correctly.
Clara nodded, beaming.
Alessia, visibly pregnant herself, threw her arms around her. After they’d embraced, Clara opened her arms to Elsbeth.
Touched to be included in such a special moment—she wouldn’t have blamed her for telling Alessia privately before her—she hugged her tightly, delighted that the woman who was fast becoming a friend was expecting a child.
