AllFreeNovel
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Tom stepped forward. ‘Listen, mate—’
Sasha stopped him. ‘No. It’s fine.’ She faced the reporter. ‘Marco de Cervantes is a world-class engineer and a visionary in his field. His incredible race car design is the reason we won the race today. It would be an honour for me to call him my friend.’ She tagged on another smile and watched the reporter’s face droop with disappointment.
Tom nodded at a British female reporter. ‘Next question.’
‘As the winner of the race, you’ll be the guest of honour at the rock concert. What will you be wearing?’
Mild shock went through her at the question, followed swiftly by a deepening sense of hollowness. The X1 Premier Rock Concert had become a fixture on every A-List celebrity’s calendar. No doubt Marco would be there with his latest girlfriend.
‘It doesn’t matter what I’ll be wearing because I’m not going to the concert.’
* * *
Sasha dashed into the foyer of her six-star hotel, grateful when the two burly doormen blocked the chasing paparazzi. She heaved in a sigh of relief when she shut her suite door behind her.
The ever-widening chasm of emptiness she couldn’t shake threatened to overwhelm her. Quickly she stripped off her clothes and showered.
The knock came as she was towelling herself dry. For a second she considered not answering it.
A sense of déjà vu hit her as she opened the door to another perfectly coiffed stylist, carting another rack of clothes.
‘I think you’ve got the wrong suite.’
The diminutive Asian woman in a pink suit simply bowed, smiled and let herself in. Her assistant sailed in behind her, clutching a large and stunningly beautiful bouquet of purple lilies and cream roses.
‘For you.’ She thrust the flowers and a long oblong box into Sasha’s hand.
Stifling a need to scream, Sasha calmly shut the door and opened the box. On a red velvet cushion lay the most exquisite diamond necklace she’d ever seen. With shaking fingers, she plucked the card from the tiny peg.
Pick a dress, then they’ll leave. Romano is waiting downstairs.
Sasha stared at Marco’s bold scrawl in disbelief. When she looked up, the women smiled and started pulling clothes off the hangers.
‘No—wait!’
‘No wait. Twenty minutes.’
‘But...where am I going?’ she asked.
The stylist shrugged, picked up a green-sequinned dress barely larger than a handkerchief, and advanced towards her. Sasha stepped back as the tiny woman waved her hand in front of her.
‘Off.’
With a sense of damning inevitability...and more than a little thrill of excitement...she let herself be pulled forward. ‘Okay, but definitely not the green.’
The stylist nodded, trilled out an order in Mandarin, and advanced again with another dress.
Twenty minutes later Sasha stepped from the cool, air-conditioned car onto another red carpet. This time, without Marco, she was even more self-conscious than before. On a warm, sultry Singapore night, the cream silk dress she’d chosen felt more exposing than it had in the safety of her hotel room. At first glance she’d refused to wear the bohemian mini-dress because...well, because it had no back. But then the stylist had fastened the draping material across her lower back and Sasha had felt...sexy—like a woman for the first time in her life.
Her hair was fastened with gold lamé rope, her nails polished and glittering. The look was completed with four-inch gold stilettos she’d never dreamt she’d be able to walk in, but she found it surprisingly easy.
Romano appeared at her side, his presence a reminder that somewhere beyond the wild flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras Marco was waiting for her.
All the way from her hotel she’d felt the emptiness receding, but had been too scared to acknowledge that Marco had anything to do with it. Now she couldn’t stop a smile from forming on her face as the loud boom of fireworks signalled the start of the rock concert.
The VIP lounge teemed with rock stars and pop princesses. She tried to make small talk as she surreptitiously searched the crowd for Marco. Someone thrust a glass of champagne in her hand.
Half an hour later, when a Columbian platinum-selling songstress with snake hips asked who her designer was, Sasha started to answer, then stopped as an ice-cold thought struck her. Was Marco even here? Had she foolishly misinterpreted his note and dressed up only to be stood up?
The depths of her hurt stunned her into silence.
She barely felt any remorse as the pop star flounced off in a huff. Blindly she turned for the exit, humiliation scouring through her.
‘Sasha? You’re heading for the stage, right?’ Tom grabbed her arm and stopped her.
