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He turns to me and holds his hands wide and asks, “What do you think, Baby Belle?”
“I think you have very good taste.”
An hour later, I’ve selected eight outfits, including the black crystal dress, some incredible shoes and accessories, and managed to spend almost twenty thousand dollars.
When everyone leaves, including Anastacia who seems convinced I’m going to somehow make us miss our flight to London in the morning, I stand in front of the massive mirror and admire the new clothes I’m wearing.
I’m wearing a short skirt with a black jacket and heels when the elevator door opens, and Nico appears.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach.
Because seeing him in a suit never gets old.
His heated gaze sweeps over me, lingering on my legs and high heels.
And within seconds, my new outfit is discarded on the floor.
33
Nico
We fly into London the next day.
The charity auction we’re expected to attend is being held in the Lancaster Ballroom of the Savoy London.
I’m expected to attend because it is one of those networking events imperative to the De Kysa stronghold in Europe.
I can’t afford to be out of sight, out of mind. People need to see the face they’re allied with.
But my real reason for coming to London is to tie up loose ends and bring all of Bella back to the States with me.
After arriving by Learjet in the morning, we take a black cab through the rain-soaked streets to Bella’s old apartment in Kensington.
I know the address because six months ago, I spent a great deal of time standing in the shadows in front of it, watching and waiting, planning how to lure her back into my world to serve a purpose that almost feels vile now.
A fact I’ve yet to divulge to my new wife.
Oh, she knows I watched her. Stalked her. Just not to the depth that she would find palatable.
I figure I will come clean about it one day.
Just not on my honeymoon.
Because she’ll go straight for my balls when she finds out my stalking had no bounds. That watching her come and go from this very address became just as addictive as it was necessary.
“Do you miss it?” I ask as we pull up to the curb.
She steps out of the cab and looks up at the apartment block, then turns to look back at me. “No.” Her face is tight. Her eyes sad. This place doesn’t hold the fond memories she thought it did.
The look on her face guts me. I want to take every ounce of pain from her and make her happy.
Thankfully, it only takes an hour to pack up her belongings and organize shipping back to the US. But afterward, in our room at the Ritz, she is quiet and withdrawn. So I fuck her hard and fast in the shower because I want to fuck whatever has caused her to be sad and withdrawn out of her mind.
She responds with fevered need, her body undulating against mine as I make her come.
But the weird feeling lingers.
“You’re different,” I say later, as she sits at the dresser and applies red lipstick.
She looks stunning in a black halter dress covered in shimmering crystals.
She lifts an eyebrow at me in the mirror. “How?”
“You’re quiet.” The corner of my lips tug. “And we both know, you usually have so much to say.”
She turns around.
“It feels strange being back in this town. I’m not the same person I was when I lived here.” She pauses, then adds. “Being with you is confusing. I thought I knew what I wanted. That living in London was it. But I was wrong, I’m happier now… because of you.”
Unexpected emotion hits me in the chest. Something close to love.
“But don’t let that go to your head.” A small smile plays on her lips. “God knows that’s big enough as it is.”
“Too late.”
She turns back to look in the mirror and sighs.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve cared what people think about me,” she says. “But tonight, I do.”
“Because you’re in love with me,” I say matter-of-factly, sliding on my jacket.
She rolls her eyes. “No. But I am your wife, and these are your people.”
“I assure you, these are not my people.”
“Then why go?”
“It’s business.”
She looks down. “Will Amélie be there?”
The hint of jealousy in her voice is unmistakable.
“I’m not privy to Amélie’s comings and goings.”
“I get the feeling she’s privy to yours,” she mutters.
I like the jealousy.
“She means nothing to me,” I say.
Because it means Bella’s walls are crumbling.
She thinks for a moment, then nods. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”
I drop a kiss on her shoulder. “Everyone is going to love you.” My eyes linger on her face in the mirror. “Just not as much as I do.”
Her shoulders tense.
“Are you saying you love me?” Her eyes narrow. “Like a child loves a puppy and the desert loves the rain?”
