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Larenzo noticed, his eyes narrowing. ‘Were you taking photos today?’
‘I thought I might as well.’
‘May I see?’
She hesitated, then, shrugging, handed him the camera. He flicked it on and began to scroll through the most recent photos, frowning slightly as he studied the images. Emma rescued Ava, who had crawled under the coffee table and managed to get herself stuck. Her heart was beating a little harder; she wanted Larenzo to like the photos. She wanted him to like her.
‘They’re good,’ he said at last, ‘if a bit bleak.’
A bit stung by the criticism, she grabbed the camera from him, setting Ava down with her other hand. Looking at the photos again, she realised they were rather bleak. The park had been full of people, but she’d made it look deserted. Empty and unloved. ‘I suppose I was in a bit of a bleak mood,’ she answered, and went in the kitchen to start dinner.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EMMA GAZED IN the mirror in her dressing room and felt the flutters start again in her belly. She’d spent a long time deciding on a dress; Larenzo had suggested she hit the boutiques on Fifth Avenue, the sky the limit, for her gown for the gala tonight.
While he’d watched Ava, Emma had gone out with Meghan, who had taken the train into the city, to shop. It had felt surreal and wonderfully decadent to try on designer gowns, swilling champagne and parading in front of mirrors.
‘So do you think something is happening between you and Larenzo?’ Meghan had asked. To her credit, her sister had been civil with Larenzo when she’d come to the apartment, and he’d been just as civil back. Still, it was a tense relationship, and perhaps it always would be.
‘I don’t know.’ Emma had sunk onto the velvet chaise in the dressing room, the ivory satin of her gown poufing out around her. ‘He told me he only was asking me because it would look good for his image.’
Meghan’s mouth had curved wryly. ‘At least he was honest.’
‘I suppose.’
She’d gestured to the gown. ‘What do you think about this one?’
Emma had glanced down at the crystal-beaded ivory satin. ‘It’s gorgeous, but it looks too much like a wedding dress.’
Meghan had given her a look so full of sympathy that Emma had almost felt annoyed. She hadn’t wanted to be pitied. She’d wanted to find a beautiful dress and enjoy her evening with Larenzo, no matter what his reasons for inviting her out.
Now she smoothed her hands down the bodice of the emerald satin gown she’d chosen. It was deceptively simple, strapless with a ruched bodice that clung to her figure before flaring out from her knees to her ankles. She’d left her hair loose about her shoulders and used only a little eyeliner and lip gloss to emphasise her features.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn something so elegant or felt so beautiful. She hoped Larenzo thought she looked beautiful. She hoped he would tell her so.
He tapped on the door of her bedroom, Ava squealing happily in his arms. ‘Emma? Are you almost ready? I was just about to put Ava to bed and then we should go.’
‘All right.’ With one last glance at her reflection, she turned and opened the door. Her breath felt sucked right out of her lungs as she stared at Larenzo. She’d never seen him in black tie before. The crisp white tuxedo shirt emphasised his perfect physique, his chiselled jaw and bronzed skin. He held Ava, dressed in her pyjamas, balanced on one hip, and Emma didn’t think she would ever see a man look so sexy and yet so heart-warmingly wonderful at the same time. Tuxedo and baby. A devastating combination.
Then she saw the blaze of heat in Larenzo’s eyes and it suddenly felt hard to breathe. Hard to think. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
‘Do you...do you like it?’
‘The dress?’ Larenzo clarified huskily. ‘Yes. Yes, you look...stunning, Emma. Truly beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’ Her heart was beating so hard she thought he might be able to see it pounding through the fabric of her dress. She reached out to take Ava. ‘I can put her to bed.’
‘I don’t think we should risk having her slobber on you,’ Larenzo answered with a small smile. ‘I’ll do it. I don’t mind.’
While Larenzo disappeared into the nursery with Ava, Emma fetched her matching wrap and clutch and then waited nervously in the hall. A few minutes later the babysitter, a competent woman in her forties whom Larenzo had hired from a well-reputed service, arrived, and then Larenzo came out, a finger to his lips.
