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She snuggled deeper into the silk sheets, basking in the glow. She was terrified to admit she needed him.Wantedhim. That she was feeling as vulnerable as she was. Had been scared to ask him to give her another day in Cannes, lest she somehow ruin it all. Because she couldn’t miss that assignment. Needed to get her career back on track. Dispel the rumors that had been circulating ever since Ariana Lordes had walked in her place in Shanghai and stolen the show. The jobshehad earned. It was a burr that dug itself deep beneath her skin. The need to prove she was still on top. That she was still thebest. That no one could outshine her in front of the camera.
Feeling lazy and sated from her and Cristiano’s passionate lovemaking, which they’d indulged in once more before he’d left, slow and sweet and breathtakingly perfect, Jensen finally got out of bed. Electing not to put on her dress before she showered, and needing java desperately, she padded to the wardrobe and found a white shirt of Cristiano’s to slip on. Securing her hair in a ponytail, she went downstairs to the sunny, bright kitchen and opened the cupboard to find her favorite mug, which had somehow made its way to a higher shelf. She stood on tiptoe to retrieve it. Then she poured herself a cup of coffee and was adding a dollop of milk when a hushed gasp sounded behind her.
She spun on her heel, her heart slamming in her chest as she recognized the small, slender, exquisitely dressed female standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her big blue eyes wide. Mouth gaping open, she surveyed Jensen, from the top of her tousled head, down over Cristiano’s crisp white shirt, which reached to mid-thigh, to her candy-apple-red-painted toes, glimmering against the dark wood floor.
Jensen wasn’t sure who recovered first, her or Alessandra. All she knew was that she somehow had the sense to shove the full cup of coffee onto the counter before she spilled it with her shaking hands. Then decided it must be her, when Alessandra’s red-tinted mouth continued to open and close, as if she meant to say something, then stopped to reformulate.
“Dio mio,”she finally breathed. “It’s true. Youaresleeping with him. And in his shirt...” She shook her head, china-blue eyes glazed. “You are wearing hisshirt.Santo cielo. What is happening?”
Jensen curled her fingers around the counter, inordinately aware that Cristiano’s shirt only came to mid-thigh, exposing the long, golden length of her legs. That her tousled hair must look like she’d come directly from bed,hisbed, and her mouth, swollen from the sensual kisses they’d shared, looked vulnerable and well used. Not to mention the bite mark on her shoulder she’d acquired in the height of passion, the too-large shirt gaping at the neckline.
She crossed her arms over her chest and sank back against the counter. Attempted as much composure as she could manage when Alessandra was clearly clad head to toe in designer fabric, her makeup immaculate, her critical gaze assessing. “Alessandra,” she murmured, “how lovely to meet you. We haven’t had a chance to meet properly in person yet.”
The petite blonde’s glossed mouth curled. “Perhaps you are too busy making headlines to engage in normal social behavior like the rest of us.” She shook her head, her honey-blond curls bouncing, her mouth a hard line. “I have no idea what he sees in you. He must have gone temporarily blind.”
Jensen’s back stiffened. So it was going to be like that. She’d tried for civil, but clearly civil was not the mood of the day. In the same moment, she wondered if it was the Milanese woman’s usual behavior to march into Cristiano’s home uninvited. Whether she carried with her such a deeply engrained sense of ownership over Cristiano’s life and home, she felt it was within her purvey to do so. Which would have been unnerving, given what she and Cristiano had shared last night, if he hadn’t made it clear to her that he and Alessandra were over.
So what was this? A social call?
She set a steady, unwavering gaze on the other woman. “Cristiano is not home. He went into the office.”
Alessandra’s chin dipped, a visible hint of disappointment glittering in her eyes. “I was hoping to find him in. I wanted to speak with him.”
“Perhaps you can try the office.”Anywhere but here. She might be assuming a confident demeanour, but nothing about her felt assured when it came to this woman. She reeked of aristocratic authority. It was written across her cultured face. While Jensen felt every inch the scandalous reality show trash Alessandra so clearly believed her to be. “Unless,” she offered, “there is something I or Filomena can help you with.”
That felt like a stretch, but she tried to keep it cordial. Unfortunately, her words lit a fire under the woman opposite her, her blue eyes flashing against her delicate, finely boned face. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you,” she bit out. “Do you really think he’s going to take a relationship with you seriously? Cristiano might be having a little fun with you.Sowing his wild oatsas his grandmother believes he is doing. Perhaps you have seduced him into this—” she waved a hand at her, her face contemptuous “—flingwith you. But that is all it will ever be. Cristiano will make the right match for himself and for the company, and trust me, that choice will not be you.”
Oh my God. The color drained from Jensen’s face, until she was sure she was chalk white, the blow the other woman had lobbed at her landing squarely in her solar plexus, stealing her breath. She could not believe she’d just said that. But perhaps what hurt more was Marcella’s assessment of the situation. That Cristiano wassowing his wild oats, exactly as she’d feared.That no one except him seemed to think this relationship was going to last, and she wondered if that, in itself, was wishful thinking.
It stirred up every fear, every insecurity she’d ever had, anxiety sliding through her blood like a red tide, heating her skin. Because she knew he’d been holding back this last couple of days, fighting his feelings. She’d seen it in his eyes. Watched him battle it. Why it had taken all her courage to seek him out like she had. To put herself out there like that.
Forcing herself to remain calm, she hauled in a deep breath, pulling oxygen into her lungs. “I don’t think you have any idea what Cristiano and I share,” she finally said quietly. “But thank you for the warning. I will take it into consideration. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have packing to do.”
Jensen flew to Cannes the next day, still reeling from her confrontation with Alessandra, which had severely eaten away at the confidence she’d had in her and Cristiano. She was afraid that Alessandra was right. That Cristiano might desire her, might want her, that had never been in doubt, maybe he’d even convinced himself that she was what he wanted. But how could that ever be enough for him? He loved his family.Adoredthem. And Marcella disliked her, despite her latent praise. Cristiano would always do the right thing, just as Alessandra had said he would. How could she ever think he would do otherwise?
How long would it take for Cristiano to realize his mistake? For him to discover she wasn’t at all a suitable woman to have at his side? She wasn’t stupid enough to think the headlines would stop overnight. That she could control them, when the tabloids would just make something up in the absence of any real news. It had been an omnipresent force in her life.
She and Cristiano had amazing chemistry. But what happened when that passion faded and they entered the reality stage of their relationship? She’d seen what had happened to her parents’ marriage when that kind of passion faded. Her mother and father had been completely incompatible. What had happened to Ava’s marriage when the glitz and glamour had dissipated and the reality of who she’d married had set in. Everything had fallen apart. Everything always fell apart.
She’d insisted Filomena not tell Cristiano about Alessandra’s visit, because it was the last thing he needed on his mind with everything else he had on his plate. A similar promise she made to herself, as she slid into the car her client had sent to the Nice airport, and traveled to the luxury hotel on the beach in Cannes, where she’d been reserved a lovely suite with a gorgeous view of the Mediterranean Sea. She was going to focus on work and work only, and not let her insecurities rule.
The shoot began at the crack of dawn the following morning on one of the Riviera’s most beautiful beaches. Hidden away from the masses of tourists and accessible only via a steep set of steps that numbered in the hundreds, it was a trek to get to the spot the photographer had chosen, a spectacular locale set between two scenic cliffs. She was exhausted by the end of the first day, with the unrelenting heat beating down on her, the weather unseasonably hot for early September.
She collapsed into bed at nine in her air-conditioned suite, only to wake to a second day with more of the same. The end in sight, she marshaled her reserves and fought through the day, which didn’t end until well after sunset. Beyond relieved the shoot was over, she returned to her hotel and packed her things, intent on getting to the airport early. She had just slipped the last couple of things into her bag when her cell phone rang. Glancing at it, she absorbed the name of her mother’s agent flashing across the screen.
Wondering why Natalia would be calling her, she almost ignored it, given the car waiting downstairs. But something told her to pick up the call. The panic in Natalia’s voice chilled her blood. “I heard you are in Cannes shooting. I need your help. Your mother is on a bender and I’m afraid of what she might do. The producer just called and said it’s a mess. Your father announced he is marrying some young Hollywood starlet half his age, and she has completely lost it.”
Jensen absorbed the somewhat familiar scenario, which had played out far too frequently in her life, her father and the cavalcade of young actresses he’d gone through. That he was remarrying was new and rather startling. She was sure her mother was devastated, because it hadn’t been her decision to end things. She still loved him. But that couldn’t be her problem right now. Right now, she had to get back to Milan.
She rubbed a palm against her temple. “She ishere? In Cannes?”
“Yes. They announced next year’s jury. Your mother is on it. There was a party afterward. I don’t know if she’s off her meds or what, Jensen. But it’s messy.”
Her mind raced, searching for solutions. “Natalia,” she murmured, “I can’t get caught up in this. I’m about to catch a flight back to Milan. FV is closing Fashion Week tomorrow night and I am headlining the show. You’re going to need to handle this one.”
“I wish I could, but I’m in New York in meetings and no one there is capable of getting through to her. The usual producer is off, and Veronica doesn’t know the new one.” The agent paused, swallowed hard. “She is out of it, Jensen. I meanout of it. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. What she’s going to do. I’ve never seen her like this. I’m afraid she’s going to destroy her reputation.”
Her stomach sank. This couldnotbe happening. Tonight, of all nights. But now, she was scared, too, her heart racing in her chest. “Why don’t you get Nancy, the assistant producer, to talk to her? She likes her. She may listen to reason if she knows it will affect the show.”
