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His housekeeper nodded and vanished inside. Alessandra, an ocean’s worth of confidence in her stride, walked across the terrace to greet him. Given their close personal relationship since childhood, a friendship that had eventually turned into a relationship that had been more mutually beneficial than anything, he pressed a kiss to both of her cheeks and summoned a patience he did not possess.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he drawled, sinking back against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, drink pressed to his side. “I thought we were going to see each other at the benefit next week.”
Her scarlet mouth firmed. “I thought we should talk, given the events of the past couple of weeks.”
His instincts told him to cut it off right there, because this was a path they definitely didn’t need to go down, but Alessandra looked as if she had something to say and wasn’t about to be derailed.
“Bene,”he murmured. “About what in particular?”
“Us.” She fixed her china-blue gaze on his. “It is clear that you needed a break, Cristiano. That you’ve been on a—” she paused, flicking her wrist at him “—how do I say it? A walk on thewild side. But it’s time we worked things out. You and I both know we are perfectly suited for each other.”
Cristiano’s mind was boggled. What part ofwe are donehad she not understood? How much clearer did he need to be? “We are not getting back together, Alessandra.Ever. I thought I made that clear.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “You’ve been under a great deal of pressure. You will change your mind, I’m sure, once you get over this brief lapse of sanity.”
Brief lapse of sanity?He eyed her. “You’re referring to Jensen, I take it?”
“Si.”She crossed a slim leg over the other and rested back against the railing. “I met her. Last week, before Pascal’s show. I came to see you, but you weren’t here. She came into the kitchen as I was leaving, dressed in one of your shirts, acting as if she owned the place. Honestly, Cristiano, I don’t know what you see in her. She is pretty, I will admit, if you are focused on sex appeal. Which is exactly where Marcella thinks the attraction lies. She thinks you are ‘sowing your wild oats’ with her.”
Blood pulsed through Cristiano’s head. He couldn’t believe his grandmother had said that. But he was more concerned with what Alessandra had said to Jensen. “You talked to Jensen?”
A tiny shrug. “A brief conversation.”
“What did you say to her?” he gritted out.
“The truth. That you will never end up with someone like her. That she is just a temporary thing for you while you work your way through whatever it is you are working through. And good that I did, because she has now clearly revealed her true colors.” Her voice softened. “I wanted to let you know that I forgive you. I understand that I have been selfish and demanding, and that has been an issue for you. I will work on it. But I think we should choose a wedding date and truly commit, Cristiano. I’m not getting any younger and I know you want to have lots ofbambini, so we need to do it soon.”
Cristiano’s head threatened to explode. He could not believe she’d said that to Jensen. That she was so severely deluded. Maybe he’d strung it on too long, maybe part of this was his fault for giving in to the pressure his family had been applying around the match, because in some ways, it had made sense. Butthis, this was so far over the top, he couldn’t even comprehend it.
His brain flashed back to the morning Jensen had left for Cannes. She hadn’t looked right. She’d lookedoff. He’d brushed it off as stress about the trip, but now, he wondered if it had been more. How must it have felt to hear Alessandra say those things? Given what she’d shared about never being taken seriously by men? How sensitive she was about her family’s reputation? Exacerbated by the harsh words he’d uttered when he’d ended things between them, without even giving her a chance to explain. Words he hadn’t meant. Words he’d wished he could take back the minute they’d left his mouth.
She must have been devastated. His heart sank deep into his chest. And what had he done to reassure Jensen about his feelings for her? About his intentions? He’d been so focused on work, on getting through the crunch he’d been in, he’d refused to address his emotions for her. Had been terrified to, because of what that admission might mean. That he was in love with her. Had thought his actions spoke louder than words.
“You can’t marry her,” Alessandra said dismissively, clearly reading his face. “Honestly, Cristiano. With that video floating around with her mother melting down in France? That family is a disaster waiting to happen.”
Cristiano blinked. “What video?”
“Non lo so.” I don’t know. She waved a hand at him. “Some tacky video someone shot with a cell phone. Veronica Davis was apparently out of it at a party. Drugs, alcohol...who knows? Apparently, she also has massive gambling debt. Jensen had to step in and clean up the whole mess. Can you imagine taking that on?”
No, he couldn’t. An unsettled feeling moved through him. Jensen had looked worried,decimated, on her return from Cannes. He’d marked it as the guilt she’d felt from letting him down. But now, the pieces of the puzzle he’d been attempting to decipher ever since that first night in London, about Jensen’s erratic, contradictory behavior, slotted themselves into discomfiting place. The thirty-thousand-euro bar tab and wrecked hotel rooms in Monaco she had said were someout-of-controlfriends. Her frenetic schedule she wouldn’t cut back on. The fear in her voice when she’d called him from France, and said something had come up.
The anxiety he’d sensed in her in the in-between moments when she’d thought no one was watching. She had been and was still covering for her mother, who was, apparently, not only an alcoholic, but a drug and gambling addict as well. Which explained Jensen’s insane schedule and need for endless money. She couldn’t stop working or the whole thing would fall apart.
He raked a hand through his hair. He’d been so sure heknewher. Where her heart was. That he could trust her. And yet what had he done? Believed the worst of her without even giving her a chance to explain. And why would she really? All he had done was throw his autocratic rules at her from day one, dictating what she could and could not do, because she’d led him to believe what he had, clearly to protect her mother. Made it clear where his priorities lay in FV. Nor had he given her any indication she would have his support if she did come to him. That he would have protected her. Because he would have.
She’d told him she found it hard to trust. He had known that. And yet he’d missed all the signs. Every clue he should have caught.
Jensen had never been on a spiral. Her mother had.
Jensen stood backstage at the Palais Garnier in Paris, the historic Fashion Week setting raising goose bumps on her skin with its gorgeous, gilded interior and ceiling painted by Marc Chagall. Never in her life had she felt this nervous before a show. Anxious, yes, in her first few appearances for big designers, but not this kind of debilitating, bone-deep fear. Her life had exploded around her in the last week, every Davis secret she’d ever harbored on display for the world to see. Lurid, embarrassing details about her mother’s descent into gambling and addiction and her decision to enter rehab earlier that week.
Everyone, it seemed, had an opinion about her family’s manufactured stardom and their very public fall from grace. But amidst it all, despite her position at the center of the storm, she had a job to do. A promise to keep. And this time, there was nothing to shield her from it. For once in her life, she had to put herself out there. Lay herself bare to the world. Show herself in all of her flaws. And hope she was forgiven.
She took her place at the top of the grand double staircase, Millie on her opposite side, where she would descend, lit by candelabra, to the opulent foyer, and walk the gilded runway. Her knees practically knocking together because she wanted this to be so perfect, to somehow make up for everything she’d done, she drew in a deep breath, waited for her cue, then started down the stairs, flanked by the stunning chandeliers and exquisite bronze sculptures.
The train of the dress in her hand, her concentration complete, so she didn’t take a disastrous tumble down the stairs, she absorbed the exquisitely dressed crowd, waiting at the bottom of the staircase. The buzz in the room for Pascal’s incredible collection, which was taking the fashion world by storm. But it was the man leaning against one of the massive gold pillars who stole her attention. Dark and insanely good-looking in the tailored navy suit he wore, accented by a pale lavender shirt, he stopped her heart in her chest.
Hewas not supposed to be here.
