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Had, according to Pascal, elected to tend to other business, rather than attend the show. Her gaze locked with Cristiano’s sapphire-blue one, emotion clogging her throat. What was he doing here, just when she’d finally gotten a hold of herself?
Cristiano’s unfathomable gaze slid over the sheer, nearly transparent silver dress she wore, lined only where it absolutely needed to be lined, the slit that began high on her thigh exposing the sweep of her long legs. Over the artfully wild tumble of her dark hair, cascading over her shoulders and down her back. She swallowed hard at the energy that passed between them, the muscles in her throat contracting.
It was undeniable the heat between them. It froze her in her tracks. Sucked the air from her lungs, because that part of them had never been in question. It was everything else that threatened their connection. That her past would always be a barrier for them, no matter how hard, how resolutely, she tried to leave it behind. That being a Davis was a stain on her soul that would forever be a part of her, destroying everything in its wake.
She hiked her chin, holding her head high. She couldn’t be anything but who she was. She had finally learned that lesson. But she could define who she was from here on out. And she intended to do just that.
Forcing herself to move, she descended the rest of the stairs. By the time she made it to the bottom, she was shaking in her shoes. It was all she could do to focus for the rest of the show. At the after-party, held in the spectacular Grand Foyer.
She located Cristiano immediately, standing in a group of VIPs, looking immaculately self-possessed as always. Maybe he was here on business, she thought nervously, and it had nothing to do with her at all. Except, why was he looking at her like that, like she was the only person in the room?
Needing something to do, she plucked a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter’s tray to occupy herself, but Cristiano was already murmuring his regrets to the group he was in and heading toward her, eating up the ground with a purposeful stride.
“Mon Dieu,”Millie murmured, her gaze on Cristiano. “I wish a man would look at me like that. Just once.”
“He’s furious with me,” Jensen replied quietly. “I’m not sure you would.”
“If that’s how he looks at you when he’s angry,” Millie offered, “sign me up.”
Cristiano stopped and greeted them both, the tantalizing citrus scent of his expensive aftershave assailing her senses as he bent his head and pressed his sensuous mouth against her cheek in a whisper-soft caress. It slammed into the protective layers she’d encased herself in, unearthing emotions she didn’t want to feel. Memories that held the power to disassemble her completely. She sucked in a breath as he did the same with the other cheek and stepped back, his sapphire gaze fixed on hers, penetrating and unyielding.
“A moment,” he murmured, “if you wouldn’t mind.”
She followed him, knees shaking, as he guided her through the crowd, out to one of the stately balconies, with its superb view of the Place de l’Opéra, deserted as the guests enjoyed a first cocktail inside.
She leaned against a pillar, crossing her arms over her chest as a warm breeze wafted over her, attempting to corral the emotion vibrating her insides. The hurt still bubbling up inside of her like an irrepressible force. Cristiano took up a position opposite her, his gaze trained on her face.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” she murmured, bereft as to what to say. Unsure which of the emotions coursing through her it was appropriate to feel. Hope. Fear. Uncertainty. They all seemed relevant.
“I wanted to see you,” he said quietly. “And apologize for the way I handled things that night in Milan. I was angry. I said things I shouldn’t have. Things I didn’t mean. Things I never would have said if I’d known the truth. Which you didn’t tell me.”
Her lashes lowered, shading her cheeks. “I was protecting my mother.”
“Jensen,” he murmured on a low note, a banked level of emotion edging his voice that tightened her insides, “we were lovers. As intimate as two people can be. I asked you,beggedyou to tell me the truth. What was going on. I wanted to help. Instead, you allowed me to believe that you had cavalierly broken the terms of your contract, that you didn’t care enough to make the show, that you had let all of us down, when in fact, you were cleaning up after your mother, who is anaddictyou have been covering for your entire life. Who is the reason you work yourself into the ground at the expense of your own career.” His mouth flattened, a dark brow winging to the sky. “Do I have that right,cara?”
“Pretty much.” She pushed a hand through the tumbled length of her hair, her stomach clenching. “You were so angry, Cristiano. I didn’t think explaining would help. You had made it clear I was not to put a foot out of line or I would lose my contract. I was terrified if I told you the truth about my mother, you would drop me like a hot potato. That you would consider me more trouble than I am worth.”
His sapphire gaze darkened. “Icaredabout you, Jensen. If I was autocratic in the beginning, it was because I was protecting my investment. Because I didn’t understand what was going on, and you didn’t tell me. All that changed when we became lovers. Surely you knew that? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
She drew in a deep breath. “My mother’s addictions are a secret we’ve guarded for years—since early on in the show. She was never quite right after my father left. She was destroyed by it. But she needed the show to survive. The producers were adamant her issues not become public knowledge, because they felt it would ruin the show. Which would have been devastating for her.” She sank her teeth into her lip. “My mother is in debt. A great deal of debt. I have been bankrolling her expenses for the past couple of years, attempting to get her back on her feet, yet it never seems to happen.”
“Which is why you were so desperate to work. Why you wouldn’t take a step back.”
“Yes.” She inclined her head.
“And the party in Cannes in which you purportedly spent thirty thousand euros on gambling and drinks and trashed hotel rooms... That was not you, but your mother?”
She nodded. “It was easier to let the press think it was me. To draw the attention away from her. Before,” she elaborated, “she was more discreet. In control. But these past few months, it all began to spiral. The show was on the ratings bubble. The producers were threatening to cancel if she didn’t deliver the numbers for the season finale. It was the only reason I did the fountain stunt. Because she begged me to do it. Her fears about money, the pressure the producers were putting her under. It was crushing. That night in Cannes was a breaking point for her. My father had announced he was remarrying—some Hollywood starlet half his age. She was shattered.”
He frowned. “And your sisters? Could they not have helped? Where are they in all of this?”
“They help when they can, but they are managing a fledgling business. There was no money to spare in the early years, nor much time, for that matter. So a lot has fallen on me. Which will hopefully change now that they are more established. We worked out a plan in New York on how to handle things once my mother is out of rehab.”
“You should have come to me,” he said quietly. “I could have been there for you. Iwouldhave been there for you. But I can’t solve a problem I don’t know exists.”
She sank her teeth deeper in her lip. “You were in the middle of a tsunami, Cristiano.Drowning. I wasn’t going to add something else to your plate.”
He pushed away from the wall and closed the distance between them, his familiar, delicious scent infiltrating her senses, weakening her knees. “I am inlovewith you,cara,” he murmured, lifting a hand and brushing his thumb across her cheek. “That’s what people do when they care about someone. They put them first. Which is why it hurt so much when you didn’t show up for me that night. When you let me down so badly. I couldn’t understand why you would do something like that. And you refused to trust me enough to tell me the truth.”
