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I’m almost at the bar when I feel her enter the room. I can’t explain how or why it makes me turn around. But I do, and there she is, walking into the ballroom. She pauses on the step to scan the room for me and my heart stops. I can’t swallow. I can’t take a breath. All I can do is stare at the most beautiful vision I’ve ever seen.
She looks phenomenal.
The dress fits perfectly over her beautiful curves and her raven hair is swept up into a messy bun, with stray curls falling around her beautiful face.
And those ruby-red lips.
God, how I ache to taste them again.
She sees me and smiles, and that smile lights up my chest.
Like I’m being pulled by a magnet, I cross the room toward her and she meets me halfway, parting the sea of people when they see the beautiful woman in red.
“I was worried I wouldn’t find you,” she says when she reaches me.
“There was no chance I wouldn’t find you,” I say, sweeping another appreciative gaze over her. “You look stunning.”
She gives me a beaming smile that has the same effect on me as the first one.
“Can I get you a drink?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “It took two fairy godmothers to get me into this dress. I’m not sure how I will go about peeing without their help.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “How about a dance then?” I ask.
“Sure, but I warn you, I still have my training wheels on with these Betty Saville shoes I’m wearing. It might be like dancing with a newborn giraffe. I’m a bit out of practice.”
I take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. “Then lean on me. I won’t let you fall.”
I pull her into my arms, and she relaxes against me as we move in time to the music. She feels soft and warm, and the intoxicating scent of her skin sends me falling deeper and deeper toward this being a date more than a plan to smoke out the Vinocelli. No matter how many lines in the sand I’ve tried to set, holding her in my arms is setting fire to them.
“You’re a very good dancer,” she says softly.
“So are you,” I say, my voice gravelly because her body pressed against mine is doing things to me. I feel her stiffen at my slipup, wondering if I’m her mysterious client. Our eyes meet and I can see her searching them. Yes, it’s me who watches you in the peep room and it’s my favorite part of the week.
“No training wheels needed,” I add, and she relaxes.
The music is upbeat, but we dance slowly, as if there is no one else in the room. And in that moment, there isn’t because all I can see, feel, and smell is her, and I don’t need anything else.
It’s Bianca who brings the moment to an end, whispering in my ear, “Massimo? I don’t want to break the spell, but I need food.”
I grin and guide her off the dance floor and over to the canapes table and watch with amusement as she loads a tiny plate with an array of canapes.
When she catches me watching her, she looks uncertain. “What?”
“I’m enjoying the smile on your face.”
Her smile widens. “Want to know a secret?”
“Yes.”
“I’m having a wonderful time.”
“You seem surprised.”
Her smile widens. “Two weeks ago, I was living in a dive motel and eating microwaved noodles. Now I’m at the most glamorous event of the year, dining on exquisite canapes while wearing a Bianchon gown and dancing with the most handsome man in the room. Life doesn’t stop surprising the hell out of me.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You think I’m handsome?”
“You know you are. So do all the women in this room. Look at them, they keep looking.”
“It’s not just the women, it’s the men too. But none of them are looking at me. They’re looking at you.”
She looks up at me, her big eyes gleaming in the chandelier light of the ballroom.
I move closer.
She moves closer.
She has a drop of mascarpone on her lip and I glide my thumb across it before licking it off my thumb. She watches me and shivers, and I know I’m going to kiss her.
Except I don’t get a chance to, because in that moment, three women walk over and interrupt what I’ve been aching to do for weeks.
32
BIANCA
My fair-weather friends have the worst timing in the world.
I haven’t seen them in months, and in that very magic moment, they decide to show up.
I want to kill them.
I don’t know what’s worse, them breaking up with me during my darkest hour, or them interrupting this moment with Massimo.
Right now, both feel equally as painful.
As usual, Angelica is the first to speak.
“Massimo De Kysa,” she coos, her over-plumped lips gleaming with pink gloss. “And Bianca, how delightful to see you.”
