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Giselle
“Giselle, we’re almost there,” Carlo’s voice brought me out of my sleep.
I blinked my eyes open and yawned. Carlo peered down at me. “How do you feel?” he asked in a genuinely concerned tone.
I took stock of my body—and all of its parts. “Good,” I told him. And it was the truth—which surprised me.
I tried to remember what had happened after the nurse gave me the shot, but I couldn’t. And I guess maybe that was a good thing.
“Sore?” he asked, his eyes checking me over.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.” I touched my hair and then my face. “Uh, oh, how do I look?” I wondered if I’d drooled or ruined my hair while I’d been on the exam table. Or sleeping beside Carlo in the limo.
He grinned and grasped my chin with his thumb and index finger. “You are absolutely stunning.” His lips touched mine gently. The limo stopped and Carlo called out to the driver to open the door for us. I was a little confused until I turned my head and looked out the window.
Oh, crap.
This was a red carpet event.
Cameras flashing.
Oh, crap.
The door swung open. Carlo unfolded himself, then leaned down, offering his hand to me. I scootched myself over and let him help me out so I could be as graceful as possible.
“Smile and stay by my side,” Carlo whispered into my ear while a billion cameras clicked and flashed. Requests in Italian for us to stop and talk were shouted. As were questions asking for my name.
Carlo didn’t answer, and I certainly wasn’t going to. He stopped us once to pose briefly but then continued guiding us up the mountain of stairs to the ball.
Lights and flowers and beautiful classical music surrounded us as we walked into the venue.
What most struck me was the sheer amount of people attending. And the expensive, over the top ballgowns and tuxes worn.
Carlo and I fit in nicely.
He introduced me to a few people, and they were all kind and welcoming. But I felt like behind their eyes—I saw something they weren’t saying.
And I didn’t blame them one bit.
Carlo led me over to a quiet corner. He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a nearby attendant before asking her to move along. “Are you alright?” Carlo asked into my ear. His hand grazed my bare arm and held on.
I nodded and said, “Yes, but I think your friends are wondering what you’re doing with a much younger woman.”
Carlo laughed at that, the bubbly liquid in his glass swishing around. “Giselle, I think everyone knows exactly what I’m doing with you.” The hungry expression on his face made my nipples tingle as an ache started in my lower belly.
I rolled my eyes and took a small sip of the champagne. “You’re horrible.”
He chuckled, this time deep, low, and suggestively. “Yes, but you like it.”
My eyes found his and I couldn’t deny what he said. So, I didn’t say anything.
A few minutes later, after I finished my champagne, he said, “Come with me. There are some people I want you to meet.” He took my empty glass and set it down on a nearby ledge. Then he took my hand and pulled me along to the other side of the room. It took us a minute to get through the many people standing around and talking. But eventually, we arrived at a smaller table.
Two people sat there—a beautiful, dark-haired woman and an older gentleman. She had a long, stylish sweep of gray running through her hair. It was offset from the middle part in her hair. It really suited the gorgeous, angular features on her face.
Features that I found oddly familiar.
The man was enormous. Even though he was on some kind of oxygen—the nose piece and tubing were visible. But still, you could see he’d been a force to be reckoned with in his time.
