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Megan wasn’t the sunny innocent she put out to the world. Yet he still hated to allow the more sordid realities of a model’s life into hers. She didn’t need to know about his move into studio photography and the sleazy photographers who thought their fee included free access to the model.
“I grew,” he said instead. “Got too big for the runways.”
“Too tall?” she said.
“Too… big,” he repeated, gesturing to his chest. Half the guys he worked with had eating disorders to keep to the weight requirements, but Alessandro wasn’t about to damage his health when his future career depended on it.
“I know,” she said, covering her mouth. “I just wanted you to point it out.”
“Oh.” He’d been moving back into a dark place in his mind, to the fear that had gripped him when he’d taken that final flight to New York and left his agency. But Megan was teasing him back to the present with her mischievous eyes and that hidden, sideways smile.
He laughed at himself, and she rewarded him by taking her hand away from her mouth. “What made you choose Boston?”
“A friend of a friend had an apartment where I could stay,” he said. “And I like it here. I like being close to the water but still in a city. I liked the people. And I liked that I got a job.” He smiled. “That was a big plus.”
“For a few of us,” she said. So what else was he going to do but lean across the table and kiss her?
He kept his hands to himself for the rest of the meal but was happy to help her with her coat and have her take his arm when they left. One brave customer found a way around the bodyguard and asked for a selfie. Alessandro found it much easier to smile for this picture than any other. Megan stayed to the side, though she gave him a proprietary look he wished he could take his own photo of.
A sleek black car picked them up outside the restaurant and drove them back to Megan’s apartment. The car had a black partition between the driver and passengers, which Alessandro took full advantage of, stealing Megan’s lips for the entire trip, until she was giggling and pushing him away. “The car stopped, Alessandro!”
Yasmin had insisted he leave her chastely at her door. “Moving slow will look good for you right now,” she told him. He didn’t need her Machiavellian plans, as Megan had made it clear she wasn’t about to leap into bed with him. But he could give the planted photographer and the guard at her building a show when he kissed her one more time.
And it worked. The stories the next day gushed over their “romantic evening,” how “Rosselli has found more from his trip home than a catch-up with old friends.” And “Megan Fielding’s style fits the celebrity lifestyle of new flame, Alessandro Rosselli.”
Just as Yasmin had promised. He just wished he didn’t feel so much like a pawn in a chess game.
♦
Megan liked her wardrobe. She loved finding clothes that fit her body type but were also comfortable. She loved her shoe collection. She had what the sample-size world would call big feet, so some of her shoes were custom made.
The rack that sat in the middle of her living room was packed full of clothes—sleek evening gowns, avant-garde pantsuits with pointed hips, maxi dresses hand-embroidered from shoulder to hem, palazzo pants, and structured blouses. All gifts from designers. All beautiful. Sent over by Yasmin’s team with a note. “Pick some, make note of the designers, and enjoy.”
Megan stared down the rack of clothes. She hadn’t chosen them. Hadn’t gone to boutiques, chatted with the saleswomen, spent a happy Saturday afternoon picking out accessories.
She already knew which dress she wanted to wear tomorrow night. She’d gotten it from one of her favorite stores. She and Alessandro had visited it just the other day. Another opportunity she’d had to make this… arrangement work for people she cared about.
Yasmin had explained that Megan’s idea of photo ops to give her and Alessandro more time out of the cameras was a long game. “For this week, let them see you. Don’t change the story by sneaking around, Alessandro.” Alessandro had rolled his eyes at this. “Yes, I’m talking to you. I can’t help you if you don’t let me help you. So use the cars, go to the restaurants I gave you, and let them take their shots. It’ll pay off later. I promise.”
He’d raised an eyebrow at Megan. “It is up to you,” he said. “I understand if—”
“I’m still in,” she’d said at once. She’d already gone against the wishes of her family. She was damned if she was going to let a little thing like the celebrity game stop her from being with Alessandro. So she could wait a week to really be alone with him. A week wasn’t much, was it?
♦
Chapter 12
Megan had wanted to get to the fundraiser early to help Ellen and the others with the setup, but they had vetoed the idea. “You helped those kids get dressed up,” Ellen said. “Go enjoy their moment. And have one of your own with your handsome young man.”
Although he was already living at The Rosette, Alessandro came in the usual black car to pick her up that evening. They timed their arrival to coincide with the bus that had been hired to bring the students from the community center, but they hung back, not getting out of the car until the kids had walked the short red carpet into the hotel. Megan laughed in delight as they nailed their poses; at the same time, she had to stop herself from tearing up at their beautiful outfits, hair, and makeup.
“Okay,” Alessandro said beside her, where they’d been looking out of the blacked-out window. “Our turn.”
The driver, whom they hadn’t shut out this time, came around and opened the door so Alessandro could step out. Cameras flashed, the crowds babbled, and Megan’s heart rate skipped up. He gave the cameras a wave, then reached inside to help her out. She put her hand in his and followed him into the cacophony of sound and light.
For a moment, she was blinded, but Alessandro’s hand squeezed hers. He pulled her to him for a second and whispered, “You got this,” and she took strength in his belief and stood straight next to him. She was ready.
She wore the dress she’d already picked out, and the hell with those designers who didn’t even know her. She’d gone with a bias cut dress in a shimmering green shot through with gold threads. The diagonal cut meant that the shape of the dress changed all the time. The dress was tight in the bodice and sat off one shoulder, the long sleeve on her right arm ending in a medieval-style point. She wore a gold and emerald solitaire ring from a costume shop and no other jewelry. Her hair was up in a sleek braid that wrapped around her crown.Like Leia at the end ofA New Hope, Sam had texted when Megan had sent her a picture a half hour earlier.I hope your Han deserves you.
