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“No, don’t be. I should have spoken up before.”
“I am sorry. I was not here yesterday, and you lost some of your joyful Megan while I was gone. I did not have time to find her before they came today. But she is in there.”
“The old Megan would wear the clothes they gave her,” she said, her voice small.
“No. She would convince them that everyone would be happier if she wore what she wanted. That is your superpower.”
He smiled at her, and tears pricked the back of Megan’s eyes. When had a man ever told her he believed in her so much? Or a woman, come to think of it? “We will be late,” she said, throwing up one last obstacle.
“It will not take long. Go, see what you have.”
Megan knew what she had. She’d packed her cases the day before yesterday, and she’d brought only two or three dresses that could be considered red carpet material. She’d looked forward to wandering the famous streets of LA, possibly with Alessandro by her side, finding West Coast fashions that would accommodate the balmy weather and make him proud.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the awards tonight?” she asked, using up precious time to turn to him, dressed only in her shapewear and heels.
“I must apologize for that,” he said, sitting on the bed. “I forgot. After the New Year’s situation, Yasmin banned me from the Golden Globes, and I was not nominated for a Ravello. Anyway, I was only going to go to support my friend Mohammed, who is up for best director. Until I was nominated for the Oscar, I thought I was banished to Boston for a while longer.” He sighed and rubbed his hand down his beard. “I was looking forward to that.”
In the light flooding the room, showing the flowering bushes and palm trees outside, Boston seemed like a story someone told children to scare them at night. Megan couldn’t believe she’d been here only twenty-four hours. “Well. I would have packed differently,” she huffed, putting her hands on her hips.
“I will be more sorry later,cara,” he said, looking her up and down. “After you take off that terrible elastic and get more comfortable.”
Megan tutted but laughed.
“But please keep the shoes,” he said from behind her.
She aimed a silver-clad toe at him. The shoes were barely there thin straps around her feet and ankles. They were, in fact, the only part of the outfit she’d liked, and she was definitely, positively not going to take them off.
She opened her larger suitcase and pulled out garments, tossing them behind her without regard for where they fell. Ignoring the shiny dresses and fitted tuxedo jackets, she found a pair of black drainpipe pants with a thin black ribbon running down the sides. She loved them for how they fit her and that they were long, so they always looked good with a great pair of shoes. Peeling off the shapewear, taking a couple of deep breaths as her stomach went back to its usual size, then removing the shoes for a moment, she pulled the pants on and paused again.
The closet was behind her. It only held Alessandro’s clothes and the decimated rack of dresses the team downstairs had gone through this afternoon. Megan pulled that rack out and pushed it as far away from her as possible. If she’d cared only a little less for the cost of the clothes, she would have pushed it onto the deck and let the elements have it.
Now free to see what was inside the closet, she walked in, running her hands over the jackets that hung on one side. The other side held Alessandro’s shirts: some formal with subtle pleats and expensive details, others casual and relaxed, made to be worn untucked—or open.
Megan pulled a tuxedo shirt off its hanger. The fabric was butter-soft, the quality obvious. This wasn’t from his barista days. This was a reflection of what Alessandro had achieved in the last five years.
She walked out of the closet, holding the shirt. “Where are the studs for this?”
Alessandro stared. “That is mine.”
“Yes.” She held it out to him and put her other hand on her hip. “Is that a problem?”
He visibly swallowed. “That is the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my life.”
“Okay, good.” She went back to her suitcase and pulled out a black lacy bra she particularly loved. “Could you get me the studs?”
Alessandro walked around her and came back from the closet with three different sets of studs. Megan picked the silver ones because they matched her shoes. With Alessandro’s salivating help—he told her so—she hooked in all the studs and the cufflinks. Then she put the shoes back on. There was a tiny possibility that she arranged herself on the bed so Alessandro would see down her cleavage while she did so. He gave his Roy Kent growl again and grabbed his chest over his heart.
Her torture achieved, Megan stood in front of the three-way mirror in the closet and tied the ends of the shirt in a knot at her waist. The bra showed, but not too much.
“You will not button up the studs?” Alessandro asked, his voice sounding strangled.
“I don’t think so,” Megan said matter-of-factly, turning from side to side.
“Cara. You will kill me.”
She giggled. “Good. Then my work here is done.”
She took the diamonds from her hair and shook her head until the chignon got a lot messier. There. “Okay. We can go back downstairs.”
