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“I know very little about the party we are attending.”
“Has Maxim not told you about Dimitri?”
Alessia shakes her head. “Who is Dimitri?”
“He’s some Russian oligarch’s son. Bit of a player. Likes to throw lavish parties. Spends oodles of money. You’ll see. Kit knew him well, Maxim less so. Dimitri likes to surround himself with the influential and the glamorous, beautiful people.”
Uau. Of course Maxim would be invited to such a party.
And Caroline.
Alessia can only hope that she won’t let Maxim down.
“He’s ingratiating himself into society. Everyone can see that, and rumor has it that his father is ex-KGB. Exciting stuff. And he knows how to party. It will be fun.” She smiles at Alessia, unaware that her nerves are now on edge.
The party sounds totally intimidating to Alessia.
“You really are very pretty.” Caroline changes the subject and pauses for a moment while Alessia flounders for what to say in response to such a statement. “He’s different with you. Protective. You know.” Caroline’s tone softens, her fondness for Maxim apparent. “He’s head over heels. Must be nice.”
It’s such a gear change from what they were discussing. “It is,” Alessia replies quickly and firmly. She knows she’s staking a claim on her own husband.
“It’s admirable what you’ve done. He’s avoided intimacy all his life—you’ve achieved the impossible.”
Alessia squirms in her seat, uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. “Thank you,” she mutters, because she doesn’t know what else to say—but inside, she wants to shout from the rooftops.
He’s mine. Keep your hands off him.
“Do you want to stop for anything else?” Caroline asks.
“I should get home. Though I’ve enjoyed today, thank you.” Alessia is surprised that she means what she says, in spite of all of Caroline’s intimate observations and personal questions. It has been fun to get out of the apartment and spend time with her sister-in-law.
Perhaps she’s not a rival.
Perhaps.
“I have to prepare dinner,” Alessia adds.
“What? You cook? For him?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” Caroline is stunned. “I suppose it’s not surprising. I saw you cooking up a storm with your mother in Albania. That was nice. Intimate. You have a good relationship with her.”
“I do. Do you have a good relationship with your mother?”
Caroline scoffs. “My mother lives in the South of France. I don’t see her very often.” She tucks her hair behind her ear as if she’s distracting herself from an unpleasant thought and continues, “And the food at your wedding was delicious. I don’t cook. But then I have Mrs. Blake.” She lowers her voice as if her sadness has returned, and Alessia remembers overhearing her conversation with Maxim.
Caroline is lonely too.
“You are welcome to join us for an evening meal. I’ll cook something light.”
Caroline laughs. “Normally, I would love to, but I must get ready for this evening. And so do you. And can I ask, may I come with you and Maxim to the party? I don’t want to go on my own.”
“Of course,” Alessia says automatically, knowing Maxim won’t mind.
“Thank you,” Caroline gushes. “I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t been out since your wedding. And I need some excitement. In fact, why don’t you two come over for a pre-party cocktail?”
“Sure.” Alessia smiles, but her nerves flare again. She’s excited about this party, though she’s terrified too. Supposing she puts a foot wrong…or says the wrong thing…or…or… She swallows her rising panic and clasps her hands together.
Alessia, calm down. It will be fun.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter Eighteen
My mouth dries. Beneath the hall chandelier, the light burnishing her dark hair, Alessia is a screen siren. She’s wearing an ankle-length soft silk dress fitted at the waist and fastened at her neck, exposing shapely shoulders. The skirt sculpts her hips, tapers to her knees, and then falls in swathes of ruby red to her feet. Her dark eyes are framed in kohl, her lips are as scarlet as her dress, and her hair falls in soft, gentle waves around her. She is a goddess. Aphrodite. And she’s mine. I clear my throat. “You look stunning.” My voice is hoarse.
She smiles, knowing and shy and sweet at once, and I feel it in my dick.
Fuck.
“You look edible,” she says.
I laugh. “This old thing; it’s my lucky suit.”
“You could get lucky,” Alessia purrs, teasing me.
I reach up and take a strand of her hair between my fingers. “I hope so, but only with you. Your hair looks lovely.”
“We went to a salon at the store where a man washed it, and another man gave me a blowout.”
A momentary pang of what I can only assume is jealousy slices through me. “Did they now?” I pull her into my arms. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
Alessia giggles. “It was a first for me too.”
Tenderly, I clasp her face between my palms and press my lips lightly against hers. “Then I don’t approve.”
