Page 71 of Choosing Hope
A warm gust of air flaps around the fabric of my skirt, and I drop my hands to make sure it doesn’t fly up. I’m not wearing underwear, and suddenly that decision makes me feel very vulnerable.
Underwear seemed pointless considering where we’re going. Besides, I didn’t have any panties low-rise enough that they wouldn’t peek above the back of this gorgeous dress.
“You look insanely beautiful, Bella. You will spellbind every man in that place the second they see you.”
I push the corners of my mouth up into a nervous smile, allowing my anxieties to unravel a little.
“Try to relax. You need to at least give the impression you’re enjoying yourself,” he murmurs, while winking flirtatiously.
I allow him to lead me toward an austere looking, highly polished black door. It’s the sort of door I’d expect at a solicitor’s office. Fancy, yet inconspicuous.
He scans his watch against a small screen, and the door slowly swings open.
Carlo squeezes my hand, a silent gesture of support.
We step into a very smart-looking foyer. This wasn’t on the website, and I don’t know why it’s flawlessly styled. I cast my eyes around; it’s exquisite and immediately gives a sense of warmth. Like a boutique hotel, not austere or pretentious as I expected it would be.
An immaculately presented lady catches my eye. She’s sitting behind a glossy desk, wearing a gorgeous black silky top. Her hair swept up into a glamorous updo. The only slight hint her outfit offers that she’s working for a sex club is her luscious red lips, which have the most perfect cupid’s bow.
The moment she sees Carlo, the cupid’s bow stretches in a welcoming smile.
“Good evening, Mr. Moretti. Welcome back.”
“Good evening, Carmella; it’s a pleasure to be back. Allow me to introduce my date for this evening, Mrs. Sophie Barton-Jones.”
Her eyes instantly enlarge until they’re practically bulging.
“As in Mrs. Spencer Barton-Jones?” she demands.
Her gaze drops, examining me.
“The very same,” I respond, steeling my spine and trying hard to project a level of confidence I’m not experiencing.
“Wow!” she says with an air of wonder, standing to extend me her hand. “I am delighted to meet you. Mrs. Barton-Jones, your dress is beautiful.”
My lips curl into a broad smile, and the knots of tension in my shoulder loosen a touch.
“Thank you.” I like this girl; she seems genuine.
“Is he here yet?” Carlo asks our hostess.
She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him, but he might have come in through the office entrance.” Her slim shoulders shrug apologetically, and she peers down to the screen on her desk. “Claudette’s in the bar. She’ll be able to tell you.”
He bobs his head, satisfied with her response.
“Do you need me to sign Sophie in as a guest, or is she exempt?” he asks, cheekily.
She grins again and winks at me.
“If you’ll sign the visitor’s book, so that we know you’re in the building for safety reasons, but under the circumstances, I think we can forgo the usual paperwork.”
Carmella taps an iPad, passing it to me with a stylus.
“Just sign in the box, please. I can fill the rest in for you, Mrs. Barton-Jones.”
I smile, amused to be getting the royal treatment.
“Sophie,” I correct her, and scribble my signature on the box she gestured to.
