Page 141 of Blood Stone
Chapter Thirty
Kate descended the stairs, her shoes clattering unmusically on the tiles, giving away her impending entrance. But that was fine by her, because she didn’t want to do any surprises or startle anyone. She was nervous enough to throw up and figured everyone else was on the same frame right along with her.
Thank god it was the last week of filming and they were into early pick-ups and wind-ups. Patrick had already finished and it was just second tier cast. She had been able to take the whole day off today, to prepare for this stupid Emmy thing.
The hairdresser and makeup artist had taken hours. Tizzy – Orlando Oritizia – had personally sewn her into her dress forty minutes before, while sighing over her perfect size eight figure with its hourglass proportions and begging her never to have children. He had departed with much careful hugging and butterfly kisses that never quite made it to her cheeks. He had been doing her dresses for five years, but this dress was different.
When she had commented on the odd departure in style, he had patted her still un-made-up cheek. “You,youare so different now! We must celebrate your essential qualities.” He’d broken off into a torrent of Italian of which Kate had caught the merest fraction. But it had been enough. He had been in raptures over her hedonism and public embrace of the liberal side of life.
Garrett and Roman, in other words.
The dress was a deep, glowing red silk taffeta shot with black and laid over with the finest black Spanish silk lace. It had long sleeves and it pulled in tight around her waist and hips and lifted up her breasts. But Roman would be happy for behind there was nothing of the dress until just below her waist. Then it trailed and trailed, pulling the front taut across her thighs in a way that made her very aware of her hips, her thighs and the way her legs moved under the dress and kept flashing through the vent at the front.
She was wearing the most outrageous shoes. They were ridiculously high, razor thin heels, with built in platforms so that she stood over six feet tall. Black ribbons wrapped around her ankles, holding the shoes to her feet and crossing over the top of her feet, but that was all there was to her shoes, apart from the heels and the platform at the front. They were wickedly decadent and feminine and surprisingly comfortable.
Then there was the jewellery. A pair of armed guards and a woman with an electronic clipboard had delivered the jewels in an armoured vehicle thirty minutes ago. The woman had helped Kate put them on, securing the electronic fastenings herself. Then Kate had signed for them, her stomach tightening as the woman had explained what she was signing for.
“When you’re ready for us to retrieve them, call the number on the card and we’ll be here in thirty minutes,” the woman explained. “Don’t try to take them off yourself. You’ll trip the alarm.”
“What if I need to suddenly take a shower or fall into a swimming pool?” Kate asked.
“Try very hard not to fall into the swimming pool,” the woman said, “or put yourself into a situation where you need a shower. But the clasps should be able to withstand a quick spritz without harm. They’ve been tested good for fifteen metres underwater. We just don’t like them to get rusty and have to replace them. It drives the insurance up.”
“And what if I want to have sex?” Kate asked bluntly.
The woman smiled, while the two guards both stood stone-faced. “Have sex with them on. We don’t have any cameras hidden in them.”
One of the guard’s faces had turned red.
Kate signed, the woman counter-signed – it was an indecipherable scribble – gave Kate her card and picked up the board. “Have a great evening, Ms. Lindenstream.” The three left her bedroom.
Kate looked in the mirror. The jewellery was classic diamonds and pearls, with drop sapphires that were the same colour as her eyes and seemed to make her eyes even bluer. Just like the lace of her dress, the pearls were strung in loops and swirls that formed edges to the necklace and drop earrings and bracelet, giving them a delicate lacy look.
She studied the overall effect in the mirror. She had never looked like this walking down the carpet before. But she had made all these choices herself, this year. She hadn’t brought in a consultant, like she normally did. She hadn’t farmed out the chore to assistants. She had carved out precious minutes during lunch breaks to make calls. During the night she had poured over catalogues and websites. Her only concession had been Tizzy and for him, her directive had been “give me a dress that is something I would wear, not something your models would wear.”
And this had been the result. Now Kate had nothing else to do but pick up her stole and purse and head downstairs to where Garrett and Roman had assured her by text they were waiting.
She stepped into the front room. Garrett was peering out the window, possibly keeping an eye out for the limousine…or paparazzi. Roman was in the kitchen, digging around in her fridge. Both of them were in tuxedos.
Garrett dropped the blinds and turned to face her. He took a breath and opened his mouth to speak…and didn’t. He let out his breath again in a rush, shaking his head a little.
“Oh…wow,” Roman said. “Can I walk behind you all night?”
She looked over her shoulder at him.
He clapped his hands to his chest, over his heart. “Damn and you have to look at me just like that, with that expression, too. Right over your shoulder, with your eyes narrowed.” He closed his eyes. “Heaven.”
“Let me see the back,” Garrett said. “No, don’t move. It’s worth walking around to see it, judging by his reaction.” He moved around her in a big semi-circle, avoiding the train.
Silence.
“Now you’re worrying her, you great Philistine,” Roman growled. “Saysomething.”
“I have literally no words to say. Not in English,” Garrett said. He muttered something she recognized as Gaelic.
“Very romantic,” Roman said dryly.
“What did you say?” Kate asked, turning to face them both.
