Page 13 of Bride of Betrayal
Leo said, ‘I can help with that.’ From her head, he plucked the diamanté comb holding her chignon in place. Her hair fell down under its own weight, tumbling around her shoulders in silken waves.
He had to curb the urge to bury his hands in her hair and left the comb on the table. ‘There, perfect. Let’s go.’
There was some sense of satisfaction in the surprised expression on her face but by the time they stepped outside and into the back of the car, her face was a cool mask again.
In the car, Leo was acutely aware of Angelica’s long legs provocatively encased in that soft denim. The T-shirt that did little to hide the swell of her perfect breasts.
But it wasn’t just her physical perfection that had first caught his eye, it had been something in her manner. Unguarded. Genuine. At odds with the people around them at the exclusive event in Rome.
They’d bumped into each other when he’d been jostled by someone moving through the crowd. She’d ended up with a glass of champagne down the front of her pristine pale-pink evening gown. Leo had braced himself for an explosion of feminine outrage but she’d looked up at him and smiled and he’d almost collapsed under the impact of her beauty. Thick brown hair, caught up and exposing a long neck, high cheekbones and defined jaw. The greenest eyes he’d ever seen, under black brows. Long lashes. And her mouth, wide and generous.
She’d smiled and held up the empty glass, saying, ‘Thank you, I was just looking for a reason to give my excuses to leave.’
Leo had shaken his head, trying to get out something coherent, an apology for knocking her drink, but she’d already been moving backwards, away, and instead of apologising he’d croaked out, ‘Who are you?’ Even though he’d realised that therewassomething familiar about her.
She’d answered, ‘I’m no one. Thanks again.’ And she’d turned and left, slipping through the crowd and disappearing so quickly that he’d wondered if he’d just dreamt up that little exchange with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
The next day Leo had seen her face high on a billboard advertising a very luxe brand of jewellery.I’m no one.She was ‘Angelica’, one of the few models whose first name was enough to identify them. He hadn’t stopped until he’d contacted her and until she’d agreed to meet him for a date.
In the years since then, he’d wondered if that firstmeetinghad been as innocently spontaneous as it had seemed. Had she in fact contrived to bump into him and pique his interest? Only to then run into the arms of his business partner once he’d told her he wouldn’t commit?
It was a theory he’d found himself clinging to because it was easier to believe that, and that she’d been playing him from the very first moment they’d met, than to live with the fact that she’d been as innocent as he’d believed her to be. And that he’d let a woman get too close, after years of keeping them at a distance for fear of an emotional connection that could lead to loss and pain.
She’d captivated him and that was a weakness he’d never forgive himself for. But he’d learnt his lesson. Now he was in control. She wouldn’t play him again.
A car horn sounded nearby in the traffic jerking Leo back into the present moment.
He felt something in his pocket and he remembered. He took a box out and said, ‘Actually, I’m afraid we’re going to have to add something again.’
She looked at him and then down at the small velvet box. He opened it and her eyes widened fractionally.
Angelica looked at what was obviously meant to be an engagement ring. And it caught her right in the gut. Because she would have chosen it for herself. It was a square emerald stone, flanked by two smaller sapphires, in a platinum setting.
A vast contrast to the ostentatious and totally over-the-top massive pear-drop diamond that Aldo had made her wear. She’d had to remember to put it on when around him. After he’d died she’d gone straight out and found the nearest homeless shelter and had handed it over as a donation, telling them they could do what they liked with it.
But this was…lovely. Before she could stop him, Leo was taking it out of the box and reaching for her hand, sliding it onto her finger where the wedding band sat.
She looked at him and said almost accusingly, ‘It fits.’
He drawled, ‘The perks of having a wife who is one of the most well-known models in the world. Your sizes are a matter of public information.’
Angelica pulled her hand away and made a choked sound and looked out of the window. He’d just articulated another reason why she wanted to leave the industry—the fact that she was a public commodity. A public clothes horse. Yet, she felt churlish because the business had been very good to her and it had saved her sanity when married to Aldo. She did appreciate it but she was ready to move on. She wasn’t even sure where to exactly, but she knew she hungered for something more meaningful.
The car pulled to a smooth stop outside one of Manhattan’s most iconic buildings, wide steps leading up to a massive entrance garlanded with foliage and flaming lanterns. The steps were covered in a red carpet and thronged with people in a glittering array of colours, and with jewellery sparkling at ears, throats, wrists and fingers.
Leo got out of the car and came around to help Angelica out. When she would have pulled her hand back, he held it. She looked up at him. They were at the bottom of the steps and he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. It was unexpected and felt shockingly intimate. An arrow of pure lust shot straight to the core of her body.
He was urging her with him, up the steps before she had time to absorb all the sensations of that one relatively chaste touch. She wanted to pull her hand away but the bank of paparazzi on one side had already noticed her and were calling out her name, and Leo’s. Acting on autopilot, she stopped and posed for the photographers, Leo by her side.
Voices rang out,‘Angelica, over here, please! Who are you wearing? Are you and Falzone really married?’
She ignored the questions and forced a smile. They moved up the steps and got closer to the door. By the time they had reached the entrance, Angelica realised she was holding onto Leo’s hand for support as much as to put forward a display of unity. Paparazzi had never bothered her too much before but now she felt exposed. Self-conscious. Even more so when they stepped into the magnificent ballroom space and Angelica knew she stood out like a sore thumb in her jeans and T-shirt, even if they were designer label.
She tried not to let the prickle of regret or her conscience bother her. After all, she was trying to encourage Leo to realise that marrying her had been a mistake. But, as they entered the room and moved through the crowd, her choice of attire seemed to be making waves but for all the wrong reasons. When Leo was accosted by someone, the other man’s partner said to Angelica, ‘You’re making the rest of us look overdressed and fussy.’
Angelica smiled weakly, ‘That really wasn’t my intention.’ She’d just wanted to irritate Leo.
The woman winked at her, ‘Believe me, if I thought I could get away with jeans and a T-shirt I’d be joining you. These dress codes are so outdated.’
