“Are you okay, Sis?”
I was lost in thought and had to take a second to form the question my cousin asked in my mind.
Am I okay?I was sitting in Atta’s room while she did my hair for the charity gala. I had colored my hair in Italy, but my natural color was close to the color Atta changed it back to: cappuccino—a deep warm brown with dark auburn undertones. After coloring my hair back to its original shade, she pulled it into an elegant chignon. She was using red roses and red buttercups created from silk to make a hair piece around the fancy bun.
As she did my hair, my mind kept wandering.
I did not want to go to the event. Even more, I did not want Casanova to go either. I did not have to be psychic to foretell every woman in the room with a deep enough pocketbook was going to fight over him. I would not be surprised if it did not come to blows, as Atta would say, or millions. The guests invited were all wealthy. The bids would probably start high.
In return for the generous sum his physical appearance would bring in, he would be required to take the winner on a date.
“Sis,” Atta said, sticking another rose in my hair. “Relax your shoulders and your hands. You’re as tight as a bargain-shopper’s purse strings.”
I took a deep breath and released it slowly. I did not want to talk to Atta about this. Her man, Angelo, would not be getting auctioned. When Ty tried to recruit him, Atta threw what she called a conniption fit. Angelo laughed raspy and low, kissing her hand.
The hand he had slipped a diamond engagement ring on.
“Are you okay?” I returned the question. She had known Angelo for less than a month, and she had accepted his marriage proposal. Or, she had told me, it was not much of a proposal but a firm—we will be together foreverstatement. I could see that about a Fausti proposal. They rarely asked for anything.
“Fine by me,” she had said after she told me. “I knew it the moment our eyes locked. He asked me then, and I said yes. He wasn’t foolin’ around. Neither was I. He’s it for me, Sistine. My forever.”
As simple as that, and they were planning for a wedding in mid-October. It was early August.
“Oh, you mean the wedding?” She grabbed for a silk buttercup, sliding the stem into my hair. She studied it for a moment before she went for a rose. She spoke in a whisper when she answered. “I know you’re worried, but the moment my eyes met his…I just knew. It was like…all the pieces of my life just clicked into place. I’ve never felt love like his. It covers me like a blanket. It can turn into a shield in a heartbeat. It’s…well, you know how it feels, don’t you?”
I refused to answer. She squeezed my shoulder gently and shook me a bit.
“It’s me, Sistine. You can be honest with me.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I do know how it feels.”
“It’s how love is supposed to feel, right?” she whispered. “Even if we’ve never felt it before, we instinctively know. And for me, his future is more important than his past. Angelo has one too. With women, I mean. It’s…excessive, but…you know when you know.”
“Yes,” was all I could say.
She sighed, knowing I might have given her the surface news about Mariano, but I was a private person when it came to deeper feelings. She never pushed, the same asZiaBianca and Hannah, but she was always there for me—even in the silence, which took me away again until it was time to get dressed.
I’d decided on a black satin dress that fell below my knees. It had a bustier bodice and subtle boning. My four-inch heels were black satin with rose embellishments around the ankles. I wore a chunky gold necklace with a baroque-style cross and matching oversized earrings. And even if the nameplate necklace did not fit, it fit me. So, I refused to take it off.
I spritzed on a more seductive perfume for the evening—rose instead of the apple-infused scent I usually wore. Even when I wasn’t wearing it, it seemed to come naturally to me. It worked with my personal skin chemicals. Which was why horses seemed to like to nibble on me as well.
Just as I had brought my boots from the ranch with me to Venice, I was bringing my baroque style with me to Wyoming. I was who I was. My style was my style.
Sicilia, who was about to take over House of Sicilia, had been working with my family on designs inspired by the Fausti family, and she had sent over samples for me to wear. I loved her style—she was excellent at reading body types, and I always felt feminine, romantic, and powerful in her designs.
Atta and I whistled at each other when we both emerged from our rooms, ready to go. Her blond hair was pulled to the side, cascading over her shoulder and touching her waist. Heramber eyes exploded against the colors she used on them. Her black and silver gown sparkled with the lights and hugged all her sensual curves.
I had them as well, curves, but to a much lesser degree. Though, to be fair to myself, even if I needed a push-up bra to enhance my C-cup teardrops, my breasts were nice—especially paired with my collarbones. I always felt that was one area of my body I would not change. Necklaces always seemed to suit me.
Angelo was waiting for Atta, and when he saw her, his eyes lowered, his lips parted, and he pulled her in and whispered something in her ear that made her close her eyes and smile.
I smiled as well, although I kept thinking about what was to come.
The “dark auction” as I had started calling it in my head.
It was irking me that I even cared whether theCasanovawent on a date or not!
Outside, in the unusually warm night, I groaned when I scented him in the air. He smelled so good, my mouth watered, and my heart sped up. I wished I could lie and say his cologne, or whatever it was—a natural scent?—did not affect me, but it did. It made my heart gallop and my head spin.
