Simone hadn’t sought out praise for her appearance in years. Didn’t need to. She’d become tired of people trying to turn her into somethingtheywanted her to be and so she’d left that life behind. She was who she was, now. So why did Leo’s comment twine its way round her like gift-wrapping ribbon? Silver and sparkly. It must have been the champagne at the wedding reception, making her a little fuzzy, even though she hadn’t drunk that much…
‘Would you like a nightcap?’ Leo asked as the doors slid open to their suite, all warm neutrals and impeccable styling. The lights of her adopted home city like a kaleidoscope beyond the floor to ceiling windows. Central Park a dark, velvety patch, hemmed by the twinkling cityscape surrounding it.
Simone wanted to take the jewelled combs from her hair, wash off her makeup and process the day. Remove her wedding dress, the bias-cut moulding to her, draping her body like liquid embodied in fabric. She hadn’t worn anything like it for years, her life more about practicality now than being a hated mannequin on display for her family. The heavy satin slipped seductively across her skin, so smooth and silky it almost felt like a negligee rather than a wedding dress. A mix of feelings swirled in her belly at the memories of the evening they’d just left. How Leo had held her on the dance floor as if she was in some way precious to him. How he’d looked at her as if he’dseenher for the first time.
‘Sure,’ she said. Perhaps against her better judgement, but a final drink would be a reasonable full stop to what had otherwise been a long day. She hadn’t really had one like it, with all the plucking, primping and pampering, since her Debutante Ball nine years earlier, when she’d been another woman altogether. ‘But before we do, you have…’
She reached out and brushed his suit, scattering some of the coloured paper onto the carpet. His shoulders were broad and strong under the fine wool, as she’d known intellectually but discovered for real, when they’d danced for the first time. The strength in those shoulders might carry the weight of the world if you allowed them to.
Leo’s eyebrows rose and she pulled back as if burned. What was she doing? She just knew Leo would hate to know that he still had confetti sprinkled on him. The man was impeccable in all things. Nothing out of place unless he’d styled it that way, or it had been styled for him.
‘Any more?’ he asked. His voice deep and a little rougher than usual.
There was some in his hair. For a fleeting moment she imagined brushing her hand through the strands to scatter the confetti to the floor. Simone’s fingers prickled as she wondered what all that dark hair would feel like. Thick, no doubt, but soft? Wiry? No…Impossible.
Simone waved her hand about the general direction of his head, and his eyes widened.
‘In your hair.’
He raked his fingers through his hair and the confetti fluttered to the floor, just as she imagined it would. His hair was now perfectly dishevelled in a way Leo was an expert at mastering. ‘Grazie. You’re similarly afflicted.’
He didn’t try to touch her and she didn’t know why it stung. Simone moved to a mirror, barely recognising the woman who looked back at her like a ghost. A reflection of who she’d once been, not who she’d become. With soft, smoky eyes. Blushing pink lips. Hair gleaming and curled, tumbling over her shoulders. The hours it had taken to achieve this look.
In the reflection stood Leo, a little off to the side. His gaze on her in the mirror was intent. Though it always tended to be, his focus taking some getting used to, until you realised that it infiltrated every part of his life. From how he dressed, to how he worked, to how he exercised. Perhaps even to how he loved, if the string of women who’d constantly graced his arm on any given month was anything to go by. She wondered how it was possible for him to maintain that level of intensity. Their eyes met in the mirror. His gaze held hers with a hint of awareness.
He thought she was beautiful.
High praise, coming from a person often voted the most beautiful man on the planet.
She dismissed the moment, focusing instead on the confetti that adorned her as well. She couldn’t brush her hands through her hair because that was likely impossible. A wedding hairstyle like hers wasn’t held together by hope and good wishes, but by hairspray. She picked out some errant coloured paper that had clung tenaciously to her, dropping it on the sideboard.
‘I’m surprised that you opted for confetti,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘It’s messy.’
‘I don’t mind messy, in its place. Life’s messy.’
There seemed to be weight to his words, but what was your wedding day if not a momentous occasion? Even though theirs was strictly business, it still carried a certain gravitas. That sensation pressed down upon her again, but she wouldn’t dwell on it. Instead, Simone thought about the money in her bank account. Seven figures settled on her the moment she saidI do. That amount would allow her to protect her sister Holly, who’d been abandoned by her parents because, like Simone, she hadn’t fitted into the mould they’d tried to create for her.
Today ensured that the medical bills for Holly’s increasingly complicated pregnancy, that she’d hidden till she couldn’t any longer, were paid. That was all that mattered.
‘I don’t believe you’ve had a messy day in your life. You’re all about the perfection.Leo Zanetti never misses.Isn’t that what everyone says about you? And never forget, I hear the complaints your suppliers and others have about you. Your exacting standards. As your EA, I hear itall.’
A look flashed across his face, almost like a wince, then it was gone.
‘Then you’ve discovered my secret. The real reason for handing out confetti.’
‘What?’
‘It allowed people to throw things at me. Make them feel better about theexacting standardsI impose upon them. Think of it as relationship building.’
The comment was so startlingly ridiculous a laugh simply burst from her, as she thought of their leaving the reception in an entirely different light. People hurling confetti whilst muttering,take that, Leo Zanetti, for the time you told me I had the colour wrong, and it should have been Pantone 654 instead of Pantone 655, so you demanded we repaint twenty walls…
Her eyes burned and blurred but at least her mascara was waterproof so she wouldn’t end up looking like a Panda. Leo grinned. She could barely see it through her tears of mirth, but she could now tell the difference between the smile he flashed to his adoring public and the one he kept for private. The genuine smile. Relaxed, not studied.
This one was of the second sort. The private smile. She knew because it met his eyes and because of her reaction to it. Seeing that smile was like walking into the sunshine on a fine spring day, warm and satisfying.
