‘This my first official social event with Tore and I want to be turned out looking as sophisticated as I can,’ her sister confided.
‘Me too, especially with Imogen due to parade down the catwalk in the hall,’ Tabby agreed.
‘You have to show me your dress,’ her twin carolled.
‘It was love at first sight for me when I saw it and it fits like a glove so I decided it was meant for me.’
They took Belle down to the village and browsed the crafts before settling in at the café for more chat. Aristide was down at Renzetti Pharma meeting with some contact of Tore’s who was looking for an investor. In the afternoon they went back to the villa to get ready for the ball.
Aristide knocked on the bedroom door, hating that that seemed necessary but, clearly, Tabby must’ve told her sister that she wanted a separate room and he was sentenced to polite distance whether he liked it or not. In fact, he really, truly did not like being separated from Tabby and he had barely seen her since they had arrived. As Tore had warned, she was preoccupied in catching up with her sister and her niece, their familial affection and closeness a palpable thing.
‘Come in…why didn’t you use the connecting door?’ Tabby asked, a large towel wrapped round her middle, her wet hair concealed by another. Her pale skin, still bearing a damp glisten of moisture, gleamed and her shapely curves beckoned to him like a siren’s call.
‘What connecting door?’ In demonstration, Tabby dragged open a door, only to discover that it did not lead directly into another bedroom but instead to a narrow servant staircase that, going by the dust and cobwebs, appeared disused and forgotten. ‘My word, I wonder if Violet knows about this bit. Presumably that door opposite leads into your room.’
Aristide, sleek and dark and sexy in a black business suit, stepped past her to investigate and opened the door opposite to confirm that it was, indeed, his room. ‘I didn’t intend to disturb you, but I wanted to give these to you to wear tonight.’ He passed her a large worn jewellery box. ‘These belonged to my mother.’
‘Didn’t your father give them to your stepmother?’ she asked in surprise.
‘No, they’re heirlooms from my mother’s side of the family and they came to me.’
Tabby walked over to the window to sit down and open the box. A breathtaking river of large stunningly blue sapphires greeted her admiring gaze. The drop earrings were equally remarkable. ‘These are antique.’
‘They are. There wasn’t time to have them reset.’
‘They’re fabulous just as they are. Are you sure you want me to wear them?’ Tabby pressed uncomfortably. ‘I’m not your wife.’
‘I’m lending them to you for the sake of appearances.’ Aristide downplayed his generosity with characteristic coolness, not encouraging her to read too much into the gesture.
‘Thank you. They’re absolutely gorgeous,’ she said warmly, appreciative eyes skimming over his lean, strong face. The silence lagged, the atmosphere building as his brilliant dark golden eyes shimmered. He took a step forward.
And then a knock sounded on her door. It was the hairstylist and Tabby bid a harried, reluctant goodbye to Aristide before rushing off to pull on clothes.
Feeling flat out dissatisfied by that untimely interruption, Aristide departed again. And then he wanted to kick himself because he had also sought Tabby out to tell her about Imogen in advance of the fashion show but had somehow neglected to even open that conversation with her. He cursed, aware that his own reluctance to relive those years of blindness and betrayal consistently held him back from any desire to share the gory details.
A couple of hours later, Tabby was dressed, groomed far beyond her usual level and feeling as good as she could feel in advance of watching Imogen Ross star as the leading light on the temporary catwalk sat up in the vast hall.
Her dress was midnight blue, saved from being mistaken for black by the iridescent fabric that caught the light with tiny glimmers of green, purple and blue. It bared her shoulders and much of her slender back, cupping her full breasts and skimming her tummy, which was developing a pronounced curve. On her feet she wore high-heeled toning sandals and round her neck and dangling from her ears she sported the breathtaking sapphire combination, her hair swept up to show off her jewellery. Violet was wearing a ravishing golden sheath that enhanced her diminutive slenderness and a stunning diamond necklace glittered at her throat.
The fashion show was fun, typically full of outrageous garments that only a long-legged adolescent could have worn with panache. But here and there were little gems to be seen in the cut of a sleek red cocktail dress and a fabulous summer raincoat. Tabby tensed when Imogen strode down the catwalk towards them, flashing her spectacular smile. And she could see right there and then why Imogen was so famous because even the weird outfit she wore looked fabulous on her perfect body.
Aristide expelled his breath on a slow hiss and leant closer to Tabby to declare, ‘I first met her when I was fifteen. She was seventeen and already well known. I fell for her like a ton of bricks.’
‘I imagine she was incredibly beautiful at that age,’ Tabby muttered, looking at Imogen all those years on, still in full possession of her glorious looks.
‘I changed my whole life to see more of her,’ he admitted in a gruff undertone. ‘I was at boarding school in England and I insisted on moving to one in Paris. I saw her every weekend and holiday for five years—’
‘You were besotted,’ Tabby whispered, grateful that he was finally talking to her but rather wishing he had chosen a better setting. ‘Of course, you were.’
‘I believed everything she told me, even when the story didn’t fit. I ditched my critical thinking and intelligence. I was like a puppet on a string, providing the yacht holidays, the fancy hotels and the designer wardrobe, not to mention the photo opportunities she craved.’
‘Why the self-hatred?’ Tabby chided as the show took a break and refreshments were handed around.
‘Because I should’ve known better. I grew up with women of that ilk, some of whom were my father’s girlfriends, and yet I still didn’t recognise those traits in her,’ Aristide bit out, his lean, hard features grim.
Tabby skated a fingertip down a lean, strong thigh in reproof. ‘Oh, stop beating yourself up about it,’ she urged softly. ‘Being young is supposed to be all about making mistakes and learning from them.’
‘I may have been a fool for love once…but I will never be again,’ Aristide framed in a harsh undertone.
