Alessandro helped her out of the limousine and laced his large, warm hand with hers as they started along the red carpet. His bespoke tuxedo emphasized his broad shoulders and solid strength, but the unruly curl of his hair was a reminder of the humor that set him apart from his twin brother. Her heart pounded as she glanced up at this breathtaking man. Cameras flashed and crowds murmured.
“I’m glad you talked me out of wearing high heels,” she whispered to him, trying to break the tension that was building inside her.
Alessandro chuckled. “As much as I love to sweep you into my arms, I think we should save that for the bedroom.”
At the base of the staircase, they stopped to pose for photographs.
“What’s your name?” called a voice from somewhere behind the explosion of flashes.
“This is Ann-Sophie Svensson, my fiancée.” Then he bent down and brushed his lips over hers. Before she could recover, he was guiding her up the stairs and into the building, leaving a trail of questions behind them.
In the gallery, signs and ticketing lines had been replaced with flowering plants, red velvet and hundreds of candles. Attendees stood in groups of glittery gowns and black tuxedos. They were entering Alessandro’s world, where he was known for relationships that were like fireworks—exciting, explosive and short-lived. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw heads turn once, then again in double takes as they walked in together, the swell of her belly on full display.
Ann-Sophie flashed to that last night in Nice, when she watched Alessandro walk in with a countess. His world had felt so far away, a bridge that was impossible to cross. And now, so improbably,shewas the woman walking in with him. All she had to do was get pregnant, she thought wryly, and she was sure more than a few people were thinking the same thing. But then Alessandro looked down at her with the kind of indulgent smile that made her forget about all of that. It took her back into their own private world.
“I ruined your Cinderella moment back in Nice,” he whispered in her ear. “But I hope tonight makes up for it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “To be determined.”
But she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. As she reached out to stroke his cheek, she hoped that in her own version of the Cinderella tale, midnight would never come.
Alessandro understood his assignment for tonight. He was to introduce Ann-Sophie into his world and give a display of love that projected the image of a happy couple that their family needed. Tonight was about showing the world that this relationship was not a possible catalyst for going off the rails, as his father’s had. And it wouldn’t be.
But Ann-Sophie was so beautiful and lovely that Alessandro’s chest hurt. And as he walked through the wide hall of the museum, surrounded by relics of art from fallen civilizations, in a place where the present mingled with the past, anything seemed possible.
They walked through the candlelit gallery, past servers offering flutes of champagne. Not far ahead, the countess caught his eye and gave him a flirtatious smile. It was nothing out of the ordinary, something that she had done countless times. But he was so clearly with another woman—hispregnantfiancée—and yet she had felt that it was still appropriate to flirt. As if she was simply waiting her turn before he danced with her. Then again, Alessandro knew that he had given her every reason to expect this. He had conducted himself this way in the past, and never once had he thought twice about it. But the idea that Ann-Sophie could have seen this flirtatious smile, this reminder of what the world expected from him… The unwelcome idea twisted in his stomach.
How had he enjoyed this life before? The question stunned him. Because up until now, he would have said that he had enjoyed his life immensely for all the pleasures it afforded him. And he had taken full advantage of every one of these pleasures. But now, everything about his previous life felt wrong. Empty. The idea of going back to who he was before that day outside Ann-Sophie’s apartment building didn’t sit well at all with him. So he pushed the thought away and steered them in another direction, toward the dance floor.
“How are we doing so far, Cinderella?” he asked, focusing on the curve of her back under his hand and her lips, the color of ripe peaches.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to a life like this,” she said, gesturing to the orchestra and the line of servers, dressed elegantly in black, waiting to attend to the guests. “But I guess you’ve been doing this forever.”
He considered this comment. “It’s a role, one I have always played in the family.”
“Quite happily, as I remember,” she said with a laugh. “You were always flirting, talking with some someone or another, entertaining.”
He frowned. “I suppose that’s accurate.”
“The baby and I are really cramping your lifestyle.” She gave him a wry smile.
He didn’t smile back. “I haven’t been to a single event since Nice.”
He hadn’t made the decision consciously. He simply hadn’t been in the mood, and intuition had always been his best gauge of what to attend, or whom to dance with or whom to sleep with. This was the one place he had allowed himself to be guided by his feelings. And for the last seven months, he simply didn’twantto be with anyone. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, as he had always had periods where he was busier with more meetings or other obligations, but looking back now, he hadn’t had the urge to go out, let alone to sleep with another woman. Since Ann-Sophie. The thought rattled his calm.
Ann-Sophie gave him a skeptical look. “I know you have a past, Alessandro. You didn’t know about the baby, and you didn’t know you would ever see me again. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you had gone about your life the way you always had.”
The string quartet ended the song and there was a pause, a quiet in the room. He should have seen this break as an opening to change course. The most strategic move was to lie and say that he had moved on because the truth—that he had had no interest in other women since their week in Nice—might suggest that he was offering more in their marriage than he was. But honesty was a sore point with her, and though he couldn’t give her everything she wanted, he should give her this.
So he looked at her with a seriousness that didn’t belong anywhere near this dance floor, with all of society watching them. “I understand that we are allowed to have our pasts. But there has been no one else since you. I promise you that.”
Her eyes widened a little, and her breath caught audibly in her throat. The expression that flashed across her face looked too much like hope. Hope she never should have in him. Some part of him wanted to warn her away, but instead, he brought his mouth to hers. He kissed her slowly, teasing her with his lips and the sensual swipe of his tongue, trying to forget that there was a war inside him that had no winners. Trying to convince her that this kiss, this electric connection, could be enough. But soon his own desire turned on him, and he felt his grip of control shake. He pulled away.
She blinked, as if she wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. Then she smiled. “Is that your way of ending a discussion?”
“You can take away whatever message you’d like,” he said, smiling back, and he felt a bit steadier.
At dinner, he found himself only half paying attention to his conversation with the dewy-eyed heiress he was sitting next to, distracted by the man Ann-Sophie was deep in conversation with across the table. Ernesto Ruzzo, a businessman based in Venice. He was a bit older, good-looking and smiling at Ann-Sophie in a way that was uncomfortably familiar. Especially when his eyes drifted to her generous breasts, so temptingly highlighted by the cut of her dress. Alessandro felt an unfamiliar stab of…jealousy? In the middle of this confusing thought, Ann-Sophie glanced across the table and smiled at him, as if completely unaware of what he was noticing.
