I swung my legs out of the car, careful not to let the slit that ran up one side of my dress reveal too much, and stood next to him, feeling every bit the princess in the drapey white dress that slid over my body in a sea of white satin.
The halter-style collar wrapped around my neck before plunging to a deep cutout, all the way to my waist, between my boobs (I’d had to use fashion tape to make sure I didn’t spill out, which had thoughtfully been provided with the dress), with a matching back that started just above my ass.
The waist was fitted, the dress skimming the rest of my body in a silky drape, the deep slit on one side cut almost to my hip and offering a glimpse of my strappy black heels.
We made our way up a wide stone walkway, past towering columns and through the front doors, left open to the cool evening air.
An older couple in front of us handed their invitations to the two security guards at the entrance and I immediately recognized the thick envelopes Jagger had lifted off the couple at da Paolino. I wondered what the couple was doing now, if they’d reported their invitations stolen or if they assumed the cards had simply fallen out of the woman’s handbag.
My heart raced as we stepped forward toward two dark-haired, dark-eyed security guards in expensive suits.
I forced a bored expression on my face — at least I hoped that’s what it looked like because the terror I was actually feeling would definitely be bad for our cover — as Jagger reached inside his jacket for the invitations.
He handed them over and one of the guards scanned the QR code, then handed the invitations back to Jagger, his gaze already on the couple behind us.
And then we were in, walking past security and into the villa, music playing from some far off room.
Jagger plucked two champagne glasses off the tray of a passing waiter.
He handed one to me and touched his glass to mine. “To successful hunting.”
I smiled and touched the glass to my lips to take a sip of the champagne. I wasn’t a big drinker, and the last thing I needed was to be tipsy when we were finally on Alina’s trail.
“How long do you think it will take Hawk and Vigo to get here?” I asked.
“They may be here now,” Jagger said.
He didn’t even look around, and I admired his calm, the way he acted like he belonged, like there wasn’t even a question that we’d be found out.
It was one of the things I loved about the Hawks: their confidence gave me confidence.
We wandered through the first floor of the villa, and I tried not to look too impressed as I took in the magnificent architecture: soaring ceilings and ridged columns, cavernous rooms framed by giant arches, chandeliers as big as our kitchen in Blackwell Falls, their lights reflecting off crystal teardrops.
And the crowd was every bit as beautiful: men and women ripped straight out of celebrity gossip sites and artsy types dressed in interesting and unusual fashion.
I spotted an A-list actress with her director husband, a political with a young woman who didn’t look like his wife, a tech billionaire with a beautiful woman on one arm, a handsome man on the other.
And then, someone familiar.
“Isn’t that…”
Jagger followed my gaze. “The guy on the yacht.”
He’d been younger in the picture from my parents’ storage unit, but it was definitely him. I’d done a reverse image search and come up empty, but here he was, at one of the regular parties on Alina Volkova’s circuit.
My pulse quickened. Could it mean that Dimitri would be here after all?
We wandered toward the back of the villa and I was glad the terrace doors had been left open on all sides. It was November, but the rooms were warm with all the bodies crammed inside and the breeze drifting in off the water kept the villa from feeling stifling.
A man dressed in a suit stopped with a tray full of jewels and Jagger paused to admire the glittering diamonds and emeralds laid out on black velvet.
It took me a minute to remember what was happening: the jewelry collection unveiled by Maison Valmont. It was the whole point of the White Night gala, and I forced myself to make quiet exclamations of awe as I looked at the shimmering jewels.
Jagger nodded at the suited man and he stepped away, looking for another victim.
“Will people buy them?” I asked. “Tonight?”
“Some,” Jagger said. “But really this is a PR event, a way to build buzz for the collection. Most of the people here have their jewelry custom designed, like your ring.”
