The dress had looked amazing on the plastic mannequin.
On Tilly, it had come alive.
It clung to her waist but flared out softly to below her knees. The solid fabric of the dress finished just above her breasts but the embroidered mesh covered the rest of her chest and shoulders with the effect of decorating without hiding that pale skin that Angus knew felt like silk and tasted like heaven.
Tilly was watching him watch her and then she did a twirl right in front of him, holding her arms up to show him how the skirt rippled around her legs but hugged her upper body as if it were painted on. She had never looked more like a ballerina.
She had never looked more beautiful.
Angus took out his wallet.
‘I’m going to buy this dress for you.’
‘But—’
He interrupted so that she couldn’t continue her protest. He kept his voice low but used the kind of tone he’d learned that nobody argued with.
‘I want you to wear this dress for our last dinner tonight,’ he told Tilly. ‘I want you to wear it in the future and remember me.’
He saw the way she drew in a sharp breath and then parted her lips to slowly let it go.
‘I would remember you without the dress, Angus,’ she said quietly. ‘But thank you. It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever put on.’
Were thosetearsin Tilly’s eyes that created that sparkle? Angus couldn’t tell because she turned away too quickly and then vanished into the changing room. He hoped not. The last thing in the world he’d want to do would be to make Tilly cry.
When she came out, the saleswoman was waiting to wrap the dress in tissue paper and put it into the black and white bag on the counter. She hesitated for a heartbeat, holding the dress against her body as if it was her last chance to touch it.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked him.
Angus smiled. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure about anything,’ he murmured.
* * *
Tilly put the gorgeous red dress on again as she got ready to go to dinner with Angus that evening. The dress that actually made her feel truly beautiful for the first time in her life.
They hadn’t left their room at the Negresco since they’d checked in, hours and hours ago.
For some time, after they’d been left alone in their suite, they hadn’t been able to stop staring wide-eyed at the over-the-top opulence of the room. It could have graced a French castle in the time of Louis XIV but looked as if it had been redecorated in the more playful belle époque era. Heavily fringed and scalloped peacock-blue drapes framed French doors that were open to a picture-postcard sea view only enhanced by the intricate wrought-iron railing of the balcony. The furniture had spindly legs and heavy brocade fabric, the chandeliers were gilded and the centrepiece of the room was an antique sleigh bed, the curved ends made of heavy carved wood that could have beendauntingly masculine but was softened by the pure white linen, huge feather-filled pillows and a pale coral-pink cover.
Angus and Tilly looked at the bed.
Then they looked at each other.
And they both smiled.
They hadn’t left that bed until there was only just time to shower and dress for the table that was booked for dinner across the road at eight o’clock.
Daytime sex had never particularly appealed to Tilly in the past. The filters of darkness and alcohol had always been part and parcel of a sexual encounter. Totally sober sex when the sun wasn’t even close to setting was as much of a revelation as the heights of physical pleasure that Angus had shown her were possible.
It was like the difference between liking someone and being utterly in love with them. Every sense was sharpened and every sensation magnified. She couldn’t have done it if she hadn’t developed such a deep trust in Angus, but from the very first kiss, when they’d gone onto the balcony to admire the view but kept looking at each other instead, she felt completely safe. And it was different again to anything they’d shared so far. The lovemaking was so slow, every movement felt almost reverent. They had all the time in the world to savour every taste and every touch, every murmur of words where the sound of a voice was more important than their meaning. It was heartbreakingly gentle enough to feel like a farewell but passionate enough to have no doubt at all that it would never be forgotten.
By the time Tilly had showered, brushed her hair until it was a dark silky curtain that she left to hang loose down her back, and slipped back into the red dress, she felt as if she were floating in the kind of space that only existed when you were almost asleep – halfway between a dream and reality – when you were physically, and emotionally, sated enough to behappier than you could ever remember being before. It was a state of being that only intensified when they arrived at the N La Plage and were shown to a corner table on the deck, just far enough away from other diners and angled enough to feel almost private.
Angus either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the fact that the white linen tablecloth was strewn with red rose petals but Tilly noticed, of course, and she could hear an echo of him telling her, in no uncertain terms, what the rules of engagement were going to be.
‘I don’t want to see any rose petals or candles or heart-shaped chocolates…’
It was harder to remember the tone of his voice.
