Page 268 of The Rebel Billionaire

“Keep your boxers on. I’m ready.”

“At last!”

“Now, now, boys. United front,” Mother says.

She knows how to work the room, and as always, she’s dressed to perfection. I’m surprised she isn’t pacing the floor. She hates being late for anything.

I usher them out of Enzo’s townhouse and into the car, before we join the queue of A-list celebrities. The event might take place behind closed doors once it begins, but what if Harper is recognised by another hotel guest? The press is just outside…

When we reach the front of the queue, Keith pulls the Bentley up to the kerb and jumps out to open the door.

“Have a wonderful evening,” he says.

“Thank you, Keith.”

We emerge onto the red carpet amid shouted calls and camera flashes. Mother situates herself between us, her sons, posing for the cameras. She may no longer run the St Clair fashion house, but there’s not a single person out there who doesn’t know who she is and how she revitalised and transformed a declining brand.

As for Enzo and me, we’ve been paraded in front of the press since she took over, so what’s one more photoshoot?

Mother grips my arm.

“Just in time,” she says, her eyes sparkling as she looks past me.

I look up to find Harper walking towards me. Her eyes lock on mine, and she offers me a breathtaking smile.

She moves towards me, and I open my arms.

“Are you making an entrance, Ms Frazer?”

“I know my boyfriend has been incredibly patient with me, and after three months, I’ve decided I’m sick of hiding. I think it’s time we went public.”

I can’t smother my grin, pulling her in for a kiss, which she returns with equal passion.

“Who’s that?” Questions fly from the press line.

“That’s Harper… Harper Frazer, the missing British heiress,” someone shouts. Excitement ripples through the crowd of journalists.

“Harper, this way,” someone shouts.

She turns, but I don’t miss the twinkle in her eyes as she slides an arm around my waist.

“Alessandro, are you and Harper together?”

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Mr Bianchi, Ms Frazer, this way.”

“Harper, who designed your dress?”

She turns and looks at me. I quirk a brow.

“Alessandro designed it,” she says, answering the reporter before shifting her gaze back to me, love shining from her eyes.

I drop a kiss on her painted lips, sensing her smile beneath my mouth, her hand coming up and gripping my neck.

More questions are shouted, but I’m lost in the moment, the woman of my dreams finally standing beside me in public.

We pose for the cameras until things finally calm down, and the next A-lister takes our spot.