Skye sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. ‘There’s a thing? Tonight?’
‘Yes, we have to leave in forty-five minutes.’
Skye felt sick, and grabbed for the nearest covering she could find—a robe that Lazaro must have left out for her. She pulled it on and got out of bed, panic spiking.
‘I need to get ready...’ She looked at him. ‘I have no idea how to get ready.’
Without even looking she knew her hair had reverted to its default unruliness. The make-up so painstakingly applied that morning was well and truly gone.
‘I’ll call for someone to come up and help.’
She went over and did up his cufflinks, feeling shy all of a sudden, in spite of what had just happened.
‘Thank you.’
She looked up. He was clean-shaven, and she wanted to reach up and press her mouth against his jaw. But she didn’t.
She stepped back. ‘I should take a shower.’
She went into the bathroom and it was as impressive as the rest of the suite. A huge bath. Two sinks. A shower big enough for—
Skye’s mind was immediately full of X-rated images. She shut them down and dropped the robe, twisting her hair up and turning on the spray, willing down her growing panic at the thought of her first public function with Lazaro.
As his wife.
When she went back into the bedroom she saw a dress laid out on the bed. She’d tried it on in Spain, for the stylist, and it was intimidatingly beautiful.
It was champagne-coloured and long, and covered her from neck to toe, even her arms. The material was so light and delicate, though, that Skye was afraid to touch it. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of tiny mother-of-pearl beads and crystals sewn into the fabric that shimmered when she moved.
There was a light knock on the door and a young woman put her head around it. ‘Señora Sanchez? Your husband said you might need some help?’
Your husband. She hated how much she liked the sound of that when she’d always considered herself an independent woman.
She forced a smile. ‘Yes, thanks so much.’
The woman came in, smiling. She said conspiratorially, ‘I’m under strict instructions not to straighten your hair.’
Butterflies erupted in Skye’s belly. Dangerous. Just because Lazaro evidently preferred her hair in its natural state, it didn’t mean anything. At all.
The girl looked at the dress and said efficiently, ‘We’ll need flesh-coloured underwear.’
* * *
Lazaro was surrounded by a group of important contacts—people he had come here specifically to meet. Usually in this kind of scenario he was focused and single-minded when it came to getting what he wanted out of his peers. But this evening...for the first time...he was distracted.
Lazaro’s attention was fixated on where Skye stood a few feet away, in animated conversation with an older woman. When she’d emerged into the salon from the bedroom earlier his mind had blanked. His first thought had been: She’s naked. But she wasn’t naked. The dress was the most provocative thing he’d ever seen. And yet not a sliver of skin could be seen below her neckline.
It was flesh-coloured, and clung to every curve the woman had—including the small swell of her belly. And her breasts. It shimmered when she moved. Her hair was up, loose tendrils framing her face. He didn’t know what she’d done with her make-up but she looked more like her. He could see her freckles.
When they’d walked in to the party—her hand holding his in a death-grip—he’d seen the way people—men—looked at her, and for the second time in his life he’d experienced a feeling that had to be jealousy.
But eventually she’d let go and gravitated towards others. Now she looked as if she couldn’t care less where Lazaro was, throwing her head back and laughing at something the woman said, drawing the attention of more men.
Lazaro was about to move over to where she was when someone said, ‘Sanchez...tell us, are you really signing the contracts for the Palazzo Rizzoli tomorrow?’
Lazaro dragged his gaze off his wife, resenting the intrusion. Suddenly he went cold when he realised how close he was coming to forgetting why he was even there in the first place. To continue to secure his place in this world where people whispered behind his back and waited for him to show his lack of breeding.
He turned his attention back where it needed to be.