Xander turned and went back down a few steps until he could tip up Rose’s chin and force her to look at him. “Did I say what you brought wasn’t good enough?”
“No,” she muttered.
“I want to treat you to a day of girlish pleasures. I don’t want you feeling self-conscious—like right now—when you walk into that ballroom. I want you to feel beautiful and confident, as if you belong there, because you do. You could walk in the room wearing cutoffs and I’d still think you were the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen. But I thought you’d prefer something a little more glamorous.”
Rose nodded and started back up the stairs beside him. “I didn’t want to come up here and be a burden. You have things to do, too. You don’t need to spend all your time cleaning me up to take me out.”
They reached the landing and he gestured her to go right into the master suite. “Rose, I’m a man. I shower, put on a suit and show up. That’s all I’ll do ahead of the signing. My publisher sets it all up. I only have to arrive and sign books. I’ll switch into a tuxedo before the gala, but again, not a big deal. I’d much rather watch you thoroughly enjoy getting the royal treatment.”
He pushed open the French doors that guarded the entrance to his bedroom and stepped aside to let Rose go in ahead of him.
“I feel like I’m already getting the royal treatment. Fancy jets, limousines, champagne...and then this place. My bedroom looks like a cheap hotel compared to yours.”
He watched Rose stroll into the only room in the house that felt fully lived-in to him. His bedroom was his retreat, his only perfectly private and safe place in the world. He might have let his decorator go a little overboard in this room, but he loved the result.
“Look at this bed!” she said, gesturing toward the king-size mattress with the massive carved wooden four-poster bedframe that dominated the far wall. The sheets were dark brown silk, like the color of Rose’s eyes. The comforter was a delicately stitched patchwork of silk, leather, tapestry and velvet in shades of brown, beige and blue. A large mahogany credenza at the foot of the bed hid away a fifty-inch flat-screen television that would rise up with the push of a button.
“It’s just a bed. It might be fancy, but in the end, it serves the same purpose. I recall your bed being most excellent for lovemaking and sleep. What does it matter when my eyes are closed?”
Rose sat down on the edge of the bed and groaned aloud. “It matters. It sure as hell does.” She flopped back against it and sighed. “This is like sleeping on a cloud of velvet. Even with my eyes closed, I can tell this is better.”
Xander set her bags over near the small seating area and made his way over to where she was lying. “I don’t know,” he said. He eased onto the bed beside her and propped his head up on his elbow. “I think I need a thorough comparison before I can make a judgment. We should do everything on this bed just the same as we did on yours.”
Rose chuckled and turned her head to look up at him. “I thought I needed my rest for the big day ahead.”
Xander placed his hand on Rose’s stomach and stroked over her blouse to play at the edge of the underwire in her bra. “Sleep is overrated.”
Ten
Rose felt like an impostor.
She certainly didn’t look like one, thanks to a luxurious private shopping spree at Neiman Marcus and half a day at an upscale salon having her hair, makeup and nails done. She supposed if you threw enough money at the cause, you could transform anyone’s appearance. Tonight she looked more like a princess than a waitress.
Her strapless gown was like something out of a fairy tale. It was a shimmering dusky gold, almost pinkish, with intricate beading on the fitted bodice that exploded out into layers of flowing, glittering tulle. It had movement and sparkle, ideal for dancing, and it went perfectly with the strappy gold heels with Swarovski crystals her shopping assistant had chosen.
Her hair was swept up into an elegant twist that highlighted the long line of her neck and décolletage. She wore a rose-gold choker studded with tiny diamonds at her throat and a matching bracelet on her wrist. She looked sophisticated and elegant—as though she fit in with the rich and important people all around her.
But that was on the outside. On the inside she was just a nobody from Cornwall. A single mother. A waitress. The daughter of a felon. Surely there wasn’t enough fancy clothing and makeup to cover that up. Eventually, someone would notice she didn’t belong here.
Walking into the ballroom on Xander’s arm, she’d felt like Cinderella going to the ball, minus the mice and the pumpkins. Her fairy godmother came in the form of a black American Express card with Xander’s name on it. Her prince had bought her entire outfit for tonight, plus a more casual dress she’d worn to his afternoon signing. Rose couldn’t look at the total when they were done, but he hadn’t even flinched, signing the slip with a smile.