Liar Liar

‘It’s wonderful, Rose. Thank you. I can’t believe you’ve done this for me.’

I feel ten feet tall, and as we begin to move once more, I make a silent vow.

This house will never before have witnessed a love like ours.

44

Rose

The gala is being held at the Hôtel de Loup, the imposing building that sits almost at the heart of Monaco. Built at the height of the Belle Époque period, it’s well regarded to be the epitome of timeless grace and elegance.

Hénri brings the car to a halt outside of the grand entrance, my door immediately opened by a liveried valet.

‘This looks like it’s going to be trés fancy,’ I whisper as Remy settles my arm in the crook of his. The clip of my heels muffled by the lengthy red carpet leading into the hotel.

‘Oppressively so,’ he agrees before adding, ‘but I feel like I should temper your expectations.’

‘Don’t tell me I got all dressed up for an evening of snooze.’

‘Just don’t expect too much.’ His mouth twists a touch sardonically.

‘Will the food be good, at least?’

‘As best as can be expected when feeding hundreds at the same time.’

‘And there’ll be champagne?’

‘Rivers of it.’

‘And I’ll have you,’ I add, tightening my grip. ‘All my needs sound taken care of. I’ll be as happy as a clam.’

Remy nods his greetings to a couple of matronly looking women and shakes the hands of at least four couples on our way in, yet he doesn’t stop to chat. Instead he murmurs exactly how he intends to take care of my needs when we get home this evening. How he’ll take his time unravelling my braids before kissing me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, and some very particular places in between.

‘If you’re trying to make me blush, it’s working.’

‘I’m just giving you something to look forward to, that’s all.’

‘I’m not going to be able to look at your mother without wondering if she can read my thoughts.’

‘Well, she is remarkably astute,’ he agrees.

‘That’s not helping!’

I find myself coming to a halt at a pair of giant-sized doors that lead into a ballroom the length of a soccer field. The gilded domed ceiling gleams from above as crystal chandeliers glitter and glasses chink, the space already filled with guests; men in tuxedos and women in a rainbow of colours. An orchestra plays from a raised gallery at the front of the room, the space is heavy with the scent of fresh flowers and a hundred perfumes.

‘It’s like stepping back in time,’ I find myself whispering, awestruck. As a college kid, I’d worked a few weddings at fancy hotels, but I’ve never seen anything like this. European glamour and wealth meets history in one space.

‘You haven’t been to the hotel yet?’

I shake my head as I answer. ‘I’ve been to the kitchens. And the foyer. But that’s about it.’ And Remy owns this magnificence. The realisation is like an anvil to the head. I mean, I know he doesn’t own it all—Wolf Industries has shareholders and a board to placate. But oh my God, I thought Wolf Tower was a lot to get my mind around. But this—this is crazy.

‘Rose? You’ve gone a little pale.’

‘I’m fine.’ I shake my head and inhale. It feels like I’d forgotten to do that for a while.

Remy is rich. So rich he tried to give you a house—a chateau, not less. You’ll get over it.

Because he’s also very good looking. And very sweet, if not a little bossy.

He’s also the man you love.

And he puts his underwear on one leg at a time, just like everyone else.

Pep talk over, I tug on his arm. He tilts his head to my ear. ‘Are we late?’

‘Last in first out. That’s usually my plan of attack.’

‘We forgot to look at the seating plan on the way in. Unless we’re just doing a lap of the room before bailing,’ I say hopefully, because now that we’re here, actually in the ballroom, nervousness is beginning to creep in.

‘If it were any other night, we wouldn’t have even made it to the car. Because that dress . . .’

‘Stop looking down my cleavage.’

‘Ma Rose, a dress like that is an invitation to imagine peeling you out of it.’ His half smile could best be described as enigmatic. ‘But our table is here.’

Of course we’d be front and centre. The ball is named after his family, after all.

‘One thing.’ I find myself glancing down to where he covers my hand with his own, my spidey senses instantly tingling at his tone. ‘I probably should’ve told you earlier, but Amélie will be here.’

‘You did say. She helped your mom with the planning, right?’

It’s not like she’s the ex that’s been invited to our wedding. Only a petty bitch would demand “it’s me or her” and not only am I not petty, I’m also pretty certain I’d be the one on the bus home if I did pull this stunt, given his mother’s lukewarm reception to meeting me in Remy’s office.