Rare and Precious Things (The Blackstone Affair 4)

“Carveletti’s not one of them though, is he?”

She sighed heavily and pressed her lips to my hair. I reached for her and drew her onto my lap, burying my face at her neck.

“We don’t have to stay very long, Ethan. Just long enough to be polite and greet everyone.”

“Promise?” I knew I was acting a bloody dickhead but at least I was being honest with how I felt. “I don’t share you very well at all, and I won’t apologize for that part,” I murmured at her ear.

“I promise, sweet husband.” She offered her lips to me. “Just give me a code word when you’re done and we can leave.”

“Now see? You go and say something like that to me and I feel like an insensitive brute.” I tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful, and I don’t mean just on the outside.” I brought my finger to her heart. “Here is beautiful.”

Her expression softened. “I love you so much, Ethan, even when you’re being an insensitive brute.” She drew me to her lips with a hand under my chin.

“I know…and I count my blessings every day that you do.”

“So what’s your code word so I know?”

I thought for a moment and it came to me in a brilliant flash. “Simba.”

She laughed and shook her head at me slowly. “Simba it is, then.”

“BELLA, you look magnificent, the glow in your cheeks, everything, is utter perfection.” Marco, kissed me on both cheeks as was custom, then held me at arm’s length for a thorough perusal. “Lovely dress. I ca

n see that marriage and motherhood are both agreeing with you, darling.”

I felt Ethan’s hand at my back soften and relax at Marco’s friendly, but appropriate greeting. Maybe he’d get over his paranoia that Marco was trying to bag me every time he photographed me. Ethan just didn’t understand that Marco wasn’t like that at all. He was a professional photographer doing a job with me, and nothing more. Well, nothing more than a working, platonic friendship. He’d always been kind to me, and I liked working with Marco Carvaletti very much. I hoped Ethan could see it here tonight as we all interacted.

“It is, Marco, and I don’t think I could be any happier.” I leaned into Ethan, nudging him to speak up.

“Mr. Carvaletti, thank you for the invitation. We’ve been looking forward to this all day.” Ethan lied smoothly, offering his hand, playing the social gentleman to perfection, which he was well skilled at. I guess he did it out of love for me. I knew he didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted me modeling. I mouthed a thank you only visible to him. He kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear, “Don’t forget about Simba, baby.” Then he wandered off to get drinks for us.

Marco took me on a tour of his elegantly restored seventeenth-century villa as I marveled at all of the art. He had a whole room set up as a gallery of his photographs. There were a couple of me in there. One where I sat in a formal chair with one knee up, strategically placed, my expression far away and pensive. The other pose was a side view recreation of a vintage Ziegfeld Follies girl with a feather boa and some satin pumps. It was one of the first portraits I posed for and I really thought it was nicely choreographed.

“It is a beautiful piece, bella. I knew when we did that series you had the gift.” Marco stood behind me admiring the image he had created with me as the subject.

“I was so nervous posing, but you made me laugh when you told me to imagine Iggy Pop in a dress.” I shrugged. “That broke the ice and I was fine after that.”

“That one works for me every time, bella.”

“Well, Iggy Pop in a dress is funny, so good job, Marco.” We laughed together and made our way back to the main gathering.

Where was Ethan with my drink? I scanned the room for sight of him, but didn’t see his tall form standing out among the crowd anywhere. And I needed water.

“He is talking to Carolina and Rogelio, my friends,” Marco said, correctly reading my quest to find Ethan. “I believe they have discovered they are acquainted already.”

Really? Ethan knew people at this party? I suppose it wasn’t as bad as he’d predicted it would be after all. Couldn’t wait to bust him about his whining to come here.

“Oh, well that’s great. I look forward to meeting them. But first, I need to get some water. I’m really thirsty after spending a long time swimming in the sea today. Must be all the salt.”

“Come with me, bella, I will take care of you.”

ONE hour later and I was so ready to blow this taco stand. Unfortunately, I was the only one who felt that way. Ethan and his old friend, Carolina, sat next to each other on a sofa laughing and chatting about the Italian elections and everything in between; from the best ski slopes in the Italian Alps to Ferragamo shoes. Looked like they were having a great time together. I, on the other hand, was stuck fending off the lewdly inappropriate glances coming at me from Rogelio, who apparently wasn’t giving up on trying to get a good look at what was under my dress. And he wasn’t with Carolina as I originally assumed, either. Rogelio was with another woman who gave her name as Paola—an Italian model I had seen in photos but never met before tonight. She eyeballed me too, almost as much as Rogelio was doing, but for different reasons. Rogelio was just a skeevy creep, but Paola saw me as a threat. She didn’t have anything to worry about from me though; I sure wasn’t interested in what she was doing—practically sprawled on Rogelio, letting him feel her up. Were they going to start screwing in front of everyone in a minute for an encore? This lecherous creep and exhibitionist slut are who I get to talk to? Not fair.

Ethan was oblivious.

I shifted in the seat and fidgeted with the hem of my dress, wishing it was a little longer to cover more of my legs. I wanted to go home and crawl into bed, but Ethan didn’t take my subtle hints when I rubbed his leg or squeezed his hand. He just kept flapping away as if he could keep it up for hours. What in the hell had gotten into him? He was not usually chatty, but for all intents and purposes he sure was tonight—at this party he begged me not to drag him to.

It wasn’t lost on me Carolina was a very beautiful woman, either. Elegant, and lean, in that Euro way that intimidated the hell out of me and my pregnant curves, which would only grow more pregnant, and more curvy in the coming months.