“I didn’t say that!”
“Excuse me, Angelo. The stylist is here,” his PA leaned in to say. “And Mrs. Killian.”
“Call the jeweler in the village,” he instructed. “Ask him to bring his engagement rings. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Angelo—”
“It’s fine,” he said abruptly, not examining whether his veering from his plan was a sign of weakness or principle. “Melodie.” He greeted his neighbor and introduced the highly sought-after photographer to Pia, then waved at the jewelry he’d left on his desk. “I have a second assignment for you. Photograph these for an auction catalog.”
He tipped the empty tin so his toy wolf and race car fell into his palm with a wrapped hard candy his mother had sneaked to him twenty-five years ago. He had wanted to save it for a special occasion, but hadn’t been able to get back to the rooftop to retrieve it. It went into his pants pocket with the toys before he swept all the ill-gotten jewelry back into the tin.
“Oh. Where...?” Melodie was startled as she accepted the heavy tin. She looked to Pia, who pasted on her most inscrutable smile.
“Your house is Fort Knox,” Angelo reminded Melodie. Her husband had wired this one and was probably the only person on earth who could break in and steal that box if he wanted it. “Take it to your studio and get to it as your time allows.”
* * *
Pia was utterly perplexed by Angelo’s behavior. One minute he’d been her indulgent lover, touching her across the breakfast table in casual affection that soothed the constant ache of emptiness inside her. She had needed that reassurance after a night of completely immersing herself in the pleasure he gave her. She felt stripped raw by their passion. The winter sun stung her scorching skin and gave her no place to hide as he looked at her with a knowing, wicked grin.
She had buried her nose in her notebook, right back to boarding school, using research and reporting as a place to hide.
Then he’d brought her into his office, “To find something to wear.”
He said nothing about the portrait that hung behind his desk. The canvas had been gorgeously restored so the subject was hauntingly pretty and maybe even familiar?
She hadn’t had time to compare his mature, masculine features to the soft, youthful feminine ones. He had distracted her by producing a fortune in jewels jumbled together in a cheap tin. He poured them out as if spilling marbles on a play rug.
What she had said had been true. She found jewelry more of an encumbrance than something she enjoyed wearing, but the pieces had also been very—she cringed inwardly—flamboyant. Not just a statement of wealth, but a tacky neon sign declaring it.
She hadn’t meant to reject it, though. Being in any sort of intimate relationship was new to her and she walked a tightrope of wanting to preserve her sense of self while maintaining some of the closeness they’d found through lovemaking. They would have a much better foundation for communication and understanding if he wasn’t keeping secrets from her, but she wound up feeling she was the one who had damaged their delicate bond when he swept everything away and ordered the jeweler to bring a different selection.
Now he was marching around the house with Melodie, discussing where they should take their engagement photo, providing no opportunity to reestablish their connection.
He decided on the lounge and Melodie began setting up her equipment.
Pia followed Angelo to the guest room where the stylist excitedly pulled selections that were nothing like Pia’s usual earth tones.
“She’s right,” Angelo said as the woman held a dress to her front. “That blue brings out your eyes and makes your skin look like honey.”
Flustered by what sounded like an effusive compliment, Pia tried on the sleeveless dress. The circular neck strap that formed the collar lent an air of sophistication while her bare shoulders kept it feminine.
Since the rest were even sexier and more attention grabbing, she accepted the blue and sat for her hair and makeup. She only endured this level of fussing for the occasional gala, but always insisted on a light hand.
“A natural look, I understand,” the stylist assured her. “You hardly need anything. I wish I could duplicate this glow of love with cosmetics. It’s all a woman needs.”
A shrink of panic pulled a chill into her center. There’s no love, Pia wanted to protest. How could there be? This was the glow of a sexually satisfying night. Pregnancy, perhaps. Regardless of what it was, Pia didn’t want it on display. Her emotions and self-worth and composure were delicate crystals in a snowflake, not the cast-iron reinforcements that most people possessed. She needed to protect herself at all times.
As the woman worked, however, her reflection grew more limpid and vulnerable, leaving her devoid of her usual shields. No dull colors, no bare face with glasses. No pinned-up hair and accoutrements like clipboards and notebooks. Her boring life typically left its stamp on her, but today she wore a flush of sensuality. Rather than the sophisticated, straightened hair she usually prefer
red when forced to dress up, the stylist had exaggerated her soft waves so the mass bounced as she walked.
“We’re in luck—I’m in luck.” Angelo’s voice changed as the sound of her heels drew his attention. He straightened, very handsome in a bespoke dark blue suit, his tie not yet on. His rakish, casual air was in full force.
At his approving tone, everyone looked at her.
Melodie was at her tripod and the jeweler stood at the dining table, setting out rings on a black velvet swatch. Two of the servants hovered, Angelo’s PA lifted her face from her tablet and the stylist came out behind Pia to agree enthusiastically with Angelo.