A Scandal Made At Midnight

Liane opened her mouth and closed it again, shocked by Ella’s clear-eyed assessment.

‘And I know I’m as much to blame as anyone,’ Ella continued frankly. ‘I know I take advantage of you without even meaning to. It’s so easy to do, Liane, because you’re so wonderfully kind and supportive. You’re always thinking of other people...’

‘Then don’t take advantage of me by dropping me in it this evening,’ Liane interjected a bit desperately. ‘Please.’

Ella planted her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’

‘Because!’Liane cried. ‘Because I can’t do this. I don’t know how to sparkle and chat the way you do. Alessandro will be furious—’

‘Somehow I don’t think he will,’ Ella murmured. ‘And I’m afraid this is going to be a bit of tough love. I’m going, Liane, and you’re doing it. But don’t worry, I won’t drop you in it.’ She glanced at the time on her phone. ‘We’ve got two and a half hours to get you ready and, trust me, we’re going to use every minute.’

Liane couldn’t believe how ruthless her stepsister could be—not just about insisting she attend the ball on Alessandro’s arm, but in preparing her for the privilege. Liane had always known Ella loved her spa days and beauty treatments—some of them rather ridiculous—but she’d never subjected her to them, the way she was now.

‘Fortunately I brought my supplies,’ she told Liane as she opened a suitcase that was devoted entirely to a vast array of beauty products. ‘We’ll start with an exfoliating face mask, and then a soothing one, so you won’t look like a tomato tonight! I’ll do your nails too—goodness, you clip them short!’

‘It’s sensible,’ Liane murmured.

‘Oh, let’s forget all about sensible, shall we?’ Ella replied with a wicked glint in her eye. ‘For tonight, at least.’

At some point Liane gave up trying to put up a fight; she’d always known what a whirling dervish her sister could be, although her attentions had never been so singularly focused on her before. She let herself submit to not one but two face masks, a manicure and pedicure, a body scrub and then a host of hair treatments before Ella led her out of the huge, sumptuous bathroom to the bedroom, covering her eyes with one hand as she insisted she did not look in a single mirror.

‘Wait till you see the finished product,’ she instructed severely. ‘I want you to get the full impact.’

‘I do have a dress, you know,’ Liane told her.

‘Oh, yes, I know,’ Ella purred. ‘Alessandro bought it himself, didn’t he? Thank goodness we won’t have that blue bag of a dress to worry about.’

‘It wasn’t that bad...’ Liane protested feebly.

‘It was worse. Absolutely horrendous. Now come here, because I’m going to do your make-up.’

Obediently Liane came, sitting down on a stool and closing her eyes while Ella got out her bag of tricks. ‘I don’t want to look painted,’ she began nervously.

‘You sound like Belle-Mère,’ Ella scoffed as she began to rub some sort of lotion into Liane’s face. ‘Painted, indeed. What is this? The Victorian age? Pinch your cheeks for a bit of colour? You can wear make-up, Liane, and not look like some sort of wicked woman.’

‘I know that,’ Liane said quickly. Perhaps she was acting at least a little ridiculous, still stung by old memories.

She did her best to relax as Ella continued with her ministrations and then helped her into her dress and heels, adding some tasteful costume jewellery from her own collection and a final generous spritz of perfume. She placed her hands on Liane’s shoulders, steering her towards the mirror, insisting her eyes remain closed.

‘I’m afraid to look,’ Liane admitted with a shaky laugh as Ella positioned her in front of the full-length mirror.

‘Don’t be, you’re amazing!’ Ella squeezed her shoulders. ‘Now open your eyes.’

Alessandro glanced at his watch, his mouth tightening. All around him waiters circulated, guests were arriving and a headache was banding his temples. After he’d left Liane he’d gone straight to work, dealing with various matters on both the investment and hospitality fronts, lambasting himself for taking a day off, even though he couldn’t make himself regret it. The day with Liane, he knew, would be one that would stay in his memory for a long time to come. One that would bring a smile to his lips and a poignant sorrow to his heart. A day out of time.

He glanced at his watch again and then looked up, his breath catching in his throat as he caught sight of Liane coming into the ballroom.

She was a vision, enough to make everyone’s heads turn, although she hardly seemed aware of the attention, her lovely, tremulous gaze focused on him. Just as he was focused on her, the whole world falling away as he drank in the sight of her.

Her hair was piled on top of her head, a few white-gold curls trailing over her bare, silky shoulders. Her eyes looked luminous, a deep, velvety purple, her lips lush, her skin like the creamiest porcelain, touched with a blushing pink. And as for her figure—swathed in the Grecian-style gown, the fabric rippling like crystalline water over her slender, supple curves. A single sapphire nestled in the hollow of her throat, matched by diamond-encrusted ones at her ears. Her toes peeped out as she walked—silver-spangled heels, another pair of ridiculous shoes. He realised he was grinning as he stretched out one hand.

Her fingers whispered against his as he drew her closer. ‘Ella...’ she began, and he had to blink because for the last minute at least he’d completely forgotten Ella even existed. ‘Ella can’t come tonight. I’m so sorry.’

‘I’m not,’ he said simply, and a smile of incredulous wonder bloomed across her face like the most precious of flowers. ‘I’m not at all.’

He heard the murmurs of speculation ripple around the room; no doubt people were noticing his change of escort, his reception of her, and yet he hardly cared. Gossip, rumour, speculation, publicity—none of it mattered a whit in this moment. This evening was for him and Liane.

Was he imagining how the music swelled, a crescendo within him as he took her in his arms and they started to dance, moving together in perfect harmony and rhythm?

‘I have two left feet,’ Liane warned him, and he shook his head. He wouldn’t hear her disparage herself, not tonight.

‘You dance beautifully. And you’re dancing with me. That’s all I care about.’

Her eyes widened as confusion clouded their violet depths, and he knew why she was confused, because he felt it in himself, even as something in him crystallised and became wonderfully clear. Tonight, he decided, was magic. Tonight was a moment out of time, out of reality. Tonight was for them, and neither of them needed to think about the future.

The song finished on a crescendo of strings and Alessandro fetched them both glasses of champagne before they joined some of the other guests. If he’d had any concern that Liane would somehow not be able to handle the endless chitchat—and he realised quite quickly that he hadn’t—then they would have been put to rest as soon as she spoke. She wasn’t all sparkle and glitter the way Ella was, commandeering a conversation with her energy and wit. No, Liane was quieter, deeper, listening with an intensity that made people feel important, asking questions that were pertinent and interesting. Her French flowed easily, her voice light and musical, and Alessandro’s heart swelled with pride and something more. Something like possession.

Halfway through the evening he’d had enough of the crowds and he drew her out onto the balcony, the perfumed night air as soft as silk, the Eiffel Tower a beacon of light in the distance.

‘This all feels so unreal,’ she said quietly as she grasped the railing, as if she needed to anchor herself to reality. ‘I feel as if I need to pinch myself.’

‘I assure you, you don’t. It’s real.’ His voice was a low thrum and she turned to him suddenly, an urgent light coming into her eyes.

‘Is it?’ she asked softly. ‘You’ve been so attentive, Alessandro, so...enchanting. And acting as if you’re...you’re almost enchanted with me.’

‘I am—’

She shook her head, a quick movement. ‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘If this is for Ella’s social media, or the press, or—’

‘Do you honestly think that?’ Alessandro demanded in a raw voice. He gestured to the balcony, the empty darkened space. ‘Do you see any cameras? Any paparazzi?’

‘No...’