CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Not that she wanted to go to some drab country club, she didn't. But she was elated to be going with Giorgio and wearing his creation. And it was fabulous. A gorgeous emerald fit-and-flare dress made of Italian silk taffeta that hugged her every curve seamlessly. She could not believe how perfectly it fit her. The man knew what he was doing! And he even had a hairstylist come to his home to do her hair. She was doubtful that some white woman could know how to do her thick, big hair, but she knew what she was doing too as she put all her hair in a perfectly done up-do that made Vivian feel like a million bucks. When she walked down those stairs fully dressed and ready to go, she couldn't believe it was her.

Giorgio was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, and he was assessing every inch of her clothing the way he assessed his models coming into his office for inspection. Vivian felt self-conscious because he wasn't smiling or nodding his head in approval or any of that. He was looking unblinkingly at the clothes and the fit.

"I love it," she said happily despite how uncomfortable his blank stare made her feel. She made her way to the bottom of the stairs. "Does it pass the test for you?"

He finally nodded his head. "Yes, I like it."

No smile, no bragging. "You don't love it?"

"It looks beautiful on you." Then he looked into my eyes. "You look beautiful."

Vivian could feel his glowering stare. But she felt she should stand up for that dress. It was flawless to her. "But why don't you love it?"

"Love is a strong word. I don't throw it around. I like it."

Vivian somehow felt as if he was saying that about her as much as he was saying that about the dress. He liked her too, but he didn't love her. But she wasn't going to let his moodiness get her down. She remained upbeat.

But once they were in the limo heading to the White Plains country club, she couldn't stop looking down at the dress, admiring the dress, rubbing the wonderful silk material of the dress.

"If you touch that thing again," Giorgio said as she rubbed the material again.

She smiled. "I can't help it. I feel like a princess. You're a wonderful designer, Jonni."

Giorgio smiled. "Thank you for approving my twenty-five year career."

Vivian laughed. "You know what I mean! I can't believe you made this for me. And so quickly! It's a masterpiece."

Giorgio knew it was not. But it was close, he felt as he looked down at the dress too. It was stunning. Then he looked into her face. She was stunning.

"Jonni?"

"Yes?"

"Are these people at this country club nice?"

"Some are and some aren't. But don't worry," he said as he took hold of her hand, "my friends are very nice. They're going to love you."

He had just moments before said he didn't use that word lightly. Now he was using it to describe how strangers were going to feel about her? "Why would these rich, stuffy folks love me?"

"Because I love you," Giorgio said, "and they'll see it."

Vivian was floored when he said those words. She looked at him with a quick turn of her head. "I thought you didn't use that word lightly."

"I don't."

"But you just said it."

"I know."

They stared into each other's eyes. "I love you too," she said as if it were an exhale. As if she'd been bottling it up and now she had the chance to release it. It felt good.

It felt good to Giorgio too. But he could see the trepidation in her eyes. "It's scary, I know. But exhilarating too, isn't it?"

Vivian smiled. "Yes. Very much so. I've never been happier in my entire life."

Giorgio was glad to hear it. He placed his arm around her. He would have kissed her nonstop, but he didn't want to ruin her makeup.

But when the limo stopped in front of the club's entrance, and Frank hopped out of the front seat and opened the back door, Vivian's heart began to pound. She and Giorgio locked eyes.

"Don't worry," she said to him. "I got you."

It was so unexpected to hear that Giorgio burst into laughter. "Yes ma'am," he said, still grinning. But then his look turned serious. And he squeezed her hand. "I got you," he said to her.

This time Vivian smiled. "In that case," she said, exhaling, "I'm ready."

And they got of the limo, locked arms, and made their way into the club.

But as they were walking toward the entrance, the Honda Passport SUV that had followed them there, careful not to be spotted, sat idling across the highway. The driver stared at the couple, gripping the steering wheel. Gripping tighter and tighter. Until there was blood. But still unable to let it go.