9. Eve

CHAPTER 9

EVE

I held up my red dress, my new Valentino. I'd bought it for a night just like this one, a night at the opera, out being seen. It brought out my eyes and the lines of my body, but was it the dress? For our debut? This would be my first real date with Marco. Our big chance to shine in tomorrow's tabloids. The whole world would see us and judge how we looked, our chemistry as a couple, our look. Our feel . If we felt right, we'd be social media's sweethearts. If we felt wrong, we'd be my rebound drama. My dress tonight mattered, so… red or blue?

I held up the blue one, then the red one again. Both were fine. Both were gorgeous. Neither was blowing my mind. Maybe the red one, with the right shoes…

My phone buzzed on the bed. I frowned and ignored it. Then the room phone rang on the nightstand. I answered it, thinking it might be Marco. Maybe he was running late at the track.

"Marco?"

"Miss Hansley? This is the front desk. You have a guest, Gabriella Hansley. Shall I send her up?"

My sister — perfect! "Yeah, send her up." She'd settle my dress dilemma. She always did.

Two minutes later, the two of us were hugging, and then she squeezed past me into our suite. She flopped down on the bed, on top of my dresses.

"No, no, don't crush that! It's Valentino!"

Gabriella rolled half off my dress and tugged it free. She shook out the wrinkles and held it up to the light. "You going to a party?"

"No, to La Scala." I took in her own rumpled appearance. "What are you doing here? Did you just fly in?"

Gabriella gaped at me like I'd said something weird. "Well, duh. Of course I did. You're all over the news."

I blinked. "The news? Oh, you mean socials?"

"No, the news- news." Gabriella sat up. "That wreck at the autodrome's been on since last night. And of course, your comment." She held up her phone. I winced at the sight of my own scared, pale face, my eyes round as saucers as I spoke to the press. Gabriella thumbed her phone off and hopped off the bed. "I had to drop in and make sure you're okay."

I laughed. "Of course I am."

"Really?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Gabriella sidled up behind me and put her chin on my shoulder. "Because that driver got hurt, and it could've been your man."

I shook her off. "Marco's not my man."

"Then why are your clothes all spread over the bed?" She picked up a silver dress, then a gold-flecked one. "Looks to me like you're trying to impress him."

"Not him. The public. Rafael." I held up my blue dress. "What about this one?"

"Too sparkly. It'll draw focus away from your smile. And forget about Rafael. What's up with Marco?"

"What's up with him? Nothing." I pulled another garment bag out of the closet. "This was your idea, remember? Live my best life. Make Rafael jealous."

"Yeah, for one dance. Not whatever this is. Are you trying to tell me you're fully fake dating? All of this, all of it's about Rafael?"

"Marco can't stand him either. He's a dick on the track. We're going to keep dating until their next race, keep Rafael rattled so he's off his game."

Gabriella frowned at the white dress I'd pulled from the bag. "That doesn't sound like you, that kind of spite. And that's not you, either. Come on, let's go shopping." She snatched the dress from me and tossed it on the bed.

Next thing I knew, we were boutique-hopping, trying on dresses in store after store. I needed the perfect look, something fresh. Something stunning. Something unforgettable without being gaudy, sexy not slutty, fun but adult. Sparkly and bold, but not cheap, with sequins. Something mysterious, but still revealing. Pretty but dangerous. Couture, but not snobby.

Gabriella threw up her hands in our ninth or tenth store. "What was wrong with that last one, the one with the buttons?"

"It would take forever to get in and out of."

"And the one before that?"

"Too goth, with the lace."

"And the pink one? The green one?"

"Too cutesy. Too… green."

She pointed at the dressing room. "Okay, get in there. I'm going to bring you some dresses, and you're going to pick one."

I rolled my eyes, but I did as she said. Soon, she handed in a midnight-blue gown. I slipped it on and checked it out in the mirror, tight-bodiced, full-skirted, with a high waist. The skirts were silk and tulle scattered with rhinestones, which winked in and out as the layers shifted. Like the night sky, with moon-colored buttons. It put me in mind of my last date with Marco, our starlit picnic. His grandparents' farm. Would he see me of this and think fondly of home?

"Next one," called Gabriella, and flung it over the door. I slipped out of the starlight dress and called it a maybe. The next one was brighter, low-cut, eye-catching. A subtle flower print, off-white on white. Its skirts hung full and heavy in deep silken folds. I ran my hands over the fabric and felt its rich texture. Marco would like that. He loved to touch.

"Okay, here's a good one. Goes with your hair." Gabriella passed over a white and gold dress, simple and classic, with a wrap to go with it. The fabric felt stiff at first, when I pulled it on, then hung in long, graceful lines as I shook it out. It did match my hair, as Gabriella had said, and in the bright lights, I almost glowed. I pictured myself back in our suite, walking out of the bedroom and spinning for Marco. Turning, my loose wrap swirling around me, showing off my new look from every angle. He'd love it. I knew it.

"This is the one."

"Really?" Gabriella came crashing in. "Praise the gods, finally. You got shoes to match that?"

I picked up the trailing end of my wrap. "Maybe. I don't know. Eavesdropping much?"

"I was sitting outside. Resting my legs." She plopped down on the changing bench. "I think we walked a half marathon. I really do. How far is a marathon?"

"I don't know. Far." I craned over my shoulder to check the fall of my skirts. I loved how the slim waist brought out my hips, lending me curves I could only dream of possessing. Something to grab onto. Marco would?—

Fuck.

Gabriella's brows drew together. "Oh, no. What now?"

"Nothing," I said, and shook out my wrap. But it wasn't nothing. It was something. Maybe. All day, we'd been shopping, and every store, every dress, every stitch I'd slipped on, I'd thought of Marco. I'd thought of what he'd think, and not Rafael. Not even my followers, my online Greek chorus.

"You like him," said Gabriella, her expression turning smug.

I made a huffy sound. "Of course I like him. He's fun. We have a good time. But I don't like him, like him."

"I think you do."

"I need shoes," I said, changing the subject. "And a purse. A cute one."

Gabriella ducked out, then back in. She made a kissy face. I gave her the finger and she ducked back out, laughing. My reflection scowled at me from the full-length door mirror. Of course I wanted Marco to like my dress. He was in this with me. It was his revenge too. When I thought about it, the thrill came from that — that deep-down tingling I got from his touch. It was the same charge he got on the track. A frisson of danger. Exhilaration. Once our mission was over, that would go too, and we would go our separate ways.

I unzipped my gown and stepped out of its folds. Gooseflesh rose on my arms from the AC. I wanted Marco to hold me and rub it away. Like on that hillside, when the evening got cold, and he pulled me close to him at my first shiver. Did he feel something? Could it be… Did I?

I brushed the thought off as silly and wriggled into my jeans. I had my perfect dress now, and soon I'd have shoes. Soon I'd be photographed out on the town, glittering, golden, having a blast. I was winning, was all. This was what winning felt like.

"What are you doing?" Gabriella shouldered back in. She thrust a purse at me. "They don't have shoes, but I have some you can borrow."

I took the purse, checked it out, slung it over my shoulder. Held it up to my dress to make sure it matched. It did, and I smiled. "Thanks. This is great. And I need sparkly earrings."

"I saw some by the register. Come on. Let's go."

We swept out of the store laden with bags, my dress, my new earrings, a necklace to match. The blue dress as well, because I couldn't resist. Gabriella had bought herself a long, floaty caftan, saying she needed a day at the beach. We kissed goodbye outside my hotel, and she wished me good luck with Marco. I opened my mouth to protest it wasn't like that. I didn't need luck, because I had all I needed. But she was already gliding off down the street.

When I got back upstairs, Marco was waiting, just in his briefs, his suit hung on the sofa.

"There you are," he said, and came up to kiss me. "I thought you got lost out there. What's in the bags?"

"My dress for tonight. We're not late, are we?"

"Not if you hurry. I'll help you get dressed."

I laughed. "You do that , and we'll be here all night." I ducked into the bedroom and got myself ready, dress, hair, and makeup, accessories. Shoes. I'd forgotten to grab the pair Gabriella had promised to lend me, but I had a white pair that went well with my dress.

"Gorgeous," breathed Marco, when I stepped out to show him, and that heady thrill coursed through me again. "Come la Cenerentola — ah, Cinderella. Only this time, she's snubbing the prince."

"The prince deserves it." I did a slow turn. Marco came up behind me and set his hands on my hips. He pressed up against me and I leaned back against him, grabbed his lapel and pulled him in for a kiss. He spun me to face him and I bit back a gasp. His dark eyes were burning, his lips slightly parted. He'd never looked sexier. I'd never wanted him more.

"You look good in a suit." I bit his lip. He kissed me hard, wanting, and growled out his lust. I could feel his desire in his grip at my waist, in his rough lips on mine. The throb of his cock. I pushed him back, moaning, toward the bed. He half-fell, half- sat, and I climbed in his lap. My skirts pooled around us like liquid gold.

"We can't," he groaned. "We'll miss the first act."

"And show up all rumpled, and they'll know why we're late." I kissed him again, raked my hands through his hair. Leaned in to whisper dirty promises in his ear. Marco thrust up against me, then pushed me away.

"No. No, we can't. I want you to see this."

I slid my hand down between us to stroke through his pants. "You mean this?"

"No, you've seen that. The opera, it's—" He hissed through his teeth. "Stop it. You'll break me. My willpower, I…"

I stole one more kiss and slid off his lap, my whole body aching for more. For his touch.

"It's worth it," he said.

"What, the opera?"

" Don Giovanni ." He smoothed out my skirts. "It's the first one I went to, my first opera. I went with my father when I was eight. I thought I'd be bored — I tried to bring my DS. But then it started, and you'll see for yourself. There's this crudeness about it, this fury, this fire . Like when I'm racing. Like when I make love. You think of Mozart, you think powdered wigs. You picture that movie, ah, Amadeus . But he was an animal. He knew from passion. So I want you to see this. To see it with me."

I stared at him, breathless, this new side of Marco. I hadn't imagined him a fan of the arts, much less so ardent. So frank in his fandom.

"Let's go, then," I said, and I took his hand.

"Wait just a second." He thumbed at my mouth where he'd smudged my lipstick. "There. Now you're perfect."

We rode down in the elevator hand in hand, and floated across the lobby and down the front steps. It actually surprised me when the flashbulbs went off, photographers jostling for the best shot. I'd forgotten I'd summoned them, forgotten to pose, and I straightened up quickly and showed them my teeth. Marco pulled me to him and we smiled cheek to cheek. I tilted my chin up to catch my good angles… but for a second there, they'd caught me flatfooted.

Maybe Gabriella wasn't wrong.

Maybe I was catching feelings.