Читать книгу One Passionate Night - Jessica Gilmore, Caroline Anderson - Страница 14
ОглавлениеPRAYING HIS PLAN to get them back behaving like friends worked, Antonio pointed to the elevator and Laura Beth followed him into the plush car, through the ornate lobby and then to the street. The doorman tossed him a set of keys. He motioned to a shiny red sports car. Low and sleek, with the black top retracted, the Jaguar hit the sweet spot of luxury and fun.
“Oh, nice!”
“It’s my dad’s, of course.” He paused halfway to the car as guilt unexpectedly nudged him. His dad shared everything he had, gave Antonio anything he asked for, and he shouldn’t have made that remark about being glad that Tucker and Olivia sometimes entertained him. But as quickly as the thoughts came, Antonio shoved them aside. His dad hadn’t been insulted by his comment as much as he’d been looking for a way to bail on a day of sightseeing. Antonio was positive he had nothing to feel guilty for.
Laura Beth ambled to the Jag. Her eyes lit with joy as she took in the stunning vehicle. “Your dad has the best taste.”
“Yes. He does.” He opened the car door for Laura Beth and motioned for her to step inside.
She slid in, immediately glancing behind her at the nonexistent backseat. “Maybe it’s a good thing Constanzo bailed. I’m not sure how we all would have fit in this.”
Walking around the hood of the car, Antonio laughed. “No worries. My dad has a limo here. There could have been space for everybody if he’d really wanted to come along.”
He jumped inside. As he slipped the key into the ignition, he could feel the heat of her gaze as she studied him. This was the closest they’d been since the day he’d explained why he wanted to paint her. Hot and sharp, his attraction to her tumbled back. The temptation to touch her was so strong, he fisted his hands.
“My mom does that, you know.”
Expecting something totally different from her, he frowned and peered over at her. “Does what?”
“Tells me she isn’t upset when I know she is. Especially when I’m home for a holiday and I want to go somewhere without her. It’s not really passive-aggressive behavior. It’s more like she sees I’m an adult, and, though it’s hard, she has to give me some space. So she says she’s not mad and lets me go alone.” She caught his gaze. “Sometimes it makes me feel guilty. But I know it’s her choice. Almost like a gift.”
He frowned. If Laura Beth had picked up on his exchange with Constanzo, maybe it hadn’t been so innocent after all. “A gift?”
“Yes. Time alone with my friends is a gift.”
He scrunched his face in confusion. “Why would Constanzo think we needed alone time when we just spent several days together?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, whatever he’s doing, it’s weird, because until today Constanzo’s never dropped back.”
“Maybe this morning he finally got the message that you don’t want him around so much?”
The guilt rolled back. It tightened his chest and clenched his stomach. He looked out over the hood of the car, then faced her. “It’s not like that. The only time I freak is when he meddles.”
She shook her head. “No. You’re pretty much always grouchy with him. But I get it.” She put her hand on his forearm, as if what she had to say was supremely important and she wanted him to listen. “You’re an adult who lives twenty minutes away from a retired wealthy man who adores you and has nothing to do but dote on you.”
He laughed.
“When he first found you, all this attention was probably fun. Now you want to be yourself.”
“I suppose.” Except without painting he had no idea who he was. And maybe that’s what made him the most angry with Constanzo’s meddling. He wanted to be able to say, Let me alone so I can paint, or feed the hungry, or gamble, or read, or sit on the beach. But he couldn’t. He had no interest in anything. And having Constanzo around always reminded him of that.
Not wanting to think about that anymore, he hit the gas and propelled them into the street, ending the discussion.
The wind ruffled through their hair, and Laura Beth laughed with glee. “This is great!”
He hit the clutch and shifted into the next gear, working up some speed before he shifted again, and again, each time sending the little car faster as he wove in and out of lanes, dodging traffic.
She laughed merrily, shoving her hands above her head to feel the air.
Something about her laugh soothed him. She hadn’t been right about Constanzo giving him space. Never in their history together had his dad ever dropped back, unless Antonio pushed him. But suddenly it didn’t matter. With the wind in his face and the sun beating down on him, it was just nice to be outside. To be away from his dad. To be away from two years’ worth of requests for paintings. To be away from the studio that reminded him he couldn’t create.
He sucked in the spring air, let her laugh echo around him and felt the tightness of his muscles loosen as he drove to the Picasso Museum.
* * *
Laura Beth followed Antonio to a back entrance of the pale stone museum. Glancing around, she said, “So, are you a friend of the curator or is your dad a donor?”
He said, “Both,” then pulled his cell phone from his jeans pocket. “Carmen, we’re here.”
They waited only a few seconds before a short dark-haired woman opened the door for them. Antonio said something to her in Spanish, then she smiled and disappeared down a hallway.
The power of a billionaire would never cease to amaze Laura Beth. “Nice.”
“It is nice. I don’t like having to work my way through crowds or wait in lines.”
“Nobody likes to work their way through a crowd or wait in a line.”
“Which makes me lucky that I can come in through a back door.”
She shook her head. “Right.”
He led her through a maze of corridors until they entered the museum proper. Paintings dominated the space. Color and light flowed like honey. A true fan, Antonio stopped, closed his eyes and inhaled.
Laura Beth stifled a laugh. Not because it wasn’t funny, but because he was home. This was where he loved to be.
He didn’t say anything, just walked up to a painting and stood in front of it. She ambled over, sidling up to him to see the picture. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the odd shapes, the out-of-proportion dimensions, the unexpected colors.
“Isn’t that something?”
She fought not to grimace. “Yeah, it’s something, all right.”
It took only ten minutes and two more paintings for her to realize she didn’t just dislike the first piece of art. She didn’t like Picasso. Still, she smiled and nodded in all the right places, if only because she didn’t want to look like a bumpkin.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry, but these paintings are weird.”
He spared her a glance and said simply, “You don’t like abstracts.”
She winced. “I don’t.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I thought you liked this museum.”
“I do.” He glanced around, as if the ten minutes had filled his desire and now he was fidgety. “But today I feel odd being here—”
She didn’t think that was it. As casual and calm as he tried to be about his dad backing out of their plans, she knew it had upset him. Or maybe it nagged at him. If it really was the first time Constanzo had canceled plans with him, there was a reason. And Antonio was too smart of a guy not to know that.
So why did he keep pretending he didn’t care?
He looked around. “Maybe I just don’t want to be inside a building?”
“Maybe.” And maybe he needed a little time in the good, old-fashioned outdoors to think things through. “We’ve got a pretty fancy car out there. If you wanna take a ride through the city, I’m game.”
Antonio cast a longing look at a painting and another thought suddenly struck her. What if his edginess wasn’t about his dad but about the paintings? Picasso might be his favorite artist and he might have visited this museum every time he came to Barcelona, but she’d bet he hadn’t been here since he stopped painting.
He definitely needed to get out of here.
So she gave him an easy way out. “Please. I’d love to see the city.”
“Then I will take you to see the sights.”
She caught his arm. “Are you missing what I said about the fancy car? I don’t want to walk through museums or cathedrals. I wanna ride. Besides, I think I could get a better feel for the city if we drove.”
“Barcelona is beautiful.” He sucked in a breath. “Actually, a drive might be a good idea.”
They climbed into the little red sports car again. Within seconds Antonio eased them into traffic. Cool air and scenery—a mix of old buildings and new, leafy green trees standing beside palms, and a sea of pedestrians—whipped by as he shifted gears to go faster and faster and swung in and out of lanes.
Air ruffled her hair. The sun warmed her. But it was the power of the Jag that put a knot in her chest. For all her intentions to stop lusting after the wonderful toys and lives of her rich friends, she loved this car.
Longing rose up in her, teasing her, tempting her. Her fingers itched to wrap around the white leather steering wheel. Her toes longed to punch the gas to the floor. For twenty minutes, she constrained it. Then suddenly she couldn’t take it anymore.
She leaned toward Antonio. Shouting so he could hear her above the wind and the noise of the city, she said, “Would you mind if I drove?”
He cast her a puzzled frown, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
She smiled hopefully. “Please? Let me drive?”
“Oh!” His voice vibrated in the wind swirling around them. “Can you drive in a city you don’t know?”
She nodded eagerly. “I’ve driven in New York.”
He frowned. “Can you drive a stick?”
“Are you kidding? I was driving my granddad’s old farm pickup when I was thirteen.”
He eased the car over to a space on a side street between two tall stucco buildings with black wrought-iron balconies that looked to belong to apartments. “Thirteen was a long time ago for you. Are you sure you remember how to use a clutch?”
She playfully punched his arm.
“Okay, I get it.” He shoved open his car door. “Let’s see what you can do.”
It took a minute for them to switch seats. When she got settled, she caressed the soft leather steering wheel before she turned the key in the ignition, depressed the clutch and punched the gas.
They jolted forward and he grabbed the dash for support. “Careful, now.”
She laughed, hit the clutch and shifted to a better gear. “This car is like heaven.” When the engine growled for release, she hit the clutch, shifting again. “Holy bananas. It’s like driving the wind.”
He laughed, but he still clung to the dash. “You’re going to kill someone!”
She depressed the clutch and shifted a final time, reaching the speed she wanted, barreling through yellow lights, weaving in and out of traffic.
“I never knew you were a daredevil.”
His eyes weren’t exactly wide with fear. But they were close. Still, she was good. She knew she was good. Driving was in her blood. “I’m not. I just like a good car.”
“Really? I’d have never guessed.”
“What? You think women can’t appreciate a powerful engine?”
“No, you just seem a little more tame than this.”
She shook her head. Yet another person who thought she was dull Laura Beth. “Right. I guess we all have our secrets.” She spared him a glance. “Our passions.”
He tilted his head.
She shrugged. “You like to express yourself through art. I want to be free.” She took her eyes off the road to catch his gaze. “And maybe a little wild.”
He laughed. “You? Wild?”
“Thank you for underestimating me.”
“I don’t underestimate you.”
“Right. That’s why you refuse to paint me. You all but said you don’t think I can handle it.”
“I said I can’t handle it.”
“Oh, sure you could. I can see in your eyes that you could. You just don’t want it to happen.”
“Sitting for a portrait can be long and boring.”
She shrugged. “So?”
Antonio shook his head, but didn’t reply. Laura Beth suddenly didn’t care. With the wind in her hair, the sun pouring down on her and the engine in her control, for once in her life she experienced the joy of total power. She soaked it up. Swam in it. She was so sick of everybody underestimating her, thinking they knew her, when all they knew was the shadow of the person she could be with no money, no opportunities.
She suddenly wondered if that’s what Antonio saw when he thought of painting her. The longing to be something more. The hidden passion.
Hope spiked through her, then quickly disappeared. He might see it, but he didn’t want it.
Saddened, she slowed the car. Palm trees and four-lane streets nestled into Old World architecture gave the city a timeless air but she barely noticed it. Something inside her ached for release. She didn’t want people to pity her or dismiss her. She wanted to be herself. She wanted to be the woman Antonio saw when he looked at her.
And she honest to God didn’t know how to make that happen.
* * *
The more she slowed down, the more Antonio relaxed in the passenger’s seat. He forgot all about her little tantrum about him underestimating her when he realized how much she truly loved driving. A passenger on Laura Beth’s journey of joy, he saw everything in squares and ovals of light that highlighted aspects of her face or body. The desire to paint her didn’t swell inside him. Longing didn’t torment him. Instead, his painter’s mind clicked in, judging light and measuring shapes, as he watched the pure, unadulterated happiness that glowed from her eyes as she drove.
But something had happened as she slowed the car. Her expression had changed. Not softened, but shifted as if she were thinking. Pondering something she couldn’t quite figure out.
He tapped her arm. “Maybe it’s time to head back?”
She quietly said, “Yeah.”
Curiosity rose in him. She was the second person that day to do a total one-hundred-eighty-degree turn on him. Happy one minute, unhappy the next. Still, he’d made a vow to himself not to get involved with her, and he intended to keep it.
He pointed at his watch. “We have a gallery opening tonight.”
She nodded, and at the first chance, she turned the car around. He thought she’d stop and they’d switch places, but she kept driving, and he leaned back. Surreptitiously watching her, he let the images of light and lines swirl around in his brain. Normal images. Calculations of dimension and perspective. They might be pointless, but at least this afternoon they weren’t painful. She was a passionate, innocent woman who wanted to love life but who really hadn’t had a chance. And that’s what he longed to capture. The myriad emotions that always showed on her face, in her eyes.
Eventually, she pulled into a side street and turned to him. “I’m a little bit lost.”
He laughed. “I think you are.”
“So you don’t mind taking over?”
“No.”
She fondled the steering wheel, then peeked at him. “Thanks.”
The sudden urge to gift her the car almost overwhelmed him. Watching her drive might have been the first time he’d seen the real Laura Beth. And he knew that was the person she wanted to be all the time. The woman who wasn’t afraid. The woman who grabbed life and ran with it.
“You looked like you enjoyed it.”
Her gaze darted to his. “Maybe too much.”
The desire to lean forward and kiss her crept up on him so swiftly it could have surprised him, but it didn’t. The woman who’d pushed that gas pedal to the floor piqued his curiosity. Not just sexually, but personally. She was as complicated as his desire to paint her.
He moved closer, watching her eyes darken as she realized he was about to kiss her. His eyelids drifted shut as his lips met hers and everything inside him froze, then sprang to glorious life. She was soft, sweet and just innocent enough to fuel the fire of his need to learn more. His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, pulling her closer as his mouth opened over hers and she answered. His lips parted. Her tongue darted out enough for him to recognize the invitation.
Raw male need flooded him. The powerful yearning to taste and touch every inch of her rose up. But when his hormones would have pushed him, his common sense slowed him down. It was as if kissing her made him believe they could have a real relationship. No painting seduction of an innocent, but a real relationship.
The thought rocked him to his core. Dear God, this woman was pregnant. A relationship meant watching her grow with another man’s child, sadly realizing he’d lost his own.
Worse, the last woman he’d been in a relationship with had made a mockery of their marriage. She’d broken his heart. Stolen his ability to paint. He’d never, ever go there again. He’d never trust. He’d certainly never give his heart. And whether she knew it or not, that was what Laura Beth needed.
Someone to trust her. Someone to love her.
He broke the kiss. But he couldn’t pull away. He stared into eyes that asked a million questions he couldn’t answer.
“I’m sorry.”
She blinked. “Sorry you kissed me?”
He stroked her hair as the truth tumbled out. “No.”
Her voice a mere whisper, she said, “Then...what are you sorry for?”
“Sorry that this can’t go any further. There can’t be anything between us.”
“Oh. Okay.”
But she didn’t move away and neither did he. Confusion buffeted him. If he knew it was a bad idea to get involved with her, why couldn’t he move away from her?
“We should go.”
“Yeah.”
Grateful that she wasn’t bombarding him with questions about why there couldn’t be anything between them, he opened his door and got out, and she did the same. She rounded the trunk. He walked in front of the car to get to the driver’s side. He slid behind the wheel, started the car, made a series of turns and headed toward Constanzo’s penthouse.
Still rattled by their kiss, he wanted to speed up and get them the hell home so he could have a few minutes alone. But he slowed the car and let her admire the architecture, the town square, the street vendors and shops.
When they returned to the penthouse, she took one last look at the Jag before shoving open her door and stepping out onto the sidewalk.
Joining her, he tossed the keys to the doorman and led her to the elevator. Neither said a word. A strange kind of sadness had enveloped him. For the first time since he’d met Gisella, he found a woman attractive, stimulating. But he was so wounded by his marriage he knew it was wrong to pursue her.
He walked through the entry to the main room of Constanzo’s penthouse, and saw a huge white sheet of paper propped up on a vase on the coffee table.
He ambled over, picked up the note written in Constanzo’s wide-looped script and cursed.
“What?”
“My dad has gone.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Gone?”
“He took the jet and went home.” Realizing this ruined Laura Beth’s trip, Antonio faced her. “I’m sorry.”
She bit her lower lip. “I think that little tiff with your dad this morning was bigger than you thought.”
“Seriously? Do you really believe he was angry that I said I was happy to have someone else entertain him every once in a while?” He tossed his hands in disgust. “I tell him that four times a week.”
She shrugged. “That might be true, but he seemed a little more sensitive than usual this morning.” When Antonio groaned, she added, “Why else would he leave?”
He crumpled the paper, annoyance skittering through him. What did his dad expect him to do? Race after him? Apologize, again? He’d apologized already and Constanzo had blown him off, told him he was tired. He’d given him more reason to believe he wasn’t angry than to believe he was.
“Don’t worry about it.” He certainly refused to. If Constanzo wanted something, expected something, then maybe he needed to be forthright and not sulk like a sour old woman. “It’s not a big deal. It just means you’ll have to—” Go to the gallery opening with me. He almost said the words, but snapped his mouth shut as the truth finally hit him.
That meddling old man!
That’s why he’d left him and Laura Beth alone that morning. He wasn’t mad. He must have seen something pass between them, and he’d left so they’d be forced to interact.
No. They wouldn’t just be forced to interact. They’d have fun, as they’d had driving that afternoon. And they’d connected. He kissed her.
Oh, Constanzo was devious.
Antonio shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the sofa, his blood boiling. As if making him feel guilty wasn’t bad enough, matchmaking was the ultimate insult.
Still, just because Constanzo had played a few tricks, that didn’t mean he had to roll over and be a victim.
His voice crisp, casual, he said, “The real bottom line to this is that he took the plane. But even that’s not a big deal. If he doesn’t send it back for us, I have a friend I can call.”
She bit her lip again, took a few steps back. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
He sighed. When he saw Constanzo again he intended to let him have it with both barrels, if only for scaring Laura Beth. He’d left a shy, broke, single woman in a city where she didn’t even speak the language.
“You’re not a burden.” But he also wasn’t going to let Constanzo set them up this way. As much as he would like to take her to the gallery, to have her on his arm, to laugh with her he couldn’t do it. It had been wrong for him to kiss her. Equally wrong for him to be interested in her. She deserved so much more than the broken man he was. He wouldn’t be a bad host, but Constanzo’s plan ground to a halt right here. They’d eat something, then he would retire to his room until it was time to dress for dinner and the gallery opening—for which he had plans with Olivia. Because this was business, he didn’t even have to make an excuse for not inviting Laura Beth along. His plans were already set.
He glanced around. “So, lunch?”
“We’re past lunch and jogging toward dinner.”
“Oh, you want to wait for dinner?”
“Are you kidding? I’m pregnant and I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I’m starving. I need something now.”
“That’s fine. We’ll have Cook make whatever you want.”
Antonio led her to the kitchen, but as soon as he opened the door, he knew Cook was also gone. The place wasn’t just empty. It appeared to have been buttoned down, as if Cook had stowed everything away until Constanzo’s next visit.
The prickle of anger with his dad heated his blood again. Now the old coot wanted him to take Laura Beth to dinner? Well, he had another thought coming, because Antonio had plans.
Strolling toward the pantry, Laura Beth said, “I can make something for us to eat. It’ll be fun.”
He winced. “I can’t eat now. I have dinner plans with Olivia.”
She stopped and faced him. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry. We haven’t had a real meeting in weeks, and she likes to give me pep talks...check in with me.” He shrugged. “It’s a working dinner.”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “No. No. I get it. This is a business trip for you.”
Feeling like a first-class heel, and not able to completely ditch her, even though he knew getting involved with her would only hurt hert, he halfheartedly said, “You can come—”
* * *
But Laura Beth knew she couldn’t. It would be one thing to go to dinner and the gallery with Constanzo. People would look at her and assume she was his assistant. It wouldn’t matter what she wore, how much she ate, if she laughed at all the wrong places. But with Antonio and Olivia and Tucker? They would look like a foursome. Olivia would be dressed to kill, and Laura Beth would be in an old sundress, looking foolish.
“No. Thanks.” She caught his gaze. “I’m tired. It’s better for me to stay in. I’ll fix myself a little something to eat and probably go to bed.”
“You’re sure?”
The relief in his eyes rattled through her, confirming her worst suspicions, filling her with disappointment. He didn’t want her to tag along. They’d been fine in the car, chatty even. She’d admitted things she normally didn’t admit and he’d listened. But just as he didn’t want to give in to the urge to paint her, he didn’t want to like her, to get to know her. He’d made that clear after their kiss when he said there could be nothing between them.
And now here she was, like Cinderella, being told she couldn’t go to the ball. Even though she knew damned well she didn’t belong there, it still hurt.
So she smiled. “Sure. I’m fine.”
He took a few steps backward. “If you’re sure.”
“Antonio, stop being so polite and go.”
“Okay.” He turned around and walked out of the kitchen.
She leaned against the center island, disappointment flooding her. She didn’t know why she was upset. So what if he’d kissed her? The moment had been right. For all she knew she could have looked like a woman issuing an invitation. He’d taken it...but regretted it. And she was wise enough not to want a man who didn’t want her. She’d already had a guy like that and she was smarter than to want to get involved with another. Her current overload of emotions had to be hormonal, brought on by her pregnancy.
So why did being left behind feel like such a huge insult?
Because, deep down, she knew he liked her. Damn it.
That’s what had been simmering between them all along. Not her desperate need for a job or his unexpected desire to paint her. But attraction. Maybe even genuine affection.
She pulled away from the center island and straightened her shoulders. She had to stop thinking about this. She was hungry. She needed to rest. She also needed Antonio’s plane or his friend’s plane, or his help, at least, to get back to Italy. She couldn’t get upset because he refused to admit he liked her.
She made herself some eggs and toast and ate them on the balcony, listening to the soothing sounds of the ocean. Finished eating, she set her plate on the table beside her outdoor chair and let herself drift off to sleep.
The sound of Antonio calling for her woke her. “Laura Beth?”
She snapped up on her seat. Her heart leaped, and for a second she let herself consider that he might have changed his mind about her coming along. Lord knew she could eat a second dinner. And though she hadn’t liked Picasso, a gallery opening didn’t usually showcase only one artist. She’d probably see lots of paintings she’d like.
Filled with hope, she pushed off the patio chair and slid the glass door aside to enter the main living area, and there stood Antonio, so gorgeous in a black tux that her breathing actually stuttered.
“Look at you!”
His hair tied back off his face highlighted the sharp angles and planes of his chin and cheeks and made his large brown eyes appear even larger. His crisp white shirt and sleek tux weren’t just sexy. They made the statement of just how refined, how wealthy, he was. Even his shiny shoes spoke of pure elegance.
“It’s the first time I’ll be in a gallery in over two years. I figured I couldn’t look like a slouch.”
“Oh, trust me. You do not look like a slouch.”
He laughed, but extended his right arm toward her. “I can’t get this cuff link to close.”
She walked over. “Let me see.”
The cuff link in question was black onyx with a diamond stud.
“I can get it.”
She smiled up at him and he gazed down at her, his beautiful dark eyes shiny with anticipation. Her heart tugged. He really wanted to be back in his world. Back with his peers. His people.
And here she stood in threadbare jeans, an old top and flip-flops. Her longing for him to ask her to come to dinner and the opening with him morphed into shame. Humiliation. Even if he begged, she had nothing to wear.
But he wasn’t begging.
His phone rang and she quickly fastened his cuff link so he could grab it from the coffee table. “Olivia, what’s up?”
She heard the sounds of her friend’s voice, though she couldn’t make out the words. But Antonio laughed.
“That’s perfect. I love that restaurant.” He headed for the elevator. “I’ve got my dad’s limo. I can be at your hotel in twenty minutes.” He pressed the button and the door magically opened. Listening to Olivia, he turned and waved goodbye to Laura Beth as the door closed behind him.
And she stood in the glamorous main room, alone, listening to the sounds of silence.
Tears threatened but she stopped them. She wasn’t upset. She was angry. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have a dress to wear or shoes. Antonio hadn’t been glad to ditch her because she was penniless. He’d been glad to leave her behind because they’d connected that afternoon. They’d talked about Constanzo. He’d let her drive. He’d kissed her, for heaven’s sake. Then they came upstairs to the penthouse and he’d gotten—distant?
She glanced around.
Why would he suddenly become cold? The only thing that had happened was finding Constanzo’s note—
No. He’d become cold when they’d discovered they were alone.
And he didn’t want to be alone with her.
Part of her understood. She was a pregnant woman. What rich, eligible bachelor would want to be alone with a pregnant woman?
But he had no reason to fear her. She’d never made a pass at him. If anything, he’d made a pass at her. He’d kissed her—
She tossed her hands in the air in frustration. Why was she thinking about this!
To get her mind off it all, she took a shower and washed her hair. With nothing better to do, she heated the curling iron she found in a drawer and made huge, bouncy curls out of her long locks. Before she could comb them out and style her hair, her stomach growled.
With fat, uncombed curls and dressed in pajama pants and a huge T-shirt, she walked to the kitchen. Just as she opened the refrigerator, the building doorman rang up. Though she answered the phone, she winced when a bounty of Spanish bombarded her. With a grimace, not even sure she’d be understood, she said, “I don’t speak Spanish.”
He said something else, then disconnected the call.
Shaking her head, she headed back to the refrigerator to find a snack, but she heard the elevator doors open, and she walked to the main room.
There in the elevator was the doorman, package in hand, grinning at her.
She walked over. “Oh, a package. That’s what you were saying. We had a package.”
He nodded, handed it to her and left as quickly as he’d arrived, apparently deciding she was a poor candidate for a tip, and he was right, because she didn’t have any of the local currency.
She started for the coffee table to leave the big box somewhere Antonio would see it, assuming it was something for him, only to see her name on the label.
She frowned. Who would send her something here? Who even knew she was here?
Slowly walking back to her room, she examined the label one more time to make sure it really was for her. She closed her bedroom door behind her and opened the box to find a simple black dress and black spike heels.
Confused, she pulled the dress out of the box. The material was sinfully soft, rich in texture, like a chiffon or organza. A card sat in the crinkled tissue paper that had caressed the dress. She grabbed it, opened it and read, “Cara, go to the opening. Constanzo.”
She stared at the card, then burst out laughing. This was just too weird. How did he know she wasn’t going to the opening? Unless he’d realized that she’d refused to go to the opening with Antonio because she had nothing to wear? She had mentioned that to him—
What difference did it make? Antonio was gone. She didn’t have money for a taxi. Antonio had taken the limo. And she couldn’t get the doorman to bring the Jag around because she didn’t speak Spanish. Constanzo might want her to go, but the dress had arrived an hour too late. Which was too bad. She’d really like to go to that opening and show vain, conceited, jumping-to-conclusions Antonio he had nothing to worry about from her.
She tapped the note against her palm, then glanced at it again and smiled. It was printed on Constanzo’s stationery and had his cell number on it.
She glanced at the dress, glanced at the card, glanced at herself in the mirror with her hair curled but not combed. She might look like a street person right now, but Antonio had been the one to say he wanted to paint her. Considered her classically beautiful. Kissed her. She hadn’t been the one to make passes at him. So why was he acting as if she were someone to be afraid of?
Anger bubbled in her stomach. How dare he behave as if she was the one with the crush on him and insultingly leave her behind when he was the one who’d kissed her?
The shy Kentucky girl in her filled with fire. She raced to the kitchen and picked up the phone the staff probably used to order groceries.
It took three rings before Constanzo answered. “Hello?”
“I need a coach.”
“Excuse me.”
“You sent me a Cinderella dress but it came too late for me to go to the opening. Antonio’s long gone with the limo. I can’t go with him to the gallery.”
“I will call the driver and have him come back for you.”
“I want the Jag.”
Constanzo laughed. “Excuse me.”
“I want the Jag. If I’m going to go to the trouble of getting all dolled up...I’m making an entrance.”
Constanzo laughed with glee. “That’s my girl. I’ll call the doorman and tell him to have the keys waiting for you when you get downstairs.”
“You better also get my name on the guest list for the opening. I’m pretty sure a fancy gathering like this one is by invitation only.”
“I’ll have Bernice call.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Go knock his socks off.”
