That wasn’t absolutely accurate. It wasn’t as if things were meant to fail, she just hadn’t been able to make them work. So, at least part of that had to be her, right?
She never thought she’d miss Miami. Or her little office. Or Ivy’s constant nagging. But… she did. Now that the sheer stupefaction of being swept off her feet and flown to Italy had worn off, she couldn’t ignore it.
She was well and truly homesick.
Two more days, though, and she and Marco would be heading back. Yesterday the last of Mamma Genovese’s objections had been overruled, with Giovanni coming to Mina’s rescue--more than once pleasantly enough--and today Mina had finally been able to complete her arrangements for the collezione. Ruffled feathers had been smoothed, papers had been signed, and if her bottom was a little bruised from the numerous pinches and pats she’d received from every man in the Genovese compound, well that was a small price to pay.
All she had to do was get through tonight.
And all Hercules had to do was 12 little errands for his boss. Another vicious swipe of the brush and she gave up the struggle to smooth her hair. It wasn’t fair. The weather had been wonderful the whole time she’d been in Italy, but the absence of Miami’s constant humidity wreaked a special kind of havoc on her curls, and tonight--of all nights--she wanted to look her best. The Villa Genovese was en fête and the family was opening its doors to welcome friends and business associates alike. Unfortunately, they were Marco’s friends and business associates, and once again she was just arm candy there to make a man look good.
Like he needs help to look any better. Mina let out an unladylike snort. Unlike me.
“Are you sure this dress is okay?” On their arrival in Italy Marco had taken her shopping. He insisted that since his business required his attendance at several social events, and he required that she attend with him, it was only fitting that he assume the responsibility of providing appropriate evening wear. Somehow “evening wear” had expanded into almost an entirely new wardrobe, but Mina was so stunned by the beautiful Italian fashions that she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. So, in addition to the troublesome bikini from yesterday, he’d insisted on purchasing a long, halter-style dress in the same cobalt blue, so dark it was almost purple. Marco claimed it matched her eyes, and against it her skin looked luminescent. Intellectually, Mina knew it suited her better than anything she’d ever worn in her life. Unfortunately the plunging back offset the high-cut front and instead of feeling beautiful, she couldn’t stop fretting over the amount of skin she was exposing. Again.
She fussed and fretted, turning to get a better look at what felt like acres of exposed back. A shadow moved behind her and she shivered as fingers ghosted down her spine
“You look beautiful.” Marco dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder and she watched him in the mirror. His eyes were dark and his hands gripped her tightly, long fingers hot against her bare skin. They were the first thing she’d noticed about him and they still fascinated her. In an almost Pavlovian response, she felt her breathing hitch, desire for him coiling in her belly, and it frustrated her. This was not the time. She was annoyed, dammit!
“I don’t care about beautiful,” she grumbled, “I just want to make sure your mother doesn’t think I look like some sort of… floozy.”
The fingers stopped in their silent exploration and Marco met her eyes in the mirror.
“I am not familiar with this word, floozy, but from your tone I assume it is not a good thing?” He cocked an eyebrow at her and she let out a huff of air.
“No, it is not a good thing.” She frowned at her reflection, tugging at the edges of her dress again. “You know… a floozy. A bimbo.” She saw Marco smile behind her and turned on him, frustration flaring into anger and zeroing in on the nearest target. “A whore. Maybe you’re familiar with that concept.”
The smile on Marco’s face faded and his eyes hardened. Mina realized she’d pushed too hard and would have stepped back, but he still had a grip on her shoulders, unwilling to let her retreat. “Yes. I am familiar with that concept, as you put it. And no, regardless of how you might feel about your situation here, I do not think of you that way. In addition, my mother knows I respect her too much to bring such a creature to this house and she would never assume that you were a whore, no matter how you dressed.”
Regret washed over her. Marco was right; it was her insecurity that was coloring her feelings, not his actions, or his mother’s. Even if she obviously didn’t like her, Signora Genovese had never been anything but polite to her.