Henri guided her through a grand lobby inspired by a fourteenth century Venetian palace. Marble columns rose like massive sentries above them. The wide staircase spilled a line of royal red carpet down its center. Above, crystal chandeliers sparkled and threw glints of burnished light off the gold leaf accents.
Strangers, all dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns, turned to smile at them.
Cinnia had learned to keep a serene smile on her face and keep moving.
They arrived at the coat check and she let Henri take her sunglasses along with her light full-length jacket. It was faintly medieval in its generous cut and flared sleeves. The gray fabric was shot with threads of silver detailing by Trella’s clever hand. Her gown was Angelique’s finest work, a Grecian style with a halter bodice and an empire waist. The miles of gathered white silk could drape her growing form with elegance through the rest of her pregnancy.
She wanted to believe she looked attractive, but it was hard when her body was so different and the man at her side had grown even more contained as their relationship solidified behind lines of abstinence.
Maybe she should have sex with him, if only to feel close to him again. Of course, her sexual confidence was eroding as quickly as her waistline was expanding. It didn’t help that he was acting like he was escorting his sister. He was solicitous, ensured she had a drink, held her chair when they sat for the dinner, but it wasn’t the way it used to be. His touch on her was light and incidental, not carrying the possessive, proprietary weight of the past. No stolen caresses or tender brushes of his lips against a bare shoulder.
After dinner, they made the rounds, spoke with their hosts, Paolo and Lauren Donatelli, along with Paolo’s cousin Vito and his new wife, Gwyn. Cinnia had met them a handful of times in the past and they warmly congratulated her.
The music started and Henri asked her to dance.
In the past, she would have slid naturally into the space against his ruffled tuxedo shirt and tucked her hair beneath his chin, enjoying the light foreplay of moving against him.
Tonight they had to angle their bodies to accommodate her bump. She gave a wistful sigh.
“These events are tiresome, I know, but I’d forgotten how much more bearable they are when you’re with me.” His thumb caressed where his hand was splayed against her rib cage.
He found an extravagant evening like this “tiresome”? Her mouth twitched as she recalled him telling her the first night they met, This is how I live. At the same time, she couldn’t help softening toward him, flushing with sweetness at his saying he liked having her at his side.
“I should have taken you on a proper date before this, but things have been...”
“I know.” She looked up at him, rueful, startled to find his gaze on her mouth. Her foot slipped.
He caught her close with strong arms. Her hip brushed his fly.
Hard?
Her eyes widened and a flood of sensual heat went through her.
He guided them back into the waltz, but there was a flash of something dangerous in his gaze. “Don’t look surprised. You know your effect on me,” he said in a quiet rasp.
“It’s hard to feel desirable when you’re pregnant,” she mumbled, blushing with self-conscious pleasure.
“Is that why you’re still holding me off? Because you have nothing to worry about. You’re sexier than ever. It’s all I can do to behave like a gentleman.”
She would have stumbled again if she hadn’t been clinging to his shoulders. His hands firmed on her and stayed that way, deliciously possessive. The rest of the dance became as subtly erotic as any they’d ever shared.
She floated in a sea of possibility after that, deeply tempted. As she freshened her lipstick in the powder room, she gave herself a stern lecture about keeping her head and not succumbing to his charms.
But, oh, it would feel so good.
Then she made the mistake of checking her email and her heart stuttered. She had become enough of a liability to turn him off completely.
Who is Avery Benson? Isidora asked. He just sold a story claiming you went after his money in the past. We should refute his accusation that your pregnancy is a deliberate ploy to snare a piece of the Sauveterre wealth.
Suddenly the sideways looks she’d been receiving all evening were explained—and intolerable. Cinnia felt sick. Of course people would speculate, but to have it stated like that, by Avery...
She turned her ankle returning to the ballroom, having to catch herself on the back of a nearby chair, which only added to the humiliation as people turned their heads to stare even harder.
Yes, I’m drunk along with being a gold digger, she wanted to lash out.
Henri was watching for her and rushed to meet her. “Are you all right?”