Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(159)

I got in the shower and washed everything with the sweetest smelling soap from the dish, hoping that would reinvigorate my attitude. I wasn’t really ready to communicate with people. I hadn’t even thought about what I could say to them. How badly could I screw this all up?

The box lay conspicuously on the counter and I stared at the word GUCCI in subtle raised letters while towelling off. Taking a brush to my hair, I tried to beat it into some kind of Bohemian art form while deliberately avoiding any inspection of the rest of me. Back in LA I had been scrawny, verging on scary. After a week of intense work, I was probably moving closer to feral.

When my face was more or less presentable, I finally flicked the corner of the box up, poking inside it like maybe it was full of gerbils or something.

The shoes were laid atop the thick tissue paper: dark blue leather sandals with a stacked heel and ankle strap. I smirked and wrinkled my nose, knowing Declan probably got a kick out of asking a personal shopper for a shoe that I would be least likely to sprain my ankle in. I set the sandals aside and pulled open the tissue paper, then bit my lips together to stifle a low moan.

The dress was beyond gorgeous. It was a thing of art. Embroidered chrysanthemums against a midnight blue silk chiffon twinkled in the light. With trembling fingers, I reached out to stroke the metallic threads before picking the bodice up gingerly and letting the whole dress flow out in front of me. The silk tumbled to the floor like a liquid, the flowers gradually turning to a constellation of tiny stars.

It fit perfectly, of course, though it showed me as gaunt as I was. I smoothed my hands over my hipbones and gave myself another hard stare in the mirror. After thinking I might not, I put on the M pendant and watched it glimmer for a few long seconds.

“You can do this,” I muttered to my reflection. “Now man up and do this.”

The voices got louder as I descended the front staircase carefully, my fingers clutching the bannister. A trio of charcoal-suited, tall men silenced their conversation as I approached and gave me brief nods in greeting. I smiled and returned the gesture, realizing that it was very likely that most people here spoke Dutch and I could perhaps get away with some safe, silent grinning.

From the foyer, I spotted Declan across the parlor, posing with his elbow on the mantlepiece. As he spoke he gestured with a martini glass. I realized that our outfits were perfectly coordinated, dark blue Gucci creations. We looked like movie stars.

He smiled brilliantly and tossed his head like he was on stage, apparently telling some kind of joke or story. The crowd of people around him was cherry-cheeked and rapt, and he seemed to glow brighter in their happy stares.

Do I even need to be here? I wondered. Looks like he has the adoring fan thing down pat.

“Ah, there she is!” he declared suddenly, his voice booming like it was a line from a play. He extended his arm and the crowd of people literally parted so I could approach him.

Jamming a rigid smile over my teeth, I took careful, slow steps across the antique rug and inserted myself into the void under his arm. He squeezed my shoulder and angled me outward so everyone could see me.

Trying to pose like a porcelain doll, I smiled at each guest until my teeth went dry. There were so many people in the room it was a glaring mashup of dark suits and shimmering sequins, shoulders and glittery hair pains. I couldn’t have been more dazzled if a band of paparazzi suddenly descended from the chandelier on wires and started popping flashbulbs.

He kissed the top of my hair affectionately as a round of polite applause broke out.

“They love you. Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he muttered at the back of my ear.

“I don’t think I can do anything else,” I muttered back through the rictus of my fake smile.

“Haha, don’t sell yourself short,” he said. “Deep down, you crave this. You know you do.”

I pulled back slightly, shooting him a quick, secret scowl.

He shrugged imperiously. “What,” he said. “You’re going to deny it?”

I flared my nostrils and looked away, resuming my porcelain doll act while people said polite things in Dutch.

“Yes, that’s what I thought,” he whispered, tugging me closer. “And you’re sold out, my dear. You should give me a little credit for knowing you, maybe even better than you do sometimes.”

“Sold out what?” I asked, plucking a flute of champagne from a silver tray a young, pretty woman offered me.

“Everything.”

“Everything what?”

I felt his breath come out in a sigh. It trickled across my bare shoulder. Stepping away from him slightly, I turned back to meet his eyes. He blinked at me passively, a supreme smirk twisting one corner of his mouth.