‘Where can I catch up with Rafe tonight?’
‘Prince Raphael should not be expected back at the Castello before eleven p.m., possibly later.’
‘And where can I find him before then?’
There was hesitation at the end of the line. ‘Prince Raphael is currently attending a meeting of the casino finance managers at Casino de Velatte after which he’s due at a recital in the casino’s Crystal Ballroom.’
‘Perfect,’ said Sienna, already mentally trawling through the myriad evening gowns that hung in her endless closets. ‘Can you take me there?’
This time the pause was longer. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, signorina. He’s not expecting you—’
‘Please, Sebastiano, I know you don’t think me a suitable candidate for Montvelatte’s Princess, but if you won’t help me get off the island, you have to help me try to make this marriage work. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’
She squeezed the telephone tight in her hand, holding her breath while she waited for Sebastiano’s response. Finally his voice came. ‘Can you be ready at nine?’ She breathed out on a grateful sigh. ‘I’ll be ready.’
Sienna was learning the benefits of having her own staff on hand. A deep oil-scented bath had been drawn for her, plump warmed towels at the ready, a professional hair stylist had miraculously tamed her mass of fiery hair into a sleek updo that shone gold under the lights, and Carmelina had selected and laid out the perfect accessories to the gown she’d decided upon.
She should have felt relaxed after such royal treatment, but inside she felt a tight bundle of nerves that coiled and fizzed and all the while tangled tighter in anticipation. She gave herself a last look in the full-length mirror and smoothed the long satin gloves up her arms, wondering how Rafe would react when he saw her. The sea-green silk gown fitted her almost as snugly as the gloves, the skilful beading around the almost modest bodice-line catching the light like a city lit up at night. Her other gowns had been elegant and perfect princess wear. But tonight she didn’t want to play princess. She wanted to play seductress. He’d never seen her dressed in anything like this gown, and she could hardly wait to see his reaction. Then she spun around, glanced over her shoulder, and almost decided he never would.
The backless dress scooped low below her waistline, the beaded border hugging the dress tightly to the curves of her body and shouting look at me in the expensive language of designer couture.
She was no catwalk model used to strutting her stuff in make-up and high heels. She was a helicopter pilot more used to wearing overalls and a headset. Was she doing the right thing in trying to get his attention like this, or was she about to make a total fool of herself?
There was a discreet knock at the door. ‘Your car is ready, signorina,’ and the time to change her mind was past.
Carmelina nodded as she handed her the tiny purse that matched her shoes and a gossamer-thin wrap to hang from her elbows. ‘Bella,’ she simply said, nodding as Sienna turned for the door.
She descended the sweeping staircase to the ground floor, unable to slow her racing heart or calm her racing mind. Because if this didn’t work, if it made no impression on Rafe, and he still failed to see her as the woman she was but for the purpose he was marrying her, then what chance did she have? And what chance their marriage?
The car was waiting, as advised, in the pebbled portico, the duco of the vintage Alfa Romeo gleaming under the lighting. Sebastiano himself emerged to greet her, and for once the smile that greeted her looked more than duty-bound.
‘Signorina Wainwright,’ he said, with a bow, ‘I would be honoured to escort you to Casino de Velatte.’
‘You would?’
‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘Thank you. And I want you to know I’ll tell Rafe this was all my idea. I would hate for him to hold you personally responsible.’
‘On the contrary,’ he said, with a look that was fully appreciative without losing a hint of respect, ‘I bow to your wisdom. I think this is a very good idea indeed.’
Either Rafe’s secretary seemed incredibly attuned to her state of nervousness, or he was simply good at relating Montvelatte small talk and delivering it in easily digestible chunks as the car wended its way down the mountainside to the city far below.
Whether it was because he thought she needed time to soak in the details, or whether it was because he knew that by saying nothing she would have more time to dwell on—and panic about—the meeting that was to come, she neither knew nor cared. She was just grateful for the company and for the quiet reassurance his presence offered.