Billionaire Brides: An Anthology

by Connelly, Clare

  Her cheeks flushed with betraying colour. “But Ewan,” she breathed out, her eyes round in her pretty face as she tilted her head to stare at him beseechingly. “I’m not good with people.”

  “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” He unhooked one of the fashionable black and white aprons from a row of hooks behind them and slipped it over her head. It had the name Agnes embroidered on the front, putting Emily in mind of one of the girls she barely knew. Polish with long blonde hair and years of waitressing experience. “Why would you not be good with people?”

  “You know. Because I’m … ”

  “Well-spoken? Kind? Hospitable?”

  She pulled a face. Panic was swelling in her breast. “I can’t do this.” Despite her assertion, her fingers were fumbling with the apron, looping it around her slender waist. “People make me nervous.”

  “It’ll be good for you,” he promised. “Besides, I’m utterly desperate or I wouldn’t ask.”

  “I don’t understand. How can so many people have called in sick?”

  Ewan shrugged. “Six of them live together. They’ve all got the same gastro bug. No way can I have them here. Especially not when Lord Fancy Pants himself is hosting an event upstairs.”

  “Who’s that?” Emily was momentarily pulled out of her nervousness to smile at her old friend’s nickname.

  “Sabato Montepulciano.”

  Her frown showed her lack of comprehension.

  “The moneybags who owns the joint.”

  “The joint?” She frowned. “You mean the hotel?” Her eyes widened as comprehension dawned. “Oh, God, Ewan. You seriously owe me! What if I spill something on him?”

  “Don’t go near him,” Ewan advised with a grin. “There are hundreds of people upstairs. You probably won’t even see him.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “I hate you.”

  “And I love you.”

  She took a sip of water from her bottle then tucked it back in her staff room locker. “Okay. Who do I report to?”

  It took Ewan a little over ten minutes to run Emily through the protocol she’d need to know, and by the time he’d finished explaining how the evening would run, she felt a marginal lift in her spirits. It was, after all, just one night of her life. With hundreds of high profile guests milling about, who would even notice her?

  She consoled herself with that assurance the whole way up to the top floor of the hotel. The doors of the staff elevator pinged open straight into the kitchen on the top floor. It was a hive of activity. She took a moment to observe the hasty comings and goings of both chefs and wait staff before shaking her head.

  She had a job to do.

  “Agnes?” Someone called, beetling towards her.

  “She’s sick. I’m Emily.”

  The woman was somewhere in her early thirties. She had black hair pulled into a fashionable bun, and wore the same uniform as Emily. “I’m Rhonda, the floor manager tonight.”

  “Hiya,” Emily said, extending a hand. “Ewan just asked me to fill in.”

  “Great. We’re really stuck. Grab a tray and start circulating.”

  “A tray?”

  Rhonda nodded. “Over here.” She walked brusquely across the floor. “You won’t cross this line unless the chefs ask you to. Come and collect a tray and walk around the room slowly, allowing people to take what you’ve got on offer. When it’s near enough to empty, begin to make your way back to the kitchen.” Rhonda caught Emily’s eye. “Always make sure you know what’s on the trays. Nothing is more infuriating to our guests than wait staff who can’t remember which hors d’oeuvre they’re serving.”

  “Right, sure, of course.”

  “These are scallops in pancetta,” A middle age chef with a French accent clarified, passing a beautifully presented platter of food up onto the counter.

  “You’re up, Agnes.”

  “It’s Emily,” she responded under her breath, but Rhonda had already click-clacked off, to check on the milling guests.

  When Emily emerged into the busy ballroom seconds later, she was momentarily wowed by the elaborate setting. It was her first time in the formal entertaining space, and she’d never fathomed just how grand and elegant a room it was. Chandeliers hung sparklingly from the ceiling, and two of the walls were solid glass, displaying a stunning view of London. Of course, it was reasonably obstructed by the hundreds of beautiful people partying in front of her.

  Nerves made her fingers tingle, but she concentrated on the tray in her hands. It was just one shift. She could do this.

  God, but these people were beautiful.

  She moved from group to group, a smile firmly in place. In the end, she needn’t have known what food she was offering. No one really acknowledged her, except to ease her burden piece by piece. It took about an hour, but Emily eventually realised she was enjoying herself.

  She liked her housekeeping job because it was anonymous. She spoke to no one. She was seen by no one. And waitressing, despite the hundreds of people in her vicinity, was similar. On the edges of their conversations, she was still invisible. People didn’t make an effort to check what they were discussing, meaning she was able to listen without compunction.

  “Oh, Ella, you know big eyebrows are back. You should fire your stylist. What are you? A Friends character circa nineteen ninety seven?”

  “That’s harsh,” the painfully thin brunette responded. “I think they enhance my bone structure.”

  The curvaceous blonde rolled her eyes. “By being bone-like themselves?”

  Emily suppressed the twitch of her lips with great difficulty and moved onto the next group.

  “No, idiot. It’s European Universal. E.U. What else would it stand for?”

  Now Emily did have to cover her smile with a small clearing of her throat. “Prawn toast?” She asked sweetly, not quite able to meet the eyes of the very young, very glamorous woman espousing her rather wrong understanding of foreign policy.

  Emily weaved her way back to the kitchen and replaced the tray. “How you going, kiddo?” The French chef asked, smiling for the first time all evening.

  “Fine,” she said with a shrug. And she was. It was certainly not as horrifying as she’d imagined it might be, in any event.

  “Good. They’re happy? With the food?”

  “Oh, yes, absolutely..”

  “Good.” He winked at her and loaded up another tray. “Crab cakes now with a spring onion dip.”

  “Oh, yum, they smell so good.”

  “You want to try one?”

  Emily shook her head. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop at just one. Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure when she’d last eaten. She’d been busy all day, run off her feet in fact. She’d only had an hour at home to get ready for work, and that hadn’t included dinner.

  “Go on, I won’t tell.”

  She grinned. “I don’t want to get green stuff in my teeth.”

  “Okay,” he pulled a small plastic box off the top of the bench. “I’ll save you some things for afterwards.”

  “Oh,” Emily’s cheeks flushed pink. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s no trouble.” He insisted. “We always make more than they need.”

  She bit down on her lip. “If you’re sure…”

  “Of course.”

  Emboldened by the chef’s kindness, she lingered a moment. “What is this party for, anyway?”

  “It’s a charity fundraiser for the children’s hospital in Kensington.”

  “Really?” Emily’s expression showed her surprise.

  “It doesn’t seem like it?”

  Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Not really.”

  “What does it seem like?”

  “A lot of very attractive, expensive people talking about nothing.”

  The chef laughed. “You don’t approve.”

  “Oh, no, no.” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “It cost four hu
ndred quid just to get in the door.”

  Emily almost dropped the tray. “Four hundred … pounds?”

  The chef laughed. “Hardly even small change to this group.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She thought of the bill in her handbag. It was only a fraction of that amount and she was going to lose sleep over how to pay it. How the other half lived, she thought with a small frown. “I’d better take these out.”

  “We’ll be pausing service soon. There’s a speech and then we’ll switch to dessert.”

  “Okay.” She smiled. “Thanks for making this so easy for me.”

  “You’re a natural.”

  She looked down at the delicious crab cakes and was suddenly glad that the chef had put some aside for her. They did look delicious. She gravitated to a couple first, and then on to another group. A very tall, reed thin blonde woman was at the centre. She had lips that looked surgically enhanced and a body to die for. There was another woman beside her, and then a man with glasses and a pale pink tie. Emily’s eyes drifted past him, to the fourth man in the group, and she had to suck in a deep breath to stop from visibly reacting.

  Because the fourth member of their ensemble was the most handsome man she’d ever seen in real life. Or on the screen.

  He was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen in the flesh. Like a movie star come to life, but so much better.

  A beautiful dark grey suit hugged his muscular frame - all six and a half foot of it. His skin was dark brown. His cheekbones were slashed out of stone, and his eyes glimmered like black diamonds in his face. His lips were wide, his mouth intelligently curved. His chin, square and strong, had a brush of stubble across it.

  Emily had never been in love. She’d never even kissed a boy, unless you counted the incredibly inept experimenting she and a friend had engaged in during her sixteenth birthday party. She’d never been in love, but Emily had read a lot of books on the subject, and she was pretty darn sure that the way her heart was hammering in her chest had something to do with love at first sight.

  The very idea made her blood simmer and her cheeks heat unbearably. Her big blue eyes didn’t dare meet his. She focussed instead on the blonde in the centre of the group. “Crab cake?” She murmured quietly, suddenly wanting to get as far away from the very beautiful man as possible.

  “Are they paleo?” The slim blonde enquired, as though anything else would be an offense.

  Emily shook her head. “Paleo?” She frowned. What the heck was paleo?

  “Yes. Pay-Lee-Oh.” The woman’s tone was scathing, and she tilted her beautiful face at the handsome man with a look of sarcastic derision.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not …” Mortified, Emily shook her head. “I don’t know. I can find out for you.”

  “Forget about it.” The blonde turned to her attention to another friend. “What kind of person doesn’t know about paleo?”

  What kind of person indeed, Sabato thought, a spark of curiosity driving him to look more closely at this woman. She was small and slight, with shining auburn hair, bright blue eyes and a perfect rose bud mouth.

  Definitely not his usual type.

  Definitely fascinating.

  Emily stood on the fringe of the group for a second and then realised she’d been dismissed. She moved to turn away when he stalled her. “I’ll have one.” He shifted his body, turning his back to the group, effectively blocking Emily off from the rest of the room.

  Up close, she could see so much more detail in his face. He wasn’t just big and muscular, he was warrior-like. Strong and powerful looking. He smelled of the ocean. Salty and masculine, warm and intense. He was sending her into awareness overdrive; every fibre of her being was pulsating at a strange frequency.

  She lifted the tray a little higher, holding it almost as a barrier between them.

  Sabato stared at the woman long and hard. Surrounded by actresses, models and heiresses, this waitress was singularly unique. It wasn’t just her looks, though she was very pretty. A true English Rose, with her shining hair, fair skin and oceanic blue eyes. Even her lips were a testament to that fragrant bloom, being soft and pink, with a natural fullness to them. His eyes held hers, and he felt something click inside of his chest. Desire, unmistakable, warmed his blood. Not just the hint of attraction, but a full-blown need that he knew himself to be incapable of ignoring.

  “Are they good?” He asked, his voice deep and accented.

  He had a cleft in his chin, as though an angel had pressed a thumb to it at the moment of his birth. He had a dimple too, concealed beneath his stubble, but Emily had seen it when he’d smiled earlier. It wasn’t fair that one man should have so many things in his favour. Tall, handsome, mysterious … he was, quite simply, extraordinary. “Good?” She was smiling at him. She could feel her mouth arching upwards, and she didn’t seem able to stop.

  He grinned back, and nodded towards the platter. “The crab cakes.”

  “Oh!” She blinked, her blue eyes like saucers in her face. “I’m sure they’re delicious.” She seemed to remember herself. To recognise that she was at work, and that he was a guest. She cleared her throat and stepped backwards a little. Just far enough to put some crucial distance between them.

  If the man noticed or cared, he didn’t show it. He stayed exactly where he was. “Well then, if you are sure.” Oh, that accent. Like something out of a dream, so deep and husky; it sent spirals of wonder through her body and soul.

  He reached forward and lifted a small savoury from the platter. He didn’t eat it though. His eyes seemed to be searching hers, as if looking for something that he didn’t immediately understand.

  Emily’s stomach churned. What was she doing? Standing there, staring at the most handsome man she’d ever seen, just because he was filling her very inexperienced mind with all sorts of fantasies? She shook her head, to try to clear them away, and smiled tightly. “Excuse me.”

  “And if I won’t?” He murmured darkly, wanting to warm her cheeks and bring the fire back into her eyes.

  “I’m sorry?” She scanned his face, her heart thumping in her chest.

  “If I won’t excuse you?”

  Emily pulled her fleshy lower lip between her teeth. A small line formed between her eyebrows, and out of nowhere, she wondered if hers were too thick, or too thin. She’d never paid much attention to them – except to pluck an errant hair from time to time. “Then you’ll have to keep eating fish cakes,” she pointed out, lifting the tray a little higher.

  “What is your name?” His eyes dropped to her apron, and Emily’s heart turned over at the direction of his gaze. He was looking at the name embroidered on the material, but it was so close to the gentle swell of her chest that she felt her stomach roll. “ Agnes.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to correct him when something stilled her. It was a surreal moment. A fairy tale moment happening to someone else. Of all the women in the room, this handsome man was speaking to her. Flirting with her. But why?

  A frown puckered at her lips again, and Emily’s mouth momentarily forgot that she was generally shy and reserved. “Do you make a habit of hitting on waitresses?”

  It was so absurd that Sabato laughed. The rich, husky sound drew Emily’s focus back to his face. “No.”

  She swallowed, chastened, and looked nervously towards the kitchen. “I should be getting back …”

  Sabato had been hunting once in his life. He had deplored it. A man drawn to power in life had been revolted by exerting such dominance over weak beasts. Of preying on them from afar, and felling them with a far superior weapon than his own strength alone. Talking to this woman brought those sensations flooding back. Her inexperience was obvious, and yet he was exerting every skill at his disposal to keep her with him. Perhaps then, it was she who wielded the power, for he found himself unable to ignore the churn of desire she invoked.

  “If I promise to eat every last thing on that tray, will you come with me?”

  “Come with you?”

>   He leaned closer, and she caught a hint of his cologne. Her pulse raced; her veins were a torrent of raging lava. Closer still, until his lips were almost touching her cheek. “Yes.”

  Emily stepped backwards, her eyes flitting around the room. “Please, don’t do that. You’ll get me in trouble.”

  His laugh sent shivers of warmth down her spine.

  “What’s funny about that? I don’t want to get fired!”

  He appeared to sober, but there was still a mocking spark in his eyes. “I won’t let that happen.”

  Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “All the same, I’d better get back to work.”

  “Keeping guests happy is your job, is it not? So consider yourself working.”

  Emily felt as though she was caught in this man’s magnetic force. He was the sun and she was a tiny little planet, simply rotating about him. Her head was spinning and her toes were tingling.

  Sabato took advantage of her brief hesitation and put a hand lightly against the small of her back. At the instant of contact, something hot seared along his arm, all the way to his gut. He compressed his lips.

  Yes, he was hunting all right, but the stakes were so much higher than tracking a boar across his father’s Tuscan property.

  “Where are we going?” Emily seemed to remember herself when they were at the fringe of the room.

  Sabato didn’t reply. He didn’t want to say anything that might cause her to take fright. He pushed a door onto the balcony open, holding it for her with a growing sense of impatience.

  Emily sucked in a deep breath and took a step outside. The night was warm, the sky glowing with the hues of dusk. “It’s as though a toddler has created the palette,” she murmured, staring at the oranges and pinks with the same sense of wonderment that the bookends of the day always seemed to inspire in her.

  “Excuse me?” Sabato queried, easing the glass door closed and leading her a little way down the length of the area. Away from the party. Away from prying eyes. His English was excellent, but he couldn’t be sure he’d understood what she’d said, for it made little sense to a man such as him.