by Caro LaFever
Turquoise.
He leaned down, his lush lips starting to smile. “Admit it, Sophia. She picks out everything except your ugly sweaters and old jeans.”
“I, ah…” She should be angry at that last jab, but instead she kept staring. “Do you wear contacts?”
“What?” His eyebrows rose and it suddenly hit her that, unlike his blond hair, his brows were a rich caramel color, exactly like her famous caramel éclairs. “What are you talking about?”
Her gaze shot back to those eyes. That could not be a natural color. “Answer my question.”
“Contacts?” His eyebrows frowned. “No. I don’t.”
They were natural? He must be lying.
“Is this something you needed to know about me?” The twinkle in his eyes began to dance. “I thought you had enough information about me.”
She did. She honestly did.
He turned and the firelight flickered across his cheek and a hint of caramel now decorated the line of his jaw and chin. He needed a shave. The beauty of the detail struck her hard in her solar plexus.
“Sophie.” Henry’s booming voice broke her from the awful enchantment about details she hadn’t ever noticed and didn’t want to notice now. “That woman.”
Tearing her gaze away from caramel and turquoise, she smiled at Henry with gratefulness. “Freddie is a handful.”
“I believe I nipped this pastry business in the bud,” he stated, his one look at his partner filled with satisfaction. “Sophie can still do her shots, but you’ll be where you’re supposed to be, Alex.”
Her fake fiancé made a sound. A slight, soft sound that pulled her back to looking at him. There was something in those turquoise eyes. Something raw and harsh.
And then it was gone.
“That’s my friend Henry.” His smile came, wide and perfect. “Always saving me.”
Chapter 7
Alex had planned the ambush very deliberately, and right on cue, Sophia did not disappoint.
“What is this?” Her shriek cut through the solid walls of his penthouse.
He’d slipped into her bedroom while she’d been in the shower to leave the explosive gift on her bed. He’d been tempted to buy her some jewelry as well, but had thought better of it. The one gift would be enough to set her off.
Alex flipped the tail of his tie over the knot and slipped the notch to his neck.
His bedroom door banged open. “What is this?”
He turned from the full-length mirror to stare across the room at her. “It’s a dress.”
“I can see that.” She vibrated with fury, her round face tight with anger. “Why is it in my bedroom?”
“Because I bought it for you to wear tonight.”
She shook the silk in front of her as if to shake the garment out of existence. “I have a totally appropriate gown I’m going to wear.”
“What? Not another pantsuit?” He walked to the walnut armoire and slipped the pale-grey suit jacket off its hanger. “You’ll wear the dress I bought you.”
“If I wanted to wear a pantsuit, I would. But Freddie told me I should wear a dress.”
He sighed. It had been two weeks since he’d met her producer and he’d been extremely busy with work; he hadn’t had time to broach the obvious subject of why a blonde, brazen Amazon should not be choosing clothes for a freckled, fierce Lilliputian. Sophia had been scarce every evening also, too swamped to attend any more events with him. With his blessing. Spending several nights in her company had made him realize she was dangerous to his equilibrium. Her busy holiday baking season had been an excellent excuse for her not being his escort. “You have to know that letting Freddie pick—”
“The dress won’t fit.”
He glanced over and caught an expression he’d never before seen on Sophia Feuer’s face. One of fragile insecurity.
Something hard yanked in his chest.
“The dress will fit.” He slid the jacket on, then pulled on the gold cuff links, straightening his cotton twill shirt. His father had given him the cufflinks on his seventeenth birthday. The glint of the intaglio-set horse’s head glittered against the black onyx. The cufflinks had been the last gift his father had given him before his death.
The jagged thought cut right through him. As always.
“You don’t know for sure.” Sophia’s voice brought him back with a tight snap. Not because her tone was its usual fractious scraping sound, but because it was exactly the opposite.
Halting and hesitant.
He glanced at her again.
Her sullen mouth and wary gaze made that something in his chest hurt.
He’d planned this whole confrontation carefully; he knew she’d be angry. He wanted her that way. He wanted her screeching and yelling so he could remember how much she enraged him. He needed those memories in the front of his brain instead of the memory of how she slumped into the couch every evening waiting for whatever he’d cooked to be served. The memory of her long dark lashes falling on her freckles. The memory of her round, roly-poly body looking like a little puff pastry on his elegant black furniture.
He wanted to wipe out the tendril of tenderness he’d felt a time or two or three.
She’d screeched. Now, he should lower the boom with a threat and she’d march off in a huff, forced to do what he said. And all of his thoughts of tenderness would disappear. Yet suddenly, he didn’t want his plan to work. Suddenly, he wanted to coax her instead of corral her. He didn’t know why and he didn’t even want to think about the question.
The recent conversation with his maman shot into his brain. “My mother watched you on your TV show the last two Fridays.”
“Huh?” Her forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“My maman is very good at determining a female’s shape. After all, she has four daughters.” He strode over and grabbed the silk dress from her hands before she twisted it any further. “I asked her to choose something for you for this evening.”
“I can dress myself.” The words were tough, yet the glance she shot him was filled with confused worry. “I want to look like myself when we go to this ball of yours.”
“This is a gift from my mother.” It wasn’t. The only comment his mother had made about Sophie was that she was cute and nothing like Melanie. And what was he thinking? And…and…and…he’d cut off the conversation before it went any further.
However, he knew enough about his fake fiancée now to know it would be hard for her to turn this down. She might not have a soft spot for him, but for everyone else? He stared at her, keeping his smile light and easy. “She’ll be upset if you come to the party without the dress on.”
The stubborn woman twisted her pouty mouth while she squinted at the gown in his hands. “It’s not the right color.”
As if she knew anything about color. During the last three weeks she’d lived with him, he was pretty sure he’d seen most of her wardrobe. Every item of clothing should be tossed in a dump. Especially the pantsuits. “This is the perfect color for you. I promise you.”
“It’s purple. I never wear purple.”
“No, it’s what my mother calls aubergine.” He smoothed the silk across his arm. “Or eggplant.”
His maman would never use the plebeian term eggplant to describe a garment.
“Non, non, mon fils.” She would laugh as he studied at the kitchen table, his teenage stomach growling for food. While she cooked her family favorite ratatouille stew, she often helped him with his homework. If he occasionally walked over to snatch a sample, she’d laugh once more and bat him away with a spoon. “Eggplant is for food. Aubergine is for clothes.”
Alex glanced at Sophia, his mouth quirking.
“What?” She eyed him with suspicion.
“I just realized something.”
“What?”
“Nothing important.” He stifled a laugh. He certainly wasn’t going to share the thought racing through his head. If he told Sophia she reminded him of the taste of raw eggplant—b
itter—she might refuse to even attend the ball.
Another thought zinged through him. How bitter the vegetable was until his mother blended it with tomatoes and peppers and thyme, where it became tender and rich, a complex flavor he’d cherished as a child.
Would Sophia be the same if he delved deeper under her surface?
He whipped around at the thought and marched to the mirror. “Come here.”
“You’re always ordering me around.” Her words promised defiance. Still, he heard her shuffling closer.
“Stand in front of me.”
Her feet were bare, pale nails and tiny toes. She wore a sloppy, white T-shirt and her usual ragged jeans. The top of her head barely came to the middle of his chest.
Alex looked down at the mass of brown hair sitting on top of her head in some weird curly design. Apparently, she’d started with her hair for the big occasion. He almost demanded she take the ugly thing apart, but the dress was the war he needed to win for tonight.
Glancing up, he met her apprehensive gaze. She hadn’t put any makeup on yet, making her face—round cheeks, pale skin, light dust of freckles—look like a child’s.
Another something tugged inside his chest.
He slipped the garment off his arm and swung it in front of her. Lifting the strapless bodice to cover the white of her shirt, he stared at her in the mirror. The layered petals of aubergine slitted down into a basque waistline, giving the illusion of length. The rest of the gown belled out in a smooth sweep that hit her mid-calf. He’d gone to Linvan, the Madison Avenue boutique his sister Ceci swore by, to get this dress. The dress that had taken him two hours to find.
The dress that turned her skin to cream.
He shook the thought from his mind. “See?”
Her dark eyes stared.
“Notice how the color makes your skin look.”
Creamy Sophia.
“See how you’ll still be able to wear your fancy shoes for everyone to see?”
She shifted and the faint smell of vanilla wafted into his nose. He had a sudden urge to lean in, to catch the deeper scent of warmth and woman.
“I don’t like showing my…”
He met her worried gaze in the mirror. “Your?”
Her mouth tightened. “My breasts.”
Her halting admission turned the hard thing in his chest to mush. “Sophia—”
“Never mind.” She tugged the gown from his hands and stomped to the door. “I’ll wear the damn thing.”
The damn thing that had cost him several thousand dollars, but he wasn’t going to rile her with that information. He’d won. “I can’t wait to see you in it,” he said with a bright smile.
She glanced over her shoulder, throwing him a withering glare. “I’m doing this for your mother.”
Ah, yes. Sophia’s sweet spot for everyone but him had won him this victory. He couldn’t wait to see her. If he’d guessed correctly, that dress was going to make her look…gorgeous.
The thought surprised him, like a lot of his thoughts lately.
* * *
Of course, he’d have his wedding reception at Irving Hall.
Of course.
“What?” His voice came from across the limo seat. As soon as they’d been picked up at his penthouse, he’d wedged himself into the corner giving him a clear view of her face.
Why Alexander Stravoudas wanted to stare at her face, she had no idea.
He’d given her one peculiar look when she’d charged out of her bedroom with the stupid dress on and then he’d given her another strange look when she’d smiled at the limo driver. Much to her discomfort, he’d continued to stare at her all through the drive to Irving Hall. So it wasn’t surprising then, that he’d caught the roll of her eyes. “Typical that you’d pick this place for your wedding reception.”
“Engagement party,” he corrected her, his wide mouth quirking at the edge. “Actually, a lot of people have their wedding receptions and engagement parties here.”
She knew that. She’d provided the wedding cakes and desserts for several of them at this New York City landmark. But the people who picked Irving Hall for their weddings and parties weren’t regular people. No, the privileged picked here. The powerful. The perfect.
Much like Alexander the Great.
She huffed. Him. Perfect. Whatever.
“My mother and sisters picked this place.” He shrugged, drawing her gaze to the impeccable fit of his black wool coat. “And Melanie…”
Sophie’s gaze narrowed. As his face went blank and his mouth went tight and his eyes went flat, an emotion twisted deep inside her. An emotion she had no intention of pulling out and examining.
He shrugged again, the muscles along his jaw tensing. “Melanie didn’t complain.”
The way he said the last word called attention to all the times Sophie had complained. About everything. His tone also called attention to the fact that Melanie never complained about anything. What did she care if Alex Stravoudas didn’t like his new fiancée’s complaints? He had no one to blame except himself.
The limo rolled to a stop at the curb. A bright red carpet led from the edge of the street to the marble staircase leading to two ten-foot brass doors. A couple walked up to the doorman and smiled as he let them in. Sophie didn’t recognize them, yet she’d recognize a whole bunch of people shortly.
She glanced down at her hands, gloved and fisted in her lap.
Melanie and Jack were going to be here this evening. The fact that this would be the first time Melanie would see her ex and Alex would see his lost trophy shouldn’t make a difference to her.
But it did. It really did.
“I’m surprised Melanie didn’t tell you.” He paused once more after his ex’s name.
Her friend had been vague and disinterested about her entire wedding and reception. Having a reception at Irving Hall was worth a loud, big celebration all on its own. Mel hadn’t said a word, though, and it had only been when Sophie had inquired about upcoming events at the hall that she found out her friend’s reception was booked there. Mel’s inattention had been one of the first clues Sophie had noted that told her something was wrong with her best bud and her engagement. Mel was always about frou-frou—dresses and lace and girly decorations—unlike herself. When she hadn’t disclosed the details of the biggest day in her life?
Wrong. In so many ways wrong.
The whispers of doubt she’d been dealing with as Alexander Stravoudas spoke Melanie’s name got swept away in a second. Whatever his real feelings for her best buddy, he hadn’t been right for Mel. Not at all. She’d done the right thing.
“She didn’t tell you anything?” His voice went low, pained.
Another emotion twisted deep down inside. Not guilt precisely. Not a swirl of second thoughts. Still, something close to that as she realized her actions had been right for Mel, but painful for him. “I never asked,” she managed. “And it doesn’t matter now, does it?”
Forcing herself to look at him, she met his gaze. There was pain there, dammit. And no longer any anger towards her, which made the crazy brew of doubt and regret inside bubble to a boil.
She should say something.
I’m sorry.
Yet she wasn’t.
It’s for the best.
The best for Melanie, but maybe, Oh God, maybe not for him?
I didn’t realize you were hurt. I didn’t realize you are human.
I didn’t realize you might have genuinely loved my best friend.
“Obviously this non-interest in wedding receptions and engagements is something you and Melanie share.” He slid a big hand into his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. His gaze dropped, leaving behind the memory of halcyon, blue misery. He tapped on the screen as if proving the conversation they were having was of minimal import.
But she’d seen. For the first time, she’d seen beneath his surface perfection. She’d glimpsed the reality of him.
She had to give him something.
His wide mouth twisted in a wry smile.
The something wasn’t enough.
A solid plank of guilt hit her between the eyes.
His observation was true. She hadn’t asked about their engagement party during the last three weeks. She’d promised to appear and here she was. That was going to be the extent of her involvement she’d assured herself when she thought about the event at all.
She’d thrown that fact at this man often.
He’d always given her back a jaunty grin.
Sophie realized, though, with an abrupt smack, that focusing on egging this man on would no longer work. Not tonight and not after what she just saw in his eyes. Sarcastic throwaways and nasty jabs in front of both their families and friends wouldn’t be right. During the few business events she’d gone to with Mr. Perfect, she’d batted her eyes and smiled, and then the conversation had turned to business. Tonight, however, tonight she was going to have to do more than grin. Tonight she’d have to pretend to like and love this man sitting beside her. Tonight she was going to have to talk and laugh with all the people who knew her and loved her.
Who knew him and loved him.
People who were important.
To both of them.
“I can’t do this. Attend this party.” A sudden shiver of fear swept down her spine. Not only would she have to see Alexander Stravoudas interacting with Melanie and Jack, but she’d also be under the eagle-eyed gaze of Jade and Sam. Not to mention her mom and dad. Plus, aunts, uncles, cousins and coworkers.
And his family.
The shivers turned into quakes.
“Yes, you can.” The confidence in his tone startled her enough to peer at him.
He stared right back at her, his eyes clear and direct. The turquoise blue shone with certainty. He honestly thought she could carry this off.
A surge of borrowed confidence ran through her. “You’re right. I can.”
He smiled. For the first time in months, he gave her one of his real smiles. A smile that when given, lit other people’s faces with their own answering smiles. “Say that again.”