Chapter 2
Millie
Ikept a firm hand on my husband's arm as he guided me through the entrance to the grand ballroom. Tonight's gala was a fundraiser for an animal charity, held at a gallery space overlooking Trafalgar Square.
Soft classical music greeted us from a live chamber orchestra tucked in the corner, and discreet waitstaff weaved in and out with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
Polite chatter and laughter filled the large space as members of England's high society mingled.
Some formed small groups to gossip and discuss business, while others moved slowly around the room, observing and discussing the renowned paintings on the walls.
At two thousand a head, it was a must-do event for socialites and aristocrats with inherited titles that held little significance in today's current climate.
Not that I considered myself any different or better than anyone else in attendance. I was, after all, the daughter of an Earl who had the good foresight to add to his fortune by accumulating a portfolio of hotels.
I was like any other woman in this room—the daughter of a rich, titled man who then became just another socialite wife.
I played the part well, a part I had been trained in my whole life.
I knew nearly everyone's name and their line of business.
I greeted the women—wives, girlfriends, and mistresses—with warm smiles and practised air kisses, promising to catch up later in the night.
Men stopped my husband to shake his hand or slap his shoulder, their boisterous laughter and fake flattery easy to see through.
The majority of people here tonight viewed this event as another opportunity to network—my husband included.
The charity itself was just an afterthought.
A tax relief. A chance to look good, throw money at the problem, and perhaps win a cheap holiday to the south of France through the silent auction.
"You look ravishing."
Alessio's accented, deep voice poured over me like steam on a cold day. Pink painted my cheeks as I rubbed my hand against the smooth material of his suit.
"You wash up pretty well yourself," I teased.
That was an understatement. Even though nearly every man in the room wore a tux, it somehow looked more ravishing on my handsome husband. The black moulded to him so effortlessly and beautifully; the white of his shirt brought out his warm brown eyes.
I matched him in a daring black halterneck tie dress with a precariously low neckline. It had a dropped waist and a ruched skirt that fit me like a second skin. I felt utterly decadent, especially when my husband stared at me as if I were his favourite dessert.
"I cannot wait to tear this off you later." Brown fingers played with the tie at my neck, and I felt the hot stamp of desire tease low in my belly.
"Behave yourself," I admonished. But I was secretly thrilled that Alessio found me irresistible in a crowd full of esteemed guests.
He bent low, and his mouth brushed my ear, causing delighted butterflies to slide down my stomach.
"Never," he murmured. He pressed a soft kiss against my ear before he pulled back.
"I need to make the rounds, then we can leave."
"But there's the silent auction—"
"You know I hate these things. Besides, I already wrote a cheque."
Yes, for fifteen thousand. I'd called and swiftly amended it to fifty. We could afford it, and I doubt he would miss the money. He probably thought it had been spent on shoes and jewellery.
"I want to stay," I argued. I'd organised the grand prize at the host's request and wanted to see who would win.
A week's stay at one of my husband's exclusive hotels of their choice, with a butler and meals prepared by a top Michelin chef.
It was a coveted prize since our penthouse suites went for over two grand a night.
"We'll see," he countered as his attention roamed around the room. "I see Philip Townsend; he's been trying to tie me down for a talk for weeks. I'll have a drink with him to get him off my back. Will you be okay?"
"Yes." My reply was automatic. Even if I'd said no, Alessio would simply pat me on the head, lead me to a group of women, and then take off to talk business.
"Save me later," he joked before squeezing my hand and taking off in the direction of a small group of important-looking men. My eyes lingered on Alessio's tall frame and firm sexy behind before I gave a dreamy sigh and floated off to do my own networking.
Clasping a champagne flute, I started to do the rounds. I checked in with our host, thanked them for organising the event, and let them know I would be happy to donate my time and resources to their next cause.
I crossed seamlessly to a group of society wives whose husbands moved in the same circle as Alessio.
At first, it had been hard to crack into their clique.
They were significantly older and viewed me as a somewhat young, frivolous trophy wife—despite my own father's status.
But they eventually warmed up to me after I impressed them with my knowledge of art and politics.
I was also sure Alessio had his hand in my ready acceptance; once they found out that he could buy and sell their husbands several times over.
I gossiped with them while we admired and discussed paintings by Anthony van Dyck and Thomas Gainsborough. I set up a squash game with one of the wives of an Olympic gold medallist and promised a wife with new money that I'd put in a good word for her and her husband to join a private members club.
I was delighted and relieved when I spotted a group of old girlfriends from prep school and spent a significant amount of time catching up with them. Neither of them was married, and I listened intently with envious silence as they filled me in on their university life.
While I laughed with an old friend about a girls' trip we had taken to Monaco, I glanced up and met the eyes of a woman who looked vaguely familiar, yet I had trouble placing her.
She was stunning and appeared to be around thirty, or thereabouts.
But what piqued my curiosity was the expression on her face as her blue eyes assessed me.
There was a silent judgement in the pucker of her red-painted lips.
A quiet disdain in the narrowing of her eyes.
Even though she was part of our group, although hanging around the edges, she made no move to introduce herself or be included in conversation.
It wasn't in my nature to exclude people, and I would usually find some way to draw in and welcome a lurker. Yet, something in me held back. A foreboding of sorts that had the small hairs on my neck pricking.
Despite my discomfort, I dismissed her and focused on enjoying my night.
By the time I needed a lavatory break, two hours had passed, and the first wave of silent auction winners were about to be announced.
As I made my way across the room, I spotted Alessio who was listening with a glazed expression as a business acquaintance chatted his ear off. He caught my eye and sent me a droll look that had me giggling. Once I was finished using the facilities, I would rescue my poor husband.
After washing my hands, I stood in front of the mirror to reapply my lipstick.
Frankly, it was nice to have a moment to breathe from the exhausting performance of entertaining.
But I had managed to cajole extra donations for the Wildlife Trust from bored wives with money to burn, so it was worth the fatigue if it meant more funding for a worthy cause.
I heard a flush, and the only occupied stall door opened.
A brunette woman stepped up next to me to wash her hands, and I glanced at the mirror.
My stomach clenched. It was the same woman who had been glaring daggers at me all night.
She caught me looking at her, so I offered her a polite smile before I recapped my lipstick.
"You're Millie Ferrante, right?"
I glanced back at her through the mirror. She was watching me with an expression that touched on the side of smug.
"Yes. I'm sorry, have we met?''
She tilted her head, her icy blue eyes raking me from head to foot. "Not officially. I'm Annabelle Wentworth."
Ah. That was why she looked familiar. Her father had done business with mine in the past. I had probably seen her at some function.
"You're Alessio Ferrante's wife."
A cold trickle of unease washed over me. I had a sinking intuition deep in my gut since the first time I glanced over and caught her watching me like the cat that got the cream.
I refused to let her rile me, so I simply returned her coy smile with a coldly polite one.
"Yes." I tilted my head and met her stare head-on. "But something tells me you knew that."
I popped open my clutch and placed my lipstick back into its pocket. Cool. Calm. Unaffected.
The smile dropped from her face, and her lip lifted in a sneer.
"You know, I admire you."
"Thank you."
Her breath puffed out in indignant frustration. "It must be hard being married to such a virile, handsome, and powerful man." She paused. "And knowing you're not enough to keep his attention."
I kept my features schooled, not wanting to let her see just how her words affected me.
At a leisurely pace, I produced a slim case from my purse and extracted a small mint from inside.
I turned and offered one to her. When she continued to stare at me in furious silence, I simply shrugged and slipped the mint between my red lips.
"Your husband was in Manchester last month, wasn't he? On the 16th."
The sharp echo of my mint case snapping shut was the only answer I gave her.
"Ask me how I know."
I cleared my throat and made a show of fluffing my hair in the mirror.
Her chin tipped up at my silence, her face an unattractive shade of red at my clear lack of response. "That's right. He's sleeping with me."