Chapter 17
Seventeen
REGINA
I am fuming. How dare he pull me away from polite interaction with my neighbor.
“You’re angry.”
He states the freaking obvious as we sit in the car once again, hurtling toward God only knows what.
“Of course I am. I wanted to chat with my friend.”
“Your friend.” He sighs. “Then I have saved you in more ways than one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Simon Pettigrew started off life as a reporter and worked his way up to be head of entertainment at The New York Times. His career ended abruptly when he was accused of fabricating stories for cash and subsequently snorting the proceeds up his nose. His wife left him, and his son, Edward, was sent to live with her due to the amount of child porn found on his computer. Subsequently, he spent some time in prison before being set free, where he was met with nothing. He now lives off the state and exists in the place you amusingly call a home. Mr. Pettigrew is not and never will be your friend.”
I am speechless. I have nothing to say, and as Nico transfers his attention to his phone once again, I try to stop my head from spinning. I open my mouth several times to speak but close it again when the words won’t come.
Mr. Pettigrew.
My Mr. Pettigrew is a felon and rather a sick one at that.
I cast my mind back to the pictures decorating his wall of his son.
At least I thought it was his son, and I shiver.
They were everywhere in his apartment. Pictures of him with his son, in the swimming pool, on the beach, in the bath at home.
It never occurred to me before, but in every shot, the child was naked, and in some cases, he was too.
I used to avert my eyes, but now I’m concerned that those pictures weren’t sweet memories; they were evidence.
“Close your mouth, Regina.”
Nico’s curt response makes me blink, and I’m surprised when his hand closes around mine and he says softly, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“My loss?”
“Yes. You respected a man who deserved your contempt. You must be angry about that.”
“It’s not anger I’m feeling, more disappointment and shame that I missed the signs.”
“The signs?”
I nod miserably. “I don’t want to talk about him ever again. In fact, Simon who? I don’t recall his surname.”
He smiles. “Good.”
I’m surprised when he reaches up and holds my face in his hand and his thumb rubs a deep trail down the side of my cheek. His intense gaze burns as he whispers, “I am your friend, Regina. The only one you need now. You can tell me anything at all, and I will fight your demons for you.”
“I don’t have any, um, demons.”
His eyes flash.
“Are you sure about that?”
I mentally flick through a Rolodex of my friends and acquaintances, and I’m coming up blank.
“Um, no. I don’t think there are any weirdoes in my life.”
“You thought the same five minutes ago, and yet here we are.”
“Wait!” My eyes widen. “Are you going to tell me another one of my, um, friends or family is crooked?”
“I can tell you a lot of things, Regina, but no, crooked isn’t one of them, and by the way, it’s an odd choice of word.”
I say nothing, and his breath is hot against my face as he leans closer and whispers darkly, “I will keep the wolves from your door. Trust me to keep you safe, baby girl, and always know I have your best interests at heart.”
“For the next two days?” I gulp as his eyes burn into mine.
“For the next two days, you will live like a queen. After that, we’ll see where we are and adjust accordingly.”
I open my mouth to question that statement, and as his lips close over mine, I am rigid with shock.
His hand moves and tightens behind my head, and as he deepens the kiss, I close my eyes and go along for the ride.
After all, it’s something I’ve wanted to do since I first saw him this morning so I’m not going to complain now and as we kiss—sorry, practice—I am swept away by the madness that also goes by the name of Nicholas Ravera.
Ten minutes later, the car stops, and I slump back in my seat, my lips swollen from the longest, most intense kiss of my life.
Before I have time to speak, the door opens, and Nico once again grasps my hand and pulls me from the car.
The rude one is scanning the sidewalk, and I’m shocked when I notice we aren’t at the restaurant.
“Did we take a detour?” I ask as I stare up at Bergdorf Goodman, the doorman almost saluting Nico as we pass.
“First, you need a suitable outfit. We will continue shopping after breakfast to secure the rest of our purchases.”
I am almost giddy with excitement as we pass through the decadent displays crammed full of luxury and all things Christmas. It’s early; in fact, it’s surprising that they are open given it’s eight am, and as we pass through the empty store, I whisper, “Where is everybody?”
Nico shrugs. “I don’t care about other people. I know the manager, and he allowed us a preview before the store opens.”
“A preview of what?”
I’m beginning to realize that I’m way out of my depth, and as we head into the women’s department, a lady steps forward with a huge smile.
“You must be Regina.”
Nico pushes me toward her and says gruffly, “We have fifteen minutes. She needs an outfit suitable for the finest restaurant and an appointment at Harry Winston’s.
I suggest a cream Chanel suit for the occasion, with a silk camisole and matching underwear.
Pantyhose and complementary heels and purse — that must be the latest ones.
Some shades to protect her eyes against the threat of the sun and an overcoat both stylish and chic, yet practical and warm. ”
He fixes her with a firm, “Fifteen minutes, Mrs. Francis.”
“Of course, sir.”
I’m practically manhandled into the dressing room, and once again I am shocked into silence as a glass of champagne is thrust into my hand, and Mrs. Francis says firmly, “While you undress, I will gather the required outfit choices. Give me five minutes.”
As she leaves, I glance at my reflection in the full-length mirror and note that I resemble a petrified deer caught in headlights.
This is what I am now. Roadkill, because what the hell just happened.
My fingers shake as I reach for my phone, desperate to capture at least some of this for my vlog, but as I search in my purse, I come up blank and with a sigh remember leaving it on charge in my apartment.
Before I can even bemoan my negligence, I hear movement outside and quickly attempt to remove the layers of clothing that only made it onto my body less than an hour ago.
“Here we are. Luckily we have it in three sizes, and I selected the one I thought best.”
I’m in a daze as she proceeds to dress me as if I’m a doll, and I don’t even complain as I transform into Coco Chanel before my eyes. I blink in wonder at how clothes alter everything because as soon as the fabric touched my skin, it’s as if I became somebody else entirely.
By the time she pushes me out of the dressing room, I notice Nico leaning on the wall flicking through his phone. His eyes raise to mine, and the shock in them makes me giggle as he raises an eyebrow. “Regina?”
It reminds me of the last transformation I enjoyed at his hands, and I pirouette before him.
“Will I do, darling?”
I make light of the endearment, and yet his eyes flash, and the hunger in them causes my heart to race as if I’ve just run the New York marathon.
He shifts off the wall and as he reaches for my hand, he pulls me close and without warning revisits the kiss, this time deep, hungry and promising something way naughtier.
It’s as if nobody isn’t watching and as his hands slide around my waist and he pulls me in flush against his body, I am lost in wicked abandonment and completely out of my comfort zone.
I am loving the new me, and so why not reinvent the person inside the clothes, and so I muster every inch of sex appeal I possess and kiss him back as if the world isn’t watching.