Chapter Six #2
As he guided her toward their section, they bumped into a couple Rocco knew.
He set his hand at her lower back as he introduced her.
A signal of possessiveness? She didn’t have any experience with such things, but that’s what it felt like.
She couldn’t say she disliked it. It was reassuring when she was such a horribly self-conscious person.
She reminded herself he was only playing his part, though, and fought against betraying how much that stung.
After providing her name, she heard him as he said, “We’re celebrating our engagement.”
“Oh.” The other woman’s eyes popped in shock. The pair looked from the ring on Mira’s hand to her polite smile to Rocco’s amused one. “We hadn’t heard,” the woman continued. “How wonderful. You make a beautiful couple.”
“Grazie.” Rocco finished guiding her to their seats.
“You enjoyed that,” Mira accused in a hiss when they were seated.
“I did,” he agreed with a grim smile. “That particular couple is… Let’s call it ‘resistant’ to my presence in places like this.”
“Why? Because of Otto?”
“Because they’re snobs.” Whatever confusion was in her face had him continuing. “Come on, cara. You must have looked me up at least once since London. You know I don’t belong in the front of a center balcony.”
The seats were the best in the house.
“And you must know that everything online is curated to make you shine. You told me yourself you’d lost your parents when you were a baby. Other than that, I don’t know anything about you. Why would someone think you don’t belong in a seat you can afford? Humble roots aren’t a crime.”
“Says someone not burdened by them.”
She had never felt she was, but she didn’t know everything about her roots, did she?
“People shouldn’t be judged for things they can’t help.
” Her voice wavered slightly until she made an effort to control it.
“I know people think I’m standoffish, but that’s social anxiety, not snobbery.
” She threw a cross look at him. “My disdain for you is because of how you behaved in London, not who you are.”
A gruff chuckle escaped him. “Thanks.”
“If you don’t like to be judged, why throw me in their face the way you did?” she challenged.
His mouth twitched. He seemed to debate how much to say, then finally admitted, “I dated their daughter once. Well before we met. Five years ago at least.” His flinty gaze landed on her with the sting of a hornet.
“It didn’t last long, not once they knew I came from nothing.
It didn’t matter that—” He cut himself off.
“What?” she prompted.
“That a friend had introduced us. Someone they respected. Someone whose respect is important to me. It knocked my ego,” he revealed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have taken so much satisfaction in calling you mine when you’re not.”
What glow of pleasure had risen with his “calling you mine” dimmed at the rest.
Actually, it was the lights. The show was starting.
Mira had trouble concentrating on the performance, though.
She kept turning over what he’d said. She suspected the slights from that other couple had punctured deeper than his ego.
She had been subjected to that sort of treatment herself—the kind that made her wonder whether she had any worth at all.
It stirred empathy within her that she didn’t want to feel toward him.
Between that and the unfettered emotions of the opera, her defenses were shaky by the time intermission arrived.
“Shall we stretch our legs?” He took her hand to help her rise. The absent stroke of his thumb across her knuckles caused sensuality to slither through her.
Before she could pull free of his disturbing touch, they had stepped into the stream of people in the corridor and someone said, “Rocco!”
“Jackson.” Rocco halted to shake hands with a good-looking man in a black tuxedo and a white silk scarf, then greeted the beautiful woman in a seafoam gown covered with an overlay of exquisite lace.
“Brielle, it’s good to see you again.” He kissed both her cheeks.
“Mira, are you familiar with the Visconti Group of hotels?”
“Of course. I tried to book into your five-star in Naples, but there was no room at the inn.”
“Oh? Let me make a call.” Jackson patted his jacket.
“No need. She’s staying with me now.” Rocco let his hand slide farther around her to settle on her hip. “My fiancée. Mira Braun,” he said, finishing the introduction.
The pride was in his voice again. Mira blushed despite the fact it was as much a performance as the arias they’d just heard.
“Of Vorstoben?” Jackson’s gaze sliced back to Rocco’s.
“I’m no longer with the company.” Mira strove for the matter-of-fact tone Rocco had mastered.
“How are the children?” Rocco smoothly changed the topic and looked to include Brielle. “Are you in Rome long?”
“Only tonight,” she said with regret. “Jackson had business so I came along. It’s our first night away since our son was born.” She wrinkled her nose, suggesting mixed feelings. “My mother is visiting or I wouldn’t have left him, but it’s nice to be on a proper date. It’s been ages.”
The look they shared was indulgent and naked with love, provoking a fierce longing in Mira.
How did people find that? she wondered. For about five seconds in London, she had imagined a future for herself that looked like theirs, but even though that same man pressed her to his side, and she wore his ring, she already knew it would never happen. Not with him. Maybe not with anyone.
“I’ve promised Bree a glass of wine. You’ll have to excuse us,” Jackson said. “We’re heading home first thing tomorrow, but let’s talk soon,” he added to Rocco. “We’re in the final stages of our merger. Decisions need to be made.”
“I’ll have my assistant set it up. Ciao.”
As they melted into the milling crowd, Rocco’s hand on Mira’s waist squeezed. His mouth pressed into a line of satisfaction. “There is your first salvo, bellezza.”
“How do you mean?”
“The merger between Visconti and WBE. Until recently, they were bitter rivals. When Visconti Group began looking for a new construction firm a few years ago, they refused to use the same firm that WBE was using.”
“Vorstoben,” she said, guessing. “They chose you? And now you could take all the business from both companies?”
His chin went down in a single, significant nod. “I sure as hell won’t allow Otto to have it.”
She could see how pleased he was. It gave her a thrill to have been a small part of creating that opportunity for him.
She ought to be more pleased about the fact he intended to take business from Otto. She scolded herself and extricated from the warmth of his sheltering arm, earning a sharp look from him.
They spoke to a few more people, leaving a wake of gossip rippling behind them when they returned to their seats for the remainder of Rigoletto. By the end, she had Rocco’s pocket square in her hand and was dabbing it at her eyes.
In the car, he directed his driver to a restaurant, but Mira balked. They’d had a light meal before they dressed. “Surely we’ve made enough of a spectacle for one night? I’d like a break from being gawked at.”
“You do know those were stares of admiration and jealousy, don’t you? You’re very beautiful, Mira.”
“Please,” she scoffed, then tsked as she recalled, “I should have put my things in the car so you could drop me at a hotel. Can you have them sent over?”
“Home,” he instructed his driver, then told Mira, “You’ll stay with me. We’re engaged. That means we’re lovers.”
Alarm flashed through her, but his mouth only curled with irony.
“You can stay in the guest room.”
Silly Mira. It was all an act. He didn’t really want her.
She swallowed back a disturbingly thorny lump of disappointment.
They were not lovers.
Rocco was keenly aware of that fact as he tossed and turned all night steeped in the knowledge that Mira was on the other side of his penthouse wearing only the T-shirt he’d given her to sleep in.
It was the closest he’d been to her in years and everything in him wanted to go to her.
He twisted onto his back, reminding himself she was Silvio’s daughter. What would Silvio think when he saw the headlines?
Rocco had revealed more than he’d meant to when Mira had asked about the couple who’d stopped their daughter from seeing him.
Things with that young woman had been very casual.
His heart hadn’t been broken in the least, but after they’d ended things, the couple had presumed Silvio would stop inviting Rocco to parties.
They’d questioned Claudina on whether Rocco was “an appropriate invite.”
To her credit, Claudina had told the couple they didn’t have to come to her parties if they didn’t wish to see Rocco, but that Rocco was part of the family and would always be invited.
He wasn’t family, though, and never would be.
Silvio might have grown up with Rocco’s father, Ricardo, but they’d only become friends because Ricardo’s father had worked for Silvio’s father.
Silvio had had a university education and a gap year in Australia.
Ricardo had had a wife and baby and a blue-collar job.
That was the real reason Rocco had taken such grim delight in presenting Mira as his bride-to-be. She was beautiful, wealthy and wore the polish of high society. She did belong. Her aloof smile had been faintly dismissive of the other couple, which had been delightful icing on his cake.
He didn’t want to blindside Silvio with this news, though. His friend would understandably feel threatened. That’s why Rocco needed to speak with him and reassure him this was purely a tactic to take down Otto.
That’s definitely all this fake engagement was.
Except, when he did drift off, Mira was straddled across his lap again. This time he was buried inside her, hands tangled in the silky tresses of her hair, lips fused—
He snapped awake, so attuned to her, he knew she was in his kitchen.