Chapter 35
I’m feeling beautiful in my strapless red dress by a famous American designer, the matching sandals, and jewelry fit for royalty.
At the same time, I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I underestimated what it would feel like to walk beside Gianni for the first time—not in the small, charming restaurants of Tuscany, but through a crowd of millionaires and eager photographers.
Wherever I look, it seems like someone’s taking our picture.
I’ve never been the center of attention, except that day at the auction, and that memory is anything but pleasant.
The camera flashes hurt my eyes, and more than once, I’ve nearly stumbled. Thank God Gianni’s arm was around my waist.
What happened today before we left the apartment—no, actually, ever since we left Italy—hasn’t helped my nerves at all, and although technically we’ve already made up, I feel tight as a guitar string.
And now, five minutes into the party, I spot the woman I know he had a serious relationship with. There are countless photos of Gianni with her online, in magazines and celebrity sites.
I even know her name: Capria Mancini.
Yes, go ahead and judge me, but what woman wouldn’t feel insecure facing a rival with that kind of beauty?
Blond, thin, rich, and from a traditional family.
She’s the picture of perfection for someone like him.
It doesn’t help my confidence that the magazines say they’ve broken up and gotten back together countless times over the years.
There was even speculation about marriage.
She’s dressed in black, and her outfit is nothing like mine. It’s a straight dress without slits. Simple and elegant.
All of a sudden, I feel out of place.
What if I chose wrong? What if my dress is too flashy?
The stylist who came to the villa in Italy at Gianni’s request swore it was perfect for the occasion and for my body type. I agreed the moment I put it on, but that was because I didn’t know I’d be competing with Italian Barbie at the event.
The only thing our dresses have in common is that they’re both off-shoulder.
The woman starts to approach, and even while walking, she moves like a queen.
I feel small, foolish for thinking I could blend in among people like this, but at the same time, I refuse to show insecurity.
“Gianni,” she says, her voice a sensual purr.
His hand comes to the small of my back, and even through the fabric, I can feel his tension. “Capria, how are you?”
I know he’s very polite. Even with the staff, Gianni never changes his manners, but right now, I wish he were the rough, kick-the-door-in type who’d say, Step aside, you’re ruining our night.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” she asks.
He gives my back a gentle squeeze. “Girlfriend. Elodie, this is Capria Mancini.”
I don’t offer my hand; neither does she.
Thank God she doesn’t come in for those fake double-cheek kisses we see high-society ladies do in the movies.
I don’t even know her, and I already don’t like her. Being friends with an ex doesn’t work for me. An ex will always be a rival.
I don’t miss that he didn’t say my last name, and I think he did it to protect me. She may look and act like a queen, but jealous women are all the same: they Google the other woman’s name to snoop.
“You didn’t tell me you’d be here,” he says, and once again I get the impression he’s displeased to run into her.
“No? My mistake. I could’ve sworn I mentioned it over breakfast this morning.”
I stare at him, shocked.
Gianni told me he had an early commitment today, and I assumed it was for one of his companies. It never crossed my mind that it was with a woman, let alone his ex.
“You. . .” I begin, not giving a damn that she’s watching everything.
“Not here, bella. Later,” he says, squeezing my waist and kissing my cheek.
“Oh, you didn’t tell her? Don’t worry, Elainy,” the witch says. I’m sure she mispronounced my name on purpose. “Gianni and I are old friends. I’m so happy he recovered from our last breakup. Apparently, you two started your relationship right after we separated.”
She says it all in the sweetest voice imaginable, but I’m not buying the act. I’m a woman. I know Capria is green with jealousy.
“I don’t know,” I force myself to say. “I don’t usually look into my boyfriends’ pasts,” I add, using the plural on purpose so he knows he’s not the only one with exes. Wow, I’m so mature. “We’re each other’s present. Isn’t that what matters?”
“You don’t worry about the future?” she asks, but before I can answer, Gianni pulls me against him.
“It was a pleasure seeing you again, Capria, but I need to introduce Elodie to a few people now. Have fun.”
Without giving her a chance to retort, he leads me away.
We don’t get a dozen steps before someone else stops us.
I dimly register Gianni introducing me to the man, and I smile on autopilot, but I have no idea what they’re talking about.
“I just need to give the speech and then we’ll go,” he says once the man walks away.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had breakfast with your ex?”
“Because I only found out this morning that I had to meet her.”
“That’s not a good answer, Gianni.”
“It’s the only one I have right now.”
“Five minutes to the speech, Mr. Andresano,” one of the organizers says.
“There’s a table reserved for us near the stage,” Gianni tells me, looking worried.
“I don’t want to sit. I’m agitated. I’m going to take a walk. Go give your speech.”
He pulls me in by the waist. “I don’t mind you making yourself comfortable, just don’t forget you’re mine.”
“If one of us has memory problems, it’s you, Gianni. I told you from day one: I don’t belong to any man.”
I don’t wait for an answer. I’m hurt that he didn’t tell me about breakfast with his ex, and if on a good day I’ve already got a temper, when provoked, my worst side comes out.