Chapter twenty-eight
Hunter's Residence, London
Isabella
The perfume bottle bounces off the oak floor after slipping from Kasia’s fingers.
She drops to her knees, hands outstretched, trying to grab the crystal.
My Chanel hits the ground one, two, then three times.
On each impact I brace a little for its inevitable destruction.
It’s the fourth connection that shatters the glass, shards and liquid scattering over the floor.
Kasia reaches for the largest piece, immediately pulling away, a hint of red on the tip of her finger. She holds the cut with her other hand before turning concerned eyes on me.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” she begins, and I’m disconcerted by her terrified expression. “It was an accident. I’ll replace it.” Within moments, I am by her side. Kasia has been nothing but a support to me, and I hate to see her so upset over something as trivial as a perfume bottle.
“Here, let me see that.” She unwraps her fingers, exposing a far worse gash than I first thought. I grab a tissue from my dressing table then bind it around her injury. “Don’t worry, accidents happen. You go and sit down. I’ll finish getting ready here.”
I don’t need to suggest she leave twice.
She rises, and scampers from my room as if the door is an escape tunnel.
All day, she hasn’t been her usual self, withdrawn and distracted, constantly watching her surroundings as if waiting for someone to jump out to scare her.
When I asked her what was wrong, she gave me some vague explanation of issues with her family back home.
I didn’t pry any further; it was clear she didn’t want to talk about it.
Once on my own, I return to preparing for the night ahead.
The last few days, the house has been a hive of activity as Hunter and his team prepare for the New Year’s Eve gala.
Tonight will mark a new era and alliance between the Lombardi and Devane Families, but as always with these arrangements, the situation is sensitive, and I can tell from those around me they are nervous.
Hunter has been pulled from meeting to meeting as different men visited the house.
Previously, he told me he didn’t encourage friends or associates to visit him here—it was his sanctuary.
But now, with security increased and a never-ending stream of men in suits, it’s clear his position on the matter has changed.
My husband is on high alert, and he feels safer here in his home.
The red dress Hunter had delivered to my room had been a surprise.
Nothing like I would normally wear, it fits as if it was made for me.
I stand in front of the mirror in only my underwear and heels as I step into the gown.
Gently, I pull it up my body, the satin gliding over my skin.
The straps sit wide on my shoulders, and the deep V-shaped neckline plunges at an angle over my breasts.
Earlier, I had pinned my dark hair high and taken hours doing my make-up to ensure I achieved the look I wanted to.
As a young woman, my mother always told me you only accentuate eyes or lips, never both.
Tonight, I went with lipstick to match my dress, there is no mistaking which of my assets I’ve chosen to highlight.
With a little difficulty, I reach around the back and tug the short zipper upward.
The quality of the garment not to be missed, the metal slides easily, nipping the material in around my waist.
When I step back and take stock of the full length of me in the mirror, I am pleasantly surprised with the results.
Tilly had shown me her stunning silver number she intends to wear tonight.
With her blonde curls, long legs, and youthful complexion, she will be nothing short of stunning.
I won’t lie that she made me nervous. The idea of walking beside her in front of the high society of London twisted my stomach into knots.
Even though tonight it’s about Tilly’s marriage to Domenico Lombardi, it marks Hunter and me officially stepping out into the London society.
I’ve lived long enough to know that our reunion will have created gossip.
Plenty of socialites and politicians will want to see for themselves that Hunter Devane has settled down with his wife.
There will be debates and opinions aplenty, and my curves don’t tick the boxes of the normal models who grace the arms of London’s businessmen, the women Hunter was rumored to bed.
Tonight’s ball is our declaration to the world that we are together. And in a way, it is also a statement to myself.
***
Hunter
Clarion House, London
As I sit in the rear of the limo with Isabella on one side and Tilly on the other, my mind races over the preparations made for this evening.
Damon assures me that all the measures we discussed are in place.
Our own security system and extra men on the ground are a few of the ways I’m protecting both our family and our guests.
The New Year’s Eve traffic in London is chaotic as always.
At seven in the evening, darkness has already fallen over the city, the bright lights of the vehicles and buildings a stark contrast to the black.
Partygoers strut along the pavement, dressed in various states of glam, most donning sequins and sparkle of some kind.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we arrive at Clarion House.
The dark gates are thrown open, multiple security staff flanking each side complete with black suits, concealed guns, and earpieces.
Guests have already started to arrive with cars queued nose to tail down the driveway.
As a vehicle reaches the front of the line, it pulls forward to the steps and a doorman opens the rear doors to allow the passengers to exit.
Isabella shuffles in her seat, uneasy, the closer we get to the entrance.
I wrap my fingers around hers in support, hoping to instill a little confidence.
Though she dances on camera, it is done from behind a mask, and I know her dislike of public situations is the same as it was twenty years ago.
Tilly, on the other hand, is more than comfortable in the limelight, normally using public family moments to cause upset of some kind.
She has sat silently while staring out of the window with a look of complete disinterest throughout the ride.
Eventually, our car is at the front of the queue.
The driver stops and the door to Isabella’s right opens.
Damon reaches in offering his hand to support her stepping out, and I follow.
Photographers and journalists swarm around the entrance held back by our men.
Cameras point in every direction. Damon nods, a quiet gesture that all is well, and I relax a little knowing there is no obvious threat.
I slip Isabella’s arm through mine as Tilly arrives on my opposite side.
It strikes me as curious that she hasn’t taken off and strode straight up the stairs toward the Grand Ballroom.
I would have thought she would love the attention the cameras offer.
However, without a word, she stays by my side, keeping in rhythm with Isabella and myself as we make our way up the red carpet and inside.
Clarion House is modern in comparison to some of the more traditional London Hotels.
Five-star, it drips in opulence and glamor.
The entrance hall is vast and currently being used for a drink reception.
People nod, acknowledging my existence with each step.
Isabella clings to my arm, unsettled with the sheer volume of eyes upon us.
I place my fingers over hers in reassurance.
A tray of champagne floats past as I spot my friends standing in a small circle near a grand fireplace, the flames licking the chimney. Tilly’s hand darts out, plucking a glass from the passing waiter. I reach for one, offering it to Isabella, then collect one for myself.
The two women act in complete contrast. My niece lifts the crystal to her lips and drinks deep, emptying the glass in a few mouthfuls.
I scowl at her, but she grins back, enjoying my lack of pleasure.
Since her arrival at my home a few days ago, she’s barely done more than grunt after our original conversation.
However, with Isabella, her lips have been loose, and she’s made her unhappiness at being betrothed to Lombardi clear.
My wife has been more than happy to pass the message onto me for her.
I’ve listened to everything Bella has had to say, and I won’t lie that her point of view has made me uncomfortable.
Her demand that I reflect on how what I am forcing Tilly to do is no different from our own arranged marriage, and how I need to be able to live with myself knowing that I have made this happen are disconcerting.
She’s been direct and honest in her assessment without being demeaning, and that makes her argument all the more compelling.
Isabella clutches her own champagne, continually lifting, sipping, then lowering it again. I gesture in the direction of Harrison and the Chase brothers, and the three of us make our way toward them.
“Good evening,” Harrison says, greeting Isabella like a long-lost friend. He pulls her into an embrace, kissing her cheek warmly. “You look radiant tonight.” Her cheeks pink immediately at his compliment, and my wife’s embarrassment makes me smile.
He’s right, she looks incredible dressed head to toe in red.
When she appeared from her room ready to leave, the breath had disappeared from my body.
I didn’t know whether to throw myself at her feet in thanks for her being here or fuck any plans we had and take her back to bed.
Both outcomes felt as if they could be appropriate.
I become aware of a conversation on my other side.
Russell and Connor are introducing themselves to Tilly.
The brothers, as smooth as ever, are bantering between them as she watches them curiously.
None of my friend’s partners are here; with the ongoing threats, they preferred they stayed home safe in the sky-high towers.
If I had had the option for Bella to stay home, I would probably have done the same.
Tilly grabs another glass of fizz, and I reach to squeeze her elbow. She shoots me a dirty look, so I narrow my eyes in warning.
“Don’t embarrass me or yourself tonight,” I warn. She takes a long drink then flicks a lock of blonde hair off her shoulder. “I mean it.”