Chapter Five #3
Yes, yes and yes—he wanted to punch the air.
But he refrained, only let his gaze drink her in as she stood there, still saying nothing, just inside the doorway.
Without thinking, he got to his feet and walked across to her.
Her face, he realised, looked blank with shock.
He took her hands, they were inert in his—except that he could feel a very fine tremor in them.
His eyes swept over her—up then down. Down then up. Then rested on her face.
‘I knew it,’ he said. His voice was low. Intense. ‘I knew it! And now—’ an exultant note entered his voice ‘—finally, you can too. Can see it for yourself.’
His hands pressed hers and he gazed down at her. Her eyes were lifting to his, still blank with shock. ‘Don’t pass out on me,’ he told her. ‘Come and sit down a moment.’
Carefully, he guided her over to the sofa and she sat down gingerly, slipping free her hands, looking up at him.
‘Oh, God, Sanzio, what’s happened?’ She sounded helpless. Bewildered.
Sanzio sat himself down beside her, taking one of her hands again. That fine tremor was still in it. ‘What’s happened,’ he told her, ‘is that Tonia no longer has any power over you.’
She stared. ‘Tonia?’
He gave a short laugh. It had no humour in it. ‘Who else? Oh, your appalling father too, no doubt. I can’t imagine he ever did anything to bolster your confidence in yourself! But now…now…’
He broke off, took a breath, a deep, searing one. He held her dazed, bemused, uncomprehending gaze.
‘Now,’ he told her, and satisfaction was audible in his voice, ‘you can be the beautiful woman I knew you could be—right from the start.’ He smiled at her, warm and appreciative—oh, so, so appreciative.
‘You were just hiding it, that was all. Your beauty. But it was always there. And I could see it, and I wanted you to see it, too. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t believe it.
So I knew I had to wait till you could see it for yourself. ’
And more than just you—I want the whole world to see it!
And one person in particular…
But she could wait—this evening could not. He pressed her hand again.
‘Ready?’ he asked, and drew her up.
* * *
Eleanora got to her feet, her balance unsteady on her high heeled evening shoes.
Ready? No, of course she wasn’t ready. She was still in the state of shock, disbelief—and another emotion she could scarcely recognise—she’d gone into when Renata, the stylist, had finally, with a distinctly gleeful look on her face, allowed her to look at her handiwork in the floor-to-ceiling looking glass that was one panel of the wall-length wardrobe in her room.
Showing her a woman it was impossible to recognise as herself.
For how could it be? A woman wearing a dinner dress in a shade of warm amber that was perfect for her skin tone and hair colour.
Knee length, in fine jersey, the neckline was high cut but gathered into a yoke effect on one shoulder, making the bodice drape with exquisite grace over her breasts, just as the fluid material draped her slender hips, which were elevated by the cinnamon-coloured heels Renata had slid her feet into, over the sheer stockings, along with the delicate wisps of lingerie.
She had carefully lowered the dress over her head so as not to disturb her elegant chignon, held in place with tortoiseshell combs, nor brush her mascared eyelashes or lips warmed with soft blush.
Renata’s skill had deepened the colour of her eyes, sculpted her cheekbones… worked an unbelievable transformation.
‘Here’s the evening clutch to go with it,’ Renata had said, reverently handing Eleanora an exquisite confection in amber silk beaded with amber gemstones, echoing the multi-stoned amber brooch set in filigree gold that nestled at one shoulder and the large drop earrings Renata had clipped securely on.
‘A Fabian original,’ she murmured as Eleanora took the clutch with freshly manicured hands, her nails gleaming with a pearlescent glow.
Now, as they left the apartment and stepped into the elevator, her eyes went to Sanzio.
She had seen him in a business suit that very first day in his office, and then at the Viscari that same evening, and once more for their brief, low-key wedding. Since then, she’d only seen him in casualwear or working clothes.
Now, she was seeing him in eveningwear, his tuxedo hugging his broad shoulders, white dress shirt accentuating his broad chest, black tie and wing-collar his strong neck.
Something flared within her. As they swept down to the lobby, the metal walls of the elevator reflected them.
They stood there, side by side, his familiar features having the same impact on her that they always did.
But for the first time—the very first time—she was not the way she always had been. Now she was dressed like the kind of woman a man like Sanzio Bastoni might take to dinner…
She felt her breath catch, again that flare inside her.
But she must not allow it. It had no place between them. She must put it aside. He had not had her dressed up, glammed up, for any such reason. It was only for show. There was nothing personal about it at all.
The elevator doors sliced open and he stepped her out into the lobby. Beyond the main doors, she could see a sleek car hovering. Sanzio smiled down at her. A warm, friendly smile. Nothing more than that.
‘Our carriage awaits. Next stop, the Falcone.’