Chapter 26
FABIANA
The Guggenheim red carpet was studded with celebrities, business leaders, and the who’s who of New York society. I held onto Cosimo’s arm as we shuffled along, waiting for our turn to be photographed.
Earlier today, it had been all hands on deck to get me ready. The hairstylist and makeup artist had spent four hours smoothing, curling, painting, and polishing me into someone who’d look picture-perfect from every angle.
Having a stylist as my best friend meant that my first instinct had been to ask Mia to dress me, but then I’d remembered Anthony’s card still sitting at the bottom of my purse from the funeral and decided to give him a chance. After all, we were family now, and family supported each other.
He sounded delighted when I called. After seeing his work, I genuinely had no idea why he was struggling with his clientele. I suspected he just needed to get better at marketing himself. The designs he’d shown me were exquisite. Unusual, yes, but beautiful and artistic.
He’d shown me a dress, and it was love at first sight.
It made me feel like a fairy. The tailoring was elegant—a figure-hugging silhouette with a structured sweetheart bodice and thin straps.
But what made the dress unique was the embellishment.
Thousands of rhinestones, each one slightly different in shape and size, had been bonded by hand onto a sheer champagne mesh until the whole gown looked dusted in diamonds.
Anthony said the application was experimental, a new technique that allowed the stones to appear almost suspended over the skin.
When Cosimo saw me in it, I could tell he was pleased.
“You clean up well, Nettle,” he’d said. I’d almost asked him if it was modest enough for him before I remembered it was better not to play with fire.
“Is my lipstick okay?” I asked, turning my face toward Cosimo just before we stepped onto the carpet.
His eyes swept over my lips and lingered for a beat. “Perfect.”
I peered down the red carpet toward the entrance and tried to ignore the way one look from him was enough to make warmth rush beneath my skin.
“Nervous?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t. There were hundreds of photographers lined up and ready to go. Instead of a few hundred wedding guests, these photos would be seen by tens of thousands. They’d be printed in magazines and posted all over the internet, and yet I didn’t feel even a tickle of anxiety.
I had a suspicion it was because of the man standing next to me. My husband was a dangerous man, and yet being on his arm made me feel safe. Riddle me that.
“Let’s do this,” I said.
Cosimo’s arm was wrapped around my waist, a possessive hand resting on my hip as we posed for the first photographer.
“Beautiful!” the man shouted. The flash went off, bright and blinding.
He lowered the camera and frowned at the screen. Two other photographers beside him leaned in.
They snickered.
The back of my neck prickled. “What is it?” I muttered.
“I don’t know.” Cosimo glanced down at me and then back at the photographers.
The same one who’d taken the first picture lifted his camera again and snapped another shot.
Cosimo’s fingers dug into my hipbone. “Fuck.”
“What?” My pulse kicked up. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders, then he locked his hand around mine and pulled me toward the photographers.
“Get rid of them,” he said to the man who’d taken the photos.
The photographer’s mouth curled. “No way. This will sell for a good amount to the rags.”
“I said get rid of them.” Cosimo’s voice dropped. “Now.”
I stared between them, bewildered. What the hell was going on?
The photographer’s smug expression wavered. He swallowed while his two buddies exchanged nervous looks. One leaned in closer, and I could’ve sworn I heard him whisper the name Ferraro into the photographer’s ear.
His smirk disappeared. He looked down at the camera, pressed a few buttons, and turned the screen toward Cosimo.
“Deleted.”
“The memory card too.”
“What?”
Cosimo’s voice went flat. “Give me the card.”
The photographer removed the memory card with trembling hands and dropped it into Cosimo’s open palm. One of the other men muttered something under his breath, but the second Cosimo’s gaze cut toward him, he went silent.
I glanced around, confused and worried. The red carpet had gone strangely quiet around us. There were still voices calling from farther down, and camera shutters clicking, but the people closest to us had started casting curious looks our way.
My anxiety spiked.
“What’s going on?” I whispered as Cosimo pulled me inside, one hand firm at the small of my back, his body angled to shield me from the rest of the cameras. We didn’t stop for any more photos. That had been the whole point of coming tonight.
A nauseating feeling opened in my stomach. I’d messed something up. Somehow, without even knowing what I’d done, I’d ruined the very thing I was supposed to help accomplish.
The atrium opened up before us, and guests gathered beneath the spiraling ramp with champagne glasses in their hands. Cosimo didn’t slow. He steered me toward a quieter alcove near the coat check and turned me so my back was to the wall.
“What happened?” I demanded.
His gaze moved over my face and then dropped lower. Something dark crossed his expression.
“The fabric photographs differently.”
I stared at him. “Differently how?”
“In the photos, the lining disappears under direct flash.”
“The lining…disappears?” No. No, no, no.
His expression flickered with pity.
“There were flashes going off the entire time.” My voice sounded too thin. Too far away. “From the moment we stepped onto the carpet.”
“Only one of them got a picture, and I already handled it.” The certainty in his voice did nothing to slow the panic clawing up my throat.
How many people saw my dress turn transparent? How many had been looking? I was only wearing a skimpy nude thong underneath and no bra due to the design.
My skin flashed hot with embarrassment beneath his jacket. A drop of sweat rolled down my spine. “I’m so sorry. The reason we’re here is to get pictures taken, and now we can’t.”
Tink.
“Relax. It’s fine.”
Tink, tink.
“It’s not. I can’t believe my bad luck.”
Tink, tink, tink.
Cosimo frowned. “What is that sound?”
He and I glanced down at the same time.
A few rhinestones rested on the ground by my shoes.
“Did those just fall off?” I whispered.
Another appeared beside it. Then another.
“What the fuck?” Cosimo grasped the jacket he’d put on me by the lapels and opened it.
There was a strange sheen to the dress that hadn’t been there before. I ran my fingers over it. Ugh, sticky! Immediately, a dozen more rhinestones shed beneath my hand.
Oh my God. The dress wasn’t just photographing wrong. It was coming apart!
“Oh no, no, no—”
“Fabiana,” Cosimo’s voice had gone completely flat. “Where did you get this dress?”
I swallowed. “Anthony made it for me.”
“Christ.” Anger flashed in Cosimo’s gaze. “Didn’t I tell you he has no idea what he’s doing?”
“I thought you just didn’t recognize his artistic talent!” My voice cracked. This was a nightmare. “What am I going to do?”
The tiny, glittering pieces kept dropping, scattering across the marble. It was like the glue holding them to the mesh had begun to soften for some reason, and my every panicked breath seemed to loosen more of them.
What would happen when they were all gone? Let’s just say it wouldn’t take a photographer’s flash to make me look naked.
Cosimo drew his jacket closed around me, his hands fisting the fabric at the front. A couple walking past slowed when they noticed the mess at my feet. The woman whispered something to the man beside her.
I wanted to die.
Tears burned behind my eyes.
Cosimo dragged his palm over his mouth. “I’m going to kill Tony.”
A sob tore out of me. His gaze jumped to my face and softened. He cupped my cheeks. “Calm down. I’ll fix it.”
Calm down? I was so far beyond that. “Ladies’ room,” I choked out and then pushed past him, clutching his jacket tightly closed since it was the only thing still holding my dignity together. My heels struck hard against the marble as I searched through blurred vision for the restroom signs.
“Fabiana!” he called out.
I didn’t look back. If I looked back, I’d see him following me. I’d see the faces turning. I’d see the glittering trail of rhinestones I was leaving behind.
Evidence of my own stupidity.
The worst part wasn’t even the dress. The worst part was that Cosimo had been right.
I was a liability.