Chapter Four #2
Simone wasn’t unique in thinking that there was something about this man that would make even the coldest, most desiccated heart burst to life.
Still, her own compliments were bland by comparison.
If it bothered him, he didn’t let on. All he did was stare at her.
He opened his mouth and then closed it, almost hesitating.
She’d never seen Leo hesitate at anything.
Perhaps he thought there was something wrong with her appearance.
She’d been used to criticism from her parents.
Trying too hard to please them, yet never being enough.
‘What?’ she asked. ‘Is it my hair?’
‘Your hair looks effortlessly beautiful. It’s perfect.’
Way to punch a woman in the solar plexus. It was like she couldn’t breathe.
‘I—I, thank you.’
Leo nodded. ‘I have a gift for you.’
Simone clenched her jaw. Right, so that was what this was about. Would he ever stop? Each time he offered her something it was another reminder that he believed she was somehow lacking. What was it this time? Jewellery, because she didn’t sparkle enough?
He’d married her, so he’d just need to get used to her as she was rather than keep trying to change her.
‘We’ve been—’
‘I know, but I thought of this dress immediately I saw them.’
He reached his hand out from behind his back and held up a pair of shoes.
They weren’t just any shoes. These were teal patent leather stilettos which matched the colour of the dress perfectly. Yet what made them more striking was the flash of a red sole, contrasting magnificently with the blue green of the leather and matching the hint of red in his tie.
Red is the colour of harlots, Simone.
Her mother’s words shot into her consciousness. Even after all this time, those old censures returned like a tainted muscle memory. Worse now since she’d married Leo because everyone thought of him as a god who deserved a goddess, not a mere mortal like her.
‘I have perfectly good shoes.’ She looked down. Hers were nice. Elegant, neutral pumps that went with everything.
Leo followed her gaze, slowly, like he was taking her all in.
‘You do. However, these…’
He held them up and wiggled his hand as if that would tempt her. Simone’s eyes caught the pristine red of the sole again. The man was like the serpent dangling a shiny apple in front of her. Punishingly handsome and all temptation, just like she’d expect the devil to be.
Leo might be able to get away with pretending that the dress he’d given her was just some old thing that cost nothing, rather than a coveted collector’s item.
He couldn’t with these shoes. She knew exactly how much they’d cost. Whilst they were a drop in Leo’s ocean of money, they represented a life she didn’t have or want any more.
And yet the way they gleamed under the lights. They’d look gorgeous with what she was wearing. Those towering heels would make her much taller…
‘No.’
‘If you’re afraid of wearing heels this high, there’s no need. I won’t let you stumble.’
She’d been used to high heels once. They weren’t practical to her life after she’d taken up the role as an executive assistant, running around after billionaires who wanted her at their beck and call.
Yet his refusal to put those tempting, magnificent shoes away caused a swirl of irritation to spark up inside.
‘We’ve talked about this. I don’t need expensive gifts. Especially not clothes. I’m not you.’
‘Thank God for that,’ he said. ‘Yet there’s something I know. You want them. I can see it in your eyes.’
She hated that he could and how right he was. She did want them. Wanted to put them on with their gorgeous red soles, slick on some red lipstick even though she didn’t own any and to hell with the words of her mother in her head, even after all these years.
She loathed that conflict inside of her, sensations and memories she’d thought were long buried. That fire of irritation lit to the hot burn of something a lot like anger.
Leo held out the shoes. ‘It’s not as if they’re a choker of diamonds. They’re shoes. Why say no when you know you want them?’
‘Fine,’ she said. He’d won. She placed her clutch on the stairs behind her.
Balancing against the handrail, taking off one pump and dropping it with a thud, then another.
He didn’t hand her the shoes, instead, Leo stepped forwards and placed them on the floor in front of her.
For a moment she had the strange sensation he was bowing down to her and the rush was intoxicating like a shot of the hazelnut liqueur she enjoyed.
It was sweet and went straight to her head.
She slipped her feet into the heels, took a moment to adjust. The way they felt, her calves bunching. The height they gave her. Red be damned. She didn’t care. She wanted them and she’d wear the hell out of them, even if it was only for tonight.
Leo’s vibrant, knowing eyes flared with something like satisfaction.
The heels brought her to the same level as his mouth.
His lips were sculpted, with a perfectly defined cupid’s bow.
His lower lip slightly fuller, giving him a sensual, almost brooding expression that the world loved.
Right now, they tilted at the corners, carrying the hint of a smug smile.
That he’d won? That she’d capitulated? Probably.
She hated how she’d given in, but even more, how much she loved how the shoes looked and felt. How Leo knew.
And even with that complex conglomerate of emotions swirling inside, she longed to grab him by the tie, kiss him and wipe that devastatingly handsome smirk from his face. She took the tiniest of steps back as her fingers itched to simply reach out and take.
‘Great,’ she said. ‘Are you happy now?’
‘Very. Do you need—?’
‘I don’t need help. It’s not like I’ve never worn heels before. Let’s go.’
She grabbed her bag then turned in a rush at the top of the stairs, wanting to escape the craving that had overtaken her, which was turning her into someone she didn’t recognise any more.
How Leo made her feel. How she felt like she’d sold out when Leo was right.
They were only shoes, so why did it even matter?
Then her heel caught. She pitched forward. There was a shout, she flew, then…
Morbidity. Mortality. They were both words Leo had heard when Simone had been rushed by ambulance, unconscious, to Milan’s top hospital two weeks earlier.
That moment where she’d pitched forwards, tumbled and all he’d been left with at the end was a body at the base of the stairs.
The blood. Even now the vision, running through his head as if it were a horror movie, jolted him like a current of electricity.
Making his heart race. Twisting his gut.
He saw Simone but imagined at the same time, his mother on a dark set of stairs, alone.
In both cases, the fall had been his fault.
With his mother, for not making sure she had enough money so she wouldn’t have had to work nights, cleaning.
She could have taken something easier, been safe at home instead of slipping on some stairs in the cold darkness.
With Simone, giving her a wretched pair of shoes she hadn’t wanted.
In the end, the gift more for his sake than hers, because he’d wanted to show her off, crush the moniker of Plain Jane for ever.
In the end, he hadn’t done what he’d promised her he would. He hadn’t protected her from stumbling.
Instead of a dinner he’d been looking forward to with a beautiful woman, wearing what he’d bought for her, he’d been plunged into a nightmare of his own making.
The memories were stark. Her lying in bed.
Her eyes closed. The side of her face florid with dark bruising.
And as he looked at her, willing her to keep breathing and begging her, Open your eyes, Simone.
Please… The image was overlaid with one of his mother.
Similarly unconscious, though with all the pleading in the world, she’d never opened her eyes again.
Fortunately, that hadn’t been the case for Simone.
When she’d finally woken in critical care, confused and disorientated, he’d thanked the heavens for what he saw as a second chance even as the terror had gripped him.
At first, she’d not been able to remember much, till the pieces of her life seemed to fall back into place like a jigsaw.
The only thing she couldn’t recall was what had happened in the final moment at the top of the stairs, which he took as a blessing.
He wished he was similarly afflicted and could forget the vision of her stumbling, flailing, falling.
‘Only a few more tests, Mrs Zanetti.’
‘Thank you Doctor,’ she murmured.
Leo leaned forwards in an armchair in Simone’s hospital room, where he’d spent most hours every day since she’d been moved here from critical care after her fall.
He checked his phone. His driver reported the paparazzi were still parked outside the hospital as they had been ever since news had broken of Simone’s accident.
The speculation about what had happened that night, salacious, until his lawyers had threated legal action and Simone had finally been able to issue a media statement.
Or at least, his PR had issued the statement with her approval.
Thanking the hospital. Thanking Leo.
That last thanks was entirely undeserved.
He rubbed at the rough stubble on his chin, from going days without shaving, as the doctor asked her some more questions and performed yet more tests.
Asked Simone to smell things, to look at charts.
Neurological and other examinations all designed to test her mental status.
The final steps before she was discharged.
‘How is your dizziness? Photophobia?’