Chapter Twelve #2
Because if he let her in, really let her in, she’d be a car he couldn’t chase down, a crash he couldn’t avoid. Loving her—and losing her, because love never stayed—would tear him apart.
But, God, he wasn’t sure that he had enough courage to let her go.
They walked into the ballroom of Le Chateau du Ciel hotel, and Millie glanced at Taz.
He seemed unimpressed by the unfiltered decadence of the best ballroom in the superrich principality.
The ceiling was a masterpiece hand-painted with almost-naked gods and goddesses lounging on clouds, laughing down at the mortals beneath them.
Impressive, oversize crystal chandeliers dripped from the frescoed ceiling, and the polished Italian marble floors gleamed like glass.
Mirrors on the walls were framed in intricate gold leaf. The floor-to-ceiling arched windows were outlined by velvet drapes in a deep, rich midnight blue. They were, in Millie’s view, superfluous because the view of the city and Mediterranean beyond the balcony was incredible.
With her hand lodged in Taz’s elbow, Millie looked around and noticed a piano sitting under a spotlight at the far end of the large room.
A quartet played, but she couldn’t hear any music above the chatter of the rich, famous and infamous.
Waiters in white gloves glided through the crowd, offering crystal flutes of champagne and trays of hors d’oeuvres.
Millie caught their reflection in a mirror and cast a critical eye over her appearance.
Her dress was deep purple, shot with silver.
It hugged her in all the right places, its neckline dipping low enough to make it interesting, cinching at her waist before spilling into a dramatic skirt that showed a hint of her three-inch heels.
Her makeup was understated, her hair pulled back into a smooth, sleek tail.
Taz in a tuxedo suited this ballroom like a sword did a scabbard.
His classic black suit was exquisitely tailored, the sharp lines highlighting his broad shoulders and athletic build.
The crisp white shirt was a stark contrast to his tanned face and neck, and his three-day dark stubble was a reminder to everyone that he was, despite his wealth, a rebel and a bad boy.
He looked every inch the charming, untouchable, remote billionaire he was.
Oh, his effortless, rakish smile was in place, but she could easily differentiate between Authentic Taz and Pretend Taz.
His charm was frequently superficial, his urbanity a cloak he’d pulled on to fool the world.
Since their breakfast discussion in Italy about Alex, he’d been inching away, emotionally distancing himself.
Oh, he was still a fantastic lover, devoted to her pleasure, but his conversation was less easy, his responses more measured and never impetuous.
It was as if he was afraid to let something important or personal slip.
His retreat hurt more than Millie expected, and hearing the edge in his voice, something he probably wasn’t even aware of, stung.
His carefully constructed facade had solidified again, she could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his eyes quickly moved from hers when they spoke.
His emotional walls were higher than before, and those flashes of vulnerability she’d seen in him were a thing of the past.
Was asking him about his brother such a big sin?
Could he not trust that his secrets were safe with her?
Her insecurities rushed back, hot and hard, punching and kicking in a relentless ambush.
She didn’t belong in this opulent ballroom and wasn’t good enough to be hanging onto Taz’s arm.
She wasn’t thin enough, pretty enough, vivacious or charming enough.
Recognising her spiralling thoughts, she locked her knees and pushed steel into her spine.
Stop.
Breathe.
Think.
Under her skirts, she stomped her foot, clad in its designer shoe.
She loathed her self-doubt and cursed its return.
Remember how far you’ve come, Millie! She’d managed to navigate this unfamiliar world, maybe not as effortlessly as her parents and Taz did, but she hadn’t embarrassed herself.
Nobody, not the press or her colleagues at De Rossi Racing, questioned whether she was good enough to be with Taz.
They assumed she was. So why was she doubting herself?
Was it Taz’s inability or unwillingness to open up and talk to her that made her question herself and wonder if she was sufficiently strong, witty and smart to be his partner, to stand by his side?
It had been his choice not to open up; she’d done nothing wrong. Just like she wasn’t defective or substandard because she felt uncomfortable with her parents’ pursuit of publicity. Taz and her parents were responsible for their own choices, and she for hers.
While she’d never be a society hostess, she had come a long way, and balls, cocktail parties and red carpets didn’t make her quake in her heels anymore.
Professionally, in terms of her and Taz’s agreement, she’d done her job.
She’d rehabilitated his reputation and built it back up in the media after weeks of scandal and bad press.
Taz was now seen in a more favourable light, and when he announced he was racing this weekend, the press would go wild.
She’d already prepared the press releases, ready to go as soon as he gave her the green light. He’d be fine.
But would she?
Probably, eventually, but she’d have to live with a strange emptiness deep in her soul.
She liked her work and enjoyed being good at it, but what she really wanted—what she craved—was simple: to hold Taz’s full attention, to be the focus of it.
She wanted to be the one person who mattered, apart from and beyond the reputation he was rebuilding or the races he was winning.
Yes, she wanted to stay in his world, but not for the flashing cameras, the extravagant cars or clothes or red carpets.
She no longer needed to prove she was worthy, to her parents or to herself.
She was, simply because she was Millie. No, her motivation to stick with it was simple: she wanted to be wherever Taz was.
But Taz didn’t want what she did; he wasn’t looking for anything permanent. He liked the thrill of a lover, but that was where it ended. He couldn’t give her what she needed. Her choice was simple: She could either walk away or watch the man she was falling for, the man she loved, leave by degrees.
Either way, she’d end up alone…
‘Millie, I asked whether you wanted another drink.’
Taz’s annoyance cut through her reverie, and she jerked. ‘Uh… I’m fine, thanks.’
Taz plucked her glass from her hand and placed it on the tray of a passing waiter. He raked his hand through his hair and dropped a low-pitched for-her-ears-only F-bomb.
‘Problem?’ she asked.
He sighed, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. He put his back to the room, and his expression morphed from geniality to annoyance. ‘All this?’ His gesture encompassed the glittering crowd, the music and the chattering crowd. ‘It’s a waste of time. I should be at the track, preparing.’
She pulled his jacket sleeve back and squinted at his Rolex. ‘Give it another two hours and you can slip out,’ Millie told him. She saw his stubborn face and sighed. ‘You agreed to attend, Taz. Your presence and support are important.’
His mouth tightened. ‘The only thing that matters is what happens on the track. Winning is everything.’
He was so single-minded, and now that he could resume racing, he’d reverted to being selfish about his time.
His view had narrowed, and only racing held his interest. Many people, including her, had worked overtime to make this event happen.
And the charities were going to get a very healthy injection of funds into their war chest. But all the work they’d done, all the money they’d raised, meant nothing to Taz.
Had he ever seen the real value in aligning himself with the charities, beyond rehabilitating his reputation and winning the championship? Had she fooled herself into thinking he was a better man than he was?
And if he couldn’t even value this event, he certainly didn’t value her and the work she’d put in on his behalf. Everything, every atom of his being, was focused on and directed at being a four-time championship winner. There was no space in his life for her.
Millie’s breath caught in her throat, and her heart wanted to slink out of her chest. She was nothing more than a brief blip in his world of cars and fame and championship glory.
But she was too far in. She’d fallen too hard, too fast and too deep. She hadn’t quite hit rock bottom yet, but she knew when she did, it was going to hurt like hell.
Millie walked into Taz’s hotel suite ahead of him, his words reverberating through her head. Winning is everything.
Winning couldn’t be more important than human connections, friendships and relationships. Could it be the only thing that mattered? Surely not.
‘You seem distracted,’ Taz said, pulling his bowtie loose and shrugging out of his jacket.
Millie kicked off her heels, and the hem of her dress pooled on the floor. She watched him walk over to the credenza holding a variety of spirits. He lifted a crystal decanter. ‘Cognac. Do you want one?’
No. What she wanted was to understand this man.
To discover what made him tick. She sat on the edge of the couch and rested her forearms on her knees.
Taz walked over to the open doors leading to the balcony and infinity pool, leaned against its frame and sipped his drink.
Behind him, the lights of the city twinkled with a certain smugness, confident of its place as one of the richest cities in the world.
‘Did you mean what you said earlier?’ she asked. Tension immediately slid into the muscles of his shoulders and broad back, and his stance widened. He lifted his glass to his lips, but he didn’t turn to face her.