Chapter 22
CLEO
The moment we walked into that ballroom, something happened to my nervous system that I’d prefer not to admit. It wasn’t the room itself, though the room was extraordinary. It wasn’t even the people, exactly.
It was the other women. They were immaculate. Aristocratic.
I walked into the gala with the confidence of twenty supermodels. It only took a few whispers to pop the little bubble I had apparently been living in.
They looked at me the way I’d been looked at before. In high school. In every room I’d ever walked into with beautiful people. Society’s version of beautiful. To me, that version was fake. But fake was the standard.
I was too much. Too loud in my choices. The earrings, the rings, the dress that had seemed exactly right now felt like a declaration I hadn’t intended to make.
I was Cleo Quinn from Queens who’d worked for everything she had and carried most of it visibly.
I was standing in a Roman ballroom full of women who’d inherited their elegance and were not especially interested in my version of it.
These women had been doing spa days their whole lives.
They probably had plastic surgeons and estheticians on speed dial.
They never had to dye their own hair, and yeah, there was a lot of coloring happening in the room.
I knew a bottle job when I saw one. I didn’t care if it cost thousands of dollars and was done by some guy named Jean Luc.
I could see right through them, but in their world, they were the beauty standard. It didn’t matter that every inch of their beauty was bought and paid for.
Something in me went very quiet. My confidence failed me. I was sixteen years old again.
The ugly duckling, said a voice I’d spent years trying to talk over. The one who was never chosen.
I kept my smile in place. I might have been dying on the inside, but I wasn’t about to let it show. Cash was there. His hold on me changed, like he was picking up on the negative energy swirling around me.
His hand moved to the small of my back. He was guiding me through the room and then there was a glass appearing in my hand before I realized I wanted a drink.
“I think I forgot to mention how beautiful you look tonight,” he whispered close to my ear. “Sadly, I don’t think beautiful is the right word. Think about the way I kissed you. Think about how hard you made me in under a minute. Use that, Cleo. That’s yours. Don’t retreat.”
My sixteen-year-old self morphed into the needy, wanton woman that had practically mounted him in the hotel room. That woman was all fire and passion. She felt good.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Absolutely. Ready to make the rounds?”
“I am.”
He moved me around the room.
“My fiancée,” he said each time he introduced me. I loved that he made that title sound like he was introducing the queen. It often garnered the same reaction.
I watched the women reassess their snap judgments of me when he said it.
Watched them look at me differently. Not warmly by any means.
But as competition. Women that looked like they did never saw me as competition.
Hell, they never saw me at all. Now they were rethinking everything they thought they knew about what men wanted.
It helped. I hated that it helped. I didn’t particularly want his endorsement to shape who they thought I was. But I also understood it was the game. I had agreed to play it. Tonight, my identity was Cleo the Fiancée. Not Cleo Quinn. Not Cyclone Cleo as Cash so fondly referred to me.
I imagined myself playing a role in a multi-million-dollar film. I channeled Grace Kelly, Julia Roberts, and Marilyn Monroe.
I smiled. Shook hands. Allowed men to brush their lips across my knuckles or in some cases, my cheek. It was a little gross and I made a mental reminder to wash my face very well when we got back to the hotel.
After we made our rounds, Cash pulled out my chair at our table, which was front and center in the way that significant guests got seated. I sat down and found myself across from Federico Rossi and the woman I assumed was his wife.
She was extraordinary looking. Strong bone structure, silver-streaked hair worn in a French twist. She had the kind of face that had probably stopped rooms for forty years and was still doing so.
A retired model, I remembered Cash saying.
She was absolutely gorgeous and I wasn’t picking up on any fillers or other enhancements.
Few people were born with such timeless beauty.
Angelica Rossi was one of the lucky ones.
She was also looking at Cash with an interest that was only barely within the boundaries of what the social context permitted.
Rude. If he was actually my fiancé, I might think about stabbing my fork in her eye. Since he wasn’t mine to be jealous over, I only wanted to slap that sultry smile off her face, not maim her for life.
“This is my fiancée,” Cash said to the table. “Cleo.”
“Charming.” Rossi’s eyes moved over me with the quick assessment of someone who’d decided the outcome before starting. “You’re American.”
The word sounded like a slur.
“Through and through,” I said, and smiled like it was the best thing either of us had said all evening.
The table conversation was elaborate cover for two men doing something else entirely.
Cash was smooth about it. He was working questions into perfectly natural discussion.
I liked watching him. He was patient and strategic.
Rossi was equally smooth about not answering any of it.
It was like watching the tango. Soon, they were going to be pulling out their dicks to see whose was bigger.
My money was on Cash.
“The Bancroft contract has served you well for years,” Cash said, with no idea what part of him I was thinking about.
“It has served both of us. Mutually beneficial, as these things go,” Rossi replied.
“And yet…”
Rossi lifted his wine glass. “Business evolves.”
Cash’s jaw clenched. Usually I was the one that brought out that muscle and the vein throbbing on the side of his forehead. It meant he was managing frustration.
“This turnout happened because of the Bancroft name attached to this event. You’re aware that without us you lack the power you need.”
“I’m aware of the value you added,” Rossi said, with the tone of a man acknowledging a minor contribution. “It will take more than a pleasant party to address my concerns, Mr. Bancroft. I hope you understand.”
The feathers were ruffled. I could see it in the slight tightening around Rossi’s eyes. He’d sat back to put distance between him and Cash. Cash held his expression perfectly.
And then Angelica touched her husband’s arm. There was no affection. It was the touch you would use when you’re trying to get by someone on the subway platform. “Excuse me, I must powder my nose.”
I gave it four seconds.
“Excuse me as well,” I said and followed her.
The restroom was mostly marble with brass fixtures. It smelled like too much perfume but also something minty. Angelica was already at the mirror, lipstick out, her reflection watching my entrance with cool appraisal.
“American women,” she said, with a very small smile that wasn’t warm. “You always go in groups. Like schoolchildren.”
“It’s more fun,” I said, finding a space at the mirror beside her. “And it gives us a chance to talk about our men behind their backs.”
Something shifted in her eyes. A glitter that hadn’t been there before. “Gossip?”
“An exchange of information,” I said. “That benefits both parties. More accurately.”
She put her lipstick back in her bag and snapped it shut. Then she turned from the mirror and faced me directly. There was nothing cool or disinterested about her attention now.
“And what information could a woman like you possibly have that would be of interest to a woman like me?” The words were wrapped in politeness but she knew she was being a bitch.
I didn’t care. She could be a bitch. She didn’t matter to me.
“I know that you hate your husband,” I said.
My voice was pleasant and conversational, as if I were telling her I liked her earrings.
“I know you don’t trust him. And I know he’s into something he hasn’t told you about, which is why you’ve been looking at my fiancé all evening like he might be an exit route. ”
The silence in the room somehow got even quieter. Angelica’s mouth opened. Then closed.
“I also know you would trade places with me tonight without a great deal of hesitation. And that’s not a criticism. It’s an observation.”
She stared at me. I smiled.
“If you tell me why your husband wants out of the Bancroft contract, I’ll make sure you have some one-on-one time with Cash before the night is over. Genuine conversation. He’s a good listener when he wants to be.”
Angelica looked at me with the evaluating gaze of someone taking a very different measurement than the one she’d started with.
She knew she had met her match. I didn’t care how many magazine covers she had been on. I didn’t care that one of her earrings was worth more than every piece of jewelry I owned. Value was subjective. My value didn’t come with zeros and dollar signs. She was figuring that out.
She nodded once. “Fine.”
I returned to the table to find the temperature had changed. I would say icy, but that wasn’t accurate. It was more like hellfire and brimstone.
The men were still seated and attempting to perform the surface requirements of a social event. But their voices had climbed past the ambient noise of the room. People noticed. They were fooling no one.
I walked to Cash’s chair, put my hand on his shoulder, and leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. His whole frame changed under my hand. First there was surprise. Then the deliberate settling of someone taking a cue.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” I kept my voice soft and directed it at both men, a smile for Rossi that was apologetic and genuine. “I’m not feeling well. I hate to ask, but could we head back to the hotel?”
Cash was on his feet in one motion.
“Of course.” He turned to Rossi with the smooth courtesy of someone ending a meeting rather than fleeing one. “Thank you for the evening. We’ll be in touch.”
Goodbyes were said. We moved through the room just as regally as we had entered. I felt the attention following us out, but I was too focused on walking steadily in these heels to give it much of my attention.
The car was waiting. The door closed behind us and I let out a shaky breath.
“What do you need?” Cash asked. His voice was different than it had been with Rossi. It wasn’t the smooth business tone that offered little inflection. “Water? Should we stop somewhere?”
There it was again. That thing I’d noticed in the Hamptons and kept noticing since. The genuine version of him, underneath that facade.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I lied. I’m sorry. I didn’t actually feel unwell. I just needed to get you out of there before the whole room became an audience.”
He frowned.
“Too many people were watching,” I added. “It was about to become a story.”
Another pause. Longer this time. “Thank you,” he said finally. “That was smart. I hadn’t noticed.”
“You’re welcome.” I settled back against the seat and watched the city move past. Then I turned to look at him and grinned with my whole being. I was the smug one now. “You’re not going to believe what Angelica told me in that bathroom.”