CHAPTER 12
Caroline
“The Queen’s in the house!” Elena squeals in an ear-splitting volume and rushes across the room toward me. She throws her arms around my neck. “I’m so happy you made it.”
“Sorry I’m late.” I hug her back. “But who am I to deny a fabulous party just a few blocks from my house?”
I’m fashionably and inconveniently late, because I had to rush home and change after dinner with Connor’s analysts. Business first, always. Parties immediately after.
I pull back and grin at her. “Look at you. Stunning. Absolutely fabulous.”
Elena spins, slow and deliberate. Her Cleopatra costume must have cost a small fortune.
The fabric alone - handwoven, rich, heavy with intention - drapes her perfectly.
Intricate arts stitched into the sleeves and chest, every thread delicate, every seam worshipful.
This isn’t off-the-rack. This is Milan, custom, famous designer, made only for this night and this audience.
“You take the dress code seriously,” she says, eyes lighting up as she gestures at me. “You look so beautiful.”
The theme is Gods and Goddesses of Beauty. I didn’t have time to shop, so I’d handed the mission to Michael - my hairstylist, my enabler, my menace - and told him to handle everything.
He did.
The silk and chiffon cascade down my body, flowing like water, pooling softly at my feet. The fabric hugs without clinging, outlining every curve with indulgent precision. Delicate straps layer over bare skin and romantic accessories glimmer against my collarbones. I feel unreal. Ethereal.
Gold crowns my head. Gold armbands circle my arms. Gold necklaces rest against my chest. Gold earrings sway. Stacks of gold bracelets chime softly when I move. I am drenched in gold, glowing under the lights like an offering.
I still have no idea where Michael found this dress, but he clearly understood the assignment. A bit too much. And too eager. But that’s what I get.
I had cursed him earlier over FaceTime, using language so colorful his Latina mother would have gasped in horror.
Silk. Chiffon. Plain white. Stunning, yes - but indecent in its confidence.
I wear nothing but an invisible thong beneath it, no possible way to wear a bra.
When I move, the dress moves with me, revealing every dip, every line, every secret.
“Relax,” Michael had laughed, entirely unbothered. “Goddess of Beauty. What do you think that means?”
The only mercy is the jacket folded over my arm, insurance for later if I walk home. At least I won’t need to borrow someone else’s coat.
And stupidly, dangerously, my mind drifts to his scent. From that jacket draped over my shoulder a few weeks ago on our walk to Big Gay ice cream.
I’m never shy and never hesitant. But tonight, something sits tight in my chest. I know Edoardo will be here.
This party is a prelude to his gallery opening, a rehearsal before the real performance, and a last call to all the influencers and high society figures to come and rub shoulders and be seen with others.
“Of course,” I say lightly as Elena pulls me toward her friends, “I’m a stickler for a theme.”
My nervousness dissolves almost immediately.
The girls dress up to the nines and stick to the dress code religiously.
I don’t feel too exposed next to them. They’re all radiant, mid to late twenties, blooming, unapologetic.
Like flowers that demand the best soil, the best sunlight, the best air, the best of everything.
They pull me in, and soon we’re laughing, leaning close, voices animated. We talk about makeup, travel, heartbreaks, ambitions and, inevitably, hot boys on magazine covers. Collective drooling ensues. Delicious, silly fun.
“Hi, Caroline.”
I turn at my name. Nadine stands there beside Clive.
“Hi, Nadine. Hi, Clive.”
Nadine’s company works closely with mine across Europe. I make a mental note: build this relationship.
“You look fabulous,” Nadine says, gesturing openly at my outfit.
“The two of us could feed an entire village with our gold, don’t you think?” I grin. “You look stunning too.”
Her Venus gown is ethereal, Roman-style white, soft and flowing with a gold laurel headband crowning her hair.
“You both are stunning,” Clive adds, already waving over a waiter.
Champagne for Nadine. Whiskey for me. Whiskey for him. The two of them are close, but not romantic. Clive has been focused on me since the first time we met. I’ve noticed.
We talk. We bicker. We laugh. Clive’s sharp and witty. He would make a good friend but not a lover. Too aggressive. Too loud. I may appear confident and bold, but I crave someone who knows when to be silent.
Drinks multiply. Conversations overlap. A few Americans are here, flown in for both the party and the opening night.
We debate food like it’s religion - Chicago pizza (which is really a pot of cheese and tomatoes dumped onto thick bread crust), English breakfasts with black pudding, Italian Christmas Eve dinners devoted entirely to fish.
I demolish two glasses of whiskey in the first hour, then slow myself down. Nadine and I talk more. I like her, sharp-edged but grounded, and kind.
Edoardo drifts in and out of sight, appears, then disappears. We never speak.
He’s busy. I know that. The crowd is his stage, and every face here is potential money he plans to extract over the next few evenings.
Of course he doesn’t have time to speak with me. That’s fine. Except it irritates me.
***
My phone buzzes just as I slide into the limo, Connor’s analysts, holding laptops and caffeine, settling in around me like satellites. The text from my butler confirms all set for departure.
An hour from here, my jet, already fueled and impatient, waits at London Luton Airport, ready to carry us back to New York.
Thursday and Friday will be remote so I can work while staying close to Connor, checking in on him, seeing how he’s really doing.
Friday evening, I’ll turn right back around, London-bound again.
Opening night at the gallery on Saturday.
Spain on Monday morning with regional leadership.
My life lately feels like a disastrously, beautifully choreographed sprint.
The phone buzzes again.
“Good afternoon, Elena.” I smile as I accept her FaceTime call.
“Good afternoon, Caroline.” She appears instantly, immaculate with sharp tailored suit, hair flawless, makeup polished. She looks like she stepped straight out of a wealth management commercial.
I laugh softly. “Do you have some kind of magic spell for waking up like that after a long night of partying?” I lean back against the leather seat. “And what are you calling me for, baby girl?”
She arches a brow, amused. I don’t even know when this “baby this, darling that” started. I’ve been calling everyone something affectionate lately. Michael’s fault. I’ve spent far too much time with him these past few weeks.
“Gigi texted me,” Elena says, getting straight to it. “She said you’re on your way to JFK today?”
“Yep.” I glance out the window as London blurs past. “Anything you want me to bring to Manhattan for you? If it can make it to Luton in the next two hours, it can fly with me.”
Her lips twitch. “Actually… yes. May I send a package?”
I grin. “Define package.”
“Handsome, annoying, overprotective, over-extended.” She exhales dramatically. “My freaking crazy brother.”
I raise an eyebrow. Edoardo?
“I have to take our jet back to Milan,” she continues, rubbing her temple. “Unplanned meeting. Important. And of course, Edoardo just got a call from Lisa, his soon to be second-in-command. Apparently, they urgently need to meet about some undisclosed, world-ending business situation.”
I chuckle. “Ah yes. Because when do we not have a fire to put out every five minutes?” I pause, then nod. “Fine. I’ll tell my pilot to add him. Send me his full name - we’ll wait.”
Her shoulders relax instantly. “Perfect. He’ll be there in an hour. Thanks a lot, Caroline.”
The call ends. I lean back, exhaling through a crooked smile.
Great. I’m about to be on the same plane as Edoardo. I’m still irritated that he didn’t even drop by to chat for a minute last night.
I shake my head, already resigning myself to it. It’s fine. I have enough work to bury myself in - briefings, reports, training Connor’s analysts.
I will focus on my work and not bother with Edoardo.
At least… that’s the plan. Who does he think he is to have ignored me like last night?