Chapter 26
THE ROYCE HOTEL, MANHATTAN
Gabriella parted the hotel robe she was wearing and looked at the wound on her side in the full-length mirror in her bedroom.
It was sore, but she had had worse. The rod had not been spared in the Felix household when they had been growing up and Gabriella had always been the one to take the blame and the resulting hit.
She had protected Lulu fiercely from the second her beautiful, fragile little sister came home from hospital wrapped in the best blanket family money could buy.
They had been so different, yet somehow also kindred spirits.
However, at the end, when it had mattered most, Lulu hadn’t let herself be protected…
There was a knock on the suite door and Gabriella rapidly tied the gown around her again.
About time. She was beginning to think that Luca had forgotten his pledge to get her a burger delivered.
She rushed to the door, grabbing her purse from the sofa, before they could knock again and inadvertently wake Phoebe.
She opened the door, ready to pay, grab and then share the Loulou burger with Lulu.
‘Oh!’ Gabriella exclaimed.
It wasn’t a delivery guy standing at her door, it was Luca. But he did have a takeaway bag in his hands.
‘You don’t want the burger? I can take it away again.’ He turned like he was about to leave.
‘No! No, I was just surprised it was you and… how did you know my room number? I’m supposed to have strict security. Like a proper celebrity.’
‘How would a delivery guy know your room number?’
‘OK, true.’
‘Gabriella, I’m your stylist. No one argues with a stylist.’ He smiled. ‘Here you go.’ He offered the bag out. ‘And I will leave you to eat in peace, if you tell me how your wound is.’
‘It’s fine. Looks a bit like when someone at school stabbed me with a compass. It will be healed up in a week or so.’
‘I don’t know which part of that I should answer.’
‘Well, neither part needs one. But you… you look like you need something.’
‘I’m good.’
‘Your face is saying something different.’ She opened the door a bit wider. ‘Come in.’
‘I don’t want to disturb you.’
‘You’re my stylist. I’m the only one allowed to argue with you. Come in, before this door-stead conversation wakes up the teenager.’
He stepped inside and she watched him survey the luxury suite before she led the way into the living room area.
‘And you won’t need that coat on. I’ve put the heating right up.
Drink? I have almost every drink known to bartenders.
’ She pulled at a door and it opened to reveal bottles and glasses of all sizes and colours.
‘Coffee?’ Luca suggested.
‘Are you crazy? At this time of night? You’ll never sleep.’
He didn’t answer and she turned to look at him. A knowing expression lay on his face.
‘Ah OK, you don’t want to sleep. Now I’m intrigued.’
‘It’s not that I don’t want to sleep. Who doesn’t want to? I just—’
‘Can’t shake those Cher lyrics from your head?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, something like that.’
‘OK, I’m not making coffee so it will have to be a Black Russian. Vodka and Kahlúa.’
‘I know what a Black Russian is.’
‘Хороший! Good.’
‘You speak Russian?’
‘Don’t tell anyone. It’s my secret weapon. What’s yours?’
‘I would say “fashion” but it’s no secret and I fear that fashion severely let me down tonight.’
‘Then tell me your next best. Everyone has to have a back-up plan.’
‘I deliver on my promises. Always.’
Why had an involuntary shiver slid down her spine at that comment? This was because of Phoebe and her talk on the open-top bus about guys. She eyed the burger bag then picked it up, giving it a small shake. ‘Not such a secret weapon either. I have evidence.’
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ he answered.
She smiled and rapidly prepared the Black Russians with much more vodka than coffee liqueur. Then she brought them over.
‘Please, sit down, you’re making the suite look like a Forbes millionaire came for cocktails.’ She handed him a glass.
‘You said that like it’s a bad thing.’ He sat down on the sofa. ‘You don’t like my style?’
She did like his style. It was somehow that perfect mix of put together and effortless. Plain black trousers, a slim-fit crew-neck jumper in a camel colour that not every guy could pull off. He did though. With those green eyes and those curls like Michelangelo’s David…
‘Well, I’m wearing a bathrobe,’ she answered. Then she sat down at the other end of the sofa. Close but not too close. A respectful business distance…
‘I noticed.’
What did that mean? Nothing. Of course he noticed. It was bright white and he was a stylist!
‘Ha!’ she said quickly. ‘Did you think of a hundred different ways you could make it into haute couture?’
He shook his head, taking a sip of the drink before putting the glass on the coffee table. ‘Ninety-nine.’
‘So,’ Gabriella said, taking a sip of her drink. ‘How was your mum’s birthday party?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, it was a thing. Family eating like New York was coming out of a famine era. Too much wine. Them not me.’
‘But did your mum have a good time?’
‘I think so but maybe there was… not enough love and understanding.’
Gabriella laughed and then stopped herself. ‘That was a Cher lyric, right?’
He smiled. ‘Yes. But, you know, perhaps there is truth in it too. My family. It’s complicated.’
‘I hear you,’ Gabriella said.
‘You don’t talk about them,’ Luca said, leaning forward a little. ‘In your book. In your interview tonight.’
‘I talk about the best bits,’ Gabriella answered with a wry smile.
‘OK,’ he said, nodding. ‘I’m hearing you.’
‘My mother says “if you have nothing nice to say it’s best to say nothing at all”.’
‘Do you think she’s right about that?’ Luca asked.
‘No,’ Gabriella stated firmly. ‘I am a great believer in speaking the blunt truth. But I also know not everyone wants to hear it and sometimes you have to take that into consideration. And, most of the time, in those situations, it’s for everyone’s benefit to say less.
’ She took another sip of her drink. ‘Like when your niece asks you about dating.’
‘Oh really?’
Why the hell had she said that? If ever there was a time for saying less it was now. ‘Yeah, I mean, teenagers dating, not something I want to think about. I might need to pull out my Russian and mace if anyone messes with Phoebe’s heart.’ Wow, what a great save…
‘So what was your advice to her?’ Luca asked. ‘When she asked you about dating.’
God, why did his eyes smoulder like that? It should be a criminal offence. And why the fuck was she only wearing a dressing gown? She would never mooch around the suite in anything less than a full outfit ever again. She felt inappropriate all of a sudden, in her own room.
‘Don’t do it,’ Gabriella said fast. Perhaps too fast.
‘Because?’
‘Because it never ends well.’
‘No?’
She was finding this difficult and uncomfortable. Why? She was a seasoned professional when it came to public speaking, as she had proven just tonight on television. Speaking about other things. Other people. White lies about herself when she needed to…
She paused and drew strength from that. ‘Are you interviewing me, Luca?’
‘Not at all. This is just conversation. Client and stylist.’
‘OK, so, you tell me, how is dating in New York for you?’
She took another drink and found herself feeling intrigued as to what his answer was going to be.
‘Right now, I have no idea. I haven’t dated in a while.’
‘OK, what does that mean?’
‘What d’you mean “what does that mean”? I haven’t been on a date in… nine months.’
‘But you’ve met people? For short-term fun? Or whatever they call it this side of the Atlantic.’
‘No.’
‘Come on!’
‘No. I… don’t like to do that.’
‘All guys do that.’
‘Have you met all guys?’
‘Well, no, but—’
‘Like with fashion, what works for some people, doesn’t work for others.’ He threw back his drink in one and put the glass on the table. ‘Right now, my focus is on my career and, at this immediate point, I want to get to the reason why there was a sharp metal component in your outfit.’
‘Did you speak to Errol?’ Gabriella asked.
‘No. I can’t get hold of him. But, you know, he works hard too and he also plays hard so I’m not at the going round there right now stage. But if he doesn’t get back to me in the morning I will be knocking on his door.’
‘Cheyenne says I need an outfit for my event at the library the day after tomorrow. Cheyenne would also like me to have a whole new attitude, I think. I mean, for the clothes, I could go in this bathrobe if one of those ninety-nine ways to make it better could work or, I don’t know, we could make something out of the curtains? ’
‘Are you mocking me, Gabriella?’
His tone was slightly playful but there was seriousness there too.
‘I would not dare to do that. Who knows what you could sew into my dress next? I’d like to keep at least one of my kidneys.’
He said nothing then and she knew she had pushed her humour too far.
She did that. Especially when she was nervous.
The Russian was usually an attack, the humour a defence.
She hadn’t had any doubt about his professionalism but it was very clear now.
His job was important to him. How he did his job was important to him.
‘Sorry,’ Gabriella said. ‘I really didn’t mean that. I said I didn’t blame you and I don’t. Honestly.’
He got to his feet. ‘I should go. Grab a coffee on the way home and not sleep at my apartment.’
‘Sure. OK,’ she answered, knowing, as he headed towards the door, that she had made things awkward.
‘So, tomorrow afternoon, say three o’clock at La Facon?’ Luca said.
‘Sure,’ Gabriella replied.
A phone began to ring and she stopped short of saying goodnight.
‘That’s mine,’ he said, getting it out of the pocket of his trousers. ‘It’s Errol. I should—’
‘Answer it,’ Gabriella said. ‘Please.’
‘Hey,’ he said, putting the phone to his ear. ‘What? Are you kidding me? Well, where are you now?’
This was serious. Something had happened. Luca’s body language couldn’t have been giving off more concern.
‘I’m coming over,’ Luca said. And then he ended the call.
‘What is it?’ Gabriella asked.
‘Errol’s been at the hospital. I gotta go.’
‘Well, is he OK?’
‘I mean he was talking; that’s got to be a good sign, right?’
‘Go,’ Gabriella ordered.
‘OK, I will get to the bottom of this and I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight,’ she answered.
And, with that, she watched him head up the corridor towards the elevators.