were engaged to Sierra Rocci seven years ago, were you not?’ the weedy young man pressed. ‘And she broke off the engagement at the last moment? Left you standing at the altar?’ He smirked again and Marco stiffened, longing to wipe that smug look off the man’s face.
He hadn’t considered the press resurrecting that old story. His engagement to Sierra had been kept quiet back then; Arturo had wanted a quiet ceremony, not wanting to expose Sierra to media scrutiny. Marco had been glad to agree.
‘Well?’ The reporter smirked, eyebrows raised.
‘No comment,’ Marco bit out tersely, and stalked off.
* * *
‘You can look in the mirror now.’
‘Thank you.’ Sierra smiled at the stylist, Diana, whom Marco had arranged to do her hair and make-up for the ball. It had been a nice surprise to emerge from an hour-long soak in the sunken marble tub to find a woman ready to be her fairy godmother.
Now Sierra turned around and gazed at her reflection in the full-length mirror, catching her breath on a gasp of surprise.
‘Oh, my goodness...’
‘My sentiments exactly,’ Diana agreed cheerfully.
Sierra raised one hand to touch the curls that were piled on top of her head, a few trailing down to rest beguilingly on her shoulder. Diamond clips sparkled from the honeyed mass and when she turned her head they caught the light. Her make-up was understated and yet somehow transformed her face; she had smoky eyes, endless lashes, sculpted cheekbones and lush pink lips.
‘I had no idea make-up could do so much,’ she exclaimed and leaned forward to peer at herself more closely.
Diana laughed. ‘I didn’t use that much make-up. Just enough to enhance what was already there.’
‘Even so.’ Sierra shook her head, marvelling. She had never worn make-up as a teenager, and she hadn’t changed much during her years in London. Now, however, she could see the advantages.
Her gaze dropped from her face to her dress. She’d chosen the dress Marco had seen her in, the silvery-blue column of silk with the diamanté belt around her waist. Looking at herself in the dress made her face warm and her blood heat as she remembered how Marco had unzipped it. How he’d put his hands on her hips and pulled her towards him and she’d gone, craving the feel of him, desperately wanting more.
‘I wonder if I put a bit too much blusher on,’ Diana mused and, with a suppressed laugh, Sierra turned away from the mirror.
‘I’m sure it’s fine.’
Marco was getting ready just across the hall, and she couldn’t wait to see him. She couldn’t wait for him to see her, and for this wonderful, enchanted evening to begin. No matter what had happened before or might lie ahead, she wanted to truly be Cinderella and enjoy this one magical night. The clock wasn’t going to strike just yet.
Marco knocked softly on her bedroom door and, with a conspiratorial grin, Diana went to answer it. ‘I’ll tell him you’re coming in a moment. You’re going to knock his socks off, you know.’
Sierra smiled back, one hand pressed to her middle to soothe the seething nerves that had started in her stomach. She didn’t want anything to ruin this night.
Diana told Marco with surprising bossiness to wait for Sierra downstairs and, after taking the filmy matching wrap and beaded bag, Sierra opened the door and headed out.
She walked down the spiral staircase carefully; the last thing she wanted was to go flying down the stairs and fall flat on her face.
She saw Marco before he saw her; he was standing by the windows, staring out at the city where the sky was lit up with streaks of vivid orange and umber, a spectacular summer sunset.
Her heels clicked on the wrought iron and he turned around, going completely still as he caught sight of her. Sierra couldn’t tell anything from his face; his perfect features were completely blank as his silvery-grey gaze swept over her.
She came to the bottom of the staircase, her heart starting to beat hard. ‘Do I...? Is everything all right?’
Suddenly she wondered if she had lipstick on her teeth or she’d experienced some unknown wardrobe malfunction.
Then Marco’s face cleared and he stepped forward, taking her hands in his. ‘You have stolen my breath along with my words. You are magnificent, Sierra.’
A smile spread across her face as he squeezed her hands. ‘You look pretty good yourself.’
Actually he looked amazing. The crisp white tuxedo shirt was the perfect foil for his olive skin, and the tailored midnight-dark tuxedo emphasised the perfect, powerful musculature of his body. Marco wasn’t the only one who was breathless.
He touched her cheek with his fingertips, and the small touch seemed to Sierra like a promise of things to come. Wonderful things to come. ‘We should go, if you’re ready.’
‘I am.’
The gala was in the hotel’s ballroom, several floors below the penthouse yet with the same spectacular view from every side. Sierra stepped into the huge room with a soft gasp of appreciation. The room was as sleekly spare and elegant as the hotel foyer, letting the view be its main decoration. Tuxedo-clad waiters circulated with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres and a string quartet played softly from a dais in one corner of the room. Sierra turned to Marco, her eyes shining.
‘Did you have some say in this room, too?’
‘Maybe a little.’ He smiled, taking her by the hand to draw her into the ball. ‘Let me introduce you.’
Sierra had never particularly liked social occasions, thanks to her father’s silent, menacing pressure. Even in London she’d preferred quiet gatherings to parties or bars, and yet tonight those old inhibitions fell away. It felt different now, when she was at Marco’s side. When she felt safe and confident and valued.
But not loved. Never loved.
She pushed that niggling reminder to the back of her mind as Marco introduced her to various guests—stars, socialites, business types and the odd more ordinary people, and Sierra chatted with them all. Laughed and drank champagne and felt dizzy with a new, surprising elation.
After a few hours Marco pulled her away from a crowd of women she’d been chatting with, plucking the half-drunk glass of champagne from her fingertips and thrusting it at a waiter, who whisked it away.
‘What is it...?’ Sierra began, only to have her words fall away as Marco drew her onto the dance floor.
His gaze was hooded and intent, the colour of his eyes like molten silver as his hands slid down to her hips and he anchored her against him.
‘Dance with me.’
Sierra felt as if the breath had been vacuumed from her lungs as she wordlessly nodded, placing her hands on his broad shoulders, the fabric of his tuxedo jacket crisp underneath her fingers.
The string quartet was playing a lovely, lazy melody, something you could
