no reason for it. This was the twenty-first century, but there were those in her hometown who acted as if a single mother was a disgrace.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Holly said.
Gabi’s big blue eyes widened. “Oh, honey, of course you are. I’m sorry for being such an insensitive bitch.” She kissed Nicky’s tiny forehead. “I just forgot myself in my fury for this precious little thing. What a stupid father he has. Hopefully, when he grows up one day to be president of the United States, he won’t be hampered by that side of the family tree.”
Holly laughed. Leave it to Gabi to find just the thing to make her giggle when she was so angry. She went over and squeezed her friend’s arm. “You’re the best, Gabi. I’m not mad at you, believe me. It’ll all be fine. I’m going to make a fragrance that knocks someone’s socks off, and then I’m going to get noticed. Drago di Navarra isn’t the only cosmetic king in the world, no matter what he might think.”
“He messed up when he sent you home without sampling your fragrance.”
The heat of shame bloomed inside her chest again. Yes, he’d sent her home without even sampling the first fragrance. After their gorgeous night together, he’d made her breakfast and served it to her in bed. She’d felt so happy, so perfectly wonderful. They’d talked and eaten and then he’d had her case delivered to her when she’d remembered to ask for it. That was when he’d noticed the scent.
“What is this, cara?” he’d asked, his beautiful brows drawn down in confusion as he’d studied the case in his hands.
“Those are my samples,” she’d said, her heart beginning to trip in excitement.
“Samples?”
“Yes, my fragrances. I make perfume.”
She’d missed the dangerous gleam in his eye as he’d set the case down and opened it. He’d drawn out a bottle of Colette and held it up, his gray eyes narrowed as he’d studied the golden fragrance.
“Explain,” he’d said, his voice tight.
She’d been somewhat confused, but she had done so. Because they’d spent a beautiful night together and she knew he wasn’t really an ogre. He was a passionate, sensual, good man who felt things deeply and who didn’t open up easily.
Holly resisted the urge to clutch her hand over her heart, to try to contain the sharp slice of pain she still felt every time she thought of what had happened next. Of how stupid she’d been not to see it coming. She could still see his handsome face drawn up in rage, his eyes flashing hot as his jaw worked. She’d been alarmed and confused all at once.
Then he’d dropped the bottle back into the case with a clink and shoved it toward her.
“Get out,” he’d said, his voice low and hard and utterly frightening.
“But, Drago—”
“Get the hell out of my home and don’t come back.” And then, before she could say another word, he’d stalked from the room, doors slamming behind him until she knew he was gone. A few minutes later, a uniformed maid had come in, her brow pleated in mute apology. She’d had Holly’s suit—the suit she’d worn to see Drago in the first place—on a hanger, which she’d hung on a nearby hook.
It had seemed even shabbier and sadder than it had the day before.
“When you are ready, miss, Barnes will take you back to your lodgings.”
Holly closed her eyes as she remembered that moment of utter shame. That moment when she’d realized he wasn’t coming back, and that she’d failed spectacularly in her task to convince him of her worth as a perfumer.
Because she’d let herself get distracted. Because she’d been a mouse and a pushover and a foolish, foolish idiot.
She’d let Drago di Navarra make love to her, the first man ever to do so, and she’d gotten caught up in the fantasy of it. She’d believed that their chemistry was special, that the things she’d felt with him were unique, and that he’d felt them, too.
Fool.
But he’d kicked her out of his house as though she’d been a common prostitute.
And hadn’t you?
A little voice always asked her that question. She wasn’t blameless, after all. She’d spent close to twenty-four hours pretending to be something she wasn’t in the single hope of convincing the high and mighty CEO of Navarra Cosmetics that she had what it took to design a signature perfume for his company.
She’d had opportunity enough to tell him why she was really there, and she’d kept silent each and every time. She’d treated it all like an adventure. The country mouse goes to the city and gets caught up in a comedy of errors. Except, she wasn’t a mouse and she had a voice.
Worse, she’d complicated everything when she’d fallen for his seduction. She knew very well how it must have looked to him, a powerful man who held the key to her dream in his hand.
He’d thought her the worst kind of liar and gold digger—and the evidence had been stacked against her.
She gazed at her son and her heart felt so full with all the love swelling inside it. Yes, she should have told Drago who she was and what she wanted. But if she’d opened her mouth sooner, she wouldn’t have Nicky. What a thought that was. Life might have been easier, but it certainly wouldn’t have been sweeter.
Holly’s eyes prickled with tears. Gran would have told her that the past was just that and it did no good to dwell on it, because you couldn’t change it without a time machine. Holly knuckled her tears away with a little laugh—but then her gaze caught on the digital display on the microwave.
“I have to get to work,” she said to Gabi. “Will you be all right until Mrs. Turner comes to collect him?”
Gabi looked up from where she was still cradling Nicky. “It’s a couple of hours before my shift yet. Don’t worry.”
Holly always worried, but she didn’t say that to Gabi. She worried about providing for her baby, worried that he was only three months old and she had to work so much. She worried that she’d been unable to breast-feed him—some women couldn’t, the nurse had told her after the zillionth failed attempt—and he had to drink formula, and she worried that he needed so many things and she could barely provide any of them.
Holly kissed her son’s sweet soft skin before changing into her uniform of white shirt, bow tie and tight black skirt. Then she stuffed her heels into her duffel and slipped on her tennis shoes. She made it to the bus stop in record time. With twenty minutes to spare, she got to the casino, put on her heels and touched up her makeup before stashing her things and heading to the floor for her shift.
In all her wildest imaginings, she’d never pictured herself serving drinks in a casino. But here she was, arranging her tray with cocktail napkins, pen and pad, stirrers, and then gliding through the crowd of people hovering around tables and machines, asking for drink orders—and enduring a few pats to the bottom in the process.
Holly gritted her teeth, hating that part of the job but unwilling to react, because she needed the money too badly. The rent was due next week, and it was always a struggle to make
